Chapter 5
It seemed as if he came to her in a dream.
It wasn't real and long after she felt drugged and in a daze from that first incredibly satisfying bout of pleasure. But now she could only lay there like a zombie, mouth agape and eyes stuck open like those on a broken doll.
He towered before her, his massive cock arching out like an arm, the rounded circumcised head beginning to leak pearly drops of pre-seminal fluid, pre-come which glistened on his pisshole and then overflowed, drooling down along the underside of his muscular rod.
She imagined the kind of load he would ultimately give her, as if the size of his balls were somehow an indication of his additional potency, the fact that they seemed to be filled with more cream than she could imagine.
Just lying there and looking up at him made her tremble and her cunt began to dilate, the floor of her box widening and dropping down in involuntary reflex, prepared to accommodate Blake's enormous penis, prepared to stuff it all the way into place and ride it until she was drained and exhausted and filled with pleasure that would know no bounds or limitations.
"You just have to work with me," he told her then. "I'll go slow, I promise."
She nodded her head, knowing she could handle it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. On occasion, she had tried dildos when all else failed. They had proven a temporary relief, but had served to accustom her to the same kind of bulky and cumbersome dimensions as those of Blake Clayton's oversized hose.
It was not a horse cock by any means, but nine inches couldn't be looked lightly upon, especially when the length of his dick was matched by the incredible width of his sturdy poker. "I want it," she told him then.
And as if to emphasize her desire, she reached down with both of her hands and took hold of her cunt lips, pulling them back to reveal the pulpy and swollen inner flesh of her vulva. Her clitoris burned on its narrow stalk, wiggling hotly in sheer response to the visual stimuli of Blake's body.
His eyes opened even wider, taking in every detail. The lush swell of her plump and meaty box, the tender hillock of her belly, her tits capped by firm distended nipples and her svelte and ivory form, all made his mouth water. His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply, slowly dropping down to his knees to lean still closer to her spread-eagled and trembling legs.
She quivered and the silence was uncanny, as if they were both fully capable of telepathy, of reading the other's thoughts. But there was no reason to speak, not now, not as he rubbed his pre-coital fluid up and down the length of his bobbing cock-shaft.
The tightly stretched skin glistened, its blue veins bulging out and reminding her of braids of rope. And when he had fully rubbed his natural lubricant up and down along the entire length of his dick, he leaned forward and pressed one hand flat on the carpet, right alongside of her.
"Better lift your legs up, over my shoulders," he instructed her. It was, they both knew, a most delicate operation. But it was also a procedure they both wanted to see to its logical end, success and not failure.
So Amy lifted her legs up and hooked her knees over his wideset shoulders. Her ass and box were thus raised off the carpet and she rested on her shoulders and the back of her neck, all eyes to his virility, to the way he was taking the situation in hand, as if he was in far more control than even she dared to imagine.
Once her legs were up and her cunt raised into a provocative and accessible position, he gripped his dong with his one free hand and pulled it down until it was making a right angle from his hairy crotch and stomach, the head swelling visibly as he leaned towards her.
He pressed the rounded bulbous glans, its leaking tip the shape of a huge mauve mushroom cap, right against her gaping cunt furrow. The raggedy-edged outer lips seemed to flutter like the wings of a butterfly settling on a blossom and she held her breath, too delighted and too turned on to say a word.
He didn't waste much time after that.
The initial contact having been made, Blake pushed forward. He held his pecker as firmly and steadily as he could, trying to cram the wickedly wide and bulky head of his cock right inside her undulating vulva.
Just touching her cunt like this made her tremble and she felt like bouncing up and down, gyrating her hips, riding his meat and stuffing it completely into place. "Slow," she cautioned, as if this single word would bespeak her innocence and thus arouse him even more.
But he didn't need additional encouragement or advice. He was almost there, scott free, almost home. He centered his weight on his hips and thrust down and Amy took hold of her cunt lips and held them back as far as she could, widening the entranceway that led down into the hot and fluttering depths of her swampy muff.
"Beautiful. Steady, hold on, sugar, here we come," he moaned, his lips curled back in a snarl of excitement as he tried to cram the unwieldy head of his dong into place.
