Fresh sex stories:
- The Sperm Hospital
- Other Men's Mature Wives
- Naughty horny babysitter
- Welcome Fuck To My Love
- Swingering's sex story
- Master's Anal Whore
- Eighteen Months
- A couple are invited to a neighbour's party only to find out too late that it is a wife swopping affair
- Granny Fucker
- How a brother's lifelong love affair with his younger sister began
Mothers new boarder"I understand there's an apartment for rent over this store."
Marleen Franklin looked up from the counter she'd been cleaning, turning to look at the stranger who'd addressed her. He had a face which matched his warm, friendly, deep tone of voice; full and expressive with finely delineated lips and a rather prominent classic Greek nose, and dark agate eyes. He was also big, with a massive chest and lean, tawny thighs; and he was tall, standing over six feet in his checkered wool shirt, faded Levi's, and Wellington boots.
Oddly, a faint embarrassment flushed Marleen's face, confusing her momentarily. "W-what?" she asked, flustered, brushing back a stray wisp of coal-black hair with her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."
She had, but his sudden presence in her store and the charisma that had hit her as she stared at him -- it had taken her breath away, and she could feel her skin burning.
The man, not much older than her own thirty-six years, she estimated, grinned, and his eyes bored into her as if he knew that she'd heard him all along and was feeling so damned foolish. He said: "The room. I saw in the paper's want ads about the owner here having an apartment for rent. I'd like to see it."
"Why, yes... yes, of course."
"M'name is Preston. David Preston, and I'm new here in Reedsport," he said as Marleen walked from behind the counter, wiping her hands on a dust cloth. "I'm hoping to find work."
"I'm sure you will, Mr. Preston. Reedsport is a growing community, especially with the new cannery. Is that what you do? Work with fishing?"
"Hardly," he replied with a chuckle. "I'm a diver. I'm going down to see the harbor dredging company. I know a man there who's promised me a job." He followed her as she walked down the aisle to a rear entrance. "One of the reasons I wanted to live here is because of this."
Preston waved his arm and gazed around at the tackle and dry bait, assorted poles, out-board motors, small boats, and other athletic equipment. "Who owns the sporting goods shop?"
"I do," Marleen said with a wry smile. "Does that surprise you? A woman owning a sports store?"
"Yeah," Preston smiled, eyeing her with a different appreciation. "Yeah, I have to admit it does. Then you'd be the Franklin I'm supposed to rent from, right?"
"Right. Marleen Franklin."
If Marleen had been stunned by the impact of meeting David Preston, similarly Preston was blinded by her, and he caught his breath as she continued to talk and was leading him gracefully to the back door. She was better looking than Gloria nine ways from Sunday, and must be smart as well, to run such a shop, he thought hungrily. Looking at her smooth rounded buttocks moving under that skirt; he had the impulsive urge to reach out and run his fingers over the lithe moons undulating so softly and teasingly ahead of him, and then to crush her shoulder-length hair, kiss her full, pouting lips and suck that pair of large, proudly-cresting breasts that strained against her thin green blouse. She was beautiful, and he instinctively knew that she'd be hell on wheels in bed. She'd fuck. She'd fuck and fuck passionately, and his penis throbbed with impatient anticipation at the joys her wet, warm cunt could provide.
Sexy, obviously not bad off financially, and with the manners of unconscious yearning, the smell of a bitch in heat about her. As the ancient Chinese say: it is a happier state to sleep with a dead pig than an uncomplying woman...
"My husband left it to me when he died," she went on to say. "He was drowned six years ago."
Preston licked his lips. Then she was alone... no husband... "I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Franklin. It must be rough to be alone and run the shop all by yourself."
"I have my daughter to help me. Speaking of her..." Marleen was standing just inside the rear entrance now, and on her right was a flight of stairs which led up to a hallway which ran the length of the back of the second floor. "Wendy!" she called up the stairs. "Wendy!"
A small, muffled voice cried back: "What is it, Mom?"
"Watch the store for a minute, will you?"
"Don't 'Aw, Mom' me, young girl. Do it."
There was a slam of a door, and then a young teenage girl, all of sixteen, bounded down the stairs. She wore brief black shorts rolled tight and even shorter against her smooth thighs, and her aqua blouse was open a button too low, the material clung to her budding but prominent breasts electrically. She was barefoot, her slim legs firm and downy golden with tan, and her auburn hair was drawn back tightly from her temples into a single long, thick braid which fell across her shoulder and bounced invitingly against her right breast.
Preston couldn't be sure, but it seemed to him that the daughter, Wendy, had hastily buttoned her blouse over her and that she wasn't wearing any bra underneath. Puckers were evident in the cloth about where her tiny, dark-ringed nipples would be. Christ! This would be some place to rent if he could...
"Wendy, I want to show this gentleman the other apartment. I'll only be gone for a few minutes."
"Well, hurry," Wendy complained. "I want to get back out in the sun some more."
"You have the rest of summer to get a tan," Marleen said primly. "And you shouldn't be out on the porch without..." She hesitated, glancing quickly at Preston. "You know what I mean, Wendy."
"Aw, nobody can see," Wendy grumbled, walking into the store.
Marleen and Preston went up the stairs, and David was glad that the woman was in front of him, leading the way. His cock was now rock hard and pressing painfully against his underpants and trousers. First the mother, seductive... and then the more blatant daughter, running around half naked after sunning topless on a porch. He stifled a groan of sheer lewdness. This was the hottest potential he'd stumbled into since he and a couple of buddies took three sisters out in the woods when he was in the Navy, and they all had turns on each other, the sisters holding hands the whole time...
The apartment was small and the furniture used and cheap, but it was what he'd expected to find for the money he had, and it was clean. Which was more than he could say for the cockroach farm he was temporarily hoteled in. There was a combination livingroom and kitchen, the distinction between the two areas drawn by a dinette set lengthwise against one wall. The floor was carpeted in the Old Rose pattern popular with hotel lobbies, and the few pictures on the walls were strictly Woolworth Pastoral. Against the far wall was a gas heater, and when he looked in the bedroom, he was glad to see that the heater had a small duct to pipe hot air into it as well as the main room.
The bedroom -- well, what was there to say about a bedroom? It had the usual double bed, closet, lamps and bureau. The rug was newer and a different color, but same pattern. He shut the door.
"There's a porch which is actually the roof of the storage room below," she said, nodding over her shoulder towards the hall and beyond. "You can't see it from here, but you get to it from either end of the hallway; there's doors leading out onto it."
"I'd like to see it if I may," Preston asked...
The porch was railed and its flooring was of redwood slats. It had a magnificent view of the whole Reedsport harbor, of the frosty blue Pacific lapping gently against the sandy, boulder- and driftwood-strewn shore, of the verdant green lacery of trees and shrubs which enclosed the sheltered harbor like a crescent-shaped cove. To his left was the main part of Reedsport, a community of some twenty thousand, nestled in the heart of the fishing and timber producing area of fertile Northern California.
