Chapter 1

CARL AND MILLICENT RANDOM WERE preparing to retire for the night.

Certain blatant and unmistakable signals were being flaunted by Carl's sexily-endowed, dark-haired, thirty-five-year-old wife. like the filmy, orange negligee which he found draped across the bed as he entered the bedroom in Millie's wake. like the drum of the shower in the adjoining bathroom, the aphrodisiac scent of her musky perfume as she dried and dusted herself, a spoor that carried upon her anticipatory hummings, conveyed a searing, electric signal on the suddenly-charged air.

While Carl Random couldn't help but be aroused, already finding his prick nudging upward inside his pajamas as he waited for Millicent to appear, he nevertheless sensed a strange ennui, and a withering sense of duty as well.

Shit, he mused sardonically. Of course. Wednesday night. We always do it on Wednesday night. Part of Millie's super-efficient program. Daddy's rights. If a woman wants to hold her man-she was fond of saying-well then she'd damned well better see to frequent oil changes; his crankcase should be drained at least twice a week.

He wasn't knocking it. But there were times when the mechanical aspects of their marriage rites palled somewhat. Surprises he certainly could have used. A strange irritation choked him. And just what-what in hell, jerk, he challenged, is eating you?

The baffling resentment was instantly routed. For at that moment, a sultry smugness in her eyes (wearing absolutely nothing but a salacious grin), Millicent sauntered from the bath. Suddenly the room was alive with her taunting presence; her suffocating scent was strong in his nostrils, inciting undeniable lust in his psyche. So did the sight of her firm, symmetrical breasts, shiny and swollen, the tits puckered, pointed and lightly brushed with pink lipstick. A bawdy artifice Millie had taken to using of late. Her eyelids at half-mast, she deliberately insinuated a saucy grind into her sexy prance. Instantly his eyes fled from her desire-glossed breasts. They focused on the great, sloping triangle of her cunt. The fur was thick, black and moistly curly, a bold self-display that would have given a bronze statue a hard-on. Even as she sashayed toward him, he caught a glimpse of her pink-lipped cunt where it glistened among her black moss and winked licentiously at him.

"Baby," she purred seductively as she made a pronounced show of undulating her perfumed, opulent belly before his eyes. "Pajamas? Have you forgotten? What about our Wednesday night date? Take 'em off, Daddy." She drew his head down and worked his lips into the vale between her boobs. Then guided him still lower so that his lips slid on the silky texture of her fragrant belly. "Maybe you don't want me tonight, honey? You're getting tired of your old wife?"

Carl felt a hard throb in his prick, and a trail of his own oil slithered down the inside of his thigh, spotting his pajamas in unmistakable giveaway. "Never happen, Millie. You know better. I'll never say no to cunt." His fingers came up and pincered her slit. The feel of her fat, swollen lips, the sweet slide of his fingers there immediately served to excite him intolerably. Again his cock throbbed, and another silvery trail of pecker drool meandered down his leg.

"That's what Mommy-likes to hear." She glanced down, her coquettish, dark eyes glistening at the sight of the swollen surging hunk extending his paiamas. "Mmmmmm, Carl. You selfish thing! Keeping that to yourself all evening long? Why didn't you tell me you had it so bad? We could have skipped the end of that TV show."

"We had to be sure Brad was asleep."

"No more talk, lover. Mmmmmm, I can't wait. Let's get those pants off. Get him out here. Where I can see him. Where I can love him. Naughty, Carl! You've got your jammies all stained. What's Mommy going to do with you!"

