"The Reluctant Swappers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Grant)

Chapter 3

Ron Fleming woke the next morning to the familiar sound of dishes clattering and the smell of cooked bacon. He opened his eyes slowly, saw the late morning sun patterned on the wall opposite the bed, and stretched his sleep stiffened limbs under the rumpled sheets. He yawned his body awake, and then lay still, listening to Sharon's movements in the kitchen.

The memories of the night before grated in his mind along with the pain of a slight hangover, and he groaned. What had possessed him? He had tried to make it up to his upset young wife, but nothing had seemed to work, and Sharon had steadfastly refused his attempts to make love any further. She had said he was forgiven, but somehow he doubted it. They had fallen asleep on opposite sides of their large double bed, with an uncomfortable silence separating them like a wall.

Ron got up and made his way to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, frowned, and reached for the aspirin in the medicine cabinet. He took two, pulled his bathrobe from the hook behind the door, and wrapped it around his powerful body. With a look at himself he then made his way out of the bathroom towards the kitchen, determined to talk to his wife about the night before, and about the reasons he had acted the way he had. It was time she knew how he felt about what he considered her coolness toward love making, otherwise he knew that, sometime in the future, last night's scene would undoubtedly repeat itself.

Sharon turned her lush, fully clothed body to him as he came into the kitchen, and then moved quickly over to the stove where two large eggs were popping and crackling in a hot frying pan.

"Good morning, darling. Did you sleep well?" she asked with her back to him.

"Yeah, like a log. I must have been more tired than I thought," he answered her, moving to the small breakfast table.

"Well, it was silly to go out to a party right after you'd stepped off the plane. We should have told the Lewis' we couldn't make it." She scooped up the fried eggs on two inexpensive china plates, added the bacon from where it lay drying on the double folds of paper towel, and brought it to the table with a forced smile on her face. "Like some coffee?"

"Please… no cream."

"Head bothering you?" Sharon asked solicitously. Ron nodded, passing a hand in front of his bloodshot eyes, then looked up to where his wife was busying herself pouring coffee and orange juice. Her face was scrubbed and shining, her dress neat and freshly ironed.

"You got dressed early this morning," he said simply.

"Yes, I did. I've got a lot of things to do this morning, and I thought I'd get an early start." She smiled again as she brought the tray with the glasses and set it on the table, seating herself like she was in some restaurant rather than at home. Ron noticed she wasn't letting her eyes rest on his for very long at a time.

"I want to talk about last night, Sharon. I think we both ought to…"

"Oh, darling, not now. I've really got to gobble this and run. I made an appointment at the hairdressers for 9:30. It was the only time he could fit me in."

Ron remained silent momentarily, watching his beautiful young wife eat her eggs and bacon with studied precision, using her napkin and sipping her coffee as though she were on stage.

"Aren't you hungry, dear? Would you like something else?" she asked him, obviously a little uncomfortable under his gaze.

"I'd like us to talk about last night, Sharon. I think it's important … for both of us."

"I think so too. I really do! But it's happened now, and it's over and done with… and it's useless…"

"But it's not over and done with just an apology, you know that."

"It is for me. Really." She smiled at him momentarily, and returned to her rapidly disappearing eggs.

Ron paused, then picked up a piece of bacon between two fingers, and bit off one end listlessly. This was no good! She was just trying to cover up, pretend it never happened hoping it might go away. But it wouldn't go away, he knew that.

"Sharon, you've got to listen. It's no good being an ostrich about this and sticking our heads in the sand, we've got to find out why last night happened, what the reasons were, so that it won't happen again."

"Oh, dear, we know what the reasons were," she smiled, still maintaining her casual, carefree front, "You were tired from your trip, and we both probably had too much to drink… and it happened, that's all. And it won't happen again because, I love you and you love me, and we won't let it happen again."

"Sharon…"

"And there is nothing to apologize for. Really and truly. I've forgotten about it already and if you insist on talking about it you'll only make it worse. There's no sense making a mountain out of a molehill."

"What happened last night was no molehill!"

"I've got to run! It's already 9:00. I've got to stop by the cleaners on my way." Sharon jumped up from the table, and reached for her purse on the drain board by the refrigerator. Then she came back to where her dejected husband was slumped in his chair, his fork playing frustrated games with his uneaten egg. She leaned down and kissed him long and hard.

"Now look, great big beautiful husband of mine, I love you. You made a mistake, and it wasn't such a big one, and I've already forgotten it."

She reached down to cup his unshaven face in her softly cool hands. "Why don't you clean up the breakfast things, and then go back to bed for the morning and rest, and see if you can't forget it. Truly! I am not upset with you."

She pressed her lips against his a second time, ran one hand soothingly along his cheek as she turned and then stepped toward the door.

"Sharon?"

"Yes, darling?" she answered, stopping.

"When did you make your hair appointment?"

"This morning. Why?"

"Oh, no reason… I just wondered. I'll see you this afternoon?"

"Yes, about 3:00." She paused. "Why did you ask about the hair appointment?"

Ron didn't look up from his plate. "I was just curious, that's all," he said.

