Unholy Arts Scenes
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Chapter 1
The June sunshine fell warmly through the French window of the blue
bedroom onto the half-naked torso of the naked full breasted young
blonde. In her simultaneous yawning and stretching, she made her full,
melon-shaped breasts rise and fall as she breathed in the fresh morning
air, her long blonde hair cascading sensuously over the satin pillow
slip.
Ann Dexter stretched her lithe body as she awoke, blinking slightly as
the cool morning air, mingling with the soft sunshine, gently stirred
her awake. When she and Carl had gone to bed the night before, she had
forgotten to draw the d****s.
But it did not bother the voluptuous young woman to miss an hour or two
of sleep. She was feeling sunshine all over lately -- particularly up
between her firmly curved thighs, and the fact that Carl had been more
than occupied -- obsessed, perhaps a more apt description -- with his
work had helped to keep her natural sexual interests rather keen. And
this spring warmth with its soothing, tantalizing fingers of yellow
light was like dried kindling to her desires. But she didn't mind. In
fact, the young woman rather enjoyed it, because then her orgasms --
when they did come -- were all the more lusty and overpowering.
Ann shrugged and all of the sheet fell away from her lushly opulent
contoured body, revealing, beside the ripe fullness of her lust
inciting breasts, her nicely rounded belly, the tiniest of waists,
flawless white skin, and just the hint of straw colored hair at the
center of her loins. She had the usual kind of blonde coloring, only
hers was a true blonde, with not so much as a hint of peroxide: bright
blue eyes and pink cheeks, with high cheek bones accentuating a
perfectly shaped nose and nostrils that had a tendency to flare with
just the slightest provocation.
As she stretched she fluffed out her wealth of thick, wavy blonde hair,
which had only been cut twice in her life: once on her fifteenth
birthday in sacrifice to her young lover who deserted her for her next
door locker neighbor at high school, and the other time in retaliation
to her fiancee who had called her a prude in a most untimely situation.
But her husband, Carl, was crazy about her hair and, like most men,
that was the first thing he noticed about her. But the men also paid
rapt attention to her magnificently put together body as well. Curves
no man could resist, she had been told more than once.
Ann smiled softly to herself as she thought about this in one flash of
deja vu. Taking both of her protuberant pink nipples between thumb and
forefinger, she toyed with them until they stiffened in self-defense,
imparting pleasant sensations into her swollen breasts and a matching
tingle deep down in the center of her belly. She was not an over-sexed
whore, but only a normal woman who had come to enjoy sexuality of late.
Consequently, every morning when she awoke she seemed to be more
aroused and anxious for her husband's fond attentions than ever before.
Not that Carl noticed. Indeed, lately he didn't seem to notice much of
anything. And it showed. He'd lost weight from skipping lunches, or
just grabbing a bite for dinner. He and his assistant, Dr. George
Everett had just started an extensive research project under the
auspices of the Medical Center where he and his colleague were studying
the psychological causes of unnatural sexuality and the changing
sociological patterns that resulted, always with an eye to the ideal
zero population growth theory. To Ann, it sounded complicated as could
be, with all those big words and demographical terms and gobbledygook
that she didn't give a damn about hearing, although the sexual case
histories were another matter entirely.
Ann patted her breasts and then pushed her hands up in back of her
lengthy hair, and let it fall again. Her pretty head couldn't really
get much interested in her professorial husband's affair. All she knew
was that Carl just didn't seem to care much about being in bed with her
very much these days.
"Ann, have you seen my tie clasp?" came a cross voice from the
bathroom, and then her husband was standing in the doorway, fiddling
with his tie, his shock of graying hair falling forward over his
forehead. He was clad only in his underwear and his shirt, and her eyes
locked unavoidably on the spot where his genitals nestled between his
legs, but as usual, there was no tell-tale bulge there to encourage her
to expect more than a peck on the cheek for a good-bye.
"No, I haven't dear," sighed Ann and tried to help him find it by
looking around in the bedroom a little, but she couldn't find it
amongst her feminine debris littering the dresser tops and the
bathroom. "Guess you're just going to have to settle for a bow tie,
Carl." Finally he changed his tie and Ann slipped a housecoat over her
glowing body and went to the kitchen to start breakfast.