Seconds later he was naked, and a single bedside lamp dimly illuminated the room. Millicent made a great show of admiring Carl and running her smooth, warm hands across his chest and over his belly. Yet, all the while she deliberately avoided his prick ... the utmost object of her heart's desire. Her silky fingers tickled and teased; her warm, moist lips followed suit, cruising hotly in the wake of her fingers. His prick throbbed non-stop; there was a continual fountain of juice down its gnarled throbbing length. "Oh, Millie," he gasped. "The way you sex a guy. I swear you should run a school"

She became fey, kittenish. "Millie's glad she pleases her lover-daddy. But you're the only pupil I'll ever want. Naughty boy! You're drooling all over yourself. Whatever is Mother going to do about you?" Without a moment's hesitation, she opened her lush, pouty lips, and allowed her pink serpent of a tongue to slither forth. Skillfully, she wound the rasping instrument around his maypole, and began lapping away the offending overflow. Her eyes fled between the delicious sweetmeat and his eyes, something gamin, mischievous, almost ing'nue in her expression.

Still her tongue wound and darted and vibrated. Now it slid upwards on him, applied the rough flat to the underside of his glans, and administered a maddening scrubbing to him there. Carl felt like hot needles were being driven 'up his member, spreading out in his guts like a molten fist.

Now she sat up, her eyes even more feisty. The disconnection of her lips from his cock took on proportions of betrayal, a traumatic desertion. As it was, his frustration was to become even greater. For now Millicent rolled onto her back in the darkness, made an elaborate ceremony of drawing up her knees, humping her buttocks, the better to flaunt her aromatic vagina in the gloom. "Momma now?" she teased, her voice thick. "She's got owies too. Has Carl got a big, fat kiss for Millie? Oh, honey! It burns! It burns something awful!"

There was no hesitation on Carl's part. Married almost fourteen years now, he'd progressed steadfastly down erotica's primrose path. There was no stigma attached to the affixing of lips to his wife's lubricous pussy; especially when she was fresh from the shower. With a slow, fluid movement he came over his trembling wife, administered a slithery, wet kiss to her belly and lanced her navel with a tickling tongue. "Lover!" Millicent sighed, lurching her belly up to meet his exciting obeisance. "God, how I needed that!"

Shortly his lips slid down the velvety incline, tumbled and pressured in the crisp gorse of her pubis. His tongue made overtures to the fat, swollen, slightly gaping lips of her cunt. The fleeting stabbings at her swollen pimple made Millicent groan and thrash delightedly, her cries creaking and lewd. "You suck," she exhorted. "You sweet suck! Oooh, now, damn you. Dive, Carl. Mange la cunt. Eat me!" Her thighs slapped ecstatically on his bulldozing head. "Oh, yes, yes! In!"

Carl Random ignored her cries for more direct attack. Considering himself a relative expert in oral-genital manipulations, he did things his own way, letting his passionate wife squeal and thrash all she liked. When he was ready, he would invade the hole proper. But for now-

Thus he put his elbows between her thighs, blocked them effectively, spreading her knees, making her gaping wound completely vulnerable. He contented himself with merely nipping, sucking and pulling the bloated outer lips of her vulva. Closing his entire mouth on her slit, he compressed and tugged the circling lips en masse, a thing which made Millicent whoop ecstatically.

Again he let the lips fall open, as he invaded their outer bastions over the fleshy stockade, toward the blockhouse itself. Stealthily his tongue reconnoi-tered the oily, slippery folds, sniffed and investigated every cranny and convolution of her exceedingly-tricky terrain; he imagined himself an astronaut first setting foot on the moon. Up, up his tongue slithered, into the narrow cowl at the top of her clit. Where it found a frightened, cringing holdout, a laggard victim who hadn't managed to make good his escape when the Indians had first struck. Placing one hand on Millicent's belly, he drew her mons veneris back, forced the cowardly hideaway forth, made the slimy button stand out in all its pulsating glory.

Millicent gasped shatteringly as he stabbed the hard nub with his tongue, wrapping his tongue around it in preface to even more mind-bending ministrations. "Carl, baby," she whined. "Oh, God! That's wonderful ... it burns like fire! You should be the one who should give lessons. If more men did that to their wives ... Suck, baby, oh suck. You gorgeous sucker!"

