Chapter 1
Randy Webb stood up, wiped the streams of perspiration from his sun-reddened face, and then cleaned his oil-covered hands on the faded denim of his patched blue jeans. It was hot as hell, the middle of July, and Randy's young mind was rebelling at having to work out in the broiling sun rather than being at the beach, where being roasted alive made some sense. With a sigh of resignation, the husky teenager bent to the recalcitrant lawnmower, flicked the choke in, and pulled with all his might on the flimsy lawnmower cord.
Randy was strong for his sixteen years, strong and powerfully built. The past two years of working out with weights for his high school football team had honed his naturally husky frame into the muscled and bronzed figure of a man ten years older. His sandy blonde hair and tanned skin seemed to advertise his southern California origins, and the somewhat hard, wary gaze out of his steel blue eyes testified to the early maturity which his lower class life had forced upon him.
The lawnmower didn't start, as it hadn't for the past half hour, and Randy cursed under his breath with youthful fervor. With one last angry jerk, the muscled teen-ager gave the mechanical monster a final tug, and then went sprawling in the uncut grass as the starter cord broke, unwound like a striking snake, and left its victim clutching nothing but air as he tumbled backward in a ludicrous somersault. Immediately he got up, this time with an audible curse, and threw the cord at the mower in anger and disgust.
"What's the matter, Randy?"
Randy straightened up as the voice of Mrs. Jean Lincoln came from the patio at the side of the house. He'd been doing gardening work at the Lincoln's all summer, as well as at a lot of other homes in that upper middle class suburb of Los Angeles. It sort of bothered the youngster to come all the way from his own rundown neighborhood on the bus to work four days a week in this moneyed neighborhood, but he had to if he was going to get enough money to move out of his parents' house. What was worse, though, was having to tell Mrs. Lincoln that he'd broken her damn lawnmower: It made him feel like a little slum kid who has to apologize for breaking an expensive vase or something.
'The goddamned lawnmower won't start, Mrs. Lincoln," the teen-ager yelled as he moved across the backyard toward the side patio.
"What's wrong with it?"
"Aw, I think it's in the fuel line, but now I've gone and busted the fucking starter cord."
Randy came around the side of the house, and stopped as he saw the lovely Mrs. Jean Lincoln, standing bare-shouldered, in the process of removing her bathrobe. He stopped and gaped, and it was a second before he realized that she had a bikini bathing suit on under the robe, and that she must have been coming out to sun. He suddenly realized with amusement that Mrs. Lincoln must have seen his unabashed stare, for she quickly shrugged the robe back up on her shoulders, and straightened herself up on the patio with-embarrassed modesty.
"You shouldn't curse like that, Randy," the beautiful blonde said properly. "Certainly not at your age, anyway."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the youth replied with a grin. "I must have lost my head."
"Obviously, you're upset with the lawnmower, but that's no excuse ..."
"No, Ma'am, 'course not. I didn't mean to say it, it just sorta slipped out."
Randy watched as the half-clothed woman regained her composure, and then seated herself with conscious precision on a canvas deck chair.
"Now. You said you broke the starter on the mower?"
"That's right, the cord."
"Can you fix it?"
"Naw, it'll have to go to the repair shop for that." Mrs. Lincoln paused, muttered something to herself about how new the machine was, and then turned back to him.
"Well, there's nothing we can do about it, I guess. Will it be hard to fix?"
Randy grinned. Women never knew anything about fixing things. They were hardly good for anything, he thought with his teen-age perspective - except for fucking, of course.
"Naw, you just take it into the shop tomorrow morning, it should only take 'em about thirty minutes to fix. Then, if you want, I'll come back out Sunday to finish the mowing."
"Oh, that would be perfect. Tomorrow Mr. Lincoln and I will be out at the beach. Sunday would be perfect. But how about a Coke or something? Just to give you a break?"
"Sure, Mrs. Lincoln, that'd be great."