As she broke eggs into the frying pan alongside the spitting bacon, Ann
could not help but wonder if this was the life she chose or if this was
simply her fate. For a moment, she listened to her husband in his study
just off the living room rattling his paper and throwing books into his
already-over-stuffed briefcase. Turning the bacon with a fork, wincing
as it shot a flying speck of burning grease onto her hand, Ann felt the
same surging, growing resentment well in her chest as it had for the
past two years of marriage to the near middle-aged, professorial
husband who had unwittingly ensnared her with security and his
intellectualism, qualities she'd always treasured -- until she found
out that in the end, it all balances out, and every tidbit of
intellectualism seemed to rob the sensual character of her husband.
Love him? Yes, oddly enough, she knew that she still did in some
ridiculous sort of way. But what she had in mind, what had begun as a
mere student-professor relationship until he'd asked her to marry him.
In the beginning, she had hope for their marriage, but the sexual
frustrations had quickly extinguished those hopes, leaving some sort of
sterile bond between them.
Now, in the second year of their marriage, Ann Dexter asked herself
more than once a day just why she'd married him in the first place.
Their affair had created such a stir in the private junior college that
she'd been forced to leave, the Dean of Women having politely asked her
to enroll elsewhere. Something about intellectual men had always turned
her on. Maybe it was because of her journalist father, she wasn't sure,
but whatever that magic ingredient was, she'd wasted no time finding it
in the man who was to serve as her protector -- her security blanket to
replace the loving father who was now dead.
So, having left school, Ann had become Carl's part-time assistant,
helping him in the lab by typing up reports, most of which were case
histories, in preparation for the final report that the sponsors would
most certainly demand to read after two years of financing. It got her
out of the house, if nothing else, and there were people to meet at the
lab. But God, all Carl did was work; there was none of the typical
chase-the-secretary-around-the-desk games that you see in magazine
cartoons. Not Carl! He was all research and study.
Ironically, from the case histories she'd typed up in the past months,
she'd learned that there was always a sexual problem between a middle-
aged husband and a young wife. And it was true! She was about to lose
her mind! She was twenty-two and Carl twice that. It wasn't the paunch
he was showing traces of that bothered her, but his performance in bed.
He was destroying the most intimate of her possessions -- her
sensuality!
She turned the bacon now, listening to her husband's voice calling to
her from the hallway. "Ann, do you think you'd have time to come down
this afternoon and type a couple more interviews with our experimental
subject? Our quarterly report is about due and I'd like to get a head
start on it. Good for the image you know," he said dryly, pulling up
his chair in front of his plate of bacon and eggs with a piece of
toast, dripping with butter, lining the edges. "I know this is rather
sordid literature I'm making you type, dear, but it's certainly
appreciated," he said, crunching into his toast.
"Hey, come on, Carl," she teased. "Just because I'm younger than you
doesn't mean I don't know anything about sex. In fact," she continued,
standing over him and filling his coffee cup, "I find it rather
interesting learning about these sociological theories of yours. I'm
sure that sex research is going to be the thing of the future -- maybe
even more important than missiles and bombs even. Sure would make the
world a better place to live if we all made love instead of war," she
quipped, hoping he would catch the double meaning in her statement and
the desperation in her fired loins that ached for fulfillment.
And part of that ache was the work she did for her husband! Ann had
always considered herself a normal, desirous female with basic
tendencies, but her husband's case histories of married and divorced
men turned gay, of woman turning to each other for physical love
instead of their husbands and confessions of i****t and sodomy. God, it
was better than pornography because it was all true and it had
generated tingles of forbidden temptation inside her the likes of which
she'd never even dreamed of! She'd even been tempted to experiment with
some of the wanton tales that subjects -- people just like you and me -
- had told the interviewer, such as which positions offered the
greatest penetration, if they preferred a hard mattress to a water bed
-- things she'd never considered in her husband's missionary style
lovemaking. For him, lovemaking was a fifteen minute affair.
His maddening pattern of inability to satisfy her, in fact, had grown
even worse before her increasing, passionate springtime need, until the
typing of his reports had, like an aphrodisiac brought her to this very
morning!
"How about some ketchup for the eggs, Ann. You know I like to have
ketchup with my eggs ..." he muffled behind his napkin that dabbed at
his mustache.