Great glottal gasps broke from her throat as he continued worshipping in that unique chapel; her hips bounced and jittered (in the bed; her thighs pumped and strained to slap themselves together on his torturing head. Then, as he commenced to piston his tongue in and out of her hole, he seemingly scoured that so-tender flesh off the walls of her grotto itself: "Oh, don't, baby," she pleaded. "Please don't. I can't stand it. Stop now. Don't make me come that way. With your prick, Carl? With that big, well-drilling prick of yours? Please, Carl! That's too much. That kills me. Oh, Carl, Carl..."

He became aware of her hand beneath his belly, of her struggles to adjust, to bring his body closer. Recognizing the overtures, he very quickly lent himself to Millie's touch. "Candy pour Maman?" she teased. "Bring it up, darling. Millie wants hers now. Millie wants her drumstick now. That gorgeous white meat. C'mon, doll. Both of us together. God, that's the greatest." And as he complied with her wishes: "Oh, yes, yes ... Lovely, lovely. So hard and long. So smooth and fat. You sweet screwer. You do want me, don't you? Bring it down, damn you! Before you drown me. Let me tidy you up."

Carl straddled her head, and readjusting further, allowed her to funnel his hank into her hot, suctioning mouth.

Up and down she pulled herself on its sturdy arch, her mouth pistoning relentlessly on his cock, her lips, teeth and palate stripping it with deadly proficiency. He felt the ribbing of her palate, the frantic pressurings of those muscles at the back of her throat, and he knew that if he dallied in this strange port much longer, it would be disastrous.

Although Millie had permitted him to unload there on random occasions, he knew it wasn't one of her favorite things, so he'd best pull out while there was still time.

She sucked harder, moaned protestingly as he attempted to withdraw himself from that murderous cove. But he persisted, distracted her by lacing the hell out of her swollen boil, bringing her to the edge of an orgasm. "It's that time," he gulped as she released him with a sucking plop, the last incisive slash of her teeth on his peckerhead almost being the crowning stroke.

Very quickly then, their lust at mind-blurring, incandescent pitch, they were groaning and scrambling on the bed, each righting for position and purchase. Carl wanted to be stuck into something! Millicent wanted something stuck into her! She gulped and sighed viscously as Carl rammed his fat cannon into her. the invasion of her hot pussy being exquisite beyond compare. Now the slimy cob was plumbing her guts, seemingly fighting to nestle itself somewhere just beneath her heart. Millicent sighed thickly, happily, spread her legs to breaking point, wrapped her ankles behind his flanks, almost as if intending to hammer his rod straight through her.

"God, God..." she wheezed, as he filled her. and immediately commenced his thrilling in-and-out. "The wav that thing stretches me. You could use that to drill wells! Oh, prick. Sweet prick! Screw Millie. Screw her silly!" Which Carl willingly did. Or seemingly so. For at that moment, incredible as it might seem, he was struck with strange misgivings. In the first place he wished that Millicent were just a little bit tighter. But he supposed that such a wish was unfair. After all, there was Brad. There would have been Janet, had she lived through that precarious first week. There would have been other children. But something had gone wrong at the hospital; before they were done the doctors had been obliged to fix it so that Millicent would never be able to have any other kids again.

Granted, he'd never put his petty dissatisfactions into words; he'd be a real rat to hit Millie that way. He really had no grounds for complaint: as avid a sex partner as Millicent had become after the operation, she more than made up for the niggling lack. She was more she-demon in bed than any other hundred women could be. But still, there were regrets; there was wishful thinking.

If there was a lack (Carl often questioned his foolish preoccupation with same), Millie never noticed it. Certainly it didn't inhibit her in the least, rob her of any of the volatile benefits to be derived from a stiff rod steaming in and out of her belly. Breaking up from his ruminations, he was surprised to find himself still hammering her, he became aware of her thick, rapturous gloatings: "Gorgeous, baby," she chanted. "Simply gorgeous. Oh, how can anything be so good. Ooh, that was a good one! You nearly opened up the back. In, darling! Oh, in, in..."