The young teen-ager gave her a big grin, which the bikini-clad woman returned self-consciously before she turned into the house. Randy watched her go, his youthful eyes drawn like magnets to the gently swaying moons of her undulating buttocks under the robe as she moved through the back screen door and into the kitchen. Wow, the husky youth thought to himself with adolescent fervor, would he like to get his hands on a little piece of Mrs. Lincoln's tail! Oh, he'd had plenty of girls already, in spite of his relatively young age: It seemed like all the girls that hung around his housing project were just hot as shit to get their hands down some guy's pants. And he'd even had a few older women too; well two, anyway, he admitted to himself. But he'd had to pay for both of them.
No, he'd never had a chance to get close to someone as sexy as Mrs. Jean Lincoln, but that didn't keep him from hoping. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he was sure he'd caught her looking at him pretty strangely a couple of times, like she liked the look of his bare chest as he worked around her yard on really hot days. Oh, he knew enough about women already to know when they were looking at him that way - and he was starting to realize just what a boon his naturally mature build had on older women especially. His thoughts again turned to Mrs. Jean Lincoln's voluptuous body. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he just might...
"Here you are, Randy. The pause that refreshes."
The burly teen-ager jerked his head up from his salacious thoughts with embarrassed surprise, as though he had been caught jacking off or something. Luckily, Mrs. Lincoln didn't notice his confused manner, and he mumbled his thanks as he took the tall glass of ice cola from her hand. As he did so, his fingers seemed to linger for an eternity on her cool hand, though in fact only a split second of contact passed between them. That instant, though, was enough to lend a physical reality to the fanciful dreams which had just been occupying Randy's adolescent brain, and he quickly took a long slug of Coke to still his suddenly pounding heart.
"Now, I don't want you to worry about that lawnmower, all right? I'm sure it wasn't your fault at all." Mrs. Lincoln's voice was soft and syrupy, and it sent shivers up Randy's spine. But already he had recovered his composure, and he had to consciously control himself to keep from licking his lips as his voluptuous employer sat in the canvas lounge chair only a few feet from him.
"No, Ma'am. I won't," he answered, and then after a pause, added: "You don't mind if I take off my shirt do you, Ma'am? It's hot as . . . blazes out here."
"No ... uh ... no, of course not, Randy." Randy grinned as he removed his shirt, perceptibly flexing his sinewy muscles as he did so. She was turned on by him, he knew it! Her slight indecision had given her away as sure as sin! The youngster took another pull from his Coke with confident excitement.
If Jean Lincoln had had any inkling of what was going on in the lustful mind of her teen-age gardener, she would have been shocked beyond words. Jean was no virgin, of course, and she'd long ago left the stage where the motives of the male animal were a secret to her. Still, she no more suspected the effect her scantily clad body was having on Randy than fly to the moon. For her, he was still a child, a young kid. Oh, he was well built, she couldn't help noticing that, but still, the idea that she might be physically attracted to him never entered her mind ... at least, it never entered her conscious mind.
Jean was tall and thin, and had the kind of figure that most models would give their right arm for. In fact, she had almost become a model before she had married Tom Lincoln. She had had a few jobs, mostly with fashion designers and the like, but had never really wanted to give herself wholly to the frantic pace which a modeling career demanded. And then, right at the time when she was being forced to make a decision about her future one way or another, she had met Tom, and it had been love at first sight. She had known immediately that she wanted nothing more than to be a wife to this exciting and handsome man, and a mother to his children.
She had not yet had any children, though. She and her husband had decided to wait until their future was a little more secure before venturing out on what some of their friends liked to call the "parental safari." The postponement of motherhood had meant that Jean had been able to keep her exquisitely beautiful figure, and for that she was grateful. She still had the proudly upswept breasts, and the smooth flat stomach which she'd first gained as a high schooler. In fact, she wore her twenty-seven years with the vitality, charm, and innocence which characterize that naive time of life. It was one of her most erotic, yet unconscious, assets.
Jean thought of her husband now, as she stretched back on the canvas lounge chair in the sun, forgetting for a moment the presence of the husky teen-ager quietly sipping his Coke a few feet away. Tonight he'd be home, after over a week away at the national sales conference of his cosmetics firm. The thought set a warm little stream of moisture flowing in the innermost depths of Jean's darkly hidden vagina, and she smiled a secret smile to herself. Now would be her chance to really show her husband how much she loved him, how much she was willing to accept sacrifice in order to give their lives some stability. Lately, there had been an uncomfortable tension between the two of them. Jean was sure it had just come about because of Tom's recent promotion and the increased work load which was now his responsibility, but all the same, it had created problems in their marriage, mostly centering around their sex life, unfortunately. Of course, Jean realized that it was only a temporary thing - but having Tom away for a whole week (the longest they'd ever been apart) had made her realize just how much she loved and depended on him. She was determined that from now on, things would be a lot different between them . .. especially in bed!
