Chapter 3
Fran could never pull into the Pier Two parking lot without looking out at the houseboat. It had been hers, and had been docked in the same spot, sandwiched between two others, for several months now, and she still searched it out every time she parked her car on the gravel facing the bay, and felt the pride of ownership beat briefly in her chest. Had this been the answer? Or had it merely symbolized her ideological move from Orinda, something that had not quite materialized in the spirit when she moved her household?
Seeing Bob's VW with its dented fender was still in the parking lot, Fran picked up the bag of groceries from the seat beside her and hurried in. She suspected that they might be waiting for her in spite of the fact that she'd declined their invitation to go on the picnic with them. She'd spent over an hour in the market, something one would never suspect from the medium-sized bag of groceries she carried home. But she had had a brief conversation with the produce clerk and, noting that he didn't seem to be able to take his eyes away from her, she had dawdled over the freestone peaches. Being discreetly ogled was one of life's minor pleasures, she was discovering; developing a taste for it, she had begun to dress to invite it and today had worn a good old-fashioned pair of short-shorts, otherwise known as hotpants. They showed off her legs to perfection, as well as, when she had bent over slightly to reach for the farthest away freestones, the curve of her smooth plump buttocks.
When she entered her floating home and shut the front door a hand whisked out unseen to slap the exposed portion of her left buttock with a resounding "smack."
"Bob!" she squealed, and as an afterthought tugged at the back of each leg of her shorts, pulling them out of the crease between her womanly buttocks, where they'd gathered while she stood over the peaches in the market.
"We were waiting for you," Vivian said from within Bob's and her bedroom.
"You shouldn't have," Fran said. "It's a nice enough day here; I think I'll stay."
"Don't you think Ted and Ellen would like to see you?"
"They've just been gone two weeks. He's been away longer than that lots of times."
"So?"
"You kids go ahead," Fran said, resolutely. "I'm sure you can get by without me."
"Mom!" Vivian said. "You don't get out enough! I think you should come."
"I don't quite feel up to it," Fran said. "It's a long trek over to Tilden. Let's plan a picnic in a week or two on this side of the bay-then I'll come along."
"Okay," Vivian said, having done her best. She and Bob carried the picnic basket out to the car and drove out to the freeway to catch the San Rafael bridge across the bay.
"I worry about Mom sometimes," Vivian said, once they were in the car. "She really doesn't get out enough."
"I know," Bob said.
"I wish she'd meet a man or something. Since we finished the houseboat she's just sat around and mooned. I think she figures she's over the hill or something."
"I don't think so," Bob said.
"Well, I don't either."
"Sometimes I think she's damn fuckable."
"What?" Vivian yelled. "You mean you'd fuck my mother?"
"Christ," Bob said. "I didn't say that. I just said that she's fuckable, that's all, and she is, she's an attractive woman."
"Does that mean she attracts you?"
"She makes a basic appeal to the male in me," Bob said, "just like any other attractive woman. It's entirely normal."
Vivian was silent for a few minutes and, after awhile Bob broke the silence saying, "What bothers you, anyway? The fact that I said fuckable? Does it bother you to imagine your old lady fucking?"
"No, that's not it at all," Vivian said. "I was just saying I wished she would fuck someone-I think she'd be a lot happier."
"Then what is it?"
"The idea that you're attracted to other women," Vivian said.
"Oh."
"Do you want to fuck other girls?"
"No," Bob said. "For chris' sake. Not now, anyway. I mean, I'm happy with you."
"Well, when will you want to fuck someone else?"
"Oh, give me a week or two."
"Creep!" Vivian yelled.
"Come on, climb off it," Bob said. "I love you. I'm happy with you, happy as I've ever been with a girl. Still, that doesn't keep me from recognizing that other girls have sex appeal-it's like saying they have black hair or something, or red hair. That doesn't mean I want to go out and fuck them. And with your getting the hots three times a day, I wouldn't be able to even if I did."
Vivian was quiet for another few minutes, until they had passed the toll plaza, when she said, "Well, I haven't wanted to fuck anyone else. I haven't given another guy a thought since I met you."
"You will," Bob said.
"What makes you so sure?" she asked, caressing the inside of his thigh as he drove.
"Human nature," he said.
"Would you fuck Mom if you didn't know me?"
"Christ, you're getting morbid," Bob said.
"Well, would you?"
"Possibly," he said with an exasperated sigh.
