Sam had pulledout most of Nikki's lingerie wardrobe and modeled, holding the outfits againsther clothes, all pouting mouth and mussed hair, sticking her tongue throughcrotchless lace panties, swaggering her chest out into expensive silk bras.Basques, camisoles, and Daddy's favourite little pussy-winking babydolls. Panties, bras, nighties and garter-belts were strewn everywhere. Two champagneflutes, half a bottle and another empty rolling on its side against cast-offpumps. Olive stones and lipstick-smeared gold-tipped cigarette butts pilingup in a cut glass ashtray on the mosaic coffee table. Two girls collapsingon the white sofa in fits of giggles. Samantha lay on her belly, head propped on her knuckles with her elbows intoa cushion, lying along one wing of the sofa. Outside, the breezy summer afternoonwas turning into a vivid blue dusk. The big wraparound windows poured in goldenevening light. Inside, Samantha was putting on her serious-pouty expressionagain, and looking fixedly at. Or a man for that matter.” “What! Even me? Even when we started going out together? When we used to fuck like rabbits? When we never thought we’d ever stop?” Karen sighed. “Even you, Keith. But I haven’t loved anyone else as much as you. Fiona’s the only one. Even Pete, my boyfriend at school… You’re still the man I’ve most loved. Believe me!” She stretched a hand out over the table, her salad forgotten, and clasped her husband’s hand in hers. She smiled at Keith as warmly as she could. “How can you though?” wondered a defeated Keith. “She’s like a fucking hippopotamus!” He could see Karen wince with pain at the harshness of the comment. Well fuck her! She had to know what he thought. “And do you still…? You know…?” Karen bit her upper lip. The upper incisors briefly glinted in the candlelight. She nodded her head slowly. And then judging that that wasn’t affirmation enough she confessed more: “Yes we do. I don’t know why. But I just have to. And she says she loves me. And I.
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