He could feel the liquids streaming down her cunt walls, collecting in the basin that was her reddened and inflamed vulva. The pulpy inner folds of flesh, her clit, her nymphae, all seemed enervated with blood, livid with desire. He pushed harder, wanting to go slow but finding it nearly impossible to take his time and control himself.
"Yes, it's okay, more, slow but more, all of it," she whispered, her lips dry, her mouth parched and her breath coming in gasps of incredible desire.
Never, absolutely never ever before, not even considering the pleasure and delight she had shared with Blake's son Chuck, had Amy ever felt so much a woman, so turned on and aroused by his sheer display of physical and sexual bravado. She wanted him to horse himself right up to the root, to stuff his nuts into place if he could, to plow into her as she had never been balled before.
And Blake, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was exactly that man to fit the bill. He was just as turned on as Amy and he felt cunt juice slopping around the head of his half-buried tool. He thrust down once again and this time managed to push the entire glans into place, holding it down so that the neck of his cock was flat against her hairy opening, his cock-head completely hidden from sight.
It filled her meaty vulva like a drooling fist and she gasped from the sweet cloying pressure, his physical presence making her head spin. Fucking had always been the be-all and end-all of her existence, but she realized then, even before he began to try to hammer the rest of his dick into place, that she had somehow always been cheated, that she had gone on thinking things were good when, in reality, they were only second-rate.
But no more, no longer, she told herself, straining and grunting, heaving her hips forward as he wiggled tantalizingly and thrust agilely down, his cock like a gigantic battering ram of manflesh, piercing her vaginal gates and pounding its way deep inside her mushy hole.
"That's it, now again, oh slow, slow baby," she whispered, staring down between her spread-eagled thighs. The blood rushed to her head and she felt a little dizzy, both with excitement and the anticipation of all the pleasures and orgasms she was yet to experience.
He braced himself and panted, thrusting down yet again. And now, slowly but surely, as if there was no way to prevent him from making headway, she began to see and feel how his cock was moving forward, tunneling its way down into her pussy.
The head was like a fruit, stuffed inside of her, exerting unbelievably delightful pressure and friction all along the sides of her muff. And following it was the rest of his shaft, wide and burning against her vaginal walls.
No one spoke after that, not until he had managed to enter her as she had never dreamed possible before. Or, actually, as she had only dreamed and never experienced in her life. But today fantasy and reality were merging, becoming one and she clung to him like a woman obsessed, all eyes to his remarkably hot-blooded display.
Having expected him to act like a madman, to stuff his dick inside of her without any thought of gentleness and consideration, she was doubly pleased by the care he was taking, the way he was working his cock inside of her by degrees, not rushing her, not hurting her in the least.
"You okay?" he asked then, once again seemingly capable of reading her mind.
She nodded her head and thrust her hips forward, meeting his next downward plunge. It was getting easier to handle the more he churned her insides, the more he crammed his dick into place. Her vaginal walls were stretched to the breaking point, but not painfully so, unless of course pleasure was sometimes pain, so unbearable she felt like screaming out with excitement.
But she held her tongue, watching the steady downward progress his tool was making. By now, more than four inches of hard meaty dick had pierced her to the quick. But Amy Witney was greedy and she demanded more, all of it, in fact.
"Keep going. It doesn't hurt. It's so wide, so big," she panted, tossing and turning before him as he smiled with excitement and grew more daring and more heated, stroking forward swiftly and hotly now, no longer worried that the size of his cumbersome dick might be more painful than pleasurable to his research assistant.
This too was research, but of a category she would have enjoyed pursuing day and night. It was all that mattered now and perhaps always and Amy pushed towards him, all eyes as he rammed down and suddenly made it, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Her breath seemed stuck in her lungs and the back of her throat. Her eyes bulged out and she held herself steady, unmoving as she felt what had happened and saw that now he had horsed himself completely. Not an inch of cock was visible, not even the hairy base. His wiry pubes seemed to completely obscure her own straw-hued cunt thatch and his nuts were flat between her buns, tickling the sensitive flesh of her moistened anal furrow.
