Chapter 5
A week had passed since the memorable Friday when Betty Jurgens had received her very first bare-bottom spanking from her father's chastening hand and Betty's next-door neighbor Matthew Fullhan had experienced the most thrilling weekend of his entire life. He had come back on Sunday night, after having telephoned Astrid late Saturday afternoon (while still at the South Boston apartment shared by Suzy and Eleanor) to assure her that all was going well, that he had indeed received some additional assignments for work which would bring in a great deal of revenue, and that he would be home before midnight the following night. Astrid, who of course would never have suspected what her mild-mannered husband had been up to, was delighted at the financial news and told him that all was going well at home. But she couldn't help adding, with a kind of malicious gossiping, "By the way, Matthew dear, that headstrong girl next door, you know, Betty Jurgens, saw that dreadful Henry Warren yesterday afternoon. Would you believe it, they were carrying on in her father's garage, but he came in and sent the boy away and punished the young lady as she deserved. It's just dreadful what children are coming to these days. Now you take care of yourself, and I'll see you tomorrow night, then."
When Matthew Fullhan had hung up the phone, he had walked back into the living room where Eleanor lounged on the couch, clad in only her garter belt, nylons, and high-heeled pumps, pillowing her head on her arms and lifting her knees aloft, spreading them widely to invite him back to the torrid shelter of her passionate lovesheath. As for himself, Astrid's dutiful and until now faithful husband wore only his socks and shorts. The sight of his nude inamorata in such a wantonly provocative pose made his organ thrust forward violently against the fly of his shorts, and he hurried back to her and sat down on the edge of the couch to fondle her magnificent breasts and to put his mouth to hers.
With a delighted little laugh, Eleanor reached out her right hand and deftly unbuttoned his shorts, taking possession of his manhood and fondling it lovingly, the pads of her thumb and index fingers lingeringly rubbing back and forth over the taut plum of the glans. She lifted her head and shook it so that her honey-gold curls danced, then whispered, "You're a wonderful lover, Matt, and when you go back home, there's no reason you can't teach your wife to be even better than I am. Now come here to Mama."
It was indeed an enlightened Matthew Fullhan who went back home to Summerton that Sunday night, but out of a sudden twinge of conscience, he took pains not to make love to Astrid all through the following week. The secret bliss he had experienced over that last weekend was something that he wanted to savor for a time, while debating with himself the best way of approaching his diffident and prudish blonde wife to intimate to her that he really wasn't satisfied at all with the way they had been getting along in bed. The problem was, he was sure, that Astrid would be horrified if he openly came out and discussed sex with her. Not once in their four years of marriage had the subject ever been brought up, except, just before the ceremony, she had blushingly stammered that she thought they shouldn't have children at the start until they were sure of each other, a belief with which he happened to concur most heartily.
Besides, the additional work that Amos Denby had assigned to him kept him working late hours all through that following week, and so he had an excellent excuse not to disturb Astrid, who was used to going to bed at about quarter of eleven. One of the guest rooms of the house had been converted into his working den, its window giving out on the garden which overlooked the Jurgens' backyard and garage, and Matthew Fullhan, cigarette between his lips, stared out into the darkness and thought about how he was going to bring about the awakening of highly moral, circumspect, and yet very desirably beautiful Astrid.
As for Dan Jurgens, that handsome, mature widower had been doing a great deal of thinking since that very same Friday afternoon. He was beginning to feel the loneliness of no other female companionship except that of his daughter. But the worst thing was that Betty's very presence inevitably recalled to him the fierce carnal rapture he had shared with her mother. They had been ideally mated, and she had been a petite, voluptuous redhead (that was where Betty had got her own lustrous auburn hair) with a relish for living and loving and the most uninhibited and unselfish behavior in bed that any man could demand. He had, out of respect for his wife's memory, not considered remarriage at all; although when the pangs of abstinence had begun to make him toss and turn at night in his lonely bedroom, he had two or three times very discreetly visited a matronly brunette in her mid-thirties in Fall River, whom he had known before marrying his wife and who herself had been widowed about a decade ago. Her name was Marcia Trent, but she had already told him that she wouldn't consider remarrying at all because she enjoyed the career of running two very thriving beauty salons.