Carl became even more confused at his untimely lethargy. How in hell-he lashed himself. After the way I gobbled her, the way she sucked me! You'd think-hot as a goddamned firecracker! Any goddamned minute now!

But no. His thoughts stubbornly drifted again. It had been an eternity since he'd had a woman with what you could really call a tight hole. The kind of hole the guys at the office were always talking about. The fact of the matter was that he'd never had any other hole besides Millie's. And it seemed so long since she'd been that tight, since she'd literally shoehorned him into her. He wondered what it would be like. With one of those stacked, young secretaries at the office. Those hot-titted nymphos in their miniskirts and their kooky pumps and crazy net-and-lace stockings. Were the myths about young women nowadays true? Did they put out at the drop of a hat? And if they did, would they be squeaky tight? Oh, God, wouldn't that be a feeling? To push yourself into something like that? like that Bunny Torrigan, for instance?

It had been a much-intensified, recurrent fantasy of late, the pressure of the mounting years, the sameness of things, the feeling that life was passing him by, getting to him more than it should have. Carl had never-in his whole life-ever had any other woman but Millie. Which was no shit. He'd had opportunities (or, at least, they'd seemed like opportunities) in his time, but always, when he considered same seriously, Millie's phantom had loomed, the threat of jeopardy had intervened, and he'd chickened out at the last moment.

But just once more! he raged, an infuriating frustration filling him. Another woman! A new romance! Some of that old excitement that life was supposed to be full of! He didn't really care if it was one of those young, tight-holed cunts. Bunny Torrigan would be nice though, wouldn't she? The knockers on that bitch! No, any woman would do, just so long as she was pretty enough, was well built, and liked to screw. He thought of Don Hatcher, a lifelong buddy. More particularly he thought of Irene, his wife. I wouldn't even mind that. I'll bet she puts out a mean one. Cute and vivacious. Christ, that time I caught her alone in the kitchen, started kissing her, feeling her up. The way she seemed to eat it up! I'll bet if we'd have been alone-

A nagging consideration hit him. Would any of those women, Bunny or Irene-any cunt he could name-be better than Millie? Could they throw a meaner hump? Could they make me feel any more like a man than Millie does? Christ, the way she hangs on sometimes, the way she begs me to keep plugging her. A man would have to be a goddamned fool to fault bedroom stuff like that. And what is it with you anyway, buddy?

It was precisely here that the incongruous reverie was brought to a shit-screeching halt. As he broke up from his thoughts to find that Millie's body had momentarily died beneath him. "Carl?" she breathed accusingly, "What is it?" You keep losing your place."

Crushing shame filled him. And he groaned, frozen atop her, to realize that he couldn't feel the greasy folds of her pussy, to realize that he'd gone partially soft inside her. And Holy-oh-Christ! What did that mean? "Sorry," he said in muffled, shamefaced tones. "I guess I just wasn't concentrating."

Millicent laughed earthily, understandingly. "I guess not." She pumped determinedly beneath him, clenched him with those inner muscles of her cunt-throat. "I came twice, but you didn't notice." He felt himself start to stiffen anew. "I guess you thought you were done for the night, huh? You oughta know better than that." He got still harder, reached deep inside of her warm grotto. "I don't quit until you make it, darling. And I haven't felt a thing yet." She squirmed even more salaciously, her voice turned breathy. "Here we go, darling. He's growing. like Jack's beanstalk. Oooh! What a stalk! Keep growing, baby. Never stop. Up, up and away..."