"I can't move," he said, laughing nervously, not believing he had been able to do it, and without too much difficulty at that.
But he had, no doubt about it.
Even now he was groaning, savoring the incredible searing heat, the burning tightness of her girlish quim. Her pussy was so much more gripping and narrow than his wife's that the pleasure he felt seemed boundless, limitless to the extreme. He wanted to take no chances now, not wanting to blow it so to speak, now that he had gotten his way.
Which was only a way of saying that Blake was already imagining other moments such as this, coffee breaks that turned into fuck fests, one day after another. "Is it good, is it real good, Amy? It doesn't hurt you, does it, kiddo?" he whispered, all eyes to the expression on her face.
"Oh, it's so good, it's ... it's better than ever, ever before," she whispered, wondering if what she felt was love, or if her passions were simply too overwhelming, running away from her and leaving her exhausted and perfectly content, even before they began to move together in earnest.
He smiled, his consideration still surprising and amazing her. But perhaps, she thought to herself, that was what made Blake Clayton so much the man, the fact that she mattered to him, that she was somebody other than a cunt, an opening between her legs.
Other guys had only been interested in cramming their cocks into her snatch, but he was different and now she was loving it more than she would have dared to dream possible. It was happening, her box stuffed and filled to the breaking point with nine throbbing inches of hot and burning meat.
He pulled his tool slowly back, scraping the tightly stretched skin along his cock-shaft, rubbing it raw against her quivering and stretched and distended vaginal walls. The backward motion made her pussy convulse and her vaginal muscles underwent convulsive throes, clenching and unclenching, squeezing hotly against the rounded sides of his pecker.
He swore beneath his breath, lowered his head and even as he thrust down back into place, he stretched his tongue out and lashed it over each ruby-red and taut nipple. The pleasure was too good to be true.
Amy shuddered and clung to him, reaching up to hold him around the waist, afraid to let go, perhaps forever. "Faster, harder," she whispered and the two words spurred him on so that he pulled nearly the entire length of his dong out, only the head still hidden from sight, only to plow forward and cram it into her with a single skillful and well-aimed stroke.
She could feel his hips banging down against her pelvic horns, her cunt lips squishing loudly, embracing and gripping the sides of his shaft like tightly stretched elastic bands. There was no need to try to get off, to concentrate on achieving her climax. For within another moment she was there, her clit unable to endure the repeated barrages, the burning pressure of his pole.
"Oh yes, make me come. Oh it's happening, so fast. I can't stop it, Blake," she cried out, whimpering with delight as he kept licking her tits, each stroke of his tongue matching the strokes of his hard and throbbing pole.
He couldn't believe she was coming so quickly. But that didn't stop him from giving Amy what she wanted. In fact, it only served to add to his own excitement and he began to tear in and out with one jabbing plunge after another, his nuts whacking between her buns like the fist she had imagined them to be.
The hairy wrinkled sac tickled her anus and she quivered and flowed with her climax as it bore down on her like a tidal wave, inundating her body, flooding her muff with thick gushes of oily and musky sap.
"Oh baby, do it, fuck me, more, more," she begged. "Oh shit I need it, I need it bad. It's the best, the best ever. I can't breathe, all this cock, cock everywhere."
Her words made him grin and he sucked one stiff nipple between his lips, belaboring it with the edges of his wide white front teeth. The dual pressures, teeth and dick, made her tremble and she corkscrewed her hips from side to side, feeling increased pressure along one vaginal wall and then the other.
And then it happened, like fireworks, sparks igniting inside of her. She lost all sense of time and place, flowing with the burning searing pleasure of her release. Her climax made him grunt savagely and as she clung to him he held both hands down alongside of her, palms flat on the floor, legs extended out behind him.
It seemed then as if only the center of his body was moving, his muscular buns dimpling each time he speared his pole down into her pussy. He jerked and quivered as she cried out, coming with convulsive force, clinging to him as he plowed in and out, one swift thrust followed quickly by another.