Reedsport was in between Crescent City and Eureka, and not much different than its sister town along the Oregon Coast further north. However, here the lumber mills and catch basins for the wood weren't in the immediate vicinity, so the air was fresh and clear and without the dull haze of burning sawdust. The cannery Marleen Franklin had referred to lay over the crest of a large hill, out of sight and smell, built along a sand and rock jetty, which had once been the home of an oyster processing plant during the Depression. Reedsport itself had a quiet but not sluggish atmosphere, the residents going about their affairs with civic pride and shrewd dignity, without the paranoiac hysteria which can so easily infect a growing area. Not the target for hordes of invading tourists, the zoning laws permitted motels and amusements only along the strip of US 101 Alternate, the old Coast Highway which ran through the center of town.
To his right, David Preston could see the residential area, sprawling for some distance around the peninsula, its homes covert and blended with the firs and pines and redwoods, showing logical and ecological building rather than the flattened bareness of tract developments. While the fishing harbor was at the bottom of the town and increasingly more at the cannery, the bay was dotted with piers and boathouses of the shore-owners; Reedsport was the perfect mix of pleasure and business.
Directly ahead of him was the back yard of the sporting goods store. It also had a pier, a wooden finger of planks sticking out in the water; a klinker-built Thompson fourteen footer with some sort of outboard attached bobbing in the salty swell, covered with a green tarp: and high wood fences on both sides running from the building out into the water.
"Excellent," he said. "I really do want to stay here, Mrs. Franklin. Or... may I call you Marleen?"
His smile was so winning, his charm so overpowering, that again Marleen felt the heat of redness stain her cheeks. "I... I suppose so."
"In that case, call me Dave."
"We haven't decided the details yet, Mr. Pre -- Dave," Marleen said, feeling almost schoolgirlish at her silly way of responding toward this man. What was wrong with her? She was around men all day, running the shop the way she did... She cleared her throat, getting a grip on herself. "The rent is seventy-five dollars a month, including utilities, first and last months payable before occupancy. And there's a deposit of fifty dollars which I'll refund when you move out."
"Deal," Preston said emphatically. "That is, if..."
"Well, one of the reasons I like your place is that it's fenced in back..."
"Naturally," Marleen broke in hastily. "I don't want burglars to break in the back or children to wander through and possibly hurt themselves." She realized that she was all but babbling, over-eager as if she wanted this strange man to move in, to be pleased and without any problems. What was the matter with her?
"Well, you see, I own a dog." He looked at her, trying to see her reaction. Dogs and little children screwed up more situations, including the renting of apartments. "He's a friendly cuss, loves people..."
"We'd have to see him first of course, but personally I like dogs. I mean, if they're real dogs, and not those little dust-mops that run around biting ankles and yapping all the time."
Preston laughed warmly, and Marleen found herself joining in. "No, Marleen, this isn't a dust-mop. King is a German Shepherd, only he's not quite pure-bred. His mother was, but the kennel she was at didn't watch her well enough one season, and she mated with an Alaskan Husky. King was the result -- almost all Shepherd, only a little shorter and thicker, and much more even tempered -- and I got him for nothing. But he'll be a good watch-dog around here, especially if I can build him a kennel out there, maybe by the rear door there. He won't be any trouble, I promise."
"I'm sure he won't, David."
Preston opened his wallet, a battered and dog-eared brown leather with frosted-plastic picture windows and bits of paper stuck haphazardly to its pockets. He gave Mrs. Franklin two hundred dollars in twenties. "I'll move in this afternoon, if you don't mind. I don't have much stuff. It's all at the Buckingham Hotel, on..."
"I know the place," Marleen said, wrinkling her nose in disdain. God forgive the fancy name, it was over a garage, entered by a flight of stairs narrow and dark, open to the street. No door, no entry way, the place from the outside had the sleaziest look imaginable. Window shades were dirty and cracked and crooked, and the curtains, where they existed at all, were limp, bedraggled, and filthy. It was a fierce looking place, and Marleen had never been prompted to set foot in the place. But it was about the only reasonably priced place for transients in Reedsport, which didn't cater to "outsiders" much -- beyond the expensive and garish motels along the strip.
She took the money offered. "I'll write up a receipt later," she told him. "Your mail can be addressed to the store, and will be in with mine. I'll sort it." She handed Preston the key with which she'd opened the apartment door, telling him she'd air it out if he liked, and that there was a side entrance separate from the store at the foot of the stairs, connecting with an alley-way and gate leading to the sidewalk. "The key works the gate, too. You're free to come and go as you wish; I'm not a nosy woman."
"Good," he grinned, and she thought she caught a glimmer of risqueness in his eyes. "I was afraid that you'd mind if I had, ah... visitors now and then."
Visitors... Polite euphemism for girls in his room. Mrs. Franklin found her throat suddenly constricting and a weird, loud pounding of breath in her chest. Girls, to make love with... Her head whirled, but not with shock. That was the galling part -- she was a good woman in her own mind, a respectable grass-roots widow with a child to raise, who had successfully placed sex in the back of her mind since her husband's death, and she should be shocked. But she wasn't. Stoically she had spent six years with only the memories of Howie's wonderful love-making and his delightful ways of causing her utmost joy, and though she'd been on dates now and then, there'd never been a man among the fishermen and other acquaintances she and her late Howie had known that had attracted her. Even then it wouldn't have meant sexual contact, for she would save herself for marriage, as she had the first time.
But as she looked up at the frank, open expression on David Preston's face, she felt no bitter and righteous indignation. She felt something in its place -- what? It was a shock, then, a heart-quickening, blood-pulsing shock to realize then what was causing the turmoil in her mind. She was saddened! She was standing there, having met a man for less than fifteen minutes, and she was dismayed to learn that he knew other women, that he was interested in making love to them instead of... instead of her!
Mrs. Marleen Franklin, a woman who had always prided herself in being honest with herself above all, of accepting her frailties but determined to overcome them and be a strong and resourceful person, of taking on life's responsibilities and working without rancor for a better day, a happier life, felt her body quiver inside, though its fleshy shell of skin remained motionless, if slightly blushing. She was actually jealous of the other women in her new boarder, David Preston's, life, and that was a bruise to her disciplined morality.
No, she couldn't turn him out, not for being a man. And what a man he was, she had to admit, a secret tingling of excitement spreading through her loins. He stood in a lord-like, animalistic splendor, not arrogance or cruel maliciousness -- only with the innate healthiness of an earthy, hedonistically-oriented male. He took his women, a modern-day Ghengis-Khan or Viking; from his flaxen, wavy hair down to his strong, muscular legs, he was the conqueror. No, she couldn't turn him out or deny him his physical pleasure any more than the maidens of Rome could do anything but melt to the ravishments of the Visgoth barbarians. She couldn't, because the pure and basic magnetism between a man -- a true man -- and a healthy woman wouldn't allow it. She felt this without knowing it, without admitting it.
