Chapter 1
Jack eased the yellow Maverick to a stop on the lonely country road and turned off the lights. Then he scooted himself across the leather seat until his leg touched Marsha's mini-skirted thigh. It was warm even through the fabrics that buffered them, and he could feel his cock rising as he slipped one arm around her shoulders, letting the hand dangle close to her firm young tits, while he rested his other hand on her bare thigh. His fingers ached to explore her bouncy tits and sweet young pussy.
"This is sure a lot nicer than being cooped up in that theater with such a boring movie, isn't it, baby?" There was a hint of a leer in his voice, and Marsha shifted uncomfortably, politely removing his hand from her knee.
"It's an awfully desolate place, don't you think, Jack?" she protested. "And besides it's late and I should be getting home."
Jack ignored the mention of the lateness of the hour. He hadn't sat through a boring movie for nothing. Surely Marsha realized that. Besides he wanted to feel those soft titties again, like last time, and maybe even get a piece of her tight little ass finally. He had wooed her heavily, and it was about time she came across and let him fuck her.
"Come on, baby," he said, edging closer and returning the hand to her leg, although just a little bit higher this time, about midway on her thigh. He leaned closer, and began to nibble her earlobe.
"Jack, don't. You know I can't take that." What she meant was that his kissing and tonguing her ear sent her into fidgeting ecstasy and lessened her resistance to him.
Well, she guessed, there's no getting around it. I've let him pet me before, and now he expects it. I guess I can't really refuse him a little feeling around now. But I'll do the deciding on the territory he explores.
He had begun to massage her left tit with the hand he had draped around her, and the insistent rubbing of his other hand sent shock waves of pleasure up her leg. All three points of attack-ear, tit and thigh-brought tingles of pleasure that seemed to settle in the warm haven of her crotch.
"Marsha, you know I'm crazy about you."
She knew no such thing. He was crazy about her curvaceous sixteen-year-old body, but the real person underneath the glowing flesh was a different matter. Jack's hand had crept between her thighs and was tickling her cunt mound.
"No, Jack," she said, grabbing his hand, then pushing it completely off her leg with her hand, despite the desirable sensation it had brought to her. But there were certain things that a girl wasn't supposed to do. At least she thought that, she had been told that. Well, then, why did it feel so good?
"Keep your hands above the waist," she ordered, and pulled away from his greedy mouth at her ear.
Marsha glanced at Jack out of the corners of her eyes. She knew she really liked him, was in fact strongly attracted to him. It really wasn't unusual that she had allowed him to play with her titties. She had let other boys do that, ones she had gone out with a number of times, but with Jack the same simple action of petting was like walking a tightrope, a tightrope slick with the juices of desire.
Like my pussy's slick with them now, she thought, feeling the dampness gathering between her legs, beginning to soak her panties. God, he turns me on just doing the simplest things.
Jack, feeling in no way rebuffed by her actions, moved back into close quarters. His hands returned to her boobs; though he obeyed for the moment the edict to stay above the waist, he knew that sooner or later he would have to return to her dainty cunt mound; because that was the real prize he sought.
He placed his mouth to hers and kissed with fiery passion. He could feel the little moan of response gathering in the back of her throat, and he probed with his tongue at her teeth while his hands tweaked her nipples through the blouse. She opened her mouth to let the swelling moan escape from her throat, and he took the opportunity to quickly dart his tongue into the soft inner recesses of her mouth, licking the insides of her lips. She seemed to him a cauldron bubbling with emotion as her own tongue returned his passionate probing.
He fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, his fingers outrunning his passion. When the buttons resisted, he wanted to rip them free from the garment, but did not because he was afraid it would cool her passion. Besides, it would create a great deal of difficulty for her to explain how her blouse had gotten torn. After all, he wasn't trying to rape her, just entice her into giving him some of her hot snatch.
He calmed himself and worked her blouse open, and his horny fingers fairly swooped inside her blouse and onto the bra.
"Let me touch your titties, baby. Take it off." "Oh, Jack, why don't you let this be enough? We shouldn't go any farther."
