Chapter 1
GLORIA MORRISON WRITHED BENEATH THE BURLY truck driver. Her black hair tumbled about the white pillow. Her lovely face was passionately screwed up. She dug her fingernails into his brawny back and arched upward to receive into her deepest region every thrust of his sturdy cock.
Sam Bates felt like a poor bastard who had stumbled into paradise. When he had brought that parcel up to Gloria's front door, he had assumed it was going to be an ordinary delivery. "Just sign here, ma'am," and that would be all there was to it.
But then he was face to face with this luscious creature, wearing only a frilly peignoir. She smiled at him and said, "It's such a hot day; wouldn't you like to come in for a cold drink?" The next thing he knew, she was in his arms. Her peignoir opened easily and slid away. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
Now she was under him and he was socking it to her. Man, how great it felt!
To Gloria it was more than just good sex. It was something she had to do. She had to do it or go out of her mind.
"So goood!" she grunted, grinding her cunt around him. "Oh, what a prick! I love it!"
"Goddamn, you sexy bitch!" Sam growled, and socked it to her harder than ever, putting all his 210 pounds behind every plunge.
Gloria's eyes rolled back behind closed lids. Her mouth gaped. She pressed her pelvis upward with all her might. Then lightning struck and seemed to open her from crotch to scalp. All the built-up tension gushed out of her in rolling waves and she cried as she tore furrows across the man's back.
He jerked and groaned as his joy juice spurted into her. With a deep rasping sigh, he lay still. Gloria lay contentedly beneath him, breathing deeply.
In a few moments, he pulled his spent tool out of her and stood up. He pushed his brown hair back. A grin split his flushed and fleshy face.
"Izzat the way yuh take all your deliveries?" he asked, trying to make light of it because he was nervous and unsure.
"Noooh," she breathed, her eyes still closed. "But I've done it a few times."
The woman was married. The parcel had been addressed to Mrs. Morrison, and she was living in this swank house in the suburbs. There was no evidence of kids around, but she had to have a husband. It only figured.
He turned to look at her again before starting to get dressed. Her eyes remained closed and she lay perfectly motionless except for the gentle rising and falling of her breasts.
Man, he couldn't remember when he'd seen a prettier pair of titties. They were round and milk-white, in contrast to the toasty tan of her shoulders and middle. They had small, dark nipples which had been very hard a little while ago, but now had grown soft.
His eyes swept down to her loins where there was another swath of whiteness, punctuated by the glossy black wedge on her mound. It was damp from the products of their mutual passion.
Her legs were long and shapely. They were very lady-like.
Sam liked lady-like legs, which were a contrast to the plump peasant ones of his wife.
"Well ... I guess I better be goin', " he said tentatively.
Her dark eyes opened. "Do you have to?"
"I've got a route t'cover."
"What will happen if you're half an hour late?"
He belched out a laugh. "I'm already later'n that."
"What if you're an hour late?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. They dropped to his hanging, circumcised cock.
"Jesus Christ, lady!" he blurted. "Is somethin' the matter with your husband?"
"Don't talk about him. Do you want to spend some more time with me or not?"
"Yeah. I want to."
"Then get down here."
He dropped his shorts and climbed onto the bed again. She noticed the bloody scratches on his back.
"Lie on your stomach," she said, getting up. "I'll rub something on those claw marks."
"Oh, them," he chuckled as he complied. "I forgot al! about 'em, though. I'll hafta be careful my wife don't see 'em, though."
"Is she the jealous type?" Gloria asked casually, as she stepped into the adjoining bathroom to get some lotion from the medicine cabinet.
"She would be if she had any cause. She don't know I ever stepped out on her."
"But you have many times, hm?" Gloria said, returning.
"I'm a man, ain't I?"
"You're all man," she affirmed, as she knelt on the bed beside him.
Sam winced a little but said nothing as she began to rub the lotion into his passion wounds. Her hands felt great.