Her mind, a product of puritanical society, was no match for her body, the evolution of hundreds of thousands of years of instinct. Adam and Eve didn't worry about proprieties, only about the heat and needs of one another, and their mingling seeds had been refined and sophisticated, but were still the foundation for both Marleen and David.
Dizzily, she heard herself reply in a way which an hour ago she would have labeled as impossible. From a mouth which seemed not her own, came the echoing words: "I'm an adult, David, and once was happily married. Have your visitors as often as you like, but all I ask is that you be discreet. Not for my sake as much as for my daughter's."
"I understand," Preston said huskily.
Marleen returned to managing the shop after David Preston left. She took care of the customers in a peripheral, dazed way, her mind still charged with the emotion of meeting a man who attracted her tremendously, who had awakened her drives and needs and made her aware that she was a woman. It was a tremendous jolt to her nervous system, and though she had no intention of throwing herself at him, or even of being other than the distant, courteous, and civil neighbor and landlady that she had always been with her tenants, she still couldn't get the piquancy of his masculinity out of her nostrils or the tight band of jealousy from around her chest.
She ached, and her firm inner thighs and pubic mound swelled with heated blood... the blood of unwanted, subconscious arousal. It scared her, and she solidly resolved not to let David Preston know how he'd affected her, or let herself go beyond this stage of, she thought, mild interest.
Night had settled on Reedsport. From the set of three small-paned windows overlooking the street, David Preston stared out at the building across from the sporting goods shop and his apartment. Not that there was anything especially to see -- the building was an old grey stucco apartment house, and the few windows that were lighted were covered with curtains and shades. The street was empty below, and only faintly could he hear the crumbling surf from the ocean behind him and the occasional bark of King in the yard.
His eyes weren't particularly focused on the non-existent events anyway; his thoughts were turned inward, and he was mulling over and over the fantastic luck at finding this apartment, and the desirability of his new landlady. Not to mention her daughter! Sweet, virginal pussy -- it was enough to make his balls explode, just thinking about it! He'd fuck them both, given the opportunity, and as he stood there in contemplation, he decided to let fate have a few nudges so that the opportunities might present themselves.
"Davy-boy," a high yet throaty voice said to him. "You want a beer?"
He didn't turn. "Mm."
"Well, do you?"
He turned then, and smiled. "Sure, Gloria. Sure, I'd love one."
"Me too. Boy, is it hot, especially after all this moving."
Preston watched her as she walked to the kitchen and opened the small refrigerator, comparing her body from behind mentally with Marleen Franklin's. Gloria Talbot came out damned good, but second place. Not because of her body, which was actually lusher than the Franklin woman's well-proportioned form, or her walk -- it was the other things, he decided. The things which make a relationship lasting and never boring; but from the sexual aspect, Gloria had been one of the finest swingers he'd ever picked up.
She was bending over, picking out the two cans of beer, her perfectly proportioned buttocks tight in a pair of shorts shorter than the ones young Wendy Franklin had been wearing. She wore a white velour blouse and a half-bra which thrust her magnificent, globular breasts out, their upper portions clearly visible as being bare almost to her pink nipples. Seductive, that way. Her legs were the kind he never tired of running his hands along, and her back was smooth and creamy, and he could span her waist with both of his hands, flaring into thighs and hips that were invitingly succulent in their shape.
Then she straightened languidly, a beautiful feline cat, and opened the snap-tabs over the sink to catch the foam. She swiveled around, thrusting her hip out slightly, and extended her hand, which held one of the beers.
"Not there," he replied, feeling the stirrings of sexual arousal in his gut. Damn, she could always do this to him, always, even in opening a God-forsaken can of beer. She was a walking sex machine, he thought lustily. Absolutely without scruples or restraints, and her eyes sparkled as she undulated seductively toward him, her expression of promised salaciousness, and he knew that she was primed and ready for him to make love to her. No, not to make love to; to fuck.
And that was the main difference between Gloria Talbot and Marleen Franklin, and what made Gloria runner-up in his private contest. Preston demanded a challenge, a game in which he could pit his experience and cunning against a woman's pride and virtue. He loved the searching for clues and vulnerabilities and making the adjustments, the inexorable moving into intimate channels, retreating and advancing with skill and daring, chancing his abilities against hers. Marleen Franklin had that air of steadiness and sincerity about her which promised such action and made him want to give chase. The tension of the chase excited him, answering a need to master the female sex. He'd been a scrawny little bastard in school, a thyroid condition preventing him from developing when his friends had, and the girls had totally ignored him; when he had found a few years later that girls were attracted to him, once he had grown, he'd been afflicted by the subconscious drive to compete, to continually prove to himself that he was a man.
Gloria Talbot had been sitting in a bar, hungry for a man, when he'd met her up in Portland, Oregon, hungry but not starving. The bar had been smoke-fogged and Preston had been whisky-dulled, yet there had never been a question in his mind as to whether she would or wouldn't; only the one as to how good she'd be, and a single look at her had assured him that she'd be active and tasty. He'd known she'd put out -- it was in her eyes, the loose, cock-sucker quality of her smile, the way she would move her long, too-yellow hair back over her ears with a movement of her arm and head that made her breasts jiggle slightly. That had been four months ago, and she'd been with him ever since, an awful lot of woman for a guy that was practically broke and living the ramshackle life. She was the best thing that had come along, up to now, up to when he'd met the Franklins, mother and daughter...
"Here, Davy-boy," she purred. "Let's take them in the bedroom."
"In a minute."
He laughed and put his arms around her, against the soft muscles of her back, and sliding his hands down, he cupped one full, hardening breast. "Aren't you tired after carrying all my things up here?"
"Yes, but not that tired."
"When are you moving in with your brother and sister-in-law?" That was one of the reasons he'd ended up in Reedsport. He was a diver by profession, but he didn't know anybody at the dredging company, the latter a white lie to allay any fears about him drifting that Marleen Franklin might have had. But Gloria knew some people, including her brother, and Reedsport was an excellent town in which to find a job, so when she had said she was heading south, Preston had decided to go along. Nothing to lose -- he'd just been blackballed from the union in Portland.
"Tomorrow," she replied. "But let's think about tonight."
He laughed again and let his hands rove further down, around her slender waist and onto the roundness of her quivering buttocks. The shorts were so tight that he could tell that she wasn't wearing any panties underneath -- there wasn't the tell-tale ridge of elastic.
"Don't you ever wear panties?"
"I can't afford to lose any more of them, and you keep ripping them off of me," she said and pouted in mock anger. "I'm down to Saturday, Sunday, and Monday." She was talking about the set of French Day-of-the-Week panties that he'd bought for her as a present some time ago. "Thursday was torn beyond repair."