This last thought again caused a sensuous smile to cross Jean's relaxed face, and the expression was not lost on young Randy Webb, sitting only feet away. With the experience of a man much his senior, the young boy immediately recognized the smile for what it was: an expression of pure desire, of unsatiated sexuality. He felt his adolescent cock give a sudden jerking in his jeans as he stared at the beautiful woman on the chair across from him, and he let his eyes fall quickly to the perceptibly trembling cleavage of her breasts, exposed just enough to be maddening under the tiny wisp of her bikini. It was all the young boy could do to keep from reaching over, tearing away the inhibiting shred of cloth and throwing himself upon the luscious succulence of her half-naked body, and he gulped with what seemed to him to be an audible catching in his throat. Jeez, he'd have to watch himself, or he'd be all over this older woman! He knew he could easily overpower her if he wanted to, but he also knew that this wasn't the time or the place. She'd open herself up to him before too long, or he'd missed his guess by a mile. All he had to do was to wait for the right moment. .. wait and drool.
The young boy looked away quickly as he saw Mrs. Lincoln slowly opening her eyes. She seemed to be thinking of something else, but he knew by the way she'd just smiled that sex was on her mind. Without even knowing it, he again flexed his muscles imperceptibly until they formed themselves into a rigid hardness.
"Finished?"
"What... oh ... " Randy looked down into his glass and saw that it was empty. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Well then if you want, there are some things around the yard you could do." Randy watched as his shapely employer looked around the yard, and then caught sight of a length of weeds in a strip along one fence, a strip that had at one time obviously been intended as a garden. Well, what the hell, he thought to himself. This day is shot anyway.
"Sure, Mrs. Lincoln, that'd be fine."
And a few minutes later he was down on his hands and knees pulling half-heartedly at the crab grass and other weeds that choked the "garden." But, try as he might, his eyes were turned in the direction of the patio more often than at the ground, for Jean Lincoln had by now unsuspectingly removed her robe, and lay totally naked in the sun except for her slight bikini. And, as he gazed with eager enthusiasm at the curve of her body fitting down snugly into the canvas chair, at her pointingly upthrust breasts and flaring hips which seemed to squirm every so often in response to her secret thoughts, young Randy Webb began to make plans for this Sunday, when he would most definitely come back to Mrs. Lincoln's home to .. . mow her grass.
"Please don't, Tom . . .you're hurting me!" Jean Lincoln pleaded as she shivered uncomfortably under the strong and convulsive probing of her husband's fingers into her soft smooth shoulders.
Her tall lissome body was stretched across their big double bed, her knees splayed widely apart, her lovely golden-tanned flesh tightly compressed under her husband's powerful muscular frame. Her eyes wandered in fitful distraction over the sun-mottled walls of the bedroom, then closed tightly in pain as her husband drove his desire-hardened cock far up into her tight and futilely resisting belly.
Oblivious to his wife's tortured pleading, Tom Lincoln slid his hands under her round satin-soft buttocks, his fingers gripping the sensitively squirming flesh, pulling her wide-stretched vagina up to meet the smashing thrusts of his lust-maddened loins.
"C'mon honey," he barked harshly, "put a little life into it, will you?" his massive frame bucking and rocking in a coldly increasing tempo against her unmoving body.
Docilely, the young wife inched her long slender legs farther apart, resigning herself to the intense humiliation she felt from her husband's crudely impersonal love-making. She was still only half-awake and desperately wanted to sink back to sleep, to cover herself with the soothing protective layer of unconsciousness.