She kept massaging him, working her way downward. She kneaded the firm but supple flesh at his waist. She backed up a little, and her gaze became fixed on his manly rump. After hesitating for just a moment, her hands surrounded each of his buttocks, her thumbs in the creases underneath, and she began to work those buttocks as she gazed, becoming excited again.
"Hey, lady!" he growled, starting to turn. "What the hell?"
But then she swooped, bringing her lush, red mouth against his right buttock and, with a ragged groan, he fell prone again. This was an extra special thrill. He had never had a woman kiss his ass before. He sure as hell wasn't going to stop this beautiful witch, if that was what she wanted to do.
She licked and sucked all over that buttock, then moved to the other. His fanny stirred beneath her. She got a faint scent of something which, at another time, she would have found distinctly unpleasant. But right now she felt so raunchy that even this turned her on.
She spread-eagled herself atop him and began to grind her front against his rump.
"Lady ... goddamn, we can't do no thin' this way!"
"Will you quit calling me lady?" she rasped, still grinding. "Call me anything, but not that."
"I don't know your name," he protested, "an' get off!"
She got off him. "Call me bitch."
He turned, looking up at her impassioned face. "You mean that?"
"Yes! Call me bitch, you bastard!"
Growling exultantly, he sat up and pulled her against him. His hand came up between them to grasp a bowl-like tit as they kissed bruisingly. Her hand dropped to his hairy hp and surrounded his half-hard cock. She began to stroke it as his thick tongue filled her mouth, writhing, and his band squeezed her breast as if he were testing a melon.
With a groan, she pulled her mouth away. She bent and pushed him onto his back as she kissed his hairy chest, then his middle. In another moment, her hand fed his resurrected cock to her eager lips and she began to suck at the swollen, purplish head of it.
"Oh, you bitch!" he cried. "You wild, filthy bitch!"
"That's it," she said, gasping as she raised her face for a moment. "Call me everything you can think of. Be nasty!"
She dropped her head and resumed sucking him as he let loose a stream of gutter talk. Most women-like his wife, for instance, got mad if you said shit in front of them, but this imagine broad liked to be talked to that way. Well, it took all kinds, he supposed.
Finally she was so wild with want that she leaped astride him, bringing her hot, wet pussy down around his column of manhood, and she wiggled and stroked it up and down as he just lay there, throbbing in her steaming grip. He reveled in the sight of her white, round titties bouncing up and down. After a time, he reached up and grasped them.
"Squeeze! Squeeze hard!" she ordered.
He contracted his strong fingers brutally, enjoying the way they sank into the smooth titty flesh. He started to bump up into her twat.
It was a wild bucking ride that lasted quite a while because they had slaked their initial passion only minutes ago. Gloria keened with delight as she took the jabbing thrusts of his poker as deeply as a man could go. The blunt head battered her womb.
Finally she fell forward, slamming her tits down onto his chest, she demanded:
"Ram me! Rock me! Knock me off if you can!"
He rammed and rocked her, but there was no danger of knocking her off because her hot thighs were gripping him. She was a hell of a bareback rider.
"Oooh, God.. .oooh, God!" she wailed. "What a stabber! What a cock!"
"My cock . . .jus' loves it!" he rasped. "Hold still now. Hold still!"
He grasped her around the butt and spread the satiny cheeks as he powered up into her, pummeling rapidly.
"Oh, you dirty pricky bastard!" she cried.
"You filthy cunt!" he yelled, and he corkscrewed his middle finger into her hot little ass-hole as he banged her for all he was worth.
She came. Blindingly.
He grunted and gushed.
They wailed and she sobbed.
They must have lain together for five minutes with neither of them speaking. Finally she lifted herself slowly and got off.
He sat up.
"Get dressed and get out of here," she ordered coldly, turning away.
"Damned right," he said. And that was the end of it.
Herbert Morrison was a slight, bespectacled man who ran an institutional laundry which he had inherited from his father. Actually, the laundry pretty much ran itself.