"Sorry about that," he chuckled and kissed her. Her lips were parted and wet, and she did some wild motions with her tongue, making him suddenly feverish with desire, and she ground her pelvis into his loins, her pubic mound pushing circularly against his penis, which grew hard with impending lust. He began to breathe harshly, and then with the coyness of her teasing ways, she broke his clasp and stood back, letting her wet pink tongue slowly moisten her soft, full lips. Provocatively, Gloria unbuttoned her blouse and let him gaze lewdly at her burgeoning globes which trembled in their barely sufficient halter. She let her blouse hang open, and then she unbuttoned his shirt and she pressed her warm breasts against his naked chest, writhing a little as she kissed him ardently. He'd seen and possessed her body innumerable times, and they both knew what positions they liked, what foreplay they liked, what would turn each of them on and off, but Gloria was practiced and charming and could somehow make each time seem the first time. It was incredible and uncanny to him how she could do it, and a hell of good substitute for the desire to conquer which ran so strongly through him. And he could do anything to her he wanted in bed, and she loved it; she loved cock. She wouldn't do one trick he'd ever asked her, but then few women would. Which was too bad, because the ones who did loved it.
Yes, it was too bad that Gloria wasn't a virginal, naturally reluctant woman -- but then, once a woman had let her passion overcome her inclinations, she never was. And it was too bad that Gloria didn't like King. As David Preston had told her: love me, love my dog...
But at that moment, fired with the building heat of his loins, his penis and testicles swollen and painful with arousal that wanted to burst the confines of his clothes and spew orgasmically into the hungry, wet tunnel of Gloria's hotly sticking vagina, he didn't care about her drawbacks. He reached for the button and zipper on her shorts, but she stopped him.
"The bedroom, Davy-boy. Let's try out your new mattress, hmmm? Let's throw our own, private little housewarming party. Just you and me and that lovely big cock of yours..."
They entered the bedroom and Preston took his shirt and threw it on the room's single chair and Gloria slid her blouse off, using her palms, and rotating her loins salaciously as she inched the tight shorts down along her long, curvaceous legs until they lay puddled at her now shoe-less feet. Her eyes were heavily lidded and smoky, and she watched his face intensely as she undressed, reaching behind her and unhooking her bra, pulling the sheer, white cups away from her firm breasts slowly, making sure that the aroused, berry-sized nipples were the last to meet his hot, flickering gaze. She dropped the bra on her shorts and then raised her hands to mold her full, rich mounds, kneading them the way he would be doing soon.
"You're slow, Davy-boy," she whispered. "Take off your pants and let me see that hard cock of yours."
"Christ, you fucking whore!" Preston exploded with an evil grin. Gloria reveled in his lustful words and leering, hot eyes for a long moment, and then she stepped over to the bed and pulled the coverlet down to lie on the blankets and spread her legs wide in a wanton, provoking position, exposing to his eyes the total expanse of her wet cuntal slit. She rotated her hips lasciviously, arching them up and down in a measured, intoxicating way. Preston threw his pants across the room and stood over the bed with his great, trembling penis standing from his groin in full erection, the unseeing eyes of its glans oozing thin clear droplets of lubrication. And Gloria stared at his rod-hard cock, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue as if tasting the seeping fluid already, as if it was deliciously swirling around in the warm, sucking cavern of her mouth.
"Come on," she urged heatedly, "lie down beside me, Davy-boy and see what happens next."
"I'm going to take that big cock of yours and suck it dry, suck every drop of hot cum right out of it."
Shit! Preston thought, she can really turn me on. His prick throbbed as he sat down beside her, and she snaked out her hand and encircled his cock, beginning to stroke it up and down and massage its turgid length, rubbing the shaft and cradling her hand underneath his testicles slightly, caressing them softly, like precious jewels in her palm. He groaned with the pleasure of her touch, and lay down, stretching out lengthwise alongside her palpitating, hot flesh, letting her manipulate his cock with expertise until he thought it would shoot off all by itself, without ever letting her suck it.
She rose up in a kneeling position, her tongue still flicking along her lips, her eyes resting feverishly on his loins, and then she began to trail soft, moist kisses across the girth of his large, well-muscled belly, making him groan uncontrollably again and raise his hips upwards from the stimulations she was sending through his body. Her fingernails scratched lightly over his cock now and then they reached downwards, probing briefly at the puckered ring of his anus, retracing their path back to his straining, quivering penis.
"Goddamn it, Gloria, suck it! Suck it before it goes off by itself!" He thrust upwards, his head lifted so that he could look down at her lust contorted features as her beautiful face was poised over his blunt cock-head, and he could feel his semen boiling in his testicles, and knew it wouldn't be long before it would come spewing out of his shaft like a flow of molten lava. "Hurry, hurry!" he begged. "Suck it, baby, suck it!"
In obeisance, the woman plunged her head downwards, and Preston felt the incredible, hot moist softness of her lips close over the sensitive flesh of his cock, felt her firebrand tongue lick circles of liquid flame around and around it, flicking into the glans opening and swallowing the beginning drops of his seminal fluid. He entangled his grasping hands in her blonde hair tightly, and guided her as he jerked upwards, and he drove the entire length of his massive penis deep into the warm, butter-smooth folds of her mouth, feeling his cockhead graze against the back of her throat.
"Mmmmmmm!" she mewled around his hardened rod of flesh.
"Ahhhhhh!" he cried out in lust-crazed agreement. "That's it, baby! Stroke a little, too! That's it! That's it! Run your fingers along my balls... easy, damnit! Ahhhhh!"
And through the paper-thin walls, in the bedroom next door, Mrs. Marleen Franklin sat up in her bed, listening. She was recoiled in abject revulsion, her breath catching in her throat, for she couldn't believe what she had been hearing. Dear God, this new tenant, this David Preston, was forcing a woman to perform the debasing act of... of... she couldn't bring herself to mentally say the word! It was a perversion, an act which only filthy old men and whores engaged in! What kind of man had she allowed to rent the apartment!
She sunk back on the covers, a disappointed and thoroughly confused woman...
Wendy Franklin was very close to her mother. With her father dead for many years, the two of them could have split apart, as so often and tragically happens, but her mother had always been fair and understanding, directing without being domineering, and above all, loving.
And Wendy loved her mother deeply in return. Her mother might be old and no longer interested in men, for example, but she had once been young and knew what it was like to be Wendy's age. She allowed her to go out on dates and lots of other things without a bunch of silly regulations some of the other mothers placed on their kids -- like being home from a school prom at midnight, and not allowing the girls to go on anything but double dates. Her mother had always insisted that the mark of maturity was trust, and so she made sure that her daughter was instilled with the proper ethics and morals and then trusted her to do the right thing. She never tried to cling to her growing child, nor constantly think in terms of her as her "baby", and was more than pleased when Wendy was interested in the ways and morals of sex and reproduction, of explaining the mysteries of monthly cycles when Wendy had first begun to menstruate when she was eleven, went out of her way to buy training bras and then larger ones as Wendy developed.