However, the show of parental discipline which he had made to Betty's painful regret last Friday had had its powerful repercussions. Dan Jurgens, out of sheer anger and frustration at having his grown-up daughter defy an edict he had laid down for her own good, or at least so he had thought, had bared her buttocks for chastisement. But in so doing and in the infliction of that chastisement, he had been horrified to discover that when Betty had finally wriggled off his lap and readjusted her clothing, trembling and sniffling and her cheeks stained with tears, he had sustained a powerful erection.
That night, indeed, lighting cigarette after cigarette and finding himself unable to sleep, he had finally resorted to the time-honored tradition of boyhood by using his good right hand to ease the frenzied tensions of his overburdened penis. And as he had done so, he had seen his own daughter's luscious, ripening young body across his lap, her mature, voluptuous naked hips lunging and arching and weaving, her satiny flesh vividly reddening under the stinging impact of his correcting palm. And when he had ejaculated into a handkerchief, writhing and arching himself in the throes of simulated coitus, Dan Jurgens had come to the awareness that the feelings he had had for his own daughter were very specifically taboo.
It was high time that he thought of marrying again, he had told himself. One of these days Betty was going to marry, although he hoped it wouldn't be Henry Warren, and then he would really be alone. While the newspaper was an exacting and demanding mistress, it didn't comfort him at all in bed, and he was still of an age when he could enjoy an arduous bout of lovemaking as he had done with Betty's beautiful, uninhibited mother.
And that was why, this equally memorable Friday afternoon, he decided to telephone Kathleen Johnson, who had got her divorce papers just last month from a no-good scalawag, a rock musician whom the otherwise sensible twenty-seven-year-old light-brown-haired librarian had inexplicably fallen in love with two years ago. She had visited Dan Jurgens' newspaper office the day before Betty's spanking, in search of a job. The library board of trustees had looked askance at a divorcee and they hadn't approved of the sort of man she had married in the first place. He had told her that he would try to work something out, but he knew that the paper wasn't making all that money to afford even a topnotch secretary or stenographer, and that was all Kathleen was really trained for.
But now that he had had a week to think about his sexual deprivation and the almost overpowering stimulus which spanking Betty had given his dormant virility, Dan Jurgens was of a mind to make Kathleen Johnson a very different kind of proposition. . . .
Auburn-haired Betty Jurgens had done a good deal of thinking, too, and she had arrived at the conclusion that her father's direct entry into the garage to discover Henry Warren and her together hadn't been entirely an accident. Some snoopy old neighbor must have told him, and she was beginning to have her suspicions about that neighbor's identity. On the few occasional times when she had seen the bespectacled blonde woman next door out in her garden, Betty remembered that Astrid Fullhan had been extremely short with her just about every time. She had a kind of frozen-face attitude even when she had acknowledged Betty's cheerful "Hi there, Mrs. Fullhan!" And now that Betty thought about it, she recalled that she had often seen Astrid in the kitchen standing by the window and looking out across the way.
And yet how could she have seen into the garage and known that Henry Warren was there, Betty had kept asking herself all week long. As soon as she returned from school this Friday afternoon, she walked slowly out into the back yard and thence to the side door of the garage which her father had opened to catch her in the most compromising of situations the Friday before. Turning on the light, she began to examine the garage with more curiosity than she had ever shown before, and finally her attention was drawn over to her left against the farthest wall at a suspicious-looking rectangle where the paint and plaster seemed to have cracked off entirely.
A few moments later, squatting down and tentatively pushing, she managed to dislodge two of the bricks, and then she knew exactly how Astrid Fullhan had seen her and Henry together.
"Why, that snoopy bitch, that goody-goody reformer!" Betty muttered under her breath. "I suppose that's all she's got to do, because they don't have any kids and that hubby of hers looks like he's afraid of his own shadow. I'll bet she henpecks him practically to death, the poor guy!"
Going outside, and making certain that Astrid Fullhan wasn't in the kitchen at that moment, Betty swiftly pushed the loose bricks back into place as they had been before, and then hurried back home. Her father arrived a few moments later, perfunctorily kissed her and then announced that he was going to have dinner at the Clarendon Motel, a few miles west of Summerton, and perhaps take in a movie. "That paper of mine has been working the tail off me all summer, honey," he confided. "This week's issue was easy for a change, but that's because we lost some advertisers. Next week I'm going to have to start trying to get them back and some new ones, if I'm going to save any money for your college fees next year. I won't be back till about midnight, and that reminds me-" his eyes narrowed and hardened, "I hope last week taught you a lesson, young lady. But I'm putting you on your honor. You promised me you weren't going to see Henry Warren again, and I expect you to live up to it, is that understood?"