There the matter rested when they arrived at Ted and Ellen's in Berkeley. They had rented a one-bedroom apartment not too far from campus.
More than anything Fran guessed she needed a respite from Bob, from his male presence, his sexual presence. There were frustrations inherent in living with a pair of happy lovers, especially if one of the lovers is your daughter whom you would never hurt and the other aroused you. Not that she had let on to either of them, to Vivian that she was envious or to Bob that he turned her on. But he was aware of it anyway; he knew it in his confident masculine way-of that, Fran was sure, as sure as she was of the fact that Bob in turn was aware of her essential femaleness. She caught that speculative look in his eye sometimes. It was a strain on her, since she knew that if Bob ever touched her, if he ever broke down or cut loose or whatever and touched her, she would melt. If he had caressed her rump rather slapping it, if his hard cool fingers had slowly slid across the smooth globe of her ass, well ... the tingle would have been so acute that she would have had to change panties. She needed a rest, an opportunity to fixate her mind on something else, and that was why she had stayed home from the picnic.
Putting her groceries away, wondering how the three of them were going to eat eight pounds of peaches before they rotted, Fran looked up and a tremor shot through her as she gasped in surprise. There, standing on the dock was the produce clerk! He gazed absently at the door of her houseboat, his ebony skin glistening in the sun. Then he turned away and walked down the dock and out of sight where the dock made an "L." What a funny coincidence, she thought. Did he know somebody in one of the houseboats, or what? She decided to make some peach pies.
She recalled that the boy's supermarket name tag had read "Gene." She began to blend shortening, flour and water for the piecrust when she saw him come back around the corner, ambling aimlessly as if he had nothing else to do except walk up and down the dock a bit, casually looking all around. He paused to roll up his shirt sleeves, then stood there, feet planted, arms akimbo, staring in her direction, his eyes alighting on her window just as she drew back from the slit in the curtain. What had pleased her about her brief exchange with the boy in the market was that it was the type of thing she rarely carried off. She'd asked what was fresh today besides the peaches and he'd replied, "Just me."
It was the type of comment that usually unnerved her, and shut her up as well, but she'd come back as flippantly as he: "Well, how fresh are you?"
"Pinch me and see," he said, smiling.
"How would I tell?"
"I'm afraid it would be obvious... might cost me my job if it happened while I was handling the lettuce."
She had blushed, thinking what he had probably wanted her to think, and turned away knowing his eyes were upon her. It had been harmless enough.
When she heard the knock on the door, it came as a surprise, since she had been standing there rolling out the crust avoiding speculation about what Gene's purpose might be. Suddenly worried, after a long minute gathering her courage she answered the door to find him standing there, an arm on the doorjamb, seeming to hover darkly over her as she squeaked a tentative hello.
He grinned broadly.
She frowned, not knowing what to expect.
"Thought I'd say hello," he said.
"Hello," she stammered again, waiting.
"Can I talk to you for awhile?"
"Sure," she said, standing firm in the doorway, half behind the door, which she'd only opened a crack.
"Do I get invited in?" he asked. "Or do I have to stand out on the doorstep?"
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I was on my way to visit a friend when I happened to see you peek through the curtains at me," he said, and Fran knew that he was at least half lying, sensing that his friend was fictitious. "And I thought I'd stop by and socialize for a minute. I remembered that you had seemed like a nice lady."
"Oh," Fran said, knowing she didn't want to hurt his feelings and that it would be easy to do so, he seemed so vulnerable somehow at the moment, and yet...
"Of course if you have some sort of color bar in this neighborhood," he said when she made no move to admit him, "maybe I'd better hightail it out of here ... before those fellows with the hoods come get me."
He raised his eyebrows and half-turned to go before Fran could bring herself to say, "Don't be silly," and open the door to admit him, stepping aside to let him pass and catching, when she inhaled, a faint musky scent, masculine and resembling ginger. After a moment she recognized it as English Leather Aftershave, the same as Ted used.
"Nice place," he said, giving it a once-over and inspecting the view of the bay.
"We like it, too," Fran said. "Built it ourselves."
"Husband and you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Son, daughter, some friends, and myself," she said.
"You've got a son and daughter old enough to be any real help?" he said, mildly surprised.
"They did most of the work," she said.
"Live with you?"
"Yes," she said, not wanting to go into detail, not at the moment. "Would you like a beer?"
"Sounds good.".
"Why don't you sit here at the kitchen table," she suggested. "I have to get these pies in the oven."