There was no false prudery between them; they'd seen each other naked, and had once even taken a shower together, but again, her mother was a modest woman, and taught Wendy the healthy outlook to like her body and hold it ready in pride for a man she loved to take. And in the course of dating and going steady, Wendy had been aroused to seething, panting excitement by a boy's touches and kisses, been driven to almost the point of total abandonment by her sexual instincts, which were alive and always seemed just below her surface. But that was the difference: almost. Her mother's love and trust and honor had always stuck somehow, and Wendy Franklin was still a virgin, unlike most of her class-mates, vowing to save her cherished gift of sex for the right man -- the man she would love and who would love her enough in return to slip a gold ring on her finger first. Sometimes, after a long drive-in movie or heavy petting up in the woods in a car, it took everything she held dear for her to stop, to fight off her urges and the boy and will herself back to calmness so that she could control her passions.
So she loved her mother, respected her and stayed chaste because of her, and while she complained and fought now and then as any two people will do when together, she understood and appreciated the strain and burden that raising a daughter single-handedly can bring. Like that afternoon, for example, when that adorable man came to rent the apartment. She bitched and moaned about having to dress and watch the shop, and her mother snapped back at her, but it meant nothing. It was just part of their way, and let the steam out, for when the big problems arose, they were always together, always communicating. No generation gap between them!
Wendy thought of this as she stood in the livingroom of Clyde Brooks' home, looking at Clyde and then at herself, both of them chilled and drenched to the skin and tipsy from drinking too much. What would her mother say if she saw her daughter like this! What was she going to say, because of course Wendy was going to relate this silly situation to her first thing tomorrow.
Clyde looked like a drowned rat, and a very unhappy and mournful one at that, she thought, choking down a giggle. It wouldn't do to laugh at him, she knew; Clyde was a very proud boy, and was her latest beau, and a swell catch. After all, she was only a junior -- or would be that September when school started again, and Clyde had graduated last June. He was going to college in Los Angeles, so their two-month romance would be cooled to nothing in another two months when he left -- but in the meantime, he was the mayor's son, lived right on the best part of the shore, up by the point, and had spent lots of time and money on her. She was the envy of her friends and she was always thrilled when he took her out in his little red sports car, and to make it even better, Clyde was a groovy, foxy-looking guy who was very popular and "in". He was tall and muscular, with brown hair cut long and pale-grey eyes stink deep in prominent cheekbones. His nose had a crazy little bend to it after it had been broken in a football game -- he'd been the high school's fullback, and known as "Battlin' Brooks" -- and a crooked smile which was both captivating and somehow guileless.
And at the moment, he, like Wendy, was making a dark wet pool of sea-water on the expensive carpet in his father's home. He was chagrined and red in the face, angry at himself and very, very tender to any comments. She'd soon found that out about him, his egotistical tenderness, and curbed her often biting and sarcastic tongue when she was with him, and after the events that had happened already tonight, she didn't want anything to go wrong. But, still, it was funny, and how differently the evening had begun a few short hours before...
After her mother had come downstairs and told her that the man -- what was his name? David Prescott? No, Preston -- had rented the apartment next door, she returned to sunning herself, stripping off her blouse and lying on the porch on a grass mat, letting her breasts soak up the tanning rays of the hot late June sun. It was titillating to think what the girls in the shower room would say when she returned in the fall with a golden glow all over, with only her dark brown nipples accent points on her otherwise evenly tanned young body. They'd eat their hearts out, just like they did because she was dating Clyde, and she'd never let on that she'd gotten the tan innocently, either, and not on the deck of Old Man Brooks' mansion, or out in the water with Clyde.
And then she showered, still tingling from the excitement of the simulated wickedness which lying out there nearly nude had given her, and went into her little bedroom to dress. Her room was hardly big enough for her bed and wardrobe, but unlike the single bedroom apartment her mother rented, she at least had her privacy this way, and she never considered complaining about the inadequacies. She wasn't that kind of girl, and was simply happy that her mother was able to make the sporting goods shop make money. Her mother had never said so, but Wendy had the feeling that she was scrimping and saving to send her to college, though Wendy was having serious doubts that she wanted to go. Secretarial school, perhaps, or something like that, but college never really interested her much, and she had been thinking about asking her mother if she could maybe work in the shop after she graduated and continue her real interest: sports. Both her parents had been athletic and her father had been a tremendous fisherman -- not commercially, but only for pleasure -- and it had only been a fluke that she hadn't gone along on the salmon trawler with him that fateful day he'd drowned. Mother, with the store to run and everything else, had not been able since then to do much though she liked to fish and hunt as much as Wendy's father had, and Wendy, weaned on books and fly-casting and shotgun powder, wanted to be able to be around that kind of life, and perhaps, she thought while she dressed that afternoon, she could work with her mother in such a way as to allow them enough free time to do the things they liked...
Wendy Franklin, not exactly alike physically with her mother, had the same interests, the same concerns, the same filial bonds; she considered her loving and devoted attitude only natural, and never gave it a second thought. But it was stronger than she suspected, than either of them suspected...
She put on a nude-look, flesh-colored bra and panties, the panties snug tight and shockingly sheer around her buttocks and the soft mound of her young, virginal pussy. She looked in the mirror and saw the panties crease in the crevice between her cunt lips, accentuate them with an indecent line which ran between the elastic band down to her vaginal area and slipped between her firm, naked thighs. A moment of tiny misgivings crossed her mind, her body somehow more blatantly sexual than pure nudity, and then she quickly put on her thin, frilly rayon blouse and darker green mini-skirt. Her bra showed through the blouse and the hem of her skirt was high enough so that when she wasn't careful, her barely clad buttocks and upper thighs were visible, and though she was dressed, she still gave off the aura of being without anything. A good, summer outfit, she thought; good for keeping a boy like Clyde Brooks interested in her.
Interested -- but not successful in his desire to make love to her. She'd handle him if he got too passionate, just as she always had, she thought as she waited for him to pick her up. He'd be here at seven, as he had every night, and they'd go to a movie or ride around or dance or whatever, and eventually they'd start necking. She liked necking with him, and had even gone so far as to let him play with her titties; she sat in the livingroom and blushed at the remembrance of that incident. The Sunday before she'd been out in his father's cruiser, sunbathing with Clyde beside her, and they'd began kissing, kissing until she'd felt the hardened bulge in his swim trunks against her thighs. She remembered his strong but gentle hands on her bikini top, and how after a while she'd made no attempt to stop him from undoing the straps, and the tender tingling sensations of his fingers as he'd traced over her hot, naked flesh and then kissed her exposed, hardening nipples. A dryness crept in her throat at the recollection, and how close she'd come to not stopping his hand as it had continued to wander, tauting her flat, pulsating stomach madly, down to the thin wisp of her bikini bottom, attempting to pull them off. She'd made the big effort then, and they'd argued; he'd threatened, cajoled, and at last, had pleaded, but in the end, he'd gotten up disgustedly and walked around the deck, smoking a cigarette.