Dick and Myra Green got up late that morning. They were in good spirits, as they always were after a night as orgiastic as the one before, and as they ate breakfast they solidified their plans for enticing Ron and Sharon Fleming into the trap they had laid for them. Dick didn't leave for the bank until almost 10:30, but that was his prerogative as vice-president, and he made use of it liberally.

After he'd gone, Myra cleared up the breakfast dishes, and moved lazily around the house, straightening up, putting fresh sheets on their oversized double bed, gathering flowers from the garden outside and placing them around the house at strategic points. When the scene finally met her approval, she went into the kitchen, lit herself a cigarette, found Ron Fleming's name in the telephone book, and dialed his number carefully. The phone rang only twice.

"Hello."

"Hello. Is this Ron Fleming?" Myra's voice was even more sultry than usual.

"Yes, it is. Who's this?"

"Myra Green. We shared a very bad steak last night after the Lewis' very bad party."

There was no hesitation on the other end of the line.

"Of course! How are you? Say, I was going to call and thank you for making something out of an otherwise disastrous evening."

"Dick and I felt the same way, Ron. I'm not keeping you from working or anything, am I?"

"No, no, not at all. I'm taking the day off."

"Well, lucky you." Myra smiled to herself. This was going to be easy.

"You're a man after my own heart."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Dick laughed at his end.

Myra laughed as well, and then breathed into the phone, "Well, we'll leave that up in the air for now, what do you say?"

"Agreed. How's the painting coming?"

"Oh, it comes and goes, you know. I get discouraged fairly easily, though, and it's hard to keep my mind on it."

"From what Dick said last night, you don't have any reason to be discouraged. Sounds to me like you're suffering from a case of the artist's dumps." Ron laughed.

"Well, that may be. By the way, are you really going to come over and say comforting things about my paintings? You did promise to say nothing but good things last night, didn't you?"

"I did indeed. And I will… nothing but sweetness and honey."

"Well listen, Ron, if you've got the day off… I mean I don't want to be pushy or anything… but what about today? I'll be home all afternoon, and if you don't have anything else to do, I'd like to hear what you think of me."

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"I don't know, Myra…"

"Well, if you've got something else cooking we'll plan it another time."

"No, I don't have anything planned, it's just that Sharon is out, and …" There was another pause, and Myra waited with excitement.

"Oh well…" she said, gilding her voice with just the right amount of disappointment.

"I'm sorry, it's just that… oh, what the hell! Of course, I'll come over. My wife won't be back for a while anyway, I'm sure."

"I don't want to pressure you, now, Ron…" Myra licked her full, luscious lips in anticipation.

"No, you're not, believe me. I'd love to come. Really! What time would be best for you?"

"That's great! Let's see… well as soon as you can is all right with me. I can even feed you a sandwich if you'd like."

"How can I turn down an offer like that? How do I get to your place?"

Myra breathed a triumphant sigh, gave Ron the instructions on how to find their home, said good-bye, and hung up the receiver. She finished one last pull on her cigarette, put it out in the ashtray beside her, and sat staring at the phone with a cool, almost calculating smile on her seductive face. She'd thought it would be harder!

She picked up the phone again and dialed another number. There was a pause as she waited for the other end to be picked up.

"Hello, Dick?… It's your lovely, irresistible wife… Ummm, you're sweet too, lover. I just called Ron Fleming… Ummm? Of course, dear, who could turn down such a delectable creature as yours truly? It's set for this afternoon… Yes, well I move fast, dear. Do you think you'll be able to put your part of the plan into action?… Sweetheart, do you doubt me? I'll keep him busy 'til next week if I have to, and you know I can… All right, I'll expect you about cocktail hour. But don't interrupt if it looks like we're enjoying ourselves, all right dear…

Righto, see you then, lover."

Myra hung up the phone and quickly went into her bedroom, changed clothes, put on the kind of perfume she knew from experience turned men wild with its musky scent, checked herself in the mirror, and then went around the house checking out all the little details one last time. She was smoking a cigarette in the living room, with a drink in her hand, when she heard the doorbell ring thirty minutes later. She got up, composed her voluptuously ripe body into its most languid, enticing posture, and glided towards the front door.

"Hi!" she greeted Ron cheerily as she opened the door, "Come on into the artist's lair."

"Sounds very inviting, Myra. How are you?" He took her proffered hand, and felt a tingle race up his arm at its delicious coolness. He allowed himself to be led into the living room.

Christ, but she was a beautiful woman! Ron's eyes were glued to his hostess' sensually built body as he followed her, not even trying to remove his hand from hers. She had been provocative last night at the party, but now, this way, she was even sexier. She wore short-shorts of bright orange so tight they clearly outlined her protruding pubic mound and its wide cleft through the fabric between her soft, ivory thighs.

Her long tapering legs, bronzed even more than Sharon's, were bare and beautiful, and her naked belly was just as tanned between the tight shorts and the orange halter, which barely concealed the nipples of her deliciously mounded breasts from his gaze. Her dark hair fell invitingly over her shoulders, adding to the vivacious effect her sparkling green eyes gave forth. Suddenly, he became aware of the fact that she was looking at him as he devoured her with his eyes, and he smiled weakly.