A grating twinge immediately gnawed at the young wife's belly at her
husband's demand. Okay, lover man, she mocked under her breath. He'd
been that the night before, all right. As usual, he'd driven her almost
to the peak of the mountain, then left her there to get over the top by
herself, or slide back down, whichever she preferred. He'd been too
tired to know how she'd managed it, but she had and by stealing a few
minutes in the bathroom while he's snored like a disgusting, satiated
ox in the bed, she'd brought herself to fulfillment with her fingers.
It was then she'd decided something had to be done ... and it was that
something that had brought a smile to her lips this morning.
"Ann?" she heard him, this time turning to her just in time to retrieve
the bottle of ketchup offered him.
"Here it is, Carl," she returned, carefully keeping the irritation from
her tone, and it wasn't too difficult. With the morning sunshine, she
realized that she had again slept away the frustrated hurt and anger.
That, along with the sensuous intentions she'd set her pruriently
fevered mind to in luring her husband's assistant into an affair, left
her no room for resentment.
Still, Ann couldn't help but remember with a series of tingling
sensations just how close Carl had come to satisfying her last night.
She'd made him her special dinner -- beef stroganoff with noodles and
spinach salad which they ate to candlelight and soft music. The mood
was set, but Carl's wasn't, his only concern being the stack of tapes
on his desk in the study that needed sequential numbering. She'd
ignored his mutterings, as she skipped around in her see-through
nightie to fill his wine glass before curling up beside him on the sofa
and letting him lustfully run his big hands over her nearly naked,
erogenous curves -- he should have ended up a sex crazed maniac after
all that foreplay!
He'd been a panting, rutting a****l, and even staggered when they'd
made it to the bedroom for the final course. Smoldering, she whipped
her nightie over her head, bouncing nakedly onto the bed into a lewd,
thigh-spread position like a c***d playing statue, except that she'd
been a very hot young wife with no intentions of taking an immobile
part in the game! "Oh, my dear Annnnn," he'd purred, thick tongued in a
hoarse voice, pulling at his clothes while she laid there watching him.
Sure, he was getting soft with age and noticeably paunchy with an
overhang of spare-tire around the middle, but the long, thick hardness
of his lust swollen cock standing out from his strong, loins
immediately dwarfed all else. Trembling sensations of shameless desire
had shivered over her exciting nakedness, her craving eyes riveted on
his large, sperm bloated testicles heavily swaying between his legs.
God, how desperately she had hoped ...!
Suddenly, he'd been on top of her, kissing her with wine dizzying
passion, nibbling at the hardened pink nipples of her swollen breasts,
running his big, searing hands over her wetly throbbing pussy, while
his cock throbbed against the sensitive flesh of her thigh. He'd
muttered and panted to her sensual writhings beneath him, choking out
obscene, stimulating words and phrases of love that had fervidly goaded
her to a point of whorish lust. God, she'd suck him if he'd let her!
But no ... no, not first! He had to ... had to make her cum at least
once before anything else, and she wanted to do nothing that might
destroy that possibility!
He drunkenly crawled between her trembling thighs which she'd anxiously
spread wide for him. "I'm going to fuck you right out of your mind, my
dear, Ann!" he'd lewdly promised, using the right four-letter words to
spur her on. Their graphic sounds fired her with wild chills of
intensive passion.
Was this really her husband saying, "Put it in, baby! Stuff it in your
hot little cunt!"
She'd been that certain of the 'at last' moment when she'd reached down
and grasped the heated length of his solid, thick cock to splay open
the moistened lips of her hungrily throbbing cunt, placing its fleshy
head at the mouth of her cunt. Impatiently, she'd spread her legs even
further as she raised her steaming loins up to him, confident that this
time his fantastic hardness was going to do it for her, and not caring
how hard he fucked that first time! Getting it in was the main thing.
He had! His huge, hotly throbbing cock had raced into the liquid
channel like a flash, filling the dilated core of her seething young
body with an enchantment of fury. Yes ... yes, this time it would
happen for sure! She'd fervently reasoned, straining beneath this
powerful man, her husband, in sluttish abandon!
His raging cock had wildly pounded in and out of the tight, pink
opening up between her legs, while he grunted and spewed deliciously
foul words and phrases down at her, each and every one inciting her all
the more.
"Oh ... oh, Carl ... lover! It's wonderful! Yesssss ...! Fuck me out of
my mind ... just like you promised!"