"I wondered what you were going to do with all those peaches," he said.
He grinned broadly with a white flash of teeth and as Fran turned away to begin peeling the fruit she felt herself blushing madly.
"What do you do?" she asked, without turning around. "Besides working in the store?"
He told her briefly about himself as she prepared her pies. In his early twenties, he attended Marin Junior College part time without quite knowing what he wanted to do but intending to finish up his education. His family-his mother and three siblings-lived in West Oakland; his father had run off somewhere and hadn't been seen in years. And as he sketched himself in for her in his casually laconic manner she pitted and sliced her peaches, sugaring them and arranging them in the pie shells, glancing at him every few moments out of the corner of her eye and knowing full well that all the while he stared at her legs and fanny, her hotpants having again crept into the cleft between her buttocks which were too full to be adequately contained by the garment. Because her legs were nicely tanned, considering that in absolute terms not very much of her was actually showing, the white skin of her hind cheeks seemed absurdly suggestive... one couldn't look at her without thinking of nakedness.
With deft practiced movements Fran feathered the edges of the pies, pinching the top and bottom crusts together all around and then bent, hotpants creeping, to stick both pies in the preheated oven, frowning as she turned the dial down, trying to remember exactly how much hotter this oven was than showed on the dial and thinking she should have bought an oven thermometer.
"Well, can I stick around for a piece?"
"Piece?" she said, deciding it was about sixty degrees too hot.
"Pie is what I had in mind," he said with a brief deep-throated chuckle. "But I guess we can knock off another piece while we're waitin'."
"Sure," she said, adjusting the temperature gauge to her satisfaction, then standing. "I mean no!" she cried as the second meaning of "piece" sank in, her face flushing.
"You'll have to make up your mind," he cackled.
"Yes to pie, no to, uh, anything else you might have in mind," she said, thinking quickly. She couldn't stop a small smile from fleeting across her lips.
Gene stood, rinsed his beer glass at the tap, downed half a glass of water in two gulps, and said, "Well, we have to do something while we wait for pie," all wide-eyed, child-like innocence when she frowned menacingly.
Fran was many things at once. She was rattled by his innuendoes. She was somewhat amused by his look of assumed innocence. She was firm about the fact that she had to discourage the attentions of a man she hardly knew. Thus her lips were firmly pursed yet her eyes were twinkling when she walked past where he stood leaning against the sink, and she was surprised when he grasped her arm.
He spun her to him and both of his strong arms went around her waist as he attempted to kiss her. When she held her lips firm and pushed against his chest with both hands-with both hands but with just enough force to prevent her breasts from being crushed against him-he planted a kiss on her neck, a warm, slightly wet, nibbly kiss on the delicate skin at the base of her neck. She gritted her teeth against the sensation and against the notion of being seduced by sensation and she did not realize that he had slipped his fingertips into the backs of her hotpants until he suddenly wrenched upwards with both hands, almost rending the material as he freed her buttocks in their quivering entirety. She unconsciously tightened her anal sphincter and pushed a little harder against his chest when he spread the cheeks of her ass, simply rolling them apart as if to split her at the seam. He covered her soft globes as well as he was able with his hands, squeezing them, her flesh rippling as it was manipulated by his hard cool-to-the-touch hands which soon began to trace light circles about the circumference of her plump globes. However uncomfortably her panties and shorts were crammed into her crotch, she felt her pussy begin to tingle. She cursed silently.
When he kissed her lips again she responded, her full lips opening beneath his and the underside of her tongue melting as his began to probe. She felt herself swaying, caught up in the rhythm of his hands and tongue, and she began to squirm, her chest now flush with his, her breasts crushed softly between them.
Her thighs responding to the pressure of his hands, she spread her knees slightly as he forced his between them. A voice inside her cried, STOP! Stop him! She suddenly stiffened her spine, trying to ward off swooning.
She's a hot little honey. She ain't had a piece in some time, Gene was thinking when he felt her go stiff, just as he was caressing the hollows at the insides of her thighs with the two forefingers of each hand. Knowing that if he could only get to her little button he could press it and make her go, he held her firm and began working his fingers into the crotch of her pants. But with her pants so tight she was not easily accessible, and he began pulling at her fur-covered lips, tugging them apart to try to get at the core of her.