The morning sun gave the room a comfortably cozy feeling that contrasted mockingly with the brutal fucking that Jean's husband was giving her. She tried to will herself to respond; tried to show that she was glad he was finally making love to her again after his week's absence, but she just couldn't. She just lay there quivering under his perversely humping body, a mute victim of his insistent sexual demands. She couldn't bring herself to feel anything; her brain and body were numb and she was resigned to accepting the humiliation he was forcing on her. Instead of pleasure she felt only repugnance as his hands roamed over her cringing flesh; instead of joyous acceptance, she felt only disgust and hate as his thick blood-hardened penis rammed far up into her tight dry cuntal passage, his grinding kiss evoking only revulsion in her. She couldn't help it; lovemaking to her was a gentle and tender act, not her husband's brutal and unfeeling fucking . . . yes, that's what it was, fucking! Her mind flinched from the obscene word just as her flesh cringed from the lewd act, and tears sprung to her eyes as she recalled how she had longed for her husband to make love to her again. How she'd planned what nightgown she'd wear, how loving she'd be ... but, instead, he'd reached for her suddenly this morning, after first casually telling her that he'd have to go to the office, even though it was Saturday!
It isn't fair. . . it just isn 't fair, her brain stormed suddenly. She just couldn't stand this cold love-making, the almost brutish thrusts of her husband's lust-engorged penis into her unwilling vagina, the deep animal-like grunts that escaped from somewhere in his chest as he pumped lasciviously in and out of her defenseless little belly. Her confusion-wracked brain was strangely detached from her unfeeling body, and, as she lay there, she was taunted by images of how she must appear, with her legs lewdly splayed, naked and flat on her back, an object to be used by her husband as he wished. The thought made her face crimson with shame and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out with humiliation and rage.
Random pictures flicked cruelly through her dazed brain - of herself and Tom together, the old Tom, always tender, loving, always smiling with happiness, proud of his beautiful wife ... what had happened to them? Dry and inaudible sobs convulsed her body. What had happened to change Tom from a considerate, loving husband into this lust-maddened male who cared for nothing but his own pleasure? There seemed to be no spark of real feeling from him in this debasing act... he was using her as if she were nothing but a whore from the streets!
The lewd wet smacking sounds of her husband's body as it slapped against her perspiration-coated loins drummed an insistent rhythm in the back of Jean's consciousness and a new disgust welled up inside her. She found the entire act repulsive now, something to be gotten over with quickly. But she hadn't always felt this way, she thought bitterly. The memory of how she used to welcome her husband's embraces and his attentions with whole-hearted desire stung her achingly, and she was filled once again with a bruising and hopeless sense of futility.
Through the dim cloud of her misery, she was aware of the quickening tempo of her husband's harshly lascivious pounding, and she realized with what she guiltily recognized as a pang of relief, that he was on the point of climaxing.
His fingers tightened like talons in the softly quivering flesh of her shoulders, and the heavy sperm-weighted sac of his scrotum slapped lewdly against the upraised crevice of her naked buttocks. And then his back arched suddenly, and he hovered for a split second above her trembling body before ...
"AAaaaaagghh! I'm cumming!" he cried out suddenly, his voice unrecognizable in its passion, and then he began to slam with quick body-convulsing spasms against Jean's shame-frozen body, and she felt the first white-hot rush of his scalding sperm as it gushed into the widely stretched passage of her throbbing cunt. Her velvet-soft thighs were swept aside in a flesh-splitting thrust as he continued to pump the seething liquid into her sorely bruised depths, the hot seminal fluid searing the inner membrane of her cunt as it rushed into the secret crevices of her helplessly rippling belly. At last, with a grunt, he emptied the last of his heated male offering into her open vagina, and slipped, panting and gasping, from her warmly scented body, the now-limp flesh of his inert cock curled like a sleeping worm against his thigh. Relief flooded through Jean as she lay there, and she hardly dared open her eyes until she heard the drone of the shower and knew that Tom was in the bathroom.
She felt utterly exhausted, as if she had just lived through a long busy day instead of just beginning it. Her silky thighs were still widely spread, but she just couldn't make the effort to close them, or to cover her obscene nakedness with the sheet. She couldn't move. Her reeling brain dazedly tried to grasp some shred of reality that might be comforting or pleasurable, but she could think of nothing but the fact that Tom was working today. For the entire week, she had been planning a trip to the beach, had even decided exactly what to take in the picnic hamper, what clothes she would wear. She had thought of everything as a present for his homecoming, and now he had spoiled everything by telling her he had to work. And the worst thing of all was the fact that he had left it till this very morning to let her know. She could forgive anything, even his unfeeling, lustful love-making, but she just couldn't take any more lonely and empty Saturdays.