"Yehhhhhh ... right out of my beloved's mind!" he gasped. "Your lover
man's really filling you this time, isn't he?"
"Oooooohh yes, darling ... yessss! A-and I'm going ... going to suck it
for you ... make it cum right in my mouth!" she'd obscenely hissed up
at him, realizing now that her lewd promise had been her first mistake
because he had gone out of his mind in excited anticipation.
She'd felt the tremble of muscular tension ripple over his big heavy
body above her. "Goddamn!" he blurted. "And ... and you mean it, too,
don't you, Ann? S-suck me off ...! Oh! Get ready, Ann, Carl's coming
in!" And then a quarter of a second later, "Oh, damn, oh damn, oh
damn!''
And he had, his cock had raced into her frantically churning pussy and
began to spew its life draining, masculine semen into her. With bitter
frustration, she'd dug her long red nails into his naked ribs, his
arms, his shoulders!
"Oh, no ... ooohhh, noooo, Carl. Please!" she begged, even knowing it
was useless as she thrust her wetly pulsating loins up at him to accept
his warmth puddling into her belly ...!
Until finally, there'd been nothing but the rolling of his passed out
frame off of her, the wild burning hunger aflame in her loins and belly
nearly driving her to tears! She wasn't about to try and haul him up
onto the pillow; in fact, he could have died right there and she would
have celebrated! The bastard! The stupid old selfish bastard! Oooohhhh
... and she'd been so ready and so hot!
With a loud "hmmmppphhh" she sat up, taken Carl's hand to place his
thick fingers the way she wanted them, and then wormed two of them up
into her hotly seething cunt. She locked her naked thighs to hold his
fingers in place while she obscenely squirmed and writhed her naked
loins onto their semi-limpness, at the same time fingering her tiny,
sensitively erect clitoris. In the interim of building climax, she'd
lustfully fondled his long flaccid cock and played with his emptied
balls, but all of it together as she remembered it now, had hardly been
a night of love ... anything but the erotic scene she'd so desperately
hoped for!
"You think you could be at the lab in about an hour or two?" her stodgy
husband wanted to know as he pushed his chair away from the breakfast
table, his napkin neatly folded at the place setting. He was a most
meticulous man.
The June sunshine fell warmly through the French window of the blue
bedroom onto the half-naked torso of the naked full breasted young
blonde. In her simultaneous yawning and stretching, she made her full,
melon-shaped breasts rise and fall as she breathed in the fresh morning
air, her long blonde hair cascading sensuously over the satin pillow
slip.
Ann Dexter stretched her lithe body as she awoke, blinking slightly as
the cool morning air, mingling with the soft sunshine, gently stirred
her awake. When she and Carl had gone to bed the night before, she had
forgotten to draw the d****s.
But it did not bother the voluptuous young woman to miss an hour or two
of sleep. She was feeling sunshine all over lately -- particularly up
between her firmly curved thighs, and the fact that Carl had been more
than occupied -- obsessed, perhaps a more apt description -- with his
work had helped to keep her natural sexual interests rather keen. And
this spring warmth with its soothing, tantalizing fingers of yellow
light was like dried kindling to her desires. But she didn't mind. In
fact, the young woman rather enjoyed it, because then her orgasms --
when they did come -- were all the more lusty and overpowering.
Ann shrugged and all of the sheet fell away from her lushly opulent
contoured body, revealing, beside the ripe fullness of her lust
inciting breasts, her nicely rounded belly, the tiniest of waists,
flawless white skin, and just the hint of straw colored hair at the
center of her loins. She had the usual kind of blonde coloring, only
hers was a true blonde, with not so much as a hint of peroxide: bright
blue eyes and pink cheeks, with high cheek bones accentuating a
perfectly shaped nose and nostrils that had a tendency to flare with
just the slightest provocation.
As she stretched she fluffed out her wealth of thick, wavy blonde hair,
which had only been cut twice in her life: once on her fifteenth
birthday in sacrifice to her young lover who deserted her for her next
door locker neighbor at high school, and the other time in retaliation
to her fiancee who had called her a prude in a most untimely situation.
But her husband, Carl, was crazy about her hair and, like most men,
that was the first thing he noticed about her. But the men also paid
rapt attention to her magnificently put together body as well. Curves
no man could resist, she had been told more than once.