Feeling her inflamed now-spread pussy bubble cuntal cream onto her panties with his fingers so near, so near! the source, Fran wrenched free and stepped back, saying, "Stop it!" She tugged the legs of her shorts back into place and shoved him off when he tried to put his arms around her, and walked around the kitchen table into the living room.
He followed, saying, "What's the matter? Come on, baby, don't be stuck up."
"Leave me alone," she said, just wanting to catch her breath and sit down for a minute. Rejecting the couch on moral grounds, she sat in the Windsor chair by the window.
"What's wrong?" Gene asked.
"I don't want to have sex with you," Fran said in a surprisingly (even to her) Orinda matron manner, huffing slightly, "it's that simple. I don't know you well enough."
"But baby, I like you! I groove with you! Doesn't that make up some for not knowin'?"
"Not quite."
"C'mon now. You it does!"
"I know it doesn't!"
"I feel it baby, I felt it," he said, ostentatiously sniffing his fingers. "I know you know it does."
"I know..."
"Deep inside," he drawled.
"I know I know you have to know somebody..."
"All you can say is 'no,' he bellowed. "I 'no,' you 'no,' everybody 'no-no,'" he mimicked.
Fran had to laugh.
"Is it because I'm black?" he said.
"No. Of course not! Don't be silly," she said, dismayed.
"Better check on that," he said, waggling a finger at her.
"I'm positive," she said, thinking, / didn't have to leave Orinda to sleep with a grocery clerk.
"If I was white, you'd probably be layin' on the floor beggin' for it," he said.
"I would not!" she said, offended.
"I got something a white boy doesn't have," he said. "No white boy has this!"
Gene fumbled with his fly for a moment before pulling out one of the biggest and certainly the blackest prick Fran had ever seen. Its coloration ranged from ebony to molasses and it stood semi-erect. "Now doesn't that turn you on? 'Fess up, honey!"
"No!" Fran said, conscious only that the situation was getting out of control and of the big cock being waved in the air in front of her.
"Here I am, I'm being honest," he said. "I'm turned on and I admit it. Now you admit it!"
"No!"
"Liar!"
"I am not turned on," she insisted, panicked.
"If you touch it, you won't be so afraid of it," he suggested.
"I'm not afraid of it," she yelled. "But I didn't ask to see it, I don't want to touch it, so why don't you put it back?"
"Okay, anything you say," he said, somewhat too easily, Fran thought. "I wouldn't let you touch it now for anything," he said, and then, his voice soothing, "I'm sorry that I got a little carried away there. I didn't mean you no harm; I just got a little too enthused about that ass you been showin' off all over town."
As he spoke he dropped to his knees beside her chair, like a supplicant, by voice and gesture indicating regret, a mime almost totally ignored by Fran who pierced him with her eyes and said, "I was not showing my ass off all over town!"
"That may be," he conceded, taking her hand, "you just showed it to the poor nigger in the produce section, wanting him to make a fool of himself." He touched his cheek to her hand and then simply held it, engulfing it in his own larger paw.
"That's not what I had in mind at all!" Fran said calmly, determined not to rise to the bait but feeling some objection was in order. It didn't matter whether she rose to the verbal bait or not, however, smokescreen that it was, because as she spoke he smoothly lowered her hand to his cock: she was gripping it tightly before she admitted to herself what it was. She gave a start and tried to let go, but he held her hand firm while he gave his growing cock a twitch or two and before thirty seconds passed she was returning squeeze-for-squeeze, or squeeze-for-thrust.
My God, Fran thought, unable to get her hand entirely around it, it's so big! so hard! yet it's limber and its skin is soft. I can feel it throb with his heartbeat.
Fran's erect nipples pointed, the fact of their erection visible through the flimsy bra and the blouse she wore. Gene seized one, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Fran grunted silently and, with three snaps of his fingers, Gene unbuttoned the top of her blouse and then gathered one of her swelling mounds into his hand, jiggling it free from her bra to marvel at its whiteness, its smoothness, its total kneadable pliancy. He lowered his head, letting go of her hand since she now fondled his massive prick willingly, to glue his thick wet lips to the sensate red-brown point, nipping it between his teeth and rolling it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. "Ohhh," Fran moaned softly, feeling her head begin to spin as she traced circles on the velvety glans of his penis with the ball of her thumb.
Her blouse now fully unbuttoned and her bra loosened, Fran shivered when he slid his hand over her tummy and into the waistband of her hotpants. His cock emitted a droplet of seepage onto her thumb as Fran's heart fluttered into her throat. "No more! Please!" she cried, able to cry it even as her breath quickened because of the force of habit of years of denial.