He kissed her again, deeply, and felt her resolve melt a little beneath his fierce tongue.
"Come on, Marsha honey. We did it last time."
Her arms went around his neck and pulled him to her. He sucked at the soft neck, until he had raised a hickey on the white flesh. She licked the inside of his ear thoroughly while he brought the passion mark to life.
"But you won't want to stop there. And we mustn't go any farther."
"I'll stop, baby," he assured her, sounding so convincing. "You can trust me, 'cause you know I love you."
Love; Such a misused word. Did he really mean it? Or did a man who wanted to hump say anything to a woman? Marsha wasn't sure. What she was sure about was that she really wanted him to caress her tits. But she just didn't think it was right to go any farther-even if he did love her.
She gave in with a murmured "Okay", though it was a wary sigh of resignation more than a wholehearted affirmation of her willingness.
He pulled the blouse over her shoulders and worked it off her arms, pausing long enough to take the tip of one bra cup in his mouth and bite it gently, just enough to feel the nipple beneath his teeth. Then he kissed her shoulder, his hands working behind her back at the clasps. She could feel the eagerness both in his fingers and mouth.
Then it was loose and her jugs were free, the brown nipples fiercely hard. Jack discarded the now superfluous bra, and pressed his mouth to one erect nipple. He sucked on it like a greedy child, Marsha pressing him to it unashamedly, inundate by the roiling pleasure waves that rippled through her.
"Jack, darling, don't suck it off," she said trying to ease some of the pressure he was applying by taking more and more of the brown-tipped boob in his suctioning mouth.
He began to swirl his tongue around the diamond-hard tip, licking it with obvious joy Marsha, growing more and more excited by his furious tonguing, pressed her heels into the floor of the car and arched her back, her legs spreading unconsciously in a natural response to rising sexual desire.
Jack, suddenly aware of Marsha's spread thigh placed his hand on her cunt mound and massaged. He could feel wiry pussy hair even through her drenched panties. For a moment, forgetting herself, Marsha undulated beneath his hand. But Jack, growing aroused from stroking her puss; began to tug at the seams of her panties in order to slip a finger into her twat, and Marsha jerked his hand away as she realized his intentions.
"No, Jack, you promised."
He didn't put up much of a fuss, but leaned her back until the leather seat pressed against her back, and then laid atop her supine loveliness. It was then, while his mouth was still locked at her tit that she became aware of the stiff cock between his legs pressing demandingly against her thigh. Then he moved upward, deserting her boob for the moment, and crushed his mouth to hers. She could feel the swollen crown of his cock insinuating itself into the vee of her crotch, and he began to dry fuck her cunt mound.
She moaned as the cock-head pressed against her box, exciting her clit and flooding her twat with even more secretions. His hips drove forward repeatedly, the stiff rod almost pushing her panties into her puffy slit.
Oh, God, I don't know if I can make him stop! It feels so good ... I should end it now, but, oh, I . . . just . . . can't . . . stop . . .
Her miniskirt had gathered up around her waist now. Jack continued to hump against her damp crotch, all the time sucking her tongue and stroking her burning tits.
Then he rolled to one side and she continued to hunch despite the fact that he was no longer atop her. Without warning his hand dipped into her panties in one fell swoop and began to rub her slick slit. Marsha started, squirming as his fingers stroked her sensitive cunt-lips.
"No, Jack . . . oh, please." She clenched her thighs to hold his hand still, but even so the slicked fingers continued to exert titillating pressure on her pussy. "Don't, darling . . . oh, my."
"Come on, honey, you know you like it."
He was right. She loved it. The hand sliding up and down her damp crotch sent her thrashing and moaning with delight, little whimpers escaping from her throat.
Jack's middle finger had not ceased stroking the flaming furrow of her cunt, despite the restricted movement her clamped thighs provided, but he had finally worked his way to the top of her furry mound and begun to agitate her clitoris. As he tickled the burning pleasure button, Marsha trembled from the thrilling sensation, her cunt-lips twitching, and felt her control slipping away beneath the exquisite torture his finger applied to her wet twat.
