"Teacher_s naughty wife" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Ron)

CHAPTER THREE

Joanne rarely drank, and when she did it was most often a chilled glass of some kind of lovely mild wine. Never in her life had Joanne felt the burning, urgent need to sit down and pour alcohol into her system, never until today. She could have used a cigarette but she didn't smoke.

The Blue Ball Tavern was very close to the college. All the better. She didn't have far to walk. She couldn't have walked very far, let alone get into her car and drive anywhere.

It was noontime and the tavern was pretty crowded. She pushed through the clusters of students sipping beer and munching pizza during their break from classes, and she got to the bar. A boy with bespectacled, pimple-spotted face, trying to grow a luxurious mustache, was just getting up to go to the john as she reached the bar, and Joanne slipped onto his stool. "Give me a scotch and water," she told the bartender. "On second thought, forget the water. And make it a double."

She was into her fourth or fifth drink, she couldn't remember and she didn't care, and it was one o'clock or maybe a little later. There was a clock on the wall but she couldn't see that far, not with any clarity of vision. The noontime crowd had thinned out drastically and she was alone at the bar. A few students, mostly couples, were occupying the booths along the wall, and the jukebox gave forth a disco-type soul song every now and then. Music didn't help, and neither did alcohol. She stirred her drink and listened to the ice clinking on the sides of the glass.

What in the hell was happening to her life? Her husband was fucking some other woman – not even a woman, a girl, a young girl, one of his students. How long had it been going on? Christ, even the little bitch who worked at the reception desk knew all about it, not to mention her bird-legged friend! Was the whole fucking world aware of Tom's extracurricular activities? God! And she hadn't even guessed!

"Bud," she heard someone say, and the voice came from her left hand side. She turned her head slightly and saw that a boy – well, he might have been eighteen or nineteen, probably a freshman or sophomore – had taken the empty stool beside her. The bartender set a mug of foamy beer down, took his fifty cents, and turned away. Joanne lifted her eyes slightly, saw that the boy was looking at her over the top of his mug as he sipped.

"Hi," he said, lowering the glass, a foamy mustache ringing his mouth. He licked at it, delicately, and she watched his tongue play along his lips. It was a small thing, that gesture, but it had a certain grace, a kind of attraction. The tip of his tongue was flat and very red, very moist. He had brown eyes and a mop of shaggy dark hair. And he looked at Joanne with a certain expectancy glittering in his eyes, as if he were waiting far her to return his greeting – and as if he were waiting for a lot more than a hello.

"Hi," she said, nodding, and her eyes lowered. His books were on the bar, and the top volume was an anthology of 1950's beat poetry. "Are you in Professor Hickman's poetry class?" she asked, speaking carefully. The back of her tongue was starting to get numb from scotch.

"Yeah," he said. "You're not, are you? I mean, I don't remember seeing you. And I'd remember you." He stared into her eyes for a long second, and then his gaze drifted downward, into the v-cut neck of her yellow dress. Joanne knew that he was eyeing her cleavage, the saucy exposure of the inner curves of her small, perfect tits, and she took a deep breath, knowing that it made her boobs lift, the bodice of her dress push outward slightly, the nipples of her braless tits put against the smooth cling of the fabric. Why did I do that? she asked herself, watching him take in the impression of her taut nipples. When he looked up he was smiling a little more broadly and for some reason, so was she. Joanne didn't understand that either, but it was the first time she'd smiled since the moment she'd turned on that Goddamned intercom back at the English building, and smiling felt so good.

"Oh, I know Professor Hickman," she said. "At least, I thought I did."

"Can't miss him," the boy replied. "Small guy, wavy hair, can't decide whether he wants to be Al Pacino or Rudolf Nureyev when he grows up." And he grinned.