His head on her loudly thumping chest as he sucked her titties with merciless fervor, Gene may not even have heard her, because as she spoke he entwined his fingers in her curly muff, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind if these thick tendrils were the same honey-blond as her hair. Forming a cup, his hand slid down and around, into the damp crotch of her hot-pants.
"No! No!" Fran cried weakly as he cupped her enflamed puffy cuntlips and began rhythmically to run his hand back and forth. She was wet as a washrag and felt herself begin to gush juice uncontrollably as Gene parted her sensitive lips to glide a finger smoothly into her thermal suction cup to the second joint and began working it gently around, his knuckle butting her clitoris lightly, rubbing it with smooth friction. Her pulsing pussy was like sponge-cake, or sponge-cake batter.
Feeling weak and unexpectedly nauseated in her lower abdomen as if a circuit were overloaded and just about to short-out any second now, Fran clamped her knees together and squirmed to get away, but Gene held her firm and her wild panicked squirming only enabled him to drive his finger more deeply into her salivating cuntmouth, belaboring every quaking cuntal ridge and tickling her cervix.
"Ah, ah, AH!" Fran gasped, aware that very much against her will her vagina was beginning to constrict tightly on the madly probing finger. Gene held her tightly and felt first her clitoris begin to twitch and then her entire overheated pussy begin to contract on his hand, digging his rough finger deeply into her snatch as her orgasm beset her, her whole body going limp as she moaned helplessly through her nose and for just a moment forgot her chagrin that her most intimate parts were being made to shudder, her slick puffy vagina made to throb, on the hand of a stranger.
Afterwards, she was embarrassed. She bit a knuckle and refused to look him in the eye. She refused to look up as he disengaged his finger from her relaxed gaping twat and stood up to strip off his own clothes. She stared steadily at the floor as his shirt dropped and then his pants fell about his feet. He stepped out of them and kicked off his shoes, forgetting for the moment his socks.
Her eyes still downcast, she bit her lip and allowed him to peel the clothes off her like she was a limp Raggedy Ann, her arms flopping as he flicked her blouse back and off and her bra forward and off. He found the zipper on her shorts and, rolling her butt from side to side, inched them over her hips and drew them off, throwing the stained, stretched hotpants to the side. Both hands on the elastic of her panties, he whisked them off and stared for a contented moment at the first nearly blond snatch he'd ever seen.
He picked her up and lay her out on the floor. Her legs stayed as he put them, spread obscenely wide, her sopping pussy naked as could be before his lascivious eyes. He knelt down, staring at her soft honey-colored hair, fluffy except where it was stuck down with her own juice on either side of her winking gash.
Eyes closed, Fran was petrified with shame as he placed a thumb on each of her bedewed hairlips and slowly spread them with a slow deliberate motion, drawing her tender lips apart until they would stretch no further. Smiling, he stared on the puffy lips of her wide-open cunt, forming an "O" like a mouth open in surprise, slick with cuntal seepage, her budding clitoris peeping, looking beyond the delicately wrinkled labia and into the orifice itself, the deep red walls of her sex channel until the shadows darkened the rear of the cringing cavern. He blew and when she felt hot air graze her myriad sensitive nerve endings, the pace of Fran's heartbeat doubled.
He plunged his lustful tongue into the core of her with a suddenness that took the breath from her, as he delighted in tasting the source of the sweet womanly musk that had had his nostrils a-twitch for some time now. The tongue slithered at will, reaming Fran's pussy and bringing it quickly to life again, every nerve a-jangle. Her clitoris captured between his thick upper lip and the back of his long tongue which he began to swish from side to side, Fran moaned, "Oh ... oh my God!" as he continued his attack on her defenseless cunt. She ground her butt into the floor in her attempt to escape the hot worming tongue, and she wailed in animal passion.
Gene's hands slipped beneath Fran's buttocks and he brutally spread the flesh of her cheeks. His mouth continued to grind deeper and deeper into her pussy and sucking sounds filled the room as she raised her loins to his plundering mouth. His hands split the crack between her cheeks and he ran a hard finger over the sensitive brown ring of her anus. He pressed his fingertip into the pucker and Fran clenched her fists, her vibrant naked flesh overcome by the young black stranger's raw lust.