She'd had only the uncomfortable wetness between her legs to remind her of how close to the edge she'd strayed, and as she sat and waited for him to come this evening, she'd made a resolution to never let it happen again.
So far, this evening wasn't presenting any threat to her virginity. His parents were out, so they came to the house, raiding the pantry for dinner, which she cooked, and the liquor cabinet for some wine. A couple of bottles later, she wanted fresh air and he wanted to go out in the cruiser, and they walked down to the dock and boat-house, where he carefully and with studied slowness removed the tarp and started the inboard engine. Then he climbed on the boathouse dock, took her hand in an exaggerated courtly bow, and lost his footing, falling in the water beside the boat, taking her with him. Now they were back in the house, sopping messes, and she felt like laughing. It was so stupid of him, and yet so human, and it made her like Clyde all the more.
"I'm drenched," she heard herself say thickly, still giddy from wine.
"Lord, I can't let you go home like that, Wendy. Your mother would kill me. I mean, we've drunk too much and show it, too."
"No, she'd understand."
"Maybe, but I don't want to take the chance. Anyway, the night's still young, and once you dry off, we can go do something else."
"I can't stay in these things," she noted, holding up a part of her sopping skirt in emphasis. "I'll catch my death of cold. I'll have to go home first."
"No, you don't. You can use the guest room and take all your things off. There's a bathrobe in there and towels in the john, and I'll go upstairs and change myself. A couple of minutes in front of the heater and everything will be toasted dry. Hell, that stuff you're wearing is drip-dry, isn't it?"
Wendy cocked an eyebrow. "No funny business?"
"Hell, I can't promise that," he said impishly. "Not with the cutest girl in Reedsport running half-naked around my father's house. What kind of red-blooded American boy do you think I am?"
"Well, in that case..."
"But," he continued, "you'll have more on with that bathrobe and what-all than when you're in your bathing suit. And I'll be changed."
"I recall what happened to me when I was in my bikini," she said wryly, then put her hands on her hips jauntily and eyed him, her head tilted to one side. "Still, I handled you then... I guess I can handle you again."
It was all in fun, this teasing, and helped soothe his wounded pride, and she knew that it would be a mistake to demand that he take her home. Besides, it gave her a certain sensation of excitement at the thought of being near-nude around him in a bathrobe, a little bit of prurient mischievousness that appealed to her sporting nature. She let her boy-friend lead her to the guest room and show her where everything was, and then he shut the door. In the bathroom, she undressed quickly, stripping the cold wet garments from her skin and grabbing a towel to rub herself. She caught her reflection in the mirror on the back of the door and paused to study the naked image she made, her creamy-smooth skin now a reddish hue from her rubbing. She sat on the edge of the tub and dried her feet, and the soft, silky hair curling in the triangle of her young, innocent vagina caught her eye. The wine was still in her blood, had made her just reckless enough to agree to this absurdity of removing her clothes, and she suddenly felt very hot. God, she was going to have coffee from now on tonight, because she was going to have to keep her head...
Suddenly she bolted upright and held the towel in front of her, for the bathroom door had opened and Clyde stood in the entrance wearing only a tight pair of underpants.
"Clyde! You promised!"
He came toward her, shaking his head. "No, I didn't," he grinned maliciously, and she saw the heavy sag in the front of his shorts and the big protuberance pointing in her direction through the stretched cloth. Before she could protest further, he was tugging the towel away from her and gathering her into his arms, her naked flesh pressing tightly against him as he kissed her with fury, flattening and spreading her lips open until she uncontrollably splurged her tongue into his mouth. A frightened hollowness came alive in the pit of her stomach, and she felt herself being transported out and across to the large double bed of the guest room, where he laid her gently on the coverlet.
His hands commenced to explore her defenseless body as they had the previous Sunday, only this time there was no hindering piece of cloth to stop them from reaching her tingling pussy. They caressed her swelling breasts, and she felt the nipples distend, and then he sucked one into his searching mouth, causing her to whine feebly.
"No... No, Clyde," she begged, sensing the danger.
But it was as if she'd never spoken, his hands prowling with insane intensity over her ribs and belly, brushing the velvety pubic hair until she prickled between her legs and tried to squirm away. Still his fingers followed, splaying the tender lips of her virginal young cunt and he did his mouth upon her own, and she groaned against him, unable to contain herself as she writhed on his touch and embrace.
"Clyde... Oh God, Clyde, we mustn't!" she panted into his face. "You know we mustn't!"
He slipped out of his shorts and she heard him breathe harshly at his own nakedness, and felt the huge, hot throbbing of his exposed penis press into the smooth flesh of her hip. His fingers continued their assault on her tingling vaginal passage, burrowing deeper and deeper, and she jerked and tossed, a soul-searing moan escaping from her chest as she arched her young body and rolled her head from side to side and ground her sweat-beaded, trembling white thighs down into the mattress in a vain attempt to escape his worming finger down between her legs.
"No, no, no," she chanted, gnashing her teeth as the word ricocheted around the walls of her mind, knowing she must stop him but not knowing how. His penis slid down over her trembling belly, closer to the softly fuzzed furrow where his hand was spreading the thin, slightly throbbing lips wider and wider, but when she clamped her thighs together in protest, she sucked in a gasp of hot air for his fingers, trapped in the hair-covered lips of her vagina, were suddenly all the more tantalizing. He flicked the tip of her erect clitoris, teasing it and sending insane spasms through her whole body, and she found to her anguish and dismay that no longer would her flesh obey her mind; her cunt splayed open, her legs widening on their own, and he thrust his fingers deep into the pink, moist, demanding hole of her smooth, throbbing passage.
"Ohhhh," a long groan gurgled from deep in her throat, and she heard herself moaning: "You've got to stop, Clyde... You can't... No, no..." And to her amazement and confused horror, he took her unresisting hand and placed it on the fleshy shaft of his cock and when he moved his hand back to her pulsating vagina, she let her fingers remain there, on his penis! She'd never seen a naked, aroused man before tonight, much less felt one's cock!
