Chapter 1
"Hey, thanks, June. You really know how to make a great malted, just like the old days, right?"
Tom Thompson was sitting on the living room sofa in the home of James and June Smithers, very old friends of his, who had always befriended him and treated him as if they were actual relatives-sort of uncle and aunt without portfolio. Only, this time, James was out on business, and it was Tom and June; she had mixed him a malted milk, as she used to do when he was a kid. But. what a difference; this one had more vodka than two martinis, and was one hell of a lot more potent than the inalteds you'd get at the dime store.
June was sipping one too. but very daintily, taking very small sips. Since the weather was rather warm, and since Tom was rather thirsty, he was gulping away at his, as if it brought back memories of his days as a kid.
He was twenty-five now, a tall, strapping fellow with curly dark-brown hair that grew below the nape of his neck, and sideburns right to the bottom of his ears. His face was oval, a good-looking face with burnished brown eyes and a sensuous mouth. He was about six feet tall, and lean where it counted; and, his voice was deep, almost nasally masculine. He was a lot of man for twenty-five.
He had a lot of cock, too, almost eight swinging inches when he really got it going, with a head the size of a golf ball and just about as tough.
Right now, he was feeling it, too; that is, his cock was starting to erect, and he couldn't quite figure out why. The vodka in the malted had something to do with it-he could barely taste it. concealed by the thick strawberry flavor, so he didn't really know-and maybe the way June was sitting, cross-legged, across from him on a lounge chair, her skirt hiked up so that he could see most of her thighs.
"Would you like another one, Tom?" she said, her voice soft, almost as purring as a cat.
"Huh? Oh, sure, I guess so."
She stood up, and went into the kitchen to make him another vodka malted. He watched her walk past him, her well-curved buttocks swaying gently, as if blown by a summer breeze.
He couldn't help but notice her long, tapered dancer's legs, perfectly proportioned, her slim, elegant body moving in perfect coordination, and, of course, her bounteous breastworks, like two luscious cantaloupes concealed beneath her dress but quite in evidence, and looking as if they wanted some squeezing.
She was forty, but well-preserved, with only a few faint lines of crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes. She was about five-seven but very lightweight, with a trim waist and slim body. Her face was as round and sometimes as innocent-looking-as that of a little girl, and her pouting, thick-lipped mouth and her brilliant blue eyes were two of her outstanding features.
She was a dark blonde, her hair cut short around her ears and neck; but, there was nothing masculine about her, no, not at all.
When she returned with another malted for Tom, she couldn't help but notice that the silhouette of his prick was outlined like a bas-relief against his pants. She smiled, licking her lips, as if she'd planned something like that. She handed him his malted, making sure that their hands touched. She scraped her fingernails against the top of his hand; he got so excited he almost dropped the drink.
She smiled, as he reddened; she made sure he had the drink in a good grip. Then, this time, she sat down on the couch besides him. She could feel her own internal organs stirring, her own pussy juices beginning to dampen her inside.
"Thanks, June," Tom said, taking a good gulp of his malted. "You still know how to make a great malted, that's for sure." He paused, gulping some more down. "You make better drinks than any bartender I know, and they're a lot more healthy, too."
"I'm glad you like my concoctions, Tom," she said, pleasantly. She added, "How are you and Cindy getting along these days: Everything all right in your little love nest?"
Tom laughed. June was always joking, and he knew that he could talk to her like a "buddy" any time. He was glad that she was as open-minded as she was, and in general approved of most of his decisions in the running of his life. Especially his taking that job with the company he was working for as a management trainee.
It was a little less money than others had offered; but, the training program was so superb that, if he quit right after finishing the program, he'd be snapped up by half a dozen other firms easily, at much more money, too, than they would have offered him before he got into the training program. And, of course, if he stayed with his present firm, he'd get a good raise upon completing the program. He'd made a good move.
But, June wasn't talking about his job. She was talking about his girl, the one he'd been living with for the past year. Some people hadn't approved of such a move; but June, as she had said to him once before, believed "If you and Cindy are loving together, you may as well be living together, too."
Tom replied, "She's just fine, thanks." He smiled, and winked, as he added, "She's not pregnant yet, anyway."
"I would hope not," June said, placing her hand on his thigh, her fingers quickly touching his prick-beneath his pants-and just as quickly moving away.
Again, Tom almost spilled his drink.
If he hadn't known June as long as he had, he would almost think she was trying to tease him, to get him all hot and bothered. But, no, not June; she'd touched him, fondled him, many times before. She was a friend, an "aunt," a lady he respected far too much to think about fucking.
Except . ...
As his prick began to become almost completely erect, due to her touch and the vodka's kick, that was exactly what he was suddenly thinking about.
He coughed, several times.
She patted him on the back, to help him relieve his coughing. At the same time, her other hand did the same with his prick. Though still safely stuck inside his pants, his prick was reacting as if it wanted to fuck something. And, June's sudden, and strange, touches weren't helping conditions, either.
He was starting to sweat, and he could feel beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead. He could barely believe it; she was getting him sexually aroused. June Smithers, a forty-year-old broad-of all people.
"I think-I better to-to the bathroom-"
"Why, Tom, what on earth for? Here, let June make you more comfortable."