She took a slow sip from her drink.

"What's the matter, Ron? You look… scared." her voice was coy. "I'm not going to eat you."

She laughed, and didn't add the word she was thinking: "Yet."

The young art critic grinned, a little self-consciously, at her as she stood looking up at him with a sultry smile on her face. He could smell a faint, musky perfume, and the heady of the odor made him slightly lightheaded; images of candlelight and soft music flashed briefly through his mind, but he shook them off. Hell, next thing I know I'll be getting romantic notions and a hard-on, which won't do me any good since Sharon was fifteen miles away and probably unwilling, anyway… and this hot raffle number is strictly out of bounds. Still, he couldn't help entertaining a few lewd thoughts about the beautifully seductive Mrs. Green. Christ, she would probably be a holy terror in bed, the way she walked, and smiled, that husky voice, everything about her was irrefutable proof that she was a woman unfettered by most of the sexual restraints that plagued his own wife.

"Did you have any trouble finding the place?" Her sensual voice snapped him out of his erotic reverie.

"What?… oh no, not at all. Your instructions were right on the dot."

"Good. Well, would you like the tour now, or later?"

"Right now! I can't wait to get a peek at the work of the greatest new talent this side of the Mississippi."

"Oh, you're a tease," Myra said breathily, and reached out to take his arm and guide him towards her workroom in the back of the house. Her cool, scantily-clad body brushed against him repeatedly as she did so, and he was having difficulty keeping his mind on the reason he'd come.

They spent almost a half hour in the studio looking at the paintings, Ron clearly impressed by the quality of Myra's work. It all had a common color, a thread of excitement and, yes, undeniable overtones of sensuality that ran like a thread through every picture. She painted mostly people, and every study contained in it the hints of an unquenchable passion, a thirst that was almost sexual in nature, which burst forth from the eyes and bodies of every subject. Ron saw Myra clearly in her work, and knew, without a doubt, that the same passion expressed in her paintings gave the dark, fiery woman standing so close beside him the incredibly sensual nature that was exciting him at that very moment. He realized instinctively that that passion, in the artist as well as the painting, was a hungry, and yet insatiable sexuality.

That intuitive thought made Myra's every touch, every sultry word as she led him around her studio, arouse in him his own sexual frustrations, until they almost begged for release. Ron felt a hard knot slowly forming in his chest, and sensed the early stirrings of his warmly tingling cock underneath his smooth slacks.

"Well, that's it," Myra said as they came to her last painting. "What do you think?"

"I think it's good. It's very good," Ron managed to say, without too much of a catch in his throat.

"Oh, you're just saying that," Myra teased, leaning against him. "But I'll give you a drink anyway, if you like."

Ron felt the maddening caress of her full, luscious breasts as they brushed against his thin short-sleeve shirt. His rapidly awakening penis gave another undeniable jerk, and he turned his body from her so that she wouldn't see it.

"That sounds like the best idea I've heard all morning," he said gratefully.

"Follow me." She reached out and took his hand once again.

He allowed her to lead him back into the living room. The touch of her fingers had further erotic effect on his already semi-aroused state; it was as if there were tiny, hidden electrodes beneath her skin, vibrating through to his flesh. He felt a certain dryness in his throat, and his eyes were on the seductively undulating rhythm of her smooth rounded buttocks through the tight shorts. Damn, but she was one hell of a sensual woman! If he wasn't married, and she wasn't married… well, there was no use stinking about it, getting himself all worked up over nothing.

"What can I get you?"

"I'll put myself in your capable hands."

"That's what I like to hear," Myra laughed, a teasing and inscrutable smile playing tag with him behind her eyes. "I've got a special treat for you. Ever had any Pastis?"

"No, what is it? Sounds oily."

"Well, it does seem to oil the parts that need oiling, that's true enough," Myra laughed again. "I think you'll like it. It tastes like licorice."

"Well…" Ron said dubiously. "How do you mix it?"

"With water," Myra answered. "Serve it over ice. I'll get some from the refrigerator."

She moved away, returning moments later with a tray of ice. Ron had put two glasses on the bar face, and she dropped two cubes into each one. He uncapped the bottle and poured some of the clear liquid into a glass and added a bit of water; almost immediately, its consistency changed to an opaque, almost milky one. "Hey! I thought only Pernod did that."

"No, Pastis does too." she lifted her glass, waited until he followed suit and then said, "A toast. To my brilliant work, and its ultimate success."

"Hear, hear." Ron sipped the drink, found that it did taste a little like licorice and that it wasn't at all bad; in fact, it went down quite smoothly.

"Like?"

"Hmmmmm!"

"Shall we sit down on the couch?"

"All right."

They sat down. It seemed to Ron that she sat rather close to him. She crossed one slim, tanned leg over the other, which tightened the material of her shorts into the sharply-defined slit up between her long legs, making the outline folds of her vagina bulge out the brilliant orange of the material. She leaned forward slightly, holding her drink in one hand, so that a good deal of the creamy white mounds of her full, globular breasts were exposed to him and just a hint of the ruby hardness of her nipples. He felt a slight flush start on the base of his neck, but he wasn't able to take his eyes from her provocative lushness.