Ann smiled softly to herself as she thought about this in one flash of
deja vu. Taking both of her protuberant pink nipples between thumb and
forefinger, she toyed with them until they stiffened in self-defense,
imparting pleasant sensations into her swollen breasts and a matching
tingle deep down in the center of her belly. She was not an over-sexed
whore, but only a normal woman who had come to enjoy sexuality of late.
Consequently, every morning when she awoke she seemed to be more
aroused and anxious for her husband's fond attentions than ever before.
Not that Carl noticed. Indeed, lately he didn't seem to notice much of
anything. And it showed. He'd lost weight from skipping lunches, or
just grabbing a bite for dinner. He and his assistant, Dr. George
Everett had just started an extensive research project under the
auspices of the Medical Center where he and his colleague were studying
the psychological causes of unnatural sexuality and the changing
sociological patterns that resulted, always with an eye to the ideal
zero population growth theory. To Ann, it sounded complicated as could
be, with all those big words and demographical terms and gobbledygook
that she didn't give a damn about hearing, although the sexual case
histories were another matter entirely.
Ann patted her breasts and then pushed her hands up in back of her
lengthy hair, and let it fall again. Her pretty head couldn't really
get much interested in her professorial husband's affair. All she knew
was that Carl just didn't seem to care much about being in bed with her
very much these days.
"Ann, have you seen my tie clasp?" came a cross voice from the
bathroom, and then her husband was standing in the doorway, fiddling
with his tie, his shock of graying hair falling forward over his
forehead. He was clad only in his underwear and his shirt, and her eyes
locked unavoidably on the spot where his genitals nestled between his
legs, but as usual, there was no tell-tale bulge there to encourage her
to expect more than a peck on the cheek for a good-bye.
"No, I haven't dear," sighed Ann and tried to help him find it by
looking around in the bedroom a little, but she couldn't find it
amongst her feminine debris littering the dresser tops and the
bathroom. "Guess you're just going to have to settle for a bow tie,
Carl." Finally he changed his tie and Ann slipped a housecoat over her
glowing body and went to the kitchen to start breakfast.
As she broke eggs into the frying pan alongside the spitting bacon, Ann
could not help but wonder if this was the life she chose or if this was
simply her fate. For a moment, she listened to her husband in his study
just off the living room rattling his paper and throwing books into his
already-over-stuffed briefcase. Turning the bacon with a fork, wincing
as it shot a flying speck of burning grease onto her hand, Ann felt the
same surging, growing resentment well in her chest as it had for the
past two years of marriage to the near middle-aged, professorial
husband who had unwittingly ensnared her with security and his
intellectualism, qualities she'd always treasured -- until she found
out that in the end, it all balances out, and every tidbit of
intellectualism seemed to rob the sensual character of her husband.
Love him? Yes, oddly enough, she knew that she still did in some
ridiculous sort of way. But what she had in mind, what had begun as a
mere student-professor relationship until he'd asked her to marry him.
In the beginning, she had hope for their marriage, but the sexual
frustrations had quickly extinguished those hopes, leaving some sort of
sterile bond between them.
Now, in the second year of their marriage, Ann Dexter asked herself
more than once a day just why she'd married him in the first place.
Their affair had created such a stir in the private junior college that
she'd been forced to leave, the Dean of Women having politely asked her
to enroll elsewhere. Something about intellectual men had always turned
her on. Maybe it was because of her journalist father, she wasn't sure,
but whatever that magic ingredient was, she'd wasted no time finding it
in the man who was to serve as her protector -- her security blanket to
replace the loving father who was now dead.
So, having left school, Ann had become Carl's part-time assistant,
helping him in the lab by typing up reports, most of which were case
histories, in preparation for the final report that the sponsors would
most certainly demand to read after two years of financing. It got her
out of the house, if nothing else, and there were people to meet at the
lab. But God, all Carl did was work; there was none of the typical
chase-the-secretary-around-the-desk games that you see in magazine
cartoons. Not Carl! He was all research and study.
Ironically, from the case histories she'd typed up in the past months,
she'd learned that there was always a sexual problem between a middle-
aged husband and a young wife. And it was true! She was about to lose
her mind! She was twenty-two and Carl twice that. It wasn't the paunch
he was showing traces of that bothered her, but his performance in bed.
He was destroying the most intimate of her possessions -- her
sensuality!