Tom ought to know by now that she had planned her whole week around the weekend with him, and, even though there were usually several chores that Tom had to do on Saturday afternoon, she had decided this weekend that, although the grass really needed cutting, if the neighbors weren't to complain, and the rear screen door needed tightening, they would forget all about the odd jobs and just enjoy themselves. They had earned it by being apart for a week. But now, like so many other Saturdays, she would be left alone, sitting in an empty house, unhappily watching the other couples in the neighborhood enjoying barbecues, working together in the garden, or just plain lounging in the sun. She couldn't bring herself to go outdoors on weekends when Tom was working. Everybody would feel sorry for her, she was sure, and might even ask her to join them for a drink, just out of pity.
"Okay, honey, I'm off!" she heard her husband call from the front hall.
'Tom, what time will-" she began, but her question was cut off in mid-air as she heard the front door slam, and, moments later, the engine of the car. He hadn't even told her when he'd be back! He had no consideration for her, God, he didn't care that she might be lonely or unhappy . ..
Sighing in anger mingled with self-pity, Jean raised herself to a sitting position and tossed her long blonde hair back over her gracefully tanned shoulders. The sunlight dappled her smooth lithe form, wanning her soft sensual flesh, but it did nothing to warm the chilled core of her abused ego. Wearily, she made her way into the bathroom, and began to run the water for a hot bath. A long soak in the tub usually revived her spirits and made her feel much better, and she hoped that the soothing heat of warm soapy water would do its usual good work on her this morning. She certainly needed it, she reflected ruefully, as she stared at her reflection in the full length mirror. Only her lovely oval face reflected the brooding unhappiness that was gnawing away inside her, and the young wife could see that her deep blue eyes were anxious and troubled. She examined the svelte curves of her lushly rounded body carefully as if she hoped to find some evidence of the indifferent love-making that she had just experienced, but her silky soft skin was unmarred by any blemish. Her full and upswept breasts quivered proudly under her own gaze, the nipples rust-red and erect, and the satiny sweep of her shapely hips was as voluptuous and enticing as ever. Staring at her young curvaceous body, she knew that it looked as if it was made for love, to be caressed and fondled ... only, Tom didn't care! Tears dimmed her eyes as she turned angrily away from the mirror, and, testing the bath water, she carefully stepped into the tub and sank down gratefully into its enveloping warmth.
Blissfully, she closed her eyes and leaned back, allowing the warm suds to come up over her breasts as she inhaled the delicate aroma of the lavender bath oil she had sprinkled in the water. The redolent steam infused her flesh and seemed to penetrate beneath the surface and loosen the tightened knots of anxiety which snarled her body.
"Oooooohhh ..." she sighed as she wriggled down further into the warm scented water. It was heaven, relaxing like this, forgetting how inconsiderate and selfish Tom was .. .
But even the remembrance of her husband's name brought flooding back her fears and resentments about his unthinking behavior. He was so changed, a different man from the kind and loving man she'd done her best to be a good wfe for, keeping a nice home, preparing interesting meals, carefully preserving her figure and keeping up with the latest styles in clothes and makeup. She was always careful not to bore him with trivial household anecdotes, and, even though he sometimes complained when she pointed out little jobs for him to do, she was sure he understood that those things had to be done if the immaculate order of their home was to be preserved. Of course, there was such competition between homeowners in the suburb of L.A. that they lived in, and she could hardly let their house be the one which became an eyesore among its perfect neighbors. No, she knew that owning their own home in such a high-class area led to certain responsibilities, and, if Tom sometimes said that he didn't give a damn about that sort of thing, Jean knew that he didn't really mean it. After all, she sometimes had to entertain her husband's employers in the cosmetics company, and she was proud that Tom didn't have to feel ashamed of his home. Yes, it was certain that she hadn't let him down in that area of their marriage, but what was the problem?