"Yes it is, Daddy," Betty meekly bowed her lovely auburn head. But behind her back, her right index and middle fingers crossed to indicate that she was telling a little white lie. She had, just before her father had come home, managed to make a quick call to Henry Warren and found him at home and asked if they couldn't get together, maybe even this evening in case her father decided to go out as he sometimes did.
"Well, that's better," he said, mollified. "I don't mean to be a tyrant, honey, but it's only because you're at a very impressionable age now and you're probably going to get married in a year or so, only I don't want a boy like Henry Warren for my son-in-law. I'm only sorry your mother isn't still alive, because then I have a feeling we'd all be closer."
"I know, Daddy. I'm sorry if I made you mad last week. You go have a good time. I'll just sit home and watch TV or do some homework."
Half an hour later, nattily dressed and shaved, Dan Jurgens left the house, got into the Dodge Polara, and drove towards Elmyra Lane where Kathleen Johnson lived in a little white bungalow. As he parked the car in her driveway, he frowned, thinking of how badly off financially her inconsiderate husband Ed had left her. Kathleen had trustingly put all their money into a joint savings account, and Ed Johnson, while she was still working at the library, had drawn every penny of it out and taken off for parts unknown. Old Ted Bagley, the service station operator on Parnell Highway, had reported that he had seen Ed Johnson drive in with a very sexy silver-haired blonde in the front seat next to him, and that the rock musician had airily remarked that he was taking off for New York for a night-club date with a new combo. A few months after that, Kathleen received a letter asking for a divorce, stating that he wouldn't contest it, and also insolently remarking that he felt the money he had taken was a fair settlement for the disappointing time he had spent as Kathleen's husband.
So now she had a divorce, and she was making a little money doing babysitting and some sewing for the neighbors, but it wouldn't be long before they foreclosed on the bungalow and there wasn't much hope of a job for her here in Summerton. Very decidedly, he was going to have to do something about Kathleen Johnson, and he had a pretty good idea of what it was going to be tonight.
Kathleen admitted him almost immediately after he had rung the doorbell, and his eyes widened appreciatively to see the light-brown haired matron in a pretty blue-and-white polka dot dress whose hems barely descended to her charmingly dimpled knees. She wore off-black nylons, and as she took his coat and hat and walked towards a coat rack in the lobbyway, his eyes quickly scanned her plumply contoured, firm, springy calves and the dimpled hollows of her knees. The off-black gauzy sheaths shaped out her legs in a way that made his loins tauten and ache with remembered longing, and the snug fit of her polka dot dress emphasized the saucy jut of upstandingly rounded, very tightly spaced buttocks and plump full womanly thighs.
"I'll be ready in just a jiffy, Mr. Jurgens," she said brightly. "It's awfully good of you to invite me out to dinner. The fact is, I didn't know what I was going to cook tonight-probably a TV dinner."
"I'm glad, then. The Clarendon has pretty good food, and I feel like a steak and a bottle of wine tonight. I hope you'll share them with me, Kathleen-if I may call you that."
"I'd like you to, Mr. Jurgens."
"And you've got to call me Dan. I like that dress," he impulsively added.
She dimpled and blushed as she hurried to open the closet and take out a cloth coat which had seen better days. Nevertheless, she was still a stunning woman, and his pulses quickened at the thought of being alone with her. She was about five feet five inches in height, her light-brown hair coiffed in a sophisticated guiche bob with the points curved upwards against her high-set oval-shaped cheeks. Her high forehead, her arching, thin, penciled brows surmounting hazel eyes, her dainty snub nose, and full tremulous mouth completed the portrait of a very desirable woman, and the carnation tint of her complexion needed no makeup to entice him.
The steak was as good as he had hoped it would be, and Kathleen Johnson, casting aside her melancholy, proved to be a charming and highly agreeable companion. After dinner, they went to a drive-in theater to see a double feature, so that it was nearly one in the morning when he drove the divorcee back to the little white bungalow.
"Won't you come in for a nightcap, Dan?" she hesitantly murmured.
"I'd like that very much, Kathleen. Besides, I haven't yet had a chance to tell you what I had in mind-you know, that job you asked for on the paper."
"Oh yes, Dan. I do hope you can work something out. I'll be honest with you," this with a rueful little smile, "things aren't going well at all, and I may have to give this place up and go to Boston and try to find some kind of work before very much longer."