His quickly thickening penis spasmed beneath his trousers and, feeling a little ashamed, he took a long pull at his glass, draining the contents.

"I'll make us another one," Myra said, taking a healthy sip of her own drink. Before he could protest, she slid off the settee, took his glass, and went to the bar. She was smiling quietly to herself as she refilled their glasses from the green bottle of Pastis. She'd been drinking it for a number of years, and knew the effect it had on the masculine libido after only three or four ounces. It increased her own sexual fervor, too, though she could control herself if she felt like it; not that she was going to feel like it, of course. Yes, Ron Fleming was hers now, no mistake. She felt initial droplets of lust-heated fluid begin to flow from the softly sensitive walls of her vagina, as she thought about what would be taking place within the next hour.

She carried the filled glasses back to the unsuspecting art critic and handed him one. She was aware of his hot eyes locked hungrily on her, and she glanced every now and then at the front of his pants. She could see his long, erected cock pulsing there, jumping spasmodically from time to time, pushing his trouser material out briefly, and her wetly throbbing cunt began to flow faster with increased anticipation. The second drink disappeared even more rapidly than the first, as she knew it would, and she quickly poured him another one. He didn't protest at all but drank thirstily from it when she gave him the glass.

Ron felt a warm, relaxed lethargy begin to flow over him. The Pastis was beginning to have an effect on him, he knew that, but the feeling was so pleasant that he really didn't care. It wasn't every day that a man had the opportunity of getting mildly looped with a woman as beautiful, as wildly provocative, as Myra Green.

She was really something, he thought admiringly. She exuded pure animal sex, like a kind of aura encompassing her invisibly as she walked, moved, spoke. What I'd like to do, really like to do, would be to reach out and take her In my arms, kiss her, love her up a little. Oh, not anything more than that, I wouldn't try to fuck her or anything, but Lord it would be nice to kiss those warm red lips and caress those big pillow soft tits and tweak those nipples into rock hardness… to take each one in my mouth and roll it around and around my tongue while I sucked a little…

Ron felt his angrily pulsating cock jerk into instant rigidity, as if it were alive or as if it were a tightly coiled spring held down by a fragile safety latch, straining to whip out with a sudden "twang".

He tried to will it limp again, to banish the obscene thoughts swirling in his mind, but it remained throbbingly blood swollen. Guiltily, his eyes went to Myra's face.

She was looking at the bulge in his pants.

And she was smiling with wetly parted lips and fervid eyes.

"Why, Ron!" she said in mock surprise, mock reproof. "Whatever were you thinking about to have that happen now?"

"I… well, I…" he stuttered, his face a flaming red.

She laughed deep in her throat.

"Myra, I… I'm sorry, it's just that I…" he faltered.

"I know what it is," she whispered. "I know why you have a hard on."

His breath quickened at her lewd words. "You… you do?"

"You have a hard-on because you want to fuck me," she said. "That's right, isn't it, Ron? You do want to fuck me, don't you? You want to stick your nice hard prick into me?"

"Oh God!" he managed to breathe. His massively pulsing pelvis seemed to be about to explode in his pants now, and his brain reeled. Had he heard correctly? Yes, yes, of course he had. But why was she talking to him like that? What was the matter with her? Oh Christ, he could feel his suddenly churning balls begin to ache from the pressure of his gathering sperm; he really needed it, he really did, and Myra talking to him like that wasn't helping matters any. Didn't she know what might happen, mouthing obscene words like that to a man? Didn't she know? He took another long swallow of his Pastis and found that his hand was trembling slightly.

The seductive brunette leaned close to him, and he could feel her breath on his cheek, like the scorching heat of a white hot firebrand. She touched his knee, lightly, but her fingers seemed to sear right through the cloth.

"Well?" she asked. "Wouldn't you like to fuck me? Wouldn't you really?"

"Myra… Christ, Myra, cut it out! I'm… only human…!"

"And so am I, lover, so am I," she purred on. "My cunt is on fire right now. And the only thing that can put out that fire is a big, hard cock.

You have a big, hard cock, Ron. I can tell you do."

And she reached out and lightly stroked her fingers across the throbbing bulge.

He almost leapt off the couch in a convulsive reaction to the electrical shock of her touch on his painfully throbbing penis, encased within his pants though it was. Myra stroked it gently, tantalizingly, sliding closer to him as he tried to pull back, increasing the rhythm of her caresses. Her firmly ripe breasts pressed softly against his arm, and her moist warm lips found his jaw line, traced a pattern upward along his cheek and then over to search for his open mouth. Her tongue trailed a path of fire along the skin of his face as her hand continued to rub the massively swollen hardness between his legs.

"Myra… please, for Christ's sake!"

"You want to fuck me, don't you?" the undulating seductress repeated, droning the words in an almost mesmeric voice, like a hypnotist practicing her art on an unwilling, but nonetheless hypnotizable, subject. "You want to fuck me, Ron, you want to fuck me."