Jean just couldn't figure it out. But there was something wrong, and it was evident in the marked decrease in their sex life. When they were first married, she reflected, it seemed they could hardly wait to be alone so that they could make love, and Tom was so considerate, so attentive to what she needed and wanted in order for the act to be a satisfying one for her. He was only too pleased to pet and stroke her, to gently caress her breasts, titillate her nipples with his fingers and tongue until she almost cried out from the unbearably erotic pleasure. He used to stroke and touch her vagina too, eliciting secret thrills of ecstasy in her, making her quiver from head to toe, preparing her for the entry of his already fully erect penis. And she was always dying for it, too, hardly able to wait until he guided the massively steel-like head towards the opening to her willing body, holding her breath until she felt the first intoxicating nudging of his rubbery masculine flesh against her fragile feminine loins .. .
Unconsciously, the unhappy young wife shivered in the bathtub, her brain fermenting with the overwhelming memories of Tom and how wonderfully he used to make love to her. What had changed him from the almost perfect lover to the bluntly demanding husband he now was? Jean tried to wrack her brains to find out what had changed him. Was it something she had done? It seemed to her that the major change had come about only in the last month or so, but she couldn't recall any incident that might have sparked the change. Of course, there was that time after the staff party, when Tom had almost aggressively tried to kiss her down there, on her genitals, like he used to try when they were first married, but she had stopped him. She knew that he was more than a little drunk at the time and that was the reason why he had tried to do it again. But she could never allow him to do such a disgusting thing. The very thought of it made her shudder. To her the act was perverted, but she didn't think that Tom held her refusal against her. No, there had to be another reason for his strange behavior.
I don't think I've changed too much, she mused to herself, as she idly soaped her softly slender legs, one by one. She knew that in fact her looks had improved over the years of marriage. But that fact was not a satisfying one, as far as she was concerned. She was vaguely aware that she had been much happier during the early years of married life, more fulfilled. She hated to admit it, but it was true that she got more satisfaction out of making love the first year she was married than she got now, and she couldn't help wondering about it. She couldn't deny that, of late, even before the definite change in her husband's behavior, love-making was a mere duty for her. She tried to be more responsive, more alive to her husband's touch, but she just couldn't. She hated the thought of that part of their marriage being less than perfect, when she so desperately wanted to be a good wife, and, indeed, prided herself on it. But of late, a gnawing emptiness seemed to pervade her being and her everyday activities were colored by a feeling which she could only describe as frustration, sexual frustration. It irked her to have to admit to such a feeling, but it was obvious that that was what was bothering her.
Even now she felt the familiar twinge of longing throbbing deep in the pit of her stomach as memories of the tender hours of deeply satisfying love-making from the early days of their marriage came back as if to taunt her with comparisons in her present misery. It was unbelievable how sex was now just vacant and empty for her, how she only wished for it to be over, instead of wishing, as she used to, for it to go on forever.
That was why the change in plans for this Saturday - today - upset her so much. She had planned to go first on the picnic and then later, when they got back home, to really try and get back on the track as far as sexual pleasure was concerned. But her plan had misfired, thanks to Tom's thoughtlessness, and she was left alone, as she was so often now, alone and unfulfilled, with a whole day dragging out in front of her.
It just wasn't fair, she sighed to herself again, stretching out again in the tub, aware for the first time that the palm of her right hand was clamped against the damply curling mound of her submerged vagina. She hadn't been aware of the action, and now she stared at her own hand, realizing with a strangely quivering feeling that it felt good there, a sort of protective covering for her tender secret area. There was a warm twitching deep in her relaxed loins, and, involuntarily, the keyed-up blonde spread her soapy legs and allowed her fingers to slip down between her smooth wet thighs. She jerked back slightly from the illicit contact between the fragilely throbbing flesh of her sensitive pussy and the strong but supple fingers which nudged against it.
Jean could hear the loud thudding of her heart and weird thoughts raced through her brain. What is happening? she thought wildly. J should take my hand away. . . I should stop now . . . but it feels so good!