Was he talking about Tom? She'd never looked at her husband in that light before, but after a moment's thought she could see the boy's point. Tom was tort, about five eight, and his hair was dark and wavy. He was in great physical condition, a tight, trim body, and he moved like a dancer. Or a street angel, maybe? It took a little time for it all to sink into Joanne's head, but when she had it straight, she laughed, and, God, it felt great to be laughing! Not long ago she had thought she might never laugh again.

"I sort of know him," she said. "I used to fuck him, if you want to know the grubby details."

"Oh," the boy told her, nodding, making a delightful mouth at Joanne. "Pre-Alice Custer, right?"

God Christ! Even this boy, this child, knew about it! Joanne sat up straight and she almost frowned and told him to go fuck himself, but what he'd said, sank in. Alice Custer. Was that the name of the girl she'd listened to? The one Tom had only just finished fucking in his office, the one who called him Tommy baby and was Miss Honeybun in return, the one he'd said he loved?

"Yes," Joanne said, raising her voice a little, "that's the cunt who edged me out. I don't know what she has, but that motherfucker…"

"Cool it," the bartender said, coming down the counter to where Joanne was sitting. "This is a nice place and I don't like people using that kind of language. It sounds like shit, especially coming from a drunk broad."

"Fuck you!" Joanne said, whirling. She picked up her half-full glass of scotch and threw it at the bartender. The liquor drenched his shirt and neck and the glass fell to the floor, breaking.

"Okay," he said, "get your ass out the door bitch! And don't bother coming back, right?"

"Blow it out your ass," Joanne muttered, sliding off her stool. Her feet touched the floor but she couldn't feel anything. Everyone in the tavern was staring at her and she didn't want to fall down and make a fool out of herself, not in front of so many people. Oh, God, she thought, trying to hold herself upright, I am so drunk!

"You need some help," the boy said, grabbing her around the waist. "Hey," he said, walking her out the door, his arm supporting Joanne, "I don't think you're in any shape to drive yourself home, I mean, if you're on wheels or anything, you know?"

"I don't have a home to go to," Joanne mumbled, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. He smelled good. Like a man. She'd almost forgotten what a man smelled like. She leaned closer as they went out onto the street, and one of her tits was pressed close against his side. She felt her nipple getting harder and harder behind the yellow front of her dress, and she knew that her teat was boring into his ribs. He felt so smooth and hard under his shirt, and he smelled nice, and she didn't want to go home and be alone, she didn't want to be alone, no, not now. "Take me to your home," she said, looking up. His face turned red and his eyes got big. "Yes," she went on, leaning up, the tip of her tongue appearing between her lips. She leaned close, touched his neck with her mouth and tongue, and he shivered against her. She put her hand on his shoulder. They were almost at the street corner, and there were people all around them, students mostly, but no one even looked twice at a couple kissing on the sidewalk, and she was kissing him. She was rubbing her mouth all over his neck, his jaw, moving up to bite his ear, and their legs were tangled and she was purring into his ear, "If you want me you can have me. I saw how you were looking at me back in the Blue Ball, how you kept staring clown at my tits, and I knew what you were thinking. So let's do it. Let's do it. Let's doooo itttttt!" She moaned the words as if anguish held her in an icy grip, awl she was rubbing her hand all over the front of his t-shirt. She could feel his nipples under her fingers, she could feel them standing up, erect. She tweaked them till he roared in a low undertone, and by then they had crossed the street. They were walking down West Court, and there was her car, whew she'd left it. There was a red parking ticket under the wiper, for she'd overstayed her metered time, but parking tickets didn't matter, nothing mattered. Her world had fallen to pieces and now anything was possible. She could even throw herself at some stranger, some teenaged child she had just met in a dim-lit tavern, and she could be stroking his body with her tits and her hands, purring into his ear the soft, hungry, horny words that were all she had left now.

"If you don't take me someplace and fuck me," she announced, growling like a cat, "I will throw you down on the sidewalk and rape you. And if you think I'm kidding, tell me no and see what happens."