It made lots of money, for which Herbert was grateful, and-he was careful not to do anything that would louse it up.
Gloria had married him for his money. He knew that at the time because, after all, he was no prize physically and he didn't have a clever way with women. He had met her at a imagine restaurant where she was the hostess. She catered to him shamelessly when she found out how rich he was, and it was easy enough to ask her for a date and to be accepted.
They were married three weeks later.
On their wedding night, he came the first time before he could get this peter into her. The second time, she reached a soggy climax, but she had already made up her mind that bedtime with Herbert was going to be no picnic.
Well, so what? She hadn't picked him for that. She had been playing the field for quite awhile and it was time to settle down with a man who could take care of her in a material way.
But scarcely two months had gone by before she concluded money wasn't enough. Every time Herbert crawled atop her in bed, she thought of some perfectly glorious fucking she'd had in the past, and she turned off as Herbert turned on. She began having erotic dreams. From there, it was a quick step to adultery.
Now she had frozen up with Herbert completely, yet she continued to enjoy the material benefits he gave her, and this made her feel guilty. Her guilt was all the worse because Herbert never blamed her. "I understand," he said, and seemed grateful for the crumbs she tossed. He catered to her and fawned over her as if he thought she really was the fine lady she had externally become, and all the while she knew down inside that she wasn't worthy to shine his shoes because she took and didn't give, while he gave and asked practically nothing. So it was no wonder that she sought out the commonest men she could find for the sex satisfaction that she needed, and it was no wonder that she yearned for them to humiliate her. This assuaged her guilt and allowed her to live with herself, in Herbert's luxury, for a little while longer.
Herbert had something going for him, too.
He somehow had gotten it into his head that Gloria was above sex, above rutting. Oh, he bedded her, perhaps once a week, always with the utmost consideration for her feelings, and he titillated himself by frequent glimpses of her in the nude or nearly so. (She liked to flaunt her charms in front of him.) But this wasn't enough for a man who had just turned twenty-nine. He needed more action, and he got it from a girl in his office-a girl he didn't have to be considerate of because she was common and no great beauty, and she appreciated the gifts he gave her.
Her name was Daisy Watkins and she did filing in his outer office, when she wasn't doing double-duty on Herbert's couch.
To say she was no great beauty didn't mean she was without sex appeal. She was a lusty sort-built that way; and she acted that way. She was the kind of girl who could break down a man's resistance in a hurry (if he had any) and put him in the mood to sock it to her.
Right after she went to work in the laundry office, she perceived that there was something wrong with Herbert. He had a hang-dog look most of the time. She had been told he had a very beautiful wife, and a man with a beautiful wife and a going business shouldn't have looked that way ... unless...
Daisy started playing up to him; going out of her way to do little things he would notice and appreciate. He noticed more than the things she did. He began to notice her.
Daisy took to wearing tight sweaters and flimsy brassieres, so that her cow-like tits would shake and quiver in an obvious way. She also wore tight skirts and nothing but the flimsiest of panties underneath them to sheath her plumply rounded ass.
Herbert got the message.
Then one day when she brought some papers in to him, she came very close, leaned over his desk, and let a full boob rub against his arm in such a way that he could feel what it was made of.
Herbert's throat got dry and he thought: Goddamn! A man's entitled to have some fun, even if he is a husband.
He reached for her.
She landed in his lap.
Their mouths were together and, as he suctioned her plushy lips, she pushed her tongue forward and he got a mouthful of that. At the same time, she gripped his hand and lifted it to a thrusting, sweatered titty.
Herbert's bone came up against her warm bottom.
"Oh, Mr. Morrison!" she said, as she pulled her mouth from his. "What have you got down there, anyway?"
Red-faced, Herbert grinned. "Nothing that any other man doesn't have."
She looked him right in the eyes and her dark lashes drooped. "Do you want to do something with it?" she asked boldly.
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Goddamn, yes I do!"
"You want me to undress?"
"L-lock the door first."