God, it was enormous! She'd never been aware of their size before, only having seen small boys' penises when she'd baby-sat and had to change their diapers. It would kill her if she allowed him to put it inside her, it would split her tiny, unstretched pussy right up the middle! But the feel of it pulsing with heated passion in her hand was a delight to her, and instinctively, she began to stroke and massage it, rubbing the firm skin back and forth, and with the boldness of her actions blending with curiosity, she couldn't keep herself from moving her other hand and feeling his testicles, their hairiness and silky texture, and with loving abandon she held them in her palm. Clyde was grunting, his mouth firmly on hers, and she felt a wetness between her thighs where his cock-head was throbbing against her, and she wondered if he'd cum. No... his penis was still hard as concrete; it must be the lubricant that men produce...
"Wendy... Wendy, I've got to have you!" he gasped frantically.
"No, God, no..." she moaned, the shock of his plans sending lewd excitement through her, and her pussy quivered with her physical desire for him. She wanted him... she wanted that huge penis she was holding to bury itself deep, deep up in her trembling belly. God, how she wanted him!
"Wendy... Wendy, I can't wait any longer..."
He rolled on top of her and tried to lever his swollen cock between her thighs, down where his fingers were still massaging her inflamed, pink flesh. She kissed him hard as he continued thrusting down through the upper portion of her wet, hair-lined slit, fighting madly to reach the mouth of her smooth, virginal passage, his every stroke sending wild sensations through her as his cock-head rubbed the erect bud of her clitoris.
Then, once again, something snapped inside her brain, making her revolt from the act she was about to commit. His long, hard penis bearing down in determined concentration against the softness of her tender thighs and pulsating, but still intact cunt sent warning signals charging to her mind, its physical touch awakening her and breaking through the haze of wine-induced abandonment. The nearly forgotten vestiges of her principles, the morality her mother had taught her to hold sacred, came rushing back to her with tidal wave force, even as her young pussy angled upwards in its own betrayal to her prurient desires.
"No! No, Clyde, stop! I won't let you!"
"Damn you! You can't! You can't! I'm ready to cum! Don't chicken out, baby... you'll love it! Ohhhh!"
She pleaded, but he didn't seem to hear or care, and she reached down between them and took his hardened cock in her hands and squeezed it only seconds before he would have entered her with his thrusting, pummeling shaft.
"Ahhhh! You bitch! You teasing little bitch!" he groaned at her. "I'm cumming! God damn it, I'm cumming!"
As she grasped the thick, ramming penis and he continued to pump wildly, and cry out harshly, she felt his cock expand and contract in her clutching hands, and the helpless gasps of passion poured out of him. Hot sticky fluid spurted and soaked her white thighs and matted her soft curly pubic hair, running down the open crevice of soft pink flesh he had almost succeeded in conquering, pooling on the bedspread between her open buttocks. He collapsed on top of her, sobbing and spasming, and she warmly caressed his cock, letting the last of his cum drain out of her vaginal slit in a wanton display of perversion.
Slowly he sat up, not looking at her. He eased over to the side of the bed and let his feet touch the floor, and then he rose and took his underpants from the carpet and wiped himself. He threw the damp, soaked pants at her, and sneered: "You bitch. What a miserable thing to do to a guy. You're nothing but a prick-teaser."
Wendy, ashamed and humiliated beyond endurance, felt the sting of his castigation and tears welled in her eyes. "Clyde..."
"Shut up. Just shut up, will you? Clean yourself up and I'll take you home." His words were spit out as if he was talking to a street whore of the lowest kind. "I don't know what ever made me want to waste my time with a little baby like you."
He pivoted on his heel and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him, his loathing and disgust a thick, heavy entity in the room long after he'd left. Wendy sat in utter mortification and desolation for a long moment, her heart and soul tormented to their extremes. She took the sodden underpants he'd thrown at her and wiped her nakedness, opening her legs to clean the sticky, white seed from her vagina and burning loins, the pain in her unsatisfied and still seething tender pussy almost as much a sore reminder of what she had almost lost -- and what she had lost in the way of a boy-friend by her refusal -- as the persistent ache in her mind.
Slowly and disheartedly, Wendy rose from the bed and went into the bathroom to retrieve her clothes. Her mind whirled with doubts and self-abasement, a torturing melange of hating herself for almost succumbing, for allowing herself to get so carried away, for not letting Clyde fuck her and thereby keep him... God, what should she have done? What was the right way, the best way? The noble words of her mother's philosophy sounded extremely hollow in her ears at that moment, the victory for her virginity a Phyrric one at best...
She'd talk to her mother when she got home. Mother would know what was the best thing for her to have done... and do...
Marleen Franklin closed the shop at seven o'clock, five minutes after Wendy's current boyfriend, Clyde Brooks, picked her daughter up in his sports car. She thought of Wendy as she walked up to the dark and empty apartment after she'd done the ledgers for the day, thought of how much a boon and companion she'd been as well as a child of which to be proud. She wasn't worried about Wendy being with boys; the doctor had assured her that Wendy was still a virgin as of the last checkup, and she was a good girl by nature. Marleen was well aware of the traps and snares young people could fall into in this day and age, and she was doing her best to keep Wendy from falling into any of them. She'd thought she'd fairly well succeeded, and looked forward to the day when Wendy would be an equal, an adult and mature, and no longer her little child.
Not that Wendy was a child any longer; one look at her in the shower and soaping her full-shaped breasts or now matured vaginal area told her that. And Marleen had looked, and looked whenever Wendy was displaying herself, because she was proud of having produced such a fine girl-woman and drawn with loving tenderness to her daughter. And yet... there were times when she'd watched Wendy's snub-nosed, freckle-faced innocence combined with the lush provocativeness of upright, taut breasts and flat belly and gently sloping thighs where her triangle of soft pubic fleece lay between so prominently, and Marleen had been worried that perhaps Wendy was emerging into maturity a little too fast. But then she'd laugh away her silly fears, for the world was simply spinning faster these days, and hadn't she gotten married at nineteen?
Upstairs, she puttered around the kitchen, a bit sad and feeling lonely with Wendy out. The new tenant was constantly on her mind, and as hard as she tried to dismiss their new boarder, Dave Preston, from her thoughts, the more he seemed to come back to haunt her. He'd been in and out of the apartment all of that day, with his flaxen-haired girlfriend, Gloria something-or-other. She looked like a whore, smelled of cheap rose water, and chewed gum; Marleen had not thought much of her, although she had to admit that the woman had a fine and sensual body and knew how to move it. She didn't walk -- she strutted! Not that it was any of her business what Preston did or didn't do with that woman, she chastised herself...
She undressed for bed early, deciding to go to lie down and watch some TV from the portable set in the bedroom and just plain relax. It had been a harrowing day what with one thing and another, and she was awfully tired...