She turned the bacon now, listening to her husband's voice calling to
her from the hallway. "Ann, do you think you'd have time to come down
this afternoon and type a couple more interviews with our experimental
subject? Our quarterly report is about due and I'd like to get a head
start on it. Good for the image you know," he said dryly, pulling up
his chair in front of his plate of bacon and eggs with a piece of
toast, dripping with butter, lining the edges. "I know this is rather
sordid literature I'm making you type, dear, but it's certainly
appreciated," he said, crunching into his toast.
"Hey, come on, Carl," she teased. "Just because I'm younger than you
doesn't mean I don't know anything about sex. In fact," she continued,
standing over him and filling his coffee cup, "I find it rather
interesting learning about these sociological theories of yours. I'm
sure that sex research is going to be the thing of the future -- maybe
even more important than missiles and bombs even. Sure would make the
world a better place to live if we all made love instead of war," she
quipped, hoping he would catch the double meaning in her statement and
the desperation in her fired loins that ached for fulfillment.
And part of that ache was the work she did for her husband! Ann had
always considered herself a normal, desirous female with basic
tendencies, but her husband's case histories of married and divorced
men turned gay, of woman turning to each other for physical love
instead of their husbands and confessions of i****t and sodomy. God, it
was better than pornography because it was all true and it had
generated tingles of forbidden temptation inside her the likes of which
she'd never even dreamed of! She'd even been tempted to experiment with
some of the wanton tales that subjects -- people just like you and me -
- had told the interviewer, such as which positions offered the
greatest penetration, if they preferred a hard mattress to a water bed
-- things she'd never considered in her husband's missionary style
lovemaking. For him, lovemaking was a fifteen minute affair.
His maddening pattern of inability to satisfy her, in fact, had grown
even worse before her increasing, passionate springtime need, until the
typing of his reports had, like an aphrodisiac brought her to this very
morning!
"How about some ketchup for the eggs, Ann. You know I like to have
ketchup with my eggs ..." he muffled behind his napkin that dabbed at
his mustache.
A grating twinge immediately gnawed at the young wife's belly at her
husband's demand. Okay, lover man, she mocked under her breath. He'd
been that the night before, all right. As usual, he'd driven her almost
to the peak of the mountain, then left her there to get over the top by
herself, or slide back down, whichever she preferred. He'd been too
tired to know how she'd managed it, but she had and by stealing a few
minutes in the bathroom while he's snored like a disgusting, satiated
ox in the bed, she'd brought herself to fulfillment with her fingers.
It was then she'd decided something had to be done ... and it was that
something that had brought a smile to her lips this morning.
"Ann?" she heard him, this time turning to her just in time to retrieve
the bottle of ketchup offered him.
"Here it is, Carl," she returned, carefully keeping the irritation from
her tone, and it wasn't too difficult. With the morning sunshine, she
realized that she had again slept away the frustrated hurt and anger.
That, along with the sensuous intentions she'd set her pruriently
fevered mind to in luring her husband's assistant into an affair, left
her no room for resentment.
Still, Ann couldn't help but remember with a series of tingling
sensations just how close Carl had come to satisfying her last night.
She'd made him her special dinner -- beef stroganoff with noodles and
spinach salad which they ate to candlelight and soft music. The mood
was set, but Carl's wasn't, his only concern being the stack of tapes
on his desk in the study that needed sequential numbering. She'd
ignored his mutterings, as she skipped around in her see-through
nightie to fill his wine glass before curling up beside him on the sofa
and letting him lustfully run his big hands over her nearly naked,
erogenous curves -- he should have ended up a sex crazed maniac after
all that foreplay!
He'd been a panting, rutting a****l, and even staggered when they'd
made it to the bedroom for the final course. Smoldering, she whipped
her nightie over her head, bouncing nakedly onto the bed into a lewd,
thigh-spread position like a c***d playing statue, except that she'd
been a very hot young wife with no intentions of taking an immobile
part in the game! "Oh, my dear Annnnn," he'd purred, thick tongued in a
hoarse voice, pulling at his clothes while she laid there watching him.
Sure, he was getting soft with age and noticeably paunchy with an
overhang of spare-tire around the middle, but the long, thick hardness
of his lust swollen cock standing out from his strong, loins
immediately dwarfed all else. Trembling sensations of shameless desire
had shivered over her exciting nakedness, her craving eyes riveted on
his large, sperm bloated testicles heavily swaying between his legs.