When his finger shot past her tiring sphincter, Fran's posterior spasmed and she cried out in pained delirium as he probed the opening. Then, suddenly, he was no longer fucking her orally with his rapier tongue ... moving downward, he closed in on the puckered brown hole. She thought she would scream but instead moaned in rapture as his tongue flicked wetly against her tingling anus.
"Don't ... don't ... Gene... Please," she cried even as she pushed her thighs closer to his mouth in an ungodly attempt to rape her tingling rectum with his tongue. She felt the flesh of her breasts and stomach turn suddenly to goose bumps as she began to toss her head from side to side, overwhelmed by her degradation, Gene's tongue now snaking from anus to vagina and back again in wild abandon as her body began to seethe.
"Lady, you really move your ass when you get turned on just a little," Gene said, drawing back, thinking, My God this in just about the hottest, horniest piece, the sexiest goddamn bitch I've ever found. Put it to her just a little and she goes wild. She says 'no,' but she's easy. "Now I'm going to fuck you until you go out of your mind, until you lose your head," he said, raising to his knees and with just a note of the menacing in his voice. He touched his upthrusting ungodly shaft and said, "I put this to you, and you won't be able to walk straight, you won't be able to think for a week!"
"No, please no, I can't ... I'll never be able to," Fran wailed, honest fear welling up at the sight of his huge throbbing cock and, just beneath, his hairy black balls.
"You're going to love every minute of this, and you'll never be able to forget it," he said, crawling forward and lowering himself upon her.
"No! No!" Fran cried, trying to get away, trying to scoot out from beneath this raging animal, scraping her ass and elbows on the carpet.
But he flattened her, his forearm across her chest, his elbow on her breast and threatening to dig in even deeper if she didn't hold still. And so she held still, her gushing pussy cringing as he leveled his cannon at it, her rawly sensitive clitoris shivering helplessly as he nuzzled it. Paralyzed by both fear and his weight, Fran gasped when the bulbous head of his thick shaft parted her delicate lips, sending electrical chills coursing through her. Anticipating complete violation if not ruination, she could not move as he heaved a bit and then groaned, "Ohhhh!"
When, holding both of her shoulders, he lunged, lodging the head of his meaty shaft in her pulsating opening, the sudden stretching of her sex organ pained her sharply, "No! No! Please ... I can't.... bear it!" she sobbed.
But that first sharp stabbing of entry numbed her enough so that as her impalement continued she became curious how this growing bloated feeling between her legs and extending deeply into her abdomen was going to relate to, what precise effect it was going to have on her excitement, for with his expert tongue Gene had brought her to the edge of abandon: her nipples were so swollen she feared they'd pop, her anus tingled even yet, and her pussy throbbed in spite of its being temporarily numbed by sheer size, by overwhelming maleness.
Before he had entered her completely, the steady pulsing throb in every ironed-out pore in her vagina reached near crescendo proportions, and when he finally reamed her to the depths of her cunt she was suddenly able to sense the vibes from every corrugation in his massive shaft through her stretched membranes. He lay still for a minute, soaking her up, soaking in this marvelous twat, then flexed his cock and lurched even more deeply into her belly. She groaned helplessly, "Aaaaahhhgggh!"
Nothing can beat this, Gene thought, remembering that an hour ago he'd stood out on the dock fearing that he might get his head kicked in if he knocked on the wrong door, and now here he was, luxuriating in one of the most totally mesmerized cunts he'd ever come across, ever plundered. Christ, she was all set to go off her rocker any minute, whether she cared to admit it to herself or not. His nuts had been aching since she first sashayed down the aisle in the store, her ass undulating unbelievably.
The softly palpitating flesh of her pussy sheathed him tighter than his natural skin and the moment he began to bang around in it with a tattoo of hard thrusts sucking sounds filled the room as he pounded in and out of her and her breath rasped in her throat as she made the dimly remembered connection between cock and excitement, and she began to rotate her hips against him as her whimpers of pain became those of pleasure. She ground her pussy up against him and her legs quivered on either side of the thick impaling cock.
Gene stopped short, abruptly, his nuts having ached so long that he was on the verge of blowing it, of shooting before he subjected her. He cooled it for a minute, collecting himself.
"Do it! Do it!" she urged, waggling her hips at him and quivering in abandon.
"Do what?" he asked. "Say exactly."
"Oh, fuck me!" Fran cried, not knowing what was happening to her, knowing only what she had to have this minute. "Fuck me! Fuck me!"