There was no stopping either of them now and the more he hammered away, the closer Blake got as well. Her cunt remained as tight as a virgin's, burning and searing his shaft raw. But the flickers of pain he felt were drowned in the sea of ecstasy which was swiftly engulfing the two of them.
And as more cunt juice spilled down her vaginal walls to further lubricate her sheath, the pain lessened and he was able to slide in and out with a minimum of effort, ramming as hard and as fast as he could. He could feel the head of his dick hitting against the back of her womb, tipping her cervix and causing her to claw at him, to rake her fingernails down along his back and burly shoulders like the vixen she truly was, the tigress he had enleashed in her.
"Oh God!" she suddenly screamed out amidst her tortured groans and whimpers of excitement. "I'm coming ... again, oh again, do it, more, fuck me, Blake, fuck me with everything you've got. You're a stud, a fucking stud!"
She tossed and turned against him, writhing on the carpet, her body glowing and her skin suffused with red. He was almost there now, unable and unwilling to hold back any longer. His cock was on fire and the more she worked her vaginal muscles around his pecker, the more turned on he became.
Even his nuts were responding to the pressure, banging against her bum furrow and sensitized from the volley of shuddering strokes which rippled throughout his body. He hung on as if for dear life, feeling more sap streaming down, her cunt walls rippling as she got off for a second time in a row.
And then he let out a bellow, a roar like a rutting bull. She saw him stiffening and knew, seconds before he began to unleash his pent-up load, that he was going to get off and come. "Yes, do it, together, fuck me and come, pour it into me. Give me your load, all that good hot cream!" she squealed, clinging to him as he shuddered and fell against her.
His hairy chest burned and scratched against her tits, his thighs doing the same thing to her legs. But she loved his sweaty hairy weight pressing down, his body stretched out as he suddenly trembled violently and went hurtling over the edge.
"Yeah, now, here comes, oh shit, feel it, fuck what a cunt, what a fucking tight little piece you are," he panted as suddenly the first hot ejaculations of semen poured into her box, his dick like a fire hose gone out of control.
She held onto him, stretched out flat on her back, feeling the way his cock was tearing inside of her muff and his cream like bullets, thick wads of gism splashing against her vaginal walls. "Do it, come, shoot you prick, you fucking bear," he heard her growl as he quivered like a taut bow, sending out wad after hot gushing wad of semen.
There was no end to it, his balls feeling as if they were contracting, squeezed and forced to squirt out his come. "You're beautiful, shit so tight, so fucking hot and beautiful," he whispered, clutching her in his arms, devouring her the way she had always imagined it would be.
And all she could do was smile, still trembling, her body caught up in rhythmic contractions so that she was still coming, hardly aware of where or even who she really was. But that was just the way she'd always wanted and imagined it to be.
Slowly, he began to calm down. His cock sent out a last thick dribble of cream and he gasped, pressing his face down in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. Life father, like son, Amy thought wearily and pleasurably to herself.
She had known he would be this good all along, instinctively no doubt, a woman's intuition or premonition. And now she wanted him again, wanted him to keep at it, never to tire out or stop, to fuck her until there was not a drop of energy left in his body.
She tightened her vaginal muscles around his prong, feeling the way it was getting limp, still buried inside of her. He murmured in response and then she whispered, telling him to stay there, to do it all over again, not to pull out until he was good and hard.
"That's the way I like my men, always hard, really hard and hot for me," she told him, licking his ear and using her cunt muscles once again.
He stirred, savoring the mushy lubricity of her box, her cunt now flooded with his copious and sticky load. Semen dripped down around the gaping opening of her snatch, coating his crotch and belly with his load.
That she was this responsive and receptive to him, this aroused and sexually turned on, made Blake smile to himself. He wiggled his limp dick back and forth, not pulling it out, as she had instructed him.
It wasn't as if he was taking orders from a woman and he didn't mind the encouragement she gave him. Rather, it somehow turned him on all the more, knowing that she was digging this, getting off as no one, not even his wife Joan, had gotten off in the past.