Dan Jurgens seated himself on the low Chesterfield while Kathleen Johnson, giving him a quick sidelong glance, hurried off to the kitchen to prepare the promised nightcap. He watched her go, his eyes riveted to the diaphanous off-black nylons which faithfully followed, like a tightly adhering second skin, every flexion of her juicily rounded calves, an undulation which was carried out along her womanly thighs and the succulent hemispheres of her extremely provocative bottom. He flushed, guiltily remembering Betty's bottom upturned over his lap and charmingly bared in all its virginal apprehension. And once again, just as last Friday, he found his penis stiffening and throbbing angrily to remind him that it had been far too long since he had last inserted its full virile length and breadth into the tight scabbard of a complaisant female partner.
A few moments later, Kathleen Johnson returned with a little tray on which were posed two shot glasses of bourbon over ice and a plate of appetizers, which she set down on the little mahogany tabouret in front of the couch. In stooping, she revealed to his glittering eyes the opulent jut of carnation-tinted, highly perched and very closely spaced breasts whose upper curves and crinkly, dark-coral nipple-buds were exposed by the low-cut peach-hued bra she wore under the polka dot dress and thin white nylon slip.
She seated herself with a long sigh and gazed wistfully at the opposite wall as she took up her glass and nursed it. Dan Jurgens gulped down half the bourbon, and put the glass back on the tray, eyeing his escort for the night with appraising and speculative gaze. It was true that he was about fifteen or sixteen years older than she was, but she was built for it, and it wasn't as if she were a virgin. She had already had a few years of Ed Johnson's philandering and rough-toned love-making, he was sure, so that he wouldn't be dealing with an utter innocent. Yet she was just old enough to keep Betty in tow, manage the house, and take good care of him at night.
"You know, it's none of my business, Kathleen, but I can't help wondering what you ever saw in that hippie musician you hitched yourself to," he began.
"Well, I'll be honest with you, Dan." She slowly turned her head to look at him, her eyes still wistful and distant. "I was brought up as an only child in a Methodist family, and both of my parents preached at me night and day about how wrong sex was and that even when you got married you weren't supposed to enjoy it, it was just a woman's duty. I was twenty when they died, and my father left me just enough insurance money to finish up school and learn the Dewey decimal system so I could get a library job here in Summerton. You know, my father was born a few miles away from here. But anyhow, when Ed Johnson came along, I'd already spent a couple of years in the library and I was getting to feel like an old maid. And he thought I was terrific, and he bossed me and he knew how to handle me and that's why I married him."
"But look what you put up with, Kathleen. And now he's left you high and dry and taken all of your money and ruined your reputation as far as the library is concerned."
"And all the rest of this little town, I'm afraid," she agreed with another sigh. "But I don't regret it. And what I had to give up out of my savings was worth it. You see, Dan, a woman has needs, too. Men don't like to admit that, but I'm a great one for being truthful. That's probably what cost me my marriage, because if I'd kept my mouth shut and my eyes turned the other way, I would have put up with Ed's chasing around with every skirt in circulation. Now I can tell how much I missed when I'm alone at night."
He found his pulses quickening to what she had just told him. So she wanted it too, perhaps even more badly than he did. There wasn't any doubt about it; for once his instinct had been absolutely right about a prospective candidate for being a mother to his somewhat wayward red-haired daughter.
"Well, I was thinking of going to Boston or New York," she resumed. "I can type pretty well, and maybe I can even get a job in a library there. And there would certainly be more excitement and more people to meet than there'll ever be in this little town."
"I grant you all that, Kathleen. But I had something else in mind."
"Oh?" She looked at him wonderingly, her hazel eyes very large and luminous.
"Would you think about marrying again if the right man came along?"
"Well, I suppose I might. But my goodness, you can't mean yourself, Dan Jurgens. My goodness, this is only about the third or fourth time we've really talked, except to say good morning to. And don't tell me you're suddenly smitten with my somewhat faded charms. I'm shopworn, Dan, and my reputation isn't too good, as you know yourself. A meek little librarian's assistant suddenly going off with a hippie rock and roll musician who had long hair and sideburns and a moustache and who practically raped with his eyes every woman under sixty that he saw on the street. That shouldn't set too well with you if you're seriously thinking about marrying again. I know you lost your wife some years ago."
"Well, seems to me we're two lost souls, Kathleen. You could do much worse. And it wouldn't be as if I was asking for children because I've already got a real problem one on my hands with Betty."