Before he could stop her, she'd pulled his shirt half-off, unbuttoning it all the way down front. Then, carefully shifting his glass from one hand to the other, she got his shirt completely off, revealing his thick curls of chest hairs. She managed to rub her elbow against his prick a few times, too, so that it was sheer luck he didn't spill his vodka malted all over both of them.
She began to play with his chest hairs, and, at the same time, she began to unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. By now, he was feeling the effect of the three vodka malteds she'd fed him, so he wasn't in much of a position to resist.
And, matter-of-fact, as he looked into June's eyes and felt her tender touch, he didn't mind too much, really. It was almost friendly-like a "relative" fondling him-Cindy shouldn't mind, either if he didn't.
He had to admit there was something about an older woman especially June-he did admire. Her experience, her sophistication; qualities like that.
So, he wasn't so surprised when she kissed him.
French-kissed him.
Her lips clamped upon his, her tongue streaked through his teeth and tangled with his tongue. Her tongue was like a striking snake, and he could feel its pinkish warmth probing inside his mouth. He responded accordingly.
And, his hands suddenly found themselves unzipping her dress and unsnapping her bra.
Her breasts, their elegant nipples erect, their cantilevered curves fully as large as he'd always thought they would be-36C, no less-felt warm and passionate against his chest, as she pressed ever closer to him. He kissed her back, forcing her tongue back into her mouth; then, he began to ream her mouth with his tongue, in a tit-for-tat sort of maneuver, and he could easily feel her warm lips responding and her body becoming warm and passionate toward him.
Then. ...
She got her hand on his prick.
She pulled his pants down, and his shorts, so that they were both half off and hung around his knees. It was an awkward situation for him, so he raised his legs and shook them all the way off-he'd taken off his shoes earlier, so they slipped right off-leaving him stark naked, except for his socks, which he was still wearing.
She had a tender touch, but a firm one, with his prick, and he was really surprised the way she was fondling it, and the way she was using her fingernails so that they stimulated, but didn't hurt, his instrument. Cindy was beautiful, but she didn't have a touch like this, he thought.
Abruptly, she stopped kissing him.
As she withdrew her mouth from his, his eyes looked question marks into hers. She smiled, licking her lips, pouting at him; then, she dropped her head into his crotch, and she got her lips around his prick.
She drew it into her mouth like a candy cane, all of it, so swiftly and professionally that he was surprised. As she began to suck his cock, her tongue licking at the foreskin, he began to fondle her hair and her breasts, and he could feel her mouth movements responding to every bit of his touch. She was no "maiden aunt," that was for sure. And, if he had had any hesitations before about fucking his long-time "friend," he had none now.
No-he was too fucking hot to stop, too far advanced in his sexual stimulation to cease.
Which was, of course, exactly what she wanted.
And, exactly as she had planned it. Though, that he didn't know, even though he might have, by now, suspected something like that.
As she sucked his cock, he could feel his sperm rising, his testicles tightening in the safety of their scrotum. Wow, she was really turning him on!
She stopped sucking his cock.
She had felt that it was too close to the edge, and she wanted him to come inside her cunt, not her mouth. She released his cock, removing her moist mouth, and kissed him on the lips again.
He could almost taste a drop or two of his own sperm.
He kissed her on the breasts, his teeth nicking each nipple as he did so. She shuddered at his touch, and she was pleased to see that he knew how to use his teeth to turn her on without hurting her.
When he was finished licking and kissing her breasts, she positioned herself into a corner of the couch, spreading her legs wide, revealing the pinkish membranes of her open pussy. Her pubic hairs were tangled and wet, her clit protruding erectly toward him like a beckoning finger, her cunt lips small and inviting.
He buried his mouth in her bush, and his teeth tickled her clit, his tongue licked inside her cunt; she was practically screaming with passion now. She had started it, but, from the way he was working out, he was going to finish it.
When he could feel her pussy juice almost ready to pour right out of her cunt, he pulled his head back, licked his lips, and kissed her on the mouth. This time, she tasted her own juice, and she felt her pussy palpitate in appreciation for his sexual creativity in so doing.
Now. ...
She took his prick in her hand, and, pulling him forward, guided it inside her pussy.
She had a tight cunt, even for a woman of her age, and he was surprised to feel his cock sliding in slowly, inch by inch, while her muscles gripped it like a fighter's handshake. When he was finally all the way inside, her breasts were crushing his chest, and she started to french him again, her tongue a red-hot poker in his mouth.
He began to drive his cock into her cunt, feeling her body back up against the couch, as his rhythms became fast and supple. He humped and pumped her, and she did it right back to him, her pussy membranes wet as a whirlpool, sucking him further inside her, until his aching prick could stand it no longer.
He came.
He came, just as she started for her first orgasm. He was a little too quick, but he was fucking her good and strong, as her pussy juice poured out and her muscles nearly wrenched his prick from its roots. He had never felt a cunt with a grip like that before, and he was so surprised that his prick didn't go limp until she was into her second orgasm.
And, her third, and forth.
He managed to mumble, "Hey, I've only got one cock. Don't rip it off-"
She gurgled, "Listen, Tom, I'll get you hard again, you aren't getting away with just fucking me once, you know. You're going to keep on fucking me until I let you go, do you understand?"
She had, it seemed, really started something.
And, it also seemed-as he felt his prick becoming stiff again, her muscles really worked it over-that he was going along for the ride-no matter where it led.