"Fuck you 'til what happens?" he asked, coolly.
"Oh ... Oh fuck me! Fuck me 'til I go crazy!" Fran cried, admitting to herself that that was exactly what she wanted. And as he began to carry out her wish, she continued to croon sweet music to his ears, "Fuck me! Fuck me crazy! Ohhhhhh... fuck it hard! Fuck me crazy! Fuck my pussy blue!" and as she crooned, she writhed her cunt up to him, his huge cock violating her to the depths of her womb and filling her with insane pleasure.
Gene jammed her with building force, drawing nearly out of her gushing sucking sheath and then ramming downwards with ever more rapid strokes as her long-starved pussy clasped hungrily. She was beginning to explode beneath him. He sensed she was on the verge as she grunted and hurtled her overheated twat back and forth on his twitching prick.
She gurgled rapturously in her throat as she found his mouth with hers and slithered her tongue into his throat, her pleasure now greater than she'd ever dreamed it could be as she lay masturbating herself all those lonely nights. The tension in her, her body's mainspring had been overwound for far too long ... one more thrust of that huge ramming...
"Aiiiiieeeeeee!" Fran screamed as her whole body went into one giant seizure and her tongue fell back into her throat and she began to yip like a dog, "Arrggh! Arrggh! Arggk!"
For one split second Gene opened his eyes on the woman, on the total sensation of her spending, sweat dripping from her face which was contorted as if in pain as she wrapped her legs around him and ground her breasts into him and clutched him so tightly with her clasping cunt that he feared his next thrust would pull it out of her, or pull his cock out by the roots, as he felt it begin to explode, to shoot out one bolt of cum after another, his spine twitching as he curled his toes and boiled sperm into the hungry suction cup, moaning softly, "Ohhhh ... ahhhhh...ahhhhhh!"
"Oh God!" Fran screamed, just before collapsing, her mind puddling as every muscle in her body relaxed, deflated, at once.
Fran's senses didn't return until Gene had caught his breath again and rolled off, when she opened her eyes and at the same moment she focused them she heard the pinging of the oven bell. "Damn!" she said. "The pies have burned to a crisp!"
She jumped up and ran to the stove, breasts bouncing as she rounded the table and threw open the oven door. No smoke billowed forth and after an anxious moment she said, "They're a little brown around the edges, but I think they'll be edible."
Gene sighed and rolled back.
"Like your pie hot?" she asked.
"I like everything hot."
"Oh," she said. "Well, was that hot enough for you?"
"Oh," he said lazily, "just about."
"Just about!" she cried.
He laughed and she said, "Well, I think we ought to let them set for awhile, anyway."
A mixture of cum and her own cream had begun to run down Fran's thighs and had almost reached her knees before she grabbed a paper towel and stopped it, wiping up the in-sides of her thighs to her pussy, which she touched gingerly. "Christ, you may be right. It might be a week before I can walk comfortably again."
"Ah, you'll be all right," he said.
"What'll we do while we wait for the pie?" she said.
"Oh, relax," he said, totally relaxed.
Fran sat on the floor beside him, her legs folded in front of her. He could see their mingled juices matting down the hair at her snatch, small rivulets of white dribbling out of her puffy reddened overworked center and onto her fine honey blond muff. His cock and balls were covered with a similar mixture, now drying and beginning to flake.
Taking her first good look at his body, Fran found that she admired it. He was about Bob's size and perhaps better developed. His skin was smooth and dusky. His chest hair seemed to grow in little knots. Fran wondered if his cock was bigger than Bob's ... in its flaccid state it looked bigger, but erect and raging for action? She was no judge, having just seen Bob's the one time. She gazed on his body until the pie cooled, marveling at it, at the wonder it had created in her body, and out of dim memory she recognized her euphoric well-being as a state that was dependent on sexual congress, sex achieved with a man, not alone. Her vagina was sore from its abuse, it had been so stretched that she could feel the cooling evening air wafting into it, tingling her nerve ends, but she had to admit that it was a pleasant, itching hurt.