"I don't think she's a problem child at all. She's eighteen, she's at the age when she probably ought to settle down and find the right guy, and she's chafing at the bit a little because she's fed up with this little town too, I should imagine."
"Well, you may be right. But think about it, Kathleen."
"I will. But as they say, this is so sudden, and I certainly am not going to take you seriously tonight. Here, let me get you another drink-"
"No, this will be fine-"
"No, I want one too-oh my goodness-oh Lord-ohh!" Kathleen Johnson had risen from the couch and reached towards his half-empty glass. She had turned to look at him, lost her balance, and suddenly found herself unceremoniously sprawled across his lap, her plump round buttocks exaggeratedly presented as the tight polka dot skirt caressingly clung to the effulgent rotundities. Her skirt had hiked up, too, and his eyes were feasting on the luscious rondures of her sumptuously rounded thighs whose pale-carnation-tinted skin he could see through the dusky transparency of her flawlessly clinging nylons.
Almost automatically, he felt his left arm curve round her waist and pin her to him, and in almost the same movement, his right hand was rising and falling with a resounding "Smack!" on the ripest curve of her right bottomcheek.
"Ohhhh-what-what are you doing-Dan Jurgens, how dare you-now you let me up this minute-or I'll be very angry with you- oh don't-oh no-ouch-you're hurting me- oh my-oww-ouuuu!!"
The springy elasticity of her flesh at the impact of his palm had made his penis swell with even greater longing. The game was enchanting and he meant to continue it; his right hand rose and fell with vehemence, applying two stinging, sonorous slaps on each upturned bottom summit. Kathleen Johnson squealed, twisted her face back, her eyes huge and indignant, her lovely legs kicking wildly till both pumps flew off and thudded against the floor. She thrust her hands behind her, but at once he gripped her wrists with his left hand and pinned them on the small of her back. Then, his eyes burningly fixed on the inviting plump target before him, he gripped the hems of skirt and slip with right thumb and forefinger and yanked vigorously, lofting them to just above her hips, then forced her wrists back down to keep the garments well uptrussed so that her bottom should have no protection.
No protection save the coquettish lace-trimmed peach-toned panties which shaped out the spaciously round, broadly cleft cheeks of her magnificent bottom, with the narrow tabs of a white satin-elastic garter belt lowering from under the legs of the panties to grip the tops of her off-black nylons. The temptingly mysterious crevice between her buttocks was shaped out by the fit of the panties, and they were glossy and almost transparent, wedding to the succulent contours of her posterior in a way that made his right hand itch to resume the little game he had so impulsively started.
Resume it he did with a vigorous pair of slaps to each upper hip-slope, and then two hard stinging spanks to the base of each squirming, contracting bottomglobe. Kathleen Johnson, startled and horrified, writhed and twisted and kicked and tried to throw herself off his lap. "Oh stop that now! I told you to stop, Dan Jurgens! You've got no right to do this to me--ouch, you brute, you're hurting me! Oh please-please, why are you doing this to me?"
He didn't answer. By now, he was in a torment of desire, and his right hand reached up to insert itself under the waistband of her panties, to give a single masterful tug and yank the fragile sheath down to her upper thighs.
His mouth gaped and his mouth bulged at the sight of the pale-carnation hemispheres of her naked bottom, vividly and lasciviously splotched by the bright red imprints of his spanking hand. Kathleen Johnson had uttered a strangled cry of stupefaction and shame and was wildly struggling to get her hands loose and cover up this most intimate area of her delectable person.
"Oh no-o-o-o-o!!" she almost hysterically wailed, "not on the bare! Oh you haven't got any right to treat me this way-oh please let me go-please pull my panties back up-this is just dreadful!"
But already his hand had resumed the voluptuous chastisement, and now he could understand the subtle difference between the spanking he had given his own daughter and the one he was now - administering to the beautiful, mature divorcee. Now there was no need to feel guilty over the lustful urges that were seething in his loins, making his penis want to burst forth all its virile essence. He could see only the beautiful naked flesh of a desirable female who had already told him that she had been used to the amoral and lustful erotic habits of a man who fancied himself to be another Don Juan. His hand relentlessly attacked that sumptuous naked posterior, and the flaming red covered both the globes from chinkbone to where her panties clung twisted about her struggling, clenching, and jerking thighs by the time out of breath, ready to burst from lust, he halted the spanking and laid his palm right over the shadowy, widening groove between the quaking, shuddering, and well-spanked cheeks of Kathleen Johnson's bare behind.