Carl laughed softly, gratefully, his heart very much full of love for his wife at that moment. She was a good woman; one of the very best. And he was a rotten skunk, an ingrate of the first water, to even be thinking about another woman at a time like this. He readjusted atop her writhing, grinding body. He exulted in the quick hiss of Millie's breath, in the unmistakable signal of impending ecstasy in her stifled whines. Faster and faster his hips fucked atop her. He gloried in the way her legs wound behind his again, the way her heels drummed his flanks. He felt the knob of his soldier ripple through the serrated mush of her channel; he felt its veined muzzle rumble across the slimy pimple of her clitoris, making her hiss and squirm with new delight. Faster, more dominatingly-Carl using his prick like some sadistic, avenging weapon now-he rammed it into her. Millie's cries were wheezing, animalistic, almost barks now:

"Oooh, oooh! Shove, you sweet sticker. Shove that talented prick into me. Oh, God, it's good! It's exquisite. It's..." She gasped, lurched convulsively. "Oooh, again ... it's happening again. You man! You clever-pricked man! Oh! Oh! More, still more! I'll never get enough of that. Oh, go!"

And now, as Carl's fingers scrabbled beneath that pistoning silo, gathered their overflow juices, used them to anoint the gaping crack of Millicent's buttocks, to finger and spread the puckered star of her anus, she greedily assented to this liberty also: "Yes, baby, oh, yes. Put it in. Put your finger up my ass. I like that. It makes it good ... even better for me. Oh, baby, yes. Mmmmmm. If it makes it better for you ... I love it, love it. Both holes filled with you. Go, Carl! Oh, plug me blind!"

He groaned, shot his bolt home that much more fiercely, a deranging sadism filling him. He drove his finger deeper into her, vibrated it. He delighted in the feel of his plunging cock on the other side of that thin wall. And very quickly then, as Millie exploded beneath him still again, he knew it was that time.

His hips hammered. His finger fought and pressured. His phallus would seemingly go through her, would put dents in the walls of her cunt that would never come out. And now that incandescent, melting heat, that incredible pressure in his scrotum and belly! That crucifying pain! That scalding sense of filthiness! like he wanted to treat Millie like some filthy whore. like he wanted to do forbidden things, rotten things, things beyond the pale of normal human behavior. And now the dam burst. The cork popped out of the bottom of the world.

And lava-hot-molten-gushing-

He groaned thickly in his throat, his own cry of climax blending with that of the re-transported Millie, she-wonder of wonders that she was-announcing still another orgasm! Even as he sluiced his own hot good into her, splatted it up against the back of her womb, each new jet drawing a pinched, exultant yip from her:

"Yes, yes..." she pleaded. "All ... all of it. Every last drop."

Which triggered a pagan outburst of his own:

"Oh, God, God! Here, you lovely! You sweet lovely lay! Drink this. And this. And this..."

Afterwards, a totally sated Millicent drifted, almost immediately, into a deep sleep. Her face pressed to his shoulder, her fingers lovingly wrapped around the inert bundle of his sex, she slept the sleep of the just.

Carl Random wished that he might be so easily assuaged. For once again the damning thoughts were back. And he wondered what it was all about. He wondered what it meant. Him? Lusting after another woman? Crazy to have a last fling? A new sexual experience? How could it be? Not now. He was thirty-eight years old. A man's supposed to be over that kind of stuff by now. Especially a man owning a tigress wife like Millie.

Still the frustrated bitterness rankled. Good she might be. But she was still the same woman. The only woman. He could have called that session to the letter; he could have detailed its highly routinized acts and dialogue and emotions in advance, almost as if gifted with a magic clairvoyance. After all, all these years at the same old stand-

This is it? he agonized. Oh, God, she's good; I know I love her, and she loves me. But there has to be more than this. Is this to be the story of my life for the next twenty, thirty years? This sameness, these damned mechanics? Until we're both so old we can't do it, we can't even remember what it was like? Am I supposed to go out without having once known what another woman was like? Am I wrong, God, for even wanting another woman?

Sweet Jesus! he groaned aloud. This can't be all!

There couldn't be the slightest doubt about it, he concluded. The man's definitely, chaotically, irredeemable confused! The man's most monstrously wigged!