“The Fever” appeared in Japanese translation only, in Five Minute Erotica, edited by Carol Queen, published by Running Press and Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc. Tokyo, 2003.
Contains sexually explicit material. Readers are cautioned.
In the darkness, the Best family estate seemed even more ominous and foreboding than it did by daylight. Adelaide Best crept quietly past the silent rooms where her husband’s family was sleeping blissfully.
“Addy,” Darl had said, waking her from a sound sleep only moments before, “I think I’ve a fever. Go down to the kitchen for me and fetch me a glass of something cold to drink. Anything. I’m terribly thirsty.”
Adelaide now made her way down the sweeping flight of stairs. Off the grand hallway on the ground floor, she felt her way along a dark, narrow corridor that led to the servants’ area of the large, Victorian home. Down at the end of the corridor, Adelaide saw a light coming from the housemaid’s sleeping quarters. And she heard voices raised, an argument of some sort.
Perturbed, Adelaide crept closer to the room without making a sound. One of the voices was without question the voice of Archibald Best, Darl’s father. It grew increasingly clear to Adelaide, by the temper and tone of the two voices, that Mr. Best was reprimanding a remorseful housemaid for some inexcusable infraction of a house rule.
“But why at this hour?” Adelaide wondered. “And why be so harsh with her?”
Adelaide’s ears pricked up when next she heard Mr. Best strike the housemaid, as if with an open hand, and then heard the housemaid cry out.
Adelaide moved quickly to the door that was open a mere crack, her heart racing. With a slight maneuvering of her head, Adelaide got a wicked eyeful. It was nothing at all like what she’d been expecting to see.
The housemaid, Beatrice, a rather plump young woman, was on the narrow bed, stripped entirely of her nightclothes. Wantonly naked, she was leaning down on her elbows with her knees spread wide. Her ample breasts hung down freely and her rather large white bottom was arched up salaciously for Mr. Best’s unhindered view.
Mr. Best was in an appalling state. His silk dressing gown hung open just enough to reveal his extremely thick, bulging member that he stroked vigorously with one hand, while with his other hand, he periodically administered a smart and resounding smack to the fleshy behind of the housemaid, along with a stern warning about how not to behave.
Judging by the way Beatrice whimpered and squirmed in delight with each well-aimed slap to her rump, it was clear that the housemaid, as much as Archibald Best, was deriving a great deal of unspeakable pleasure from this charade.
Adelaide wanted to look away, and yet she couldn’t. Her eyes remained fixed on the sight beyond the crack in the door.
Then to Adelaide’s astonishment, Mr. Best fell to his knees and buried his face between Beatrice’s plump thighs and licked her private places aggressively, as if he meant to devour her. And Beatrice didn’t protest. She only accommodated him by spreading her knees wider and arching her fat rear-end up higher.
In her efforts to see it all, Adelaide’s body was practically pressed flat against the opening of the door. She was breathing heavily through her mouth.
Absently, she fondled her breasts through the layers of her nightclothes. Her nipples were tender and responsive, which only caused her to fondle them more intently.
Mr. Best stood then and mounted Beatrice from behind, inserting that thick, bulging tool of his easily into Beatrice’s hole.
“What an accommodating girl she is,” Adelaide thought agreeably, as her eyes greedily took in the sight of the pair humping in unbridled lust, grunting lewdly, behaving no better than a couple of coarse dogs.
Then to Adelaide’s horror, it was clear that someone was coming toward her in the dark corridor. She moved quickly away from the spectacle in the doorway and headed in the direction of the kitchen.
But a large, masculine hand had her by the back of her neck.
“What a naughty little peeper you are, peeping into private bedrooms at night.”
The voice sounded like Archibald Best’s but Adelaide knew that it couldn’t be possible. Mr. Best was hard at work, fornicating with Beatrice, the maid.
“You know what happens to peepers around here, Addy?”
It was Adelaide’s husband. It was Darl.
“Darl, you frightened me!”
Darl clamped a hand over Adelaide’s mouth and pushed her into the pantry with him, pulling the door closed behind him, locking them in together.
In the dark, he pulled her impossibly close; her round ass snug against his aching cock.
Adelaide could easily feel her husband’s firm erection pressing insistently against her bottom. He was just as stirred up as she was.
“You knew!” she whispered breathlessly. “You knew I would see that! You haven’t a fever at all!”
“I do have a fever, but of a different sort. Do you know how long I’ve been tortured by those two? Every Tuesday night for three years, Addy. I’ve been watching that scene over and over again. It hardly ever varies.” Then he whispered pleadingly, “Bend over for me, Addy. Lift your gown and bend over for me.”
Adelaide wasn’t sure what shameful thing this was leading to, but she timidly raised her robe and her nightdress, lifted them high, up to her waist. She felt safe in the darkness of the pantry. She bent over slightly for Darl, anxious about what might happen next but feeling aroused enough by the things she’d just seen to surrender to her husband’s will.
Darl knew then that his wife was just as susceptible to the fever as he was. He fell to his knees in the dark and without hesitating, buried his face between her legs. He licked excitedly at the strange slippery folds of flesh, his nose filling with the scent of her arousal.
“Darl,” Adelaide moaned, spreading her legs more for him, feeling her tender lips become engorged from the thorough lapping of his tongue. She wanted to feel more of it, as much as she could get. She bent over farther for him, arching her ass out.
“Oh Darl,” she moaned again, over and over, not caring if she was overheard. “Darl, Darl,” she said, oblivious to the obscene posture she was taking in the dark, wanting only to feel more pleasure from his tongue.
After a time, he stood and mounted her–from behind, like a dog. And she didn’t say no, for once. She didn’t protest. She accepted the full length of his thick erection repeatedly, pushing her hole open for his merciless thrusts, letting his cock go all the way up.
Quietly Adelaide urged him on, “yes, yes,” as if she were in a daze, succumbing deeper to the fever of her husband’s lust with every plunge of his relentless cock.
And Darl knew then that it was a question of persistence. He was going to be able to have his wife in any position he desired, even with the lamp burning, so that he might see her secret places, watch the tiny hole stretch to accommodate the girth of his impaling cock. Then the fever of Beatrice would no longer torment him. He would forswear to abstain from the salacious sight of her for good. It would be just him and Addy, from this moment on.
c- 2003 Marilyn Jaye Lewis