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The seething passions that lurk within many individuals are often hidden beneath a veneer of normalcy, exposed only under extremely tempting conditions.
The woman who, after a few drinks at a party, takes on all comers, male and female alike. The man who, during a strip show at a stag party climbs up on the stage with the girl and performs with her in front of his friends. The couple who, under group pressure, joins the neighborhood mate-traders.
Kelly Wallace is one of those outwardly proper and quite normal people. But within her a depth of passion she never dreamed existed lies coiled like a snake, waiting only for the proper stimulus to arouse it.
WIFE MADE TO SUCK — a fictional story about a society that refuses to face many of its real problems.
The war was over. Kelly had lost. Sam Hartman had her over a barrel. He had caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. His cookie jar. The petty cash drawer at the office.
Kelly tried the old feminine stand-by, tears. Her blue eyes glistened wetly and she sobbed, “I’m sorry, Mr. Hartman. Really I am. Please try to understand. The rent is due, and Tom had to take a cut in pay in order to keep his job. I didn’t know what to do.”
“So, you rob me,” Sam said. “How many times have you done that?”
“Only this once!” Kelly cried. “I swear it! Oh, please, Mr. Hartman, don’t think I’m a thief!”
“When somebody steals, they’re a thief,” he said flatly.
Kelly felt herself losing ground fast. “How can I make you understand?” she pleaded.
“There’s nothing to understand,” Sam said.
Kelly felt whipped. She heaved a sigh of resignation. “What are you going to do?”
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.