He put aside all other thoughts, the fantasies he'd had about deflowering his daughter, taking Cindy's cherry, savoring the tightness of her girlish and virginal snatch. He had someone as good if not better to contend with and within a few more minutes the fullness returned and he was erect all over again.
The second time was even better than the first.
The come he had poured down her snatch only served to heighten the lubricity of her box, making it much easier for him to slide his dick in and out of her pussy. Come sprayed and splashed like foamy whitecaps over their thighs and bellies. But the two of them were lost to their pleasure, oblivious to all and everything else.
When it was finally over, when he told her with a laugh that it was time to get back to work, he helped her to her feet and she felt dizzy, staggering as come dripped down along the insides of her thighs. She excused herself, snatched her clothes up off the floor and hurried upstairs to take a quick shower.
But not before she'd seen to it that he didn't even need a towel to wipe himself off with, for she used her tongue and lips and mouth to suck his cock clean, loving the taste of his salty semen as she swallowed it down, inhaling at the same time and drinking in the sweaty musky aroma which permeated his manly crotch.
When she got back downstairs he was dressed, once again pacing the study as if nothing had happened. She moved back to the couch, refreshed from the shower, picked up her coffee mugnoticing he had filled it once again for her-and continued where she had left off.
But, needless to say, it was considerably difficult for Amy to concentrate on her work, in light of what had transpired just a short while before.
"I'd like to talk to you, Amy," Joan Clayton announced. "Alone, if I might, upstairs in your room, if that's okay with you."
Amy looked up with a start. She had been transcribing some of her notes, the dictation Blake had given her, onto the typewritten page. Blake was in the city working out a deal with his agent and publisher and she and Joan were alone in the house, the children off somewhere and up to their own devices.
"Why, why sure," Amy said as Joan Clayton stood by the sliding French doors that led in and out of the study. She wondered why they couldn't talk right here, right where they were. But she refrained from asking Joan why they had to have a private discussion upstairs in her room.
It had been more than a week since she and Blake had had sex together for the first time. And in the few days that followed they repeated their coffee break, their torrid and sensual lovemaking becoming more vigorous and varied with each successive episode.
As far as Amy knew, Joan hadn't discovered what was going on between her and her husband. Certainly, she didn't worry about Blake, though when Chuck returned from his camping trip and made a nocturnal visit to her room, she didn't turn the boy away, either. After all, having an affair-for want of a better word-with the father, didn't mean she still couldn't enjoy his handsome and studly young son.
So now she turned off the electric typewriter and the instant it stopped humming a veil of silence, ominous and foreboding, seemed to descend in the room. Feeling awkward and even a little bit on the defensive, she got up from the typing stool and followed Joan out of the room, up the stairs to the second floor of the house and then down the hall to her room.
Amy never kept the door locked and now Joan waited, exercising all the proper social amenities. She turned the knob and stepped inside, beckoning Joan to follow. They had said nothing all the way upstairs and now she felt herself growing more and more alarmed with each passing second.
This can't be an ordinary chat, she thought to herself as she sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Joan as she stood by the door, her features set in what appeared now to be a cold and calculating grimace of contempt.
"Take off your clothes."
Amy looked up with a gasp. The words reverberated in the air, echoing loud and shrill in her ears. She recalled instantly that Blake had used those very same words on her, the day they'd had sex together for the first time. But this wasn't Blake who stood before her. It was his wife, a woman in her early thirties, with curly brunette hair and a figure that was still holding its own, though more mature, more womanly and fleshy than Amy's voluptuous figure.
"What?" Amy whispered weakly, though she knew she had heard Joan exactly, not misinterpreting the woman's brief expletive.
"You heard me. I said to get undressed. Now, Amy," Joan Clayton said, smirking and crossing her hands in front of her. She leaned against the door, her eyes narrowed and blazing, her lips parted slightly in what appeared to Amy to be a look of smug condescension.
"You ... you must be kidding," Amy told her.
"Kidding?" Joan repeated, and she moved forward, lifting her hand so that Amy winced involuntarily and hung back, but not back far enough so that Joan wasn't able to bring her hand down against the side of her face with a loud and resounding slap.