It did feel good, the gentle pressure of her fingers against the sensitively squirming flesh of her spread-open vagina. Strange quivers coursed up and down her spine, raising goosebumps all over her skin which contrasted strongly with the warmth engulfing her from the bath water. Without realizing it, her fingers had begun a tentative rubbing, a barely noticeable caressing of her softly trembling cunt, and Jean felt a slight churning beginning deep in her pelvis. This is wrong... a warning note sounded again somewhere in her brain, but she didn't care. Her own touch on her quivering wet pussy flesh felt good, felt blissfully good after the neglect, the abuse she had suffered this morning. She hardly realized what was happening till now, but she didn't care any more. She couldn't stop now ... it was too late, and, besides, she didn't want to deny herself this fabulous pleasure she was feeling.
There was no denying that she was helplessly aroused, awakened to a growing passion by the lewd swirling of her own fingers as they began to dip and burrow into the wetly throbbing folds of her clinging cunt. Her fingertips trailed along the thin and softly curling tendrils of wet blonde pubic hair as they caressed the little vertical mouth of her flowering vagina in an insistently eager rhythm. The hair-lined outer lips were blood-swollen and impassioned, quivering with excitement under the deliciously probing touch of her deft hands.
"MMMMmmm . . . OOOOhhhh ..." The sexually frustrated housewife suddenly moaned as her middle finger came into direct contact with the little turgid bud of her blood-engorged clitoris. Eagerly, she rubbed the hard little button, making her buttocks writhe and grind in delirious "pleasure against the bottom of the porcelain bathtub. She was completely aroused now, spiraling her pelvis upward and splaying her thighs as far apart in the bath water as she could to allow her burrowing fingers easier access to the hungrily pulsing flesh of her throbbing hot cunt.
She threw her head back over the end of the tub, the ends of her honey-blonde hair dipping into the warm soapy water, the full rounded softness of her golden breasts bobbing before her, her churning hips flailing the water, and wave after wave of incredible pleasure surging through her as she continued to finger-fuck herself. All wounding, resentful thoughts of her businessman husband vanished from her brain and a delicious sensual calmness engulfed her as she gave herself over completely to the pleasure which was engulfing her. She didn't care about anything now, about being alone, about Tom having to work, about the problems in their marriage. Nothing mattered now; it was all unimportant as long as she could experience pleasure like this. Her fingers burrowed frantically into the softly layered folds of her squirming cunt and she felt the build-up of pleasure growing greater than she could have thought possible.
"Aaaaaggghh!" she cried out suddenly, as she thrust her middle finger without hesitation deep into the hotly clenching orifice of her vagina and felt the clinging walls close in tightly around her probing hand. Her helplessly aroused vagina contracted in heated waves as she moved her fingers in and out rapidly in a lewd and desperate simulation of fucking, the slippery warm walls clinging voraciously as she continued to work her fingertip around inside her demanding vagina. The water from the bathtub spilled out over the sides as she thrashed around in the tub, but Jean was oblivious to it, oblivious to everything but the shuddering sheets of white-hot pleasure cocooning her body in a shroud of unbelievable ecstasy. Her whole body was trembling and quivering with her intense arousal, everything forgotten as she climbed steadily up to the dizzy pinnacle of sexual release!
"Aaaaggghh . . . cccuummm-iiinngg ... oooooo!" she sobbed wildly, her brain spinning, her hips grinding feverishly as floods of incredible pleasure washed through her straining flesh. Incoherent moans of joy escaped from her half-opened mouth as her fingers continued to plunge into the welcoming depths of her greedily clasping cunt. Her whole body was gripped in the throes of the first complete release she had experienced for a long time, and she wanted it to go on forever. She had almost forgotten the wonderful sensations that were sweeping through her, almost forgotten how marvelous it felt, and she was glad that she had made herself climax in this way, glad that she had experienced this without her husband. Such unbelievable feelings of pure pleasure couldn't be wrong! Nothing so good and so soothing could possibly be wrong. Perspiration trickled down between her shoulder blades as her body continued to writhe and shudder with the force of her ongoing orgasm; until finally, the spasms subsided and she pulled her soaked fingers from the still twitching walls of her completely satiated belly.
She lay back in the lukewarm bath water then, her inner thighs still quivering with slowly dying pleasure, her eyes closed, filled with a sort of peace that she hadn't felt in a long time. Suddenly, it didn't seem quite so bad that Tom had to work. I'll manage somehow, she thought dazedly, as she sunk down into the bath, her slender golden body languorous and tingling from the fading pleasure of her orgasm.