Later, Gene lay on his back on her bed, hands folded behind his head, accepting her ministrations like a lazy man. His body, at least, was no longer that of a stranger; by the time Fran had kissed him from head to toe she felt she had intimate knowledge of the man. She nibbled, sucked, nipped, and wherever she focused her attention in the dimming light, it returned to his manhood, which, taking her courage in hand and taking a lesson from her daughter, she opened her mouth to admit, fastening onto it like a baby calf onto a milch cow's teat. Taking care not to use her teeth, yet using her lips and tongue as vigorously as nature would allow, she brought it to life again, bravely, never flinching as she felt it grow, keeping her lips firm about its base as it swelled in her mouth, depressing her tongue and nearly wrenching her jaws as it began to poke into her throat. Dare she? she wondered. Dare she further punish her sore itching cunt? The cunt is the most resilient organ in the body, she knew.... The itch became feverish and palpitant, she could feel the walls of her enflamed pussy begin to ooze....
Lying immobile, face frozen in an inscrutable half-smile, Gene watched with a certain pride as she straddled him, her weight on her knees as she fumblingly aimed his massive shaft at the redhot center of herself, his eyes focusing on her blond snatch as she spread her opening with two fingers to fit herself on the bulbous head of his massive black shaft and sank down half an inch needing to cover him with as much of her puffy slackness as she could to make her impalement possible. She remained poised like that for a minute, her leg tendons quivering as she caught her breath, the hair lips of her snatch stretched in a ring around his knob, before she lowered herself in one slow steady dropping of her body onto the impaling shaft, which filled the hollows between her widespread thighs as it disappeared from view.
Fran sat on him helplessly for a moment, out of breath and unable to move, skewered to the depths of her belly, every puff and wrinkle in the walls of her cunt ironed flat. And then she began to move rapidly up and down, lifting herself halfway off him and dropping back on as she went, "Uh... uh ... uh" with each stroke, her abdomen flexing and her breasts swaying as she moved. She fucked her pussy on the huge shaft with building tempo, rotating her hips maddeningly as she ground down on it with increasing hunger, her breasts bouncing with her effort, the two red eyes of her stiff nipples blinking at him as they swayed, as they began to swing in small circles from the tiring woman's effort, until Gene reached up and filled his hands with her soft gyrating mounds, squeezing them and holding them still in huge handfuls as Fran humped, falling forward slightly to press herself more firmly into his hands.
She stopped abruptly, on the upswing, unable to push herself over the ledge into shattered nothingness as her whole body went tense. Gene grabbed her by the hips with both hands to steady her, lifting his knees to plant his feet more firmly to pound up into her. If he hadn't held her he would have sent her flying into the air with the ramrod force of his thrusts. Fran's hands shot to her face and she shuddered from head to toe as she felt her pussy clutch vainly at the rampaging prick; it seemed the walls of her cunt went rigid as he socked it to her, and then, something deep inside breaking, totally enspasmed on the impaling shaft. "Yes! Yes! Fuck my pussy! Oh! Oh! It's happppenning! Yeowww ... Fuck, fuck ... Ay, ah, AH!" she gibbered.
Gene felt cum boiling out of his balls as she dropped completely, falling forward onto him, her sweaty breasts smacking his chest as she waggled her pelvis in the air, clutching at the twitching spewing cock, the hot sperm balm on the ravaged walls of her cunt, her sore womb, as Gene moaned beneath her, his body shuddering, "Aiieee! Agghhh!"
They were lying in the dark in each other's arms, pleasantly exhausted after a hard day's work, when Fran heard the kids come in, slamming the front door and clomping into the kitchen.
"Mom made a pie!" Vivian said.
"I wonder if she's up?" Bob said.
"Why don't you see?"
"I don't want to wake her."
"Let's have some pie."
"That's Vivian and Bob," Fran said. "Why don't we get dressed so I can introduce you to them."
"Shee-it-no!
"Why not?" Fran asked, offended.
"Don't want to."
"That's not very sociable."
"Look, lady, I just gave you the two best fucks you ever had. You ought to be thankful enough without wanting to lay a family scene on me, too."
"Well, okay," Fran said, barely controlling her voice. After a moment, she said, "Tomorrow I'll show my ass off to the clerk in Frozen Foods, maybe he'll be willing to be polite to my family."
"Crap," Gene said, and that was all he said for a minute or two. This was his chance to get out of the thing with no complications. That was usually the best way, anyway. On the other hand, this lady threw a damn fine fuck. He weighed the pros and cons. "Come on, baby," he said. "I'm just a bit too tuckered right now. You know how to tire a man out. Later in the week I'll come back, and if you still want, maybe I can meet 'em then."
"That'll be fine," Fran said, snuggling closer to him, her heart speeding with the thought of another session with this marvelous animal.