And thus was born an affair which, while lacking in style, had a great deal to be said for it in the way of utility.
Herbert remained at his desk, because he was bashful about showing Daisy his hard-on, and he watched entranced as she removed her clothing, strutting back and forth and having a ball about it.
Her sweater was the first garment to go, and there were her gorgeous, big knockers, cupped in transparent nylon which held them up and out without keeping them from wobbling back and forth or jiggling up and down or quivering all over with every motion she made. And her thick, round nipples, surrounded by pebbly, wide pink disks, were on shocking display.
She let him feast his eyes on that as she unzipped her skirt and pushed it down. Her long brown hair hung straight.
Herbert immediately became fascinated with another bunch of hair, however-the fluffy clump that showed through the front of her pink nylon briefs, on the mound where her thighs and torso met.
He squirmed in his chair and, as surreptitiously as possible tugged at the crotch of his shorts so as to give his pecker greater growing room.
Daisy caught the motion as she tossed her skirt aside. And she said with a grin:
"Why don't you let your rod out, Mr. Morrison? You'll be more comfortable that way."
He blushed crimson, but then he decided her suggestion was sound and he unzipped his pants. He removed his uncircumcized penis from its confinement. Oh, it felt good to let it stretch, hard and stiff, in the open as Daisy smilingly continued her strip tease.
She didn't have much farther to go because she now wore only the transparent bra and panties. She whipped the bra away and her titties sagged somewhat. Herbert didn't care. They were big bouncy beauties and they had a right to sag a little if they wanted to.
Her panties came down and he gazed at her loins in their natural glory, without the pinkness of the sheer panty cloth to disguise the rich brown hue of hair and natal lips.
She tossed her pants aside and turned to him. Aaah, what a rear-rounded and quivering, deeply divided, a light gooseflesh rising on the cheeks.
"Get up, Mr. Morrison," she invited, when she once more faced him.
"Call me Herbert," he said and rose, heedless now of the fact that his pintle was standing out through the front of his clothes.
"Oooh, what a cute one!" Daisy gushed and she rounded the desk to meet him halfway, her hand wrapping around the stalk as she rubbed her bare breasts into him and sought his mouth with her lips.
Her tongue was immediately ready to plunge, and it did as soon as their lips joined. Herbert's pecker hardened even more in her hot grasp. His pulse raced.
Daisy could tell by the tremors passing through his magic wand that he wasn't going to last a great deal longer this way, and she knew he would be disappointed if he didn't get it into her before he went off.
So she let go of him and turned to scamper to the old leather couch at the side of the room where Herbert's father used to take an occasional afternoon nap in his latter days.
She sat on it, said "Oooh" because of the coldness, and swung her legs around so she could stretch out. Herbert hurriedly rid himself of coat and tie, shirt and belt, then shoes and trousers. He left his boxer shorts on, with his rod standing out through the fly of them, and he left on his socks. He also retained his glasses, which were the closely fitted kind with metallic rims.
"Come on, honey," Daisy murmured as he approached her. "Let me have that kicky thing."
He climbed onto her and immediately sank his rather short rod all the way into her happy hollow. He felt like a million dollars as he began to pump.
Daisy didn't get a chance to feel much of anything except the thrill of being screwed by the boss. This was something she could brag to her friends about.
As he humped her, her loose titties shook. One leg clamped down around his back while the other pushed against the floor to give a little swivel to her twat. To Herbert, this was only great and he came, convulsively shooting his sex serum into her. She bumped and acted as if she were having it, too. She didn't mind the fact that she missed. There was a guy living in her rooming house who would take care of her tonight.
Herbert was so pleased and grateful about everything that he wrote Daisy a little check. "To buy yourself something nice," he said.
"Oh, you don't have to do that," she told him as she leaned to read the figures he was writing down:
Twenty-five dollars.
Well, that wasn't bad. She could use it. And there was lots more where that came from.
Strangely enough, that night he took his wife a jewelry trinket which cost $79.95.