She opened her legs beneath the wonderful touch. With the way now open, Jack slipped his finger partway inside the drenched hole. The pleasure swarmed over her, putting her out of her mind for a few seconds as the finger insinuated itself into her virginal pussy. Why had she hesitated in letting him do this, she asked herself, but no answer came readily to her. She gave herself up to him, surrendering herself to the delving finger pummeling her clit, and flung her arms about his neck.
Through the haze of passion enveloping her body, Marsha became aware that Jack was busy working at his pants. It did not at first register with her what he was doing until she felt the searing flesh of his stiff cock against her bare leg.
"Feel it, baby. Put your hand on it."
"No, Jack, please," she said, resisting his urgent plea.
He rubbed the swollen cock-head along her thigh, holding it with one hand, and then with the other hand began to tug at her panties as he prepared to mount her.
Oh, no, he's going to try to screw me! I can't let him do that!
She grabbed his hand between her legs at the wrist and pushed it from her.
"No, Jack, you promised you'd stop. I've let you go too far already."
"Shit, Marsha, don't be so damn prim! You know you want it. I need you, baby," he whimpered, the hand at his prick beginning to rub the stiff flesh furiously. He returned the other hand between her legs and tried to slip his finger in her slit again.
"No," she said, jackknifing her knees, and struggled to sit up, her tits jiggling from the motion. "We've got to stop. Now put your . . . dick away."
"Come on, baby," he said, kissing her neck and stroking her boobs as he tried to coax her. He was like an octopus, and she finally managed to grab both hands.
"Jack, if you love me like you said; you'll stop." His eyes blazed with lust, overlaid with exasperation.
"Horse piss. If you love me, you'd let me have some pussy after getting me so worked up."
She couldn't believe her ears. He acted as though she had been the aggressor, as though she had initiated this shameful struggle. Her face burned with anger at her cupidity.
"Cock-teaser," he hissed, and the words stabbed into her. "You're nothing but a goddamn cheap cock-teaser."
"Oh, please let's don't let it end like this." She was upset by his words, by her own unfulfilled passion, by her confusion about what she should do. To herself she admitted that she wanted him to fuck her, but it frightened her. It was taboo, a thing you didn't do. She couldn't let herself become a sexual Kleenex, to be used once and then thrown away. Why did such decisions have to be so hard?
She crumpled against the door on her side, the handle a minor irritation in her side, tugging her panties from their awry position. Picking up her bra and blouse, she held them to her tits, and stifled a sob. She could hear Jack breathing heavily, and when she found enough courage, she looked at him.
His back was bowed, the hips tilted forward, and one hand pistoned furiously around his erect cock. He had thrown back his head, eyes closed, mouth greedily gulping little bursts of air. She was fascinated by the drama of masturbation being played out. His strokes grew more and more rapid as she watched, until he suddenly jerked his hips forward, grunting low, and shot his wad. She saw the sperm erupt from the little volcano that was his cock-head, watched him cover the jet of cum with his free hand, and saw him slump forward from his stiffened moment of release, moaning weakly. She had never before realized the power in his stiff shaft, and, having seen him come into his hand, appreciated the phallic potency so many men possessed. What a waste it was to let his cream shoot into his hand, all because she had refused him a fuck.
She recaptured her dangling boobs in her bra, and then put on her blouse. The silence was appalling; Jack said nothing, sitting still like a drowned man washed ashore on the beach, swaying ever so slightly as though the ebb and flow of the tide were rocking him gently.
Marsha watched the cock grow limber, and felt a twinge of remorse at its shriveling into insignificance. It had stood so proud and demanding before, and now it looked sheepish, softening before her very eyes. She cleared her throat and looked out the window into the inky fields along the roadside.
She had begun to regret her adamant stand against letting Jack screw her, feeling restless from the pent-up emotion in her limbs and back and cunt.
She heard Jack crank the car, and turned to him. He had tucked his depleted prick back into his trousers. His face was hard, set with his bitterness, she supposed. She watched a slight tick pitter patter in his right cheek as he gritted his teeth. It was apparent that there was really nothing she could say to ease the tense situation. Even at that she wasn't certain that she wanted to say it, since her own morass of confused emotion was still upon her.
Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry, she thought, feeling the constriction in her chest. Maybe I was wrong, darling, but I only did what I thought was best.
She wanted to tell him all this, but instead she heard her cold voice saying, "Take me home, Jack."
The ride home was achingly quiet, only the engine adding any background noise. Marsha wrestled with the dilemma she had posed for herself, and realized now how much she regretted having stopped him from balling her. But it was too late this night to change what had happened, and to give in now, she felt, would be even cheaper than her first refusal. It would demean her and the very act of love she contemplated.
Deep inside she knew she wanted to be fucked. And she was rapidly deciding that if the opportunity presented itself again, she just might have to grasp it, wrap her legs around it, and let her greedy cunt suck all the juices from it. But that would have to be another time and another place. Anna McComb put on her newly bought nightgown and dabbed perfume in all the appropriate places. Her daughter Marsha and her son Robbie were both out late on dates this Friday night and so she had decided that it was an excellent time for a little belly to belly loving. Especially since her husband hadn't fucked her in a month. She was only too painfully aware just how horny she had really become.
She rubbed her nipples through the fabric to make them stand out. The diaphanous garment made them dark spots through a yellow fore ground, and below her navel her auburn patch of cunt hair was a triangular invitation to sex. Marcus hadn't been aggressive lately, and she had decided tonight to make an all-out effort to get his prick buried within her aching snatch.
She flipped her fingers through her hair, breathed deeply to calm the fluttering of her heart and stepped into the bedroom.
Marcus sat on the edge of the bed clad in light-green pajamas, staring intently at an open folder of documents and sketches he was to show to a client in Denver tomorrow. Anna felt it was a terrible imposition for his company to expect him to go flying off on the weekends to placate finicky clients, especially with the club shindig tomorrow night. Sometimes they expected too much of their men and of their wives. She was growing to dislike the company he had worked for so long.
But tonight she didn't want to dwell on that aspect of their lives. She wanted Marcus to stare at her with the same intensity he devoted to those papers, albeit with a little more desire than she hoped he showered upon them. After all she was a lot sexier than a folder of business papers. And if he immersed his mind so readily in those papers, he could just as easily immerse his cock in her yearning cunt, to their mutual enjoyment.
"How do you like it, honey?" she murmured, putting an alluring purr in her voice. She twirled, letting him savor her still firm jugs, her slender legs, and her rounded ass.
He lifted his eyes from the page in time to catch her sexy twirl, stared at her over his glasses, and smiled absently.
"Very nice." And his eyes went back to print.
It was an inauspicious beginning, but Anna refused to let it dampen her enthusiasm. She padded on bare feet across the carpeted bedroom and eased herself beside her husband.
God; how she wanted him to ball her. She massaged his shoulders and neck lightly with her fingers. Her heart pounded and she felt herself trembling with anticipation. It was really ludicrous, a woman in her late thirties, married as long as she had been-nearly two decades-feeling like a young girl on her wedding night. She had even had to resort to finger-fucking herself lately, like a teenaged girl who was still a virgin and too scared to let a dick be jammed into her willing cunt.
Not for her any longer. Let him make a move and she'd be on her back with her legs spread so fast it would make his head swim. She couldn't afford to be timid any more; else she might never get fucked again if she left it to her suddenly dispassionate husband.
They had never really fucked often before in their marriage, their attentions to one another occurring on an irregular basis. She had wanted to screw more, but had been afraid that Marcus would look down on her desires, label her a sex-hungry slut, and lose all respect for her.
"Does that feel good?" she said, kneading the thick muscles flaring from each side of his neck. She bent and kissed his neck, her lips warmed by the touch of his flesh.
"Yes." He closed the folder, laid it on the nightstand and carefully placed his glasses atop the folder.
He was responding. She knew it, and she sent a silent prayer of thanks ceiling-ward. She relaxed her hands and lay back on the bed, drawing herself into a sexy pose for him.