She was dissolved in tears, and incoherent phrases tumbled from her lips as she turned back her congested, tear-stained flushed face to him. "Ohh-ahh-oh you've killed me-oh it hurts so-what must you think of me-why did you do it to me-oh this is dreadful-I want to go away and die, I'm so ashamed- ohh, boohoo, oh d-dear!"
"That was a kind of proposal, Kathleen honey," he found himself answering in a thick, trembling voice, "and I haven't finished with your bottom yet, young lady. However, I might be inclined to stop if you are ready to say that you'll marry me."
"Ohh-oh my goodness, D-Dan-oh my darling-you don't-you really mean it, don't you? Oh darling!" she was sobbing, but her tremulous full red lips were curving in a kind of anguished smile. He had relaxed the hold of her wrists, and now both her hands rushed back to rub and soothe her flaming bottom, but she made no attempt to get up from his lap. In her struggles, her lace-trimmed panties had twisted down to her knees, and the generous rondures of her nylon-sheathed thighs were deliciously flaunted before him. The spasmodic contractions and yawnings which beset her naked, angrily reddened buttocks caught his gaze now, and he could feel his penis trying desperately to burst through his trousers fly.
But so, too, could Kathleen Johnson; even as she rubbed her bottom and continued to whimper and gasp, she suddenly began to squirm and wriggle herself, and he gasped to discover that she was forcing her loins against the agonized protuberance thrusting up from beneath his fly to find its solace in the warm twitching coral-hued cuntal lips of her awakened love-grotto.
"Well, what's your answer, Kathleen? Maybe you need a little more persuasion," he growled. Putting his left palm down on the small of her back, he applied five or six more stinging slaps all over her lunging, swerving naked behind.
"Oh don't. Oh yes, I'll do it, I'll marry you, oh you darling!" she wailed, and with a final twisting maneuver, managed to scramble off his lap and sink down on her knees.
Then, her skirt and slip still rumbled and rucked up above her hips, her panties festooning her squirming nylon-sheathed knees, Kathleen Johnson leaned forward between his readily spreading thighs, her trembling fingers attacked the zipper of his fly and drew out his savagely turgid weapon. Her head bowed without being told, as if she too were acting out of total instinct and impulse: With a groan of delight, Dan Jurgens watched enraptured as Kathleen Johnson performed an act which had taken his wife, though she had been sweetly cooperative and zestfully ingenious in bed, a full year to achieve . . . the divorcee's trembling moist red lips gripped the glans of his swollen organ and began ardently, hastily, and noisily to suck!
"You sweet devil-Kathleen-I want to marry you right away, don't make me wait!" he panted, his hands cupping her tear-stained cheeks as he forced her to this sweet act of amorous servility.
Squirming restlessly on her knees, arching closer to him, her head bowed, Kathleen Johnson pursued her act of oral obeisance to her new lord and master. Then at last his hoarse cry of warning bade her cease because he wished not so much to have release from her soft mouth but rather plunge to the very depths inside the warm sheath of her love-core. She obediently rose and let him carry her, her arms linked around his shoulders and her eyes closed and her bosom swelling violently, to her bedroom.
Swiftly then he drew off the slip and dress, unhooked her bra and yanked her panties completely off. In nylons and garter belt, off-black in dramatic and sensual contrast to the white of the garter belt, and these both enhancing the pale soft satiny carnation-tinting of her naked flesh, she lay sprawled and ready, little whimpering moans exuding from her.
Swiftly he stripped to socks and shorts, and, his penis jerking with frenzied readiness, thrust himself in a single probing dig between her cuntal lips to the very hilt, then ground his teeth and strained all his muscles to hold back the maddening impulse to release his vital juices which her ardent and sacrificial wooing had so violently aroused.
"Oh Dan, oh God, now you know why I got married-I have to be treated rough and then I just melt-but I never thought a fellow like you, such a proper citizen, would ever make love to a girl like this-oh it's just heaven- oh Dan darling, fuck me, fuck me good and hard and if I don't do it right enough for you, turn me over and spank my naughty bottom again the way you just did-oh my darling-ahhh-oh sweetheart, oh Dan, oh lover, oh my God!!!"
Her arms and legs enfolded him, her body greedily fused to his, and then there was no need for words or explanations between them.