"No, I… no! Oh Jesus, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"

He couldn't help himself. The words tore from his throat, in a strangled kind of whisper that he scarcely recognized, and then his mouth was bending hungrily down against hers, his tongue flailing deep into her moistly heated mouth. Her hand began to move faster over that long bulge in his trousers, and she eagerly sucked and nibbled at his wet quivering tongue, swirling her own tongue around and around his, darting it into his mouth and then drawing it back to accept the onslaught of his probing member. As if with a will of its own, Ron's left hand came up and found her warmly upthrust breast, squeezed and kneaded the flesh momentarily, then dipped inside the orange halter to draw the garment down and away, exposing her nakedly ripe breast with its fiery nipple and dark brown areola. He could feel the seeping hot wetness of the seminal fluid oozing from the pulsating tip of his cock as she continued to massage him with such a practiced thoroughness that he thought the head would surely erupt.

And then, suddenly, with his finger kneading the warmly resilient flesh of her magnificent large breasts, and his long hard cock jerking almost out of control, the full impact of what he was doing struck Ron's mind like a mailed fist.

My God! he thought wildly. No, this is wrong, all wrong, I'm a married man… this is wrong, she's married, too! Jesus… what would Dick Green say? What would Sharon say? What would she say if she saw what was happening right now, my hand on another woman's naked tit and that woman 's hand stroking and rubbing my cock… I can't go through with it, I just can't!

The guilt was so strong within him that he wrenched violently away from Myra, pulling his mouth from hers, turning his body so that her hand left his bulging lap. His face was flushed a brilliant crimson – partially from shame and partially from his intense arousal. He averted his eyes, looking at the far wall, breathing deeply, raggedly.

"What's the matter, lover?" Myra asked casually beside him, and then, with full feminine perception: "You're having an attack of conscience, aren't you? You're thinking about your wife."

"Y-Yes," he managed to answer. "What… what are we doing… what we were leading up to… Christ, Myra, it was crazy, it was all wrong."

"Was it?" she asked.

"Yes… of course…"

"I don't think so," she said.

"Yes… yes."

"You want to fuck me as much as I want you to fuck me," she teased in that droning, sultry voice of hers. "You know it and I know it. So why pretend any different?"

"Jesus, Myra!"

"It's purely a physical matter," she continued. "You want to get into my soft warm pussy, and I want your big old cock inside me. That's all," her lewd words floated across to his mind.

"I… I love my wife!"

"Sure you do. And I love my husband. But that doesn't have anything to do with us, with here and now, with fucking."

No, no, I don't want to hear any more! Ron thought with gathering panic.

It's wrong, it's wrong, but what she says is true in some ways, you don't have to love a woman to want to fuck her… but no, damn it, no, I can't do it!

He jumped up from the couch, standing with his back to the dark-haired artist, staring at the wall again. His heart hammered violently in his chest, and he was aware that his wildly pulsating cock was still granite-hard in his pants, that it was still seeping hot droplets of lubrication. But he had to compose himself, find a way to get far, far away from her and to hell with…

Her voice whispered huskily behind him, "Ron… lover."

He turned, gathering his courage to say what had to be said, but when he saw her the words died in his throat. His mouth hinged open, and his eyes froze.

Myra Green stood before him completely naked!

She had unhooked the halter and stepped out of the brief shorts; the articles of clothing made a puddle of brilliant color on the bare floor at her feet. She stood with her long tanned legs spread apart, her head and shoulders pulled back, her hands knuckled provocatively on her proud, flaring hips. She was smiling at him with her mouth parted, her teeth slightly bared, the tip of her quivering pink tongue showing. Her wet, petal-like, hair-lined lips of her vagina were presented to his eyes like an Aztec virgin on a sacrificial altar, waiting for a huge, plunging weapon to stab into her. The black triangular bush of her sparse pubic triangle glistened lewdly in the pale afternoon light. Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, startling alabaster white against the deep tan of her other parts, jutted out like two ruby encrusted, snow-capped mountain peaks, waiting to be climbed, asking to be conquered. Her legs, so slender, so satiny smooth-looking at their inner thighs, were moist with the warm flowing juices of her passion-flowered cuntal mouth.

"Well, lover?" she asked. "Do you like what you see?"

"Myra…" Her name choked past his swollen throat, but that was all. He couldn't say anything else. He could only stare at her, at her loveliness, at her completely lewd, wanton pose. His maddeningly hammering cock began to assert its mastery over the mind and take control of his body.

Slowly, slowly, the voluptuously naked brunette lifted her hands, her eyes fastened on his, and began to slide her palms up and down, up and down, along her silky sides from the outer swells of her ripe straining breasts to her flanks. Brazenly, she cupped the firm white mounds of her breasts, kneading them lightly, pushing them out toward him as if presenting him with two forbidden but delicious gifts of flesh. Then her hands were stroking her taut little belly, moving down ever so slowly until the tips of her pink tinted nails were just touching the fleece of her darkly inviting pubic triangle. She held that pose for a long moment, thumbs pressing against her slender, sculptured sides, fingers splayed obscenely across her naked belly.