But instead of turning to her and taking her willing flesh in his arms, he padded into the restroom, leaving her in a quandary about his intentions.
She listened to him brushing his teeth, rinsing his mouth, and then gargling. She pouted with frustration. Just what the hell kind of lover was he? Then she heard the sound of a stream of water cascading into the toilet bowl.
Great; I'm waiting to get fucked, and he's got to take a piss. As much trouble as he's had getting it up, he should use it to advantage. Getting screwed by a piss hard-on is better than not getting screwed at all.
She stifled an urge to reach inside the frilly pants of her nightgown and flick her clit a few times, hoping that he would now be ripe and ready for a little sex. She watched him reenter the bedroom. He was still a good-looking man, even if he was close to fifty. Marcus was ten years older than she, but he hadn't lost too much to middle-age spread, and the muscles in his body had not all turned to mush like so many other men his age.
He unbuttoned his pajama top and laid in on the nightstand.
"I love you, Marcus," she said, opening her arms to him. He lay beside her and kissed her, a little too tentatively it seemed to her. She touched his teeth with her tongue but he did not open to her touch.
From that rejection of intimacy, he trailed to her neck and rather mechanically went through the motions of nuzzling her neck. She wanted him to become more passionate, and snaked her hands through the open slit in his pajama bottoms only to find that his cock was still limber. She wanted to cry from sheer frustration.
Here she had gone to the trouble to look so alluring, had as much as begged him to fuck her, and all she got for her pains was a mechanical going through the motions and a limp dick. It was patently unfair.
"Sorry, Anna, but it won't get up."
He said it so matter of fact, as though he had become resigned to it.
"Oh, Mark, this can't be happening to us! You can get a hard-on, baby. Try." She began to stroke the soft cock, but to no avail.
He shook his head wearily. "I was afraid of this. I knew what you had on your mind when I saw the gown. You look lovely in it, darling, and if I was half a man, I'd do something about it, but I seem to have lost it."
She could feel her eyes growing moist. She fought back the tears, not anxious to bring more weight that he-and she-had to bear.
"Oh, Mark, darling. I need you so." She laid her head on his broad belly, and stared at the limp prick that peeped timidly out of his pajamas. "Mark, let me kiss it. Maybe that'll get a rise out of it." She began to dip her head towards his crotch.
She should have been prepared for the violent reaction. They had played the scene so many times before. He grabbed her by the hair of the head and jerked her harshly away from the prick she had sought to take in her mouth.
"No! My wife is not a cocksucker!"
"Mark, you're hurting me! Let me go."
He released her and spun himself off the bed to a sitting position, burying his head in his hands. Anna lay still, her scalp still stinging from the savage yanking it had received. She could hold the tears no longer, and sobs racked her body as she buried her face in the covers.
"I o-only thought ... it would . . . h-help," she stammered. "Lots of married couples do it." She tried to regain her composure, sniffing back her emotions.
"No." He was adamant, as adamant as he had ever been about the subject. She could quote him all the statistics she wanted to about cock-sucking, and he would still feel the same.
"What am I supposed to do? I need you, darling. Let's go see a doctor or something. Please." This had to be resolved. She was still young, and she couldn't see herself spending the rest of her life without ever being fucked again. He had to understand that. She had to have a man, and if he couldn't provide her with what she needed, then she'd just- No, she put the thought from her mind.
"I won't see a doctor. There's nothing he can do. It's just a fact of nature. Let it be, Anna."
"But you don't know a doctor can't help. Please, Mark."
"No!" he roared, turning to her, his face distorted in a livid grimace. How it must be torturing him, this sense of inadequacy. She pitied him that. But in another segment of her mind, she hated him for his lack of concern for her normal needs. She refused to tie up her sexual desires in a cocoon, never to be opened again.
"Let's just forget it, Anna." He turned off the light, and climbed into bed beside her. His back was turned to her, a virtual barricade between them. But there were other ways to escape the trap he was trying to put her in.
Tomorrow, she would have a man tomorrow, one way or another.
She slipped under the covers and tried to quell the raging fire in her cunt. She didn't have much success.