God, how desperately she had hoped ...!
Suddenly, he'd been on top of her, kissing her with wine dizzying
passion, nibbling at the hardened pink nipples of her swollen breasts,
running his big, searing hands over her wetly throbbing pussy, while
his cock throbbed against the sensitive flesh of her thigh. He'd
muttered and panted to her sensual writhings beneath him, choking out
obscene, stimulating words and phrases of love that had fervidly goaded
her to a point of whorish lust. God, she'd suck him if he'd let her!
But no ... no, not first! He had to ... had to make her cum at least
once before anything else, and she wanted to do nothing that might
destroy that possibility!
He drunkenly crawled between her trembling thighs which she'd anxiously
spread wide for him. "I'm going to fuck you right out of your mind, my
dear, Ann!" he'd lewdly promised, using the right four-letter words to
spur her on. Their graphic sounds fired her with wild chills of
intensive passion.
Was this really her husband saying, "Put it in, baby! Stuff it in your
hot little cunt!"
She'd been that certain of the 'at last' moment when she'd reached down
and grasped the heated length of his solid, thick cock to splay open
the moistened lips of her hungrily throbbing cunt, placing its fleshy
head at the mouth of her cunt. Impatiently, she'd spread her legs even
further as she raised her steaming loins up to him, confident that this
time his fantastic hardness was going to do it for her, and not caring
how hard he fucked that first time! Getting it in was the main thing.
He had! His huge, hotly throbbing cock had raced into the liquid
channel like a flash, filling the dilated core of her seething young
body with an enchantment of fury. Yes ... yes, this time it would
happen for sure! She'd fervently reasoned, straining beneath this
powerful man, her husband, in sluttish abandon!
His raging cock had wildly pounded in and out of the tight, pink
opening up between her legs, while he grunted and spewed deliciously
foul words and phrases down at her, each and every one inciting her all
the more.
"Oh ... oh, Carl ... lover! It's wonderful! Yesssss ...! Fuck me out of
my mind ... just like you promised!"
"Yehhhhhh ... right out of my beloved's mind!" he gasped. "Your lover
man's really filling you this time, isn't he?"
"Oooooohh yes, darling ... yessss! A-and I'm going ... going to suck it
for you ... make it cum right in my mouth!" she'd obscenely hissed up
at him, realizing now that her lewd promise had been her first mistake
because he had gone out of his mind in excited anticipation.
She'd felt the tremble of muscular tension ripple over his big heavy
body above her. "Goddamn!" he blurted. "And ... and you mean it, too,
don't you, Ann? S-suck me off ...! Oh! Get ready, Ann, Carl's coming
in!" And then a quarter of a second later, "Oh, damn, oh damn, oh
damn!''
And he had, his cock had raced into her frantically churning pussy and
began to spew its life draining, masculine semen into her. With bitter
frustration, she'd dug her long red nails into his naked ribs, his
arms, his shoulders!
"Oh, no ... ooohhh, noooo, Carl. Please!" she begged, even knowing it
was useless as she thrust her wetly pulsating loins up at him to accept
his warmth puddling into her belly ...!
Until finally, there'd been nothing but the rolling of his passed out
frame off of her, the wild burning hunger aflame in her loins and belly
nearly driving her to tears! She wasn't about to try and haul him up
onto the pillow; in fact, he could have died right there and she would
have celebrated! The bastard! The stupid old selfish bastard! Oooohhhh
... and she'd been so ready and so hot!
With a loud "hmmmppphhh" she sat up, taken Carl's hand to place his
thick fingers the way she wanted them, and then wormed two of them up
into her hotly seething cunt. She locked her naked thighs to hold his
fingers in place while she obscenely squirmed and writhed her naked
loins onto their semi-limpness, at the same time fingering her tiny,
sensitively erect clitoris. In the interim of building climax, she'd
lustfully fondled his long flaccid cock and played with his emptied
balls, but all of it together as she remembered it now, had hardly been
a night of love ... anything but the erotic scene she'd so desperately
hoped for!
"You think you could be at the lab in about an hour or two?" her stodgy
husband wanted to know as he pushed his chair away from the breakfast
table, his napkin neatly folded at the place setting. He was a most
meticulous man.
Jane
- 18.07.2022
- 17
- 0