The young art critic stood as if transfixed, unable to move, unable to speak, captured totally and completely by the strange fascinating allure of this wildly seductive woman before him and the absolute lustful sexuality of the scene he was witnessing. His frantically jerking penis seemed to be screaming with his ever increasing arousal.

Slowly, Myra's hands began to move again, the fingertips dipping lower through her softly curling pubic hair, blazing a path toward the narrow pink slit up between her outspread legs. When she reached it, she placed the thumb and forefinger of her left hand on either side of the wetly glistening pussy lips and spread them slowly apart, revealing the trembling oily red bud of her erect little clitoris to Ron's lustful gaze. With her outstretched right forefinger, then, she traced down, down, until the tip came in contact with the miniature phallus. She began to stroke it, titillating it back and forth, round and round, sending more rivulets of her lubrication trailing down her inner thighs.

And while she stroked her clitoris, rubbing her finger in a maddening cadence along the gaping crevice of her wet, visibly throbbing cunt, she began to talk to him in her droning, mesmeric voice.

"I want to fuck you, lover. I want to fuck you like you've never been fucked before. I want to put my finger in your asshole while you're fucking me, and I want you to do the same for me. And afterward, I want to suck your big, throbbing cock, suck it until I milk you dry, and then I'll lick your asshole, I'll put my tongue in it until I make you so hard again. I want you to eat my pussy, I want your tongue where my finger is now, licking and biting and kissing my clit, I want…"

On and on she intoned, and the words, the absolute perverted obscenity of what he was hearing – lashed Ron's mind into a swirling frenzy of wild, implacable lust. Oh Christ, I've got to have her! I don't care about anything now, the only thing that matters is Myra's lewd invitation to fuck her. The sight of that hot little bitch finger-fucking herself is driving me nuts. Jesus! I've got to fuck her!

As if he was somehow spirit free from his body, he watched himself objectively as his legs worked, moving his body forward, bringing him closer to her nakedly undulating body. He watched her finger cease its rhythmic motion on her clitoris as he approached, and her smile turn to one of triumph as she claimed her victory beyond any doubt. His hand went out to her, touched her warmly rounded shoulders, but then she was moving back away from him, saying softly, "Not here, lover. In the bedroom."

He followed her mutely, blindly, like a faithful dog after its master, his shamelessly aroused body and his mind afire with his consuming passion. She led him into the bedroom and then lay back on the King-sized bed with her legs spread as wide as she was able to splay them. "Get naked lover," she whispered up to him. "I want to see that big prick of yours. I want to see how well hung you are. Show me your cock, lover. Let me see it."

With numbed fingers, mindless with desire, Ron undid his belt, took off his trousers, his shirt, out of his shorts. He stood there before her, as if waiting for queenly approval, his thick, blood-engorged shaft standing out at right angle from his loins, throbbing like powerful machinery.

"Oh, it's lovely, just beautiful. As big as I knew it would be." She laughed very softly. "You do want to put it inside me, don't you? Tell me you want to put it inside me."

"Yes… yes, I want to put it inside you!" The words rasped from his throat hoarsely, in a voice he had never heard before.

"You want to fuck me, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, I want to fuck you!"

"How? How do you want to fuck me, lover?"

"Deep!" he cried. "Deep and hard! I want to jam my cock up to your throat! I want to make you scream for me! I want to fuck you like you've never been fucked before!"

"Yes, lover, that's the way! That's the way I want it!" Her voice had lost some of its earlier mastery and it seemed now that there was an element of hot impatience in it.

A small, tortured cry came from the very core of Ron's being and he flung himself onto the bed beside her. He dragged her into the enveloping fold of his arm not caring about anything but this soft, warm, musky smelling woman pressed nakedly to him. He was dimly aware that later, when it was over, there would be remorse, self loathing, but at that moment he didn't care; he just didn't care!

He showered moist hot kisses all over her face, her throat, into the warm soft valley of her breasts, his hands moving over the smooth hills of her buttocks, cupping them, squeezing the flesh. She was breathing into his ear, hot and sweet, and her tongue flicked out to dance inside the orifice, racing along the soft skin of his sensitive inner ear. Her hand searched down between their tightly clasped naked bodies and located the rock hardness of his pulsating penis. He gasped as the hot, searing tips of her fingers closed over his sensitive penile flesh, and then his mouth closed hungrily down over hers as their tongues lashed and twirled against one another, trying to blend into one. She crushed the full length of her sensually writhing body against his and ground her pelvis hard into him, and then she twisted suddenly, pulling him over astride her, opening her lithe tapered legs as wide as they had been before, her wetly palpitating cunt flared open, dripping and waiting.

Myra's hands were running wildly up and down along his body, tracing the hard muscles of his shoulders, the cleft of his back, the hirsute cheeks of his ass, exploring all of him as if he were an uncharted island and she an explorer. His long, massively throbbing cock rested hard, trailing dribbles of liquid, against her thighs and pressed into the narrow, hair lined slit of her eagerly undulating cunt. She arched for a moment, levering their nakedly entwined bodies up with the strength of her back then reached under her buttocks, and, with both hands, pulled her wetly glistering vaginal lips slowly apart, giving his thick, lust hardened shaft greater contact with her moistly sensitive cuntal flesh.