"Stop!" Amy screamed, flinching from the pain, holding her cheek with one hand as suddenly Joan began to laugh, a maniacal cackle that made the hairs stand up along the back of her neck. She leaned forward even more and took hold of Amy's madras blouse, pulling at it with vicious determination.
Amy started yelling, begging her to stop. But Joan only laughed, tearing at her blouse, not content until some of the buttons popped off and the thin cotton material began to shred, tearing and ripped right off of her. "You'll do as I say, you little tramp, you disgusting nympho," Joan yelled and Amy found herself nodding her head, too frightened to protest any longer.
When Joan let go of her blouse she meekly hung her head down in shame. Her fingers trembled spasmodically and she undid the rest of the buttons and slowly pulled her blouse out from the waistband of her skirt.
She slid her arms out of the half sleeves and took it completely off, blushing as she sat there on the bed, her naked tits swaying from side to side, the nipples taut, though firm from fear, not sexual arousal. Joan stared with wide and delighted eyes, admiring the young woman's firm rounded jugs, her breasts smaller than hers, but no less of a turn-on, either for a man ... or for a woman like Joan Clayton.
"Go on, your skirt, kiddo," the older woman snapped and Amy slid her fingers back to the zipper of her skirt.
She pulled it down, afraid to look up at Joan, still not understanding what was taking place. But, if anything, it was obvious to her that Joan knew everything that had happened between Amy and her husband, perhaps even her son Chuck.
She got up off the bed just long enough to pull the skirt down past her hips and ass. Then she sat down again and pushed it down to the floor. Joan bent forward and snatched it up, throwing it to the far corner of the room.
Luckily, so Amy thought to herself, she was wearing panties today, her naked cunt shuddering as if with fear. "The socks, baby love," Joan giggled, able to see the lush triangular shadow of the young woman's pussy, visible behind the front of her skimpy and narrow bikini panties. They were a mere slip, like a handkerchief, barely covering her meaty crotch.
Amy pulled down her knee socks and pushed her loafers off as well. And then, when all she had on were her panties, she looked up at Joan, realizing that this had gone far enough, too far in fact. "Why, why are you doing this to me?" she asked.
"Why?" Joan repeated with a smirk. "Isn't it obvious, Miss Witney? Isn't it obvious to you by now that I'm not the fool you seem to take me for? What did you think, I'd be blind, ignorant of what you've been doing behind my back?"
"What have I been doing for God sakes?" Amy exclaimed.
"As if you don't know, you little piece of trash," Joan hissed. "I know all about your tricks, kiddo, what's been going on in this house. But don't think you can get away with it. Blake's mine, do you hear. He's just using you, just the way you're using my son Chuck!"
"Your son!" Amy said loudly, as if denying her sexual involvement with the boy would somehow alleviate some of her difficulties, at least the difficulties now presented by Joan's announcement that she knew what was going on during their coffee breaks.
"You bet your sweet hot nympho ass my son!" the woman shrieked. "It's not good enough for you, corrupting a boy. No, you have to seduce his father, too, you little shit. Well, I'm going to show you exactly what happens when you come into a home and try to corrupt it, to break up a marriage after more than sixteen years of happiness."
"You're crazy. You're out of your mind, you know that," Amy told her. She started to get to her feet. But before she could make a move, Joan lunged forward and threw her down on the bed. Quickly, with more strength than Amy would previously have imagined, she pushed her over onto her stomach.
She was leaning over the foot of the bed when suddenly she cried out as Joan's hand descended against her rump, spanking her with incredible force and malice. "Stop, stop it!" Amy yelled, shuddering and trying to release herself, even as the woman's hand came down a second time, the blow directed with even more force and vengeance.
Besides the pain there was the humiliation, forced to kneel over and admit what she had done, forced to submit to a spanking such as she hadn't received since she was a little girl. She writhed in protest, but Joan seemed possessed of unnatural strength.
Holding her down, she lashed out with the flat of her hand, searing Amy's trembling buttocks with one fierce burning blow after another. Amy finally stopped moving. She froze on the bed, tears welling up under her lids.
She had no idea of what to do and less of an idea of what to say, as well.