She stood naked after stripping her clothes off and hanging them up, examining herself critically in the light of the bedroom before switching on the TV. She took the pins out of her hair and let the long silky strands fall; they covered her breasts partially, with only the dark aureoles and nipples peeking through, and the bottom crest of translucent flesh mounded below the hairline. She let her eyes move across her still flat plane of stomach, past the few stretch marks left over from Wendy's birth, down to the softly curling pubic hair which covered her pinkly hidden vaginal lips. Then she stretched, throwing her hair over her shoulder, and looked at her smooth satiny buttocks, the rippled muscles in the back of her slim, tapered thighs, and shapely, slim legs.
I have a good body, she thought. I really do. Some day, for some man, it would please with the same intensity and passion with which it had pleased Howie, her late husband. Until then, all she could do was hold it in reserve. She hadn't been bothered by the possible aging of her charms until today, strangely to say -- oh, she'd noticed her reflection in the mirror and looked at herself as she was now, but today she'd made the startling discovery that the original fires Howie had kindled in her many long years ago weren't cold embers but banked coals, threatening to burst into flame from the nearness of an attractive, magnetic male beast.
Marleen lay down on the cool sheets on the bed and stretched out with a low, grateful sigh. That's what had been the matter with her today: she'd found to her surprise, and yes, to her fear as well, that she was still sexually responsive and yearning for love and the chance to love in return. She tossed fretfully, naked and uncovered on the bed, the stifling summer heat less oppressive to her than her own inner fires, and kept asking herself the two most important questions of her life: when a woman is widowed early in her married life, how much does she owe her child? And: can romance live in life at thirty-six and after?
Damn that David Preston for coming here today! she cursed. Damn, damn, damn! He was the one who'd made her so horridly aware of the gifts she had to offer, and the unrequited pangs of not having a man to whom to give them totally and forever, who would appreciate the extent of those gifts...
"Mmmmmmmm!" Then: "Ahhhhhhh!" in a voice which obviously belonged to Preston. Marleen lay rigid on the bed, holding her breath, realizing with blushing embarrassment that she was unwontedly overhearing her new tenant and that blonde girl "visitor" making love in his bedroom...
"... Run your fingers along my balls..."
"... Suck, baby, suck my cock!"
She couldn't continue listening! That woman, that Gloria was taking her boarder's throbbing penis in her mouth! How utterly perverse... But Marleen was only able to lie motionless, caught in a strange series of involuntary sensations as she listened against her will and judgment to the salacious conversation muted by the thin wall separating the two bedrooms.
"Ahhhhh, baby... oh, the inside of your mouth is like melted honey. Oh Jesus, that's nice..."
I've got to get out of here! the distraught widow cried out to herself. But it was as though iron shackles were fettering her to the bed...
"You really love to suck cock, Gloria... Ohhh, ahhhh, mmm!"
Stop it! Stop it! Marleen screamed silently. But as she struggled mentally, she looked down the expanse of her smooth, taut body, and saw that physically she was reacting in a way entirely opposite to what her head was telling her. The nipples on her gently curved breasts were peaking out of their folds, becoming hard and raised, like cherries on top of whipping cream. A tender aching was beginning to tingle between her legs, and when in wonderment and disbelief she actually touched one of them, the contact of her fingers intensified the throbbing in her loins to where she could no longer ignore its presence or what it signified. Dear heaven above, she was becoming sexually stimulated by the lewd actions taking place next door! No, no, it couldn't be happening... but it was, and her entire being quivered on the bed.
"Gloria... suck harder milk my cock dry, you little hot bitch! Ahhhh!"
The inside of Marleen's mouth was dry and she ran her tongue moistly over her lips to dispel the arid, cottony taste, and though she tried to blank her mind, it seemed to lewdly insist on projecting the image of what must be taking place the few feet away. David was on the bed... yes, that was it, and Gloria was kneeling over him stripped naked, her long lemon-yellow hair fanning over his belly and abdomen, and she was taking his blood-swollen shaft in her mouth and sucking it, up and down, up and down...
A wave of shame caused her to flush a violent crimson. She'd never allowed Howie to kiss her between her thighs, or kiss him down there in return... and here she was, dreaming of the carnal, degenerate act and working herself up to an impossible frenzy. She was aroused, all right, and for the first time in six years at that, and there was no use trying to delude herself any differently. If Howie had been there, she'd have gladly opened her legs wide and accepted his penis up inside her, for she needed it... she needed release, and needed it desperately...
"That's wonderful... tickle my balls, baby. Ohhhh, I'm about ready to cum in your mouth, Gloria... ohhh, suck harder!"
Marleen continued to mold and knead her breast, slowly capitulating to her physical hunger, her anguished needs which were spreading like an insidious cancer through her flesh, and only the reassured knowledge that what she was doing would be a secret to everybody but herself helped tame the shame and horror of her manipulations. Her other hand was moving to her wide-splayed thighs, wet with the secretions of her excitement, and gently she fingered her soft, writhing skin, teasing her still softer pubic hair and inner vaginal lips as she was held in the overwhelming grip of her powerful passions. Her finger contacted the trembling erection of her throbbing little clitoris and she gasped then in total defeat, rolling helplessly on the sheets with the obscene delight of touching herself down there.
From next door, David Preston was yelling: "I'm going to cum, baby... ahhhh, suck it, suck it nowwwww!"
The fire burned more insatiably in her cunt, and demanded more to feed its lewd furnace of cravings. Marleen pictured the nakedly locked bodies next door and she inserted her finger deep into the passion moistened mouth of her pulsating vagina, drawing her knees up and her buttocks off the bed, high in the air as she arched with the maddening rhythm of her finger -- now two fingers -- screwing deeper and deeper up into herself. She could see in her mind's eye the naked woman's hotly ovalling lips and David Preston's humping, jerking motions as he thrust his hips up toward her slavering mouth, and Marleen finger-fucked herself faster and faster, nothing existing except the delirious coming of her impending climax with theirs...
"Get out of the car, and don't ever come around again," Clyde Brooks sneered. He gunned the small engine in his MG with impatience. "I want to go out and find a real woman now and take the bad taste out of my mouth."
"Stop your mewling, baby. Out."
Crying abjectly, the terrified and brow-beaten young girl flung herself out of the sports car and ran to the gate, having a difficult time unlocking it with her house key because of the tears streaming wetly from her swollen eyes.
Her mascara was running down her cheeks, staining her livid skin, so red and mottled from her anguish and tormented heart. She trembled as she unlocked the door to the apartment, pausing to take a deep breath and smooth out her still damp skirt and blouse. Her head was whirling confusedly with the enveloping whirlwinds of her thoughts and emotions, the effect of the traumatic evening, the wine, the nearness of being fucked for the first time filling her marrow and blood with quaking distress.
She had to talk to her mother -- Mother was her Rock of Gibraltar, her foundation for what she believed, her point of faith for her morals and actions... But Mother wasn't in the livingroom, even though the lights were on. She must be in the bedroom, the daughter concluded, seeing the light on in there and a strange, squeaking noise coming from within... She crossed hesitantly on the carpeting, her flats maki
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