His long hard penis lay softly cradled and throbbing in the full length of her warm wet crevice. She relaxed, dropping her body back to the bed, his massively rigid flesh trapped hotly between her soft inner thighs.

The young art critic forced his hands between her shoulders and the bed and ran them down the soft curves of her back and hips, as he made little inarticulate sounds of animal desire deep in his throat. The raised ridges of her spine felt hot, white hot, to him as she undulated her ripe lush body against him in a slow teasing rhythm. The sinews of her muscles rippled lightly just under the tanned skin giving testimony to the secret, predatory power she possessed. The tenseness of the muscle cords in her thighs pressed quivering against the outside of his hips, and he wondered vaguely how they would grip around him moments from now, when he sent his hot pistoning cock burrowing deep into her tight little pussy.

"You feel good, lover," she breathed. "All of you feels good, but your cock feels the best of all." Her nails trailed across his back, leaving small red welts in their sharp path. Ron pushed his hands farther down beneath her, cupping the fullness of her smoothly rounded ass in the palms of his sweat slick hands, pulling her loins hard against him. He moved his thick long hardness up and down the fiery slit, feeling her grow warmer and wetter as passion seethed out of her. Now her nakedly grinding buttocks began a more desperate rotation up against his loins until her legs, without warning, snaked out wide on either side of him, her sleek warm calves locking against the back of his thighs, pulling him tighter to her.

"Ooooohhhhh, fuck me!" she wailed. "Fuck me now, lover, fuck me, fuck me, fuckkkkkkk meeeeeeee!"

He began to thrust forward, but her pelvis was already grinding forward and her hands were already between their bodies, circling around his wildly palpitating cock to guide it between the blood filled lips of her surging young cunt. Ron groaned loudly as he felt her knowledgeable hands move his hard shaft of hot flesh up and down between her legs, running it the length of her hair lined slit, parting the soft, fleecy hair covering her vagina with the lust-swollen cock head. The pressure in his sperm-bloated balls was excruciating now, and he knew he couldn't hold back another second. Now! He had to fuck her now!

He flexed his hips with a sudden cruel, driving thrust that drove his huge, rock-hard penis deep up into the hot, wetly gaping mouth of her pussy, drove it home with a flesh-splitting crash.

"Aaaaaarrggggghhhh!" she screamed beneath him.

He felt the elastic sheath slip wetly, hotly, around his long fleshy rod, consuming it as it raced to the full length of her belly, her seeping vaginal walls lubricating the way. Suddenly, he hit bottom, his balls slapping up against the softly mooned cheeks of her ass.

"Oooooooohhhhhhh!" she screamed again. "Ohhhh, that's it, lover, that's the way to fuck me, that's ittttttt!"

Ron ground his pelvis into the squirming, moistly pliant flesh beneath him, fucking into her with deep, powerful strokes. She strained back under him, arching her nakedly writhing loins up at him, lifting them both a few inches off the squeaking, already sweat soaked bedspread. She moaned and mewled wildly under his pounding, driving body now, opening and closing her beautiful long legs around his ass as she worked up and down on his massive pole of hot flesh in a pagan rhythm. Her mouth gaped open wide, her head flailed from side to side in wild, insane abandon.

"Ohhh, it's… good, lover… good like I knew it would be… ooooohhhh yessssssss! That's the way, that's it. Now shove your finger in my ass! Do it now, Ron, do it now! Shove your finger in my ass, and make me scream for you!"

In slave-like obedience, Ron reached between her frantically rotating buttocks as he drove his long pistoning cock into the hot moistness of her pussy. He stretched her ass cheeks wide with his hands, and then dipped his extended middle finger toward her anus. A small stream of warm slippery moisture was running down the widespread crevice from where he was fucking into her wetly seeping cunt. It lubricated the tightly puckered little anal ring, and he probed experimentally for a moment. Then he thrust forward with his outstretched finger, ramming hard and feeling the rubbery opening yield slightly; suddenly, the nether ring gave way completely, and his finger slid in up to the first knuckle in, the tight elasticity of her hotly clenched anal passage. Her body convulsed upward to crash into his with a loud slapping sound at the sudden, lancing pain and she screamed, "Aaaaaahhhh, it hurts, it hurts, but I like it, I like it!"

His teeth tightly gritted, he thrust again, sinking his finger to the second knuckle.

"Ohhhhhhh! Yessss, that's it, hurt me, hurt me!"

Despite her cries, Ron felt Myra suddenly begin to screw her softly fleshed buttocks back down on his long worming finger until it was sunk to the palm of his hand. He waggled it inside her fleshy passage, eliciting more cries of pain and passion from her. He could feel through the thin wall of flesh separating her two passages, the underside of his driving cock sliding in and out of her wet pulsating cunt; he timed the thrusts of his finger with the forward stabs of his eagerly pistoning shaft, impaling her on two strong, hard, immovable objects. The voluptuous brunette groaned wildly under him and he could feel his massively swollen cock growing and expanding inside her until it felt as though it were going to burst from the pleasure and pressure building in his balls. He had to cum soon, he had to, he had to! If he didn't cum, he was going to go out of his goddamned mind! Oh Jesus, he had never known fucking could be like this, this good, never, never…"

He wanted her to cum too, to mingle her bursting juices with his simultaneously, and he began ramming his massively rigid thickness into her still harder, in time with his burgeoning finger skewering into the rubbery depths of her rectum. She gripped him tight between her imprisoning thighs, opening and closing them around him in time to his long, hard thrusts, and he knew that she was approaching her orgasm. He continued the dual merciless thrusting of his cock and his finger with all the strength he possessed in his muscled body.

"Aaaaaaggghhhh, fuck it, fuck it, that's it, lover, fuck it hard!

Fuuuuuucccccekkkkkkiiiitttttt!"

She continued to chant the words, over and over, drawing each syllable out, spurring him on to greater heights with her obscene mumbling, pounding her heels with rhythmic tempo on his back as she jack-knifed her legs up to mash them against her firmly rounded breasts, offering him the full expanse of her upturned loins. Her eyes rolled like a hopeless drunk, her face contorted with animal lust as she sought to achieve her imminent release.

And then-

"I'm… there… oh God I'm there! I'm… ccccuunummmmminiiinnnnnnngggggg!"

The words burst from her throat in a low, banshee wail, piercing his eardrums, and she pulled her frantically trembling thighs back tighter until the whole of her widespread pussy was presented to his heaving pelvis. Her ankles locked over his shoulders, and she squirmed her hips beneath him in a wild, uninhibited dance of ecstasy, screaming out the joyousness of her orgasm to him.

Ron felt the warm, gushing juices of her climax seethe and flow around his hot thundering cock as he battered his body brutally against hers, as she locked herself up on his virile young penis with all the power in her thighs, as her fire and honey loins spasmed convulsively against his belly. And then the great swirl of heat which was building, building in his sperm-churning testicles became unbearable, and he gasped again and again, and finally the hot sticky load began its frenzied rush from his bloated scrotum along the tube of his wildly jerking cock. He began to spew thickly heated streams of cum into her madly sucking cunt in seemingly never ending bursts, emptying his very soul deep, deep up into the warm inner depths of her insatiably lusting pussy. He moaned as the last of his sperm flung itself outward an eternity later, and then he slowly withdrew his rapidly deflating penis. It came out with a soft popping sound, trailing thin gossamer like threads of semen along her rounded little belly and matted pubic hair as he rolled over beside her, his mouth open and his breath rasping out of his lungs.

A long moment passed, and Myra said quietly, "That was lovely, Ron. It really was lovely. I don't know when I've been fucked so good."

He didn't answer. He just lay there, satiated, completely fulfilled. He knew he should feel guilty now, feel the first stirring wave of remorse, shame, and self-deprecation. But they weren't forthcoming. He felt only like a full-blooded, virile man, a man who had satisfied a true, sensual woman and in turn been satisfied himself. He felt a certain power, a certain complacency, a much needed bolstering of his masculine ego. With Sharon, he had never known that feeling, had known only a vague veiled sense of inadequacy and frustration, as if there were something the matter with his lovemaking which prevented him from really arousing her deepest, hidden emotions.

Sharon. His wife's name echoed again and again in his mind, and a small part of him tried to make the guilt, the shame, come; but the virile man that was growing inside him simply shrugged the thoughts away, and he lay there, feeling the warm heat of the stunningly voluptuous woman next to him, smelling the musk of her perfume and the permeating odor of their consumed lust.

He felt Myra stir, then, and suddenly she was on all fours beside him, hovering over his belly, staring hungrily down at his now limp cock glistening with the coagulating juices of her recent orgasm. She said,

"I'm going to teach you things you never knew existed. Would you like that?"

He ran his tongue across his lips, found them to be dry again. He felt a tremor of excitement suddenly course through his loins. Could he get another hard on so soon? Was that really possible? "Yes," he answered.

"Yes, teach me, teach me!"

Her head dropped slowly, toward his groin, and abruptly her little pink tongue flicked out, the tip boring teasingly into the glans opening, causing a thin oozing, the final stage of his cum, to flow forth and disappear into her eagerly lapping mouth. She ran her tongue along the flaccid expanse of his wetly glistening penis, down over his soft, wrinkled scrotum, wiping away her own orgasm juices before they could fully coagulate on his genitals. She smiled as she bent to her task, for Ron's still inexperienced cock was beginning to show signs of hardening again, was stirring beneath her expert oral manipulations. She drew her head back and let him see her smile, and then she said, "I'm going to kiss your lovely cock until it gets hard again, lover. Then I'll suck you for a while. Would you like that?"

"Yes… oh, yes!"

"But not here…we'll go out in the rear yard. I'll suck you under the open sky. Have you ever done that before, Ron?"

"No, God, it sounds wonderful!"

"It will be," she promised. "It will be, lover."