He was backed up against the side of her car and she was on him from the front. She had her hands on his waist, and her crotch rubbed insistently, demandingly, at the front of his pants. Her lips were fastened to the point of his chin and her tits pressed like hard little balls against his chest. "Holy cow!" the boy said. "I thought this kind of stuff only happened in dirty movies!"

She bit his chin, just to prove it was real and happening to him, and she felt his cock stiffen suddenly in his pants, a hard lancing column of flesh straining at the tightness of the bluejeans he wore. Joanne groaned and she writhed against him, and she didn't care if anyone saw her.

"You're making an offer I can't refuse," the boy said, and his eyes were big as silver dollars. "But if you want money, I don't have any."

"I don't want money," Joanne announced, standing back. She pointed at the bulge in his pants. Her eyes got big. "All I want is that!" And she touched him with the tip of her finger, touched the steely stiff erection in his pants.

"That's disgraceful," she heard someone say, and she turned. A fat middle-aged woman was standing a few feet away, puffing as she stared at the couple.

"It may be disgraceful," Joanne said, slurring her words, "but I'm going to get fucked, and it's a disgrace how much I need a fuck." She opened her purse, found the car keys, tossed them to the boy. "You drive," she said. "You shift the gears and I'll play with your stick." With a wink at the fat woman, she climbed into the car. Her hand was in his lap before she got the door shut.

It wasn't the afternoon she'd planned. Ronnie – that was his name, Ronnie – in the car, while she was fondling his swollen bulge and he was trying to keep the car on the road. I'm smashed, Joanne kept telling herself. I wouldn't be doing this if I were sober. Of course not. The liquor has taken hold of me, and I've taken hold of Ronnie. Fair exchange?

He lived in a trailer near the south edge of town, about twenty blocks down Tiffin Street from the campus. He had two room mates, but they were in class. So he explained to Joanne while they were negotiating the distance between her car and the front door of his trailer. It wasn't an easy journey. She had him unzipped now, and her hand was inside his pants, inside his shorts, her fist full of his stiff dick, and she couldn't stand up without assistance, so she was all over him in more ways than one. Once again she was making a public spectacle of herself, if any of his neighbors in the other trailers happened to be watching, but it seemed very unimportant. Her mind was already inside the trailer bouncing on a bed.

If Tom can find himself some young stuff, she thought, why the bloody fuck can't I do it, too? More important, she had done it. Never before in her almost ten years of marriage had she even considered the idea of committing adultery. That's what it was, she realized, and she wasn't so drunk that she didn't understand the reality. She was about to give herself, body and cunt, to a person she had only just met, and why? Because she wanted to, that's why! Wanted it more, Joanne was certain, tan she had ever wanted anything as long as she had lived. More!

It wasn't a big trailer, and the interior was a Godawful mess. But Joanne remembered her own college days, and the messy apartments and dorm rooms she'd lived in, and she just smiled, Ronnie helping her through the clutter that was strewn across the living room floor. An empty, stray beer can rolled under her foot and she went staggering, jerking on his cock as she did. "Oh, Jesus!" she heard him moan, and for a moment it seemed that he was going to come in her fist. She clenched her hand on him, squeezed hard, and his staggering shudders dwindled, then ceased.

"Almost lost it," he muttered, and by then they were standing in the doorway of a tiny bedroom. Joanne leaned against the shut door while Ronnie drew the curtains, and then he stood, facing her from about three feet away, staring at her, tilting his head this way and that, his lips curled in an unspoken question.

"I've seen you somewhere," he announced finally. Joanne shifted her shoulders as she rested against the door. "Aren't you one of the varsity cheerleaders?"

"No!" she laughed. "Of course not!"

"You're not in my American history survey class?" She shook her head again, and it occurred to her that he certainly thought she was a student at the college, just like he was. Well! she told herself. I guess I haven't gone to pieces, even if I am over thirty!

She had nothing to be ashamed of. She knew it. And she knew that she could easily pass for a college girl, though the idea of doing so had never entered her mind. At thirty-one she was still firm and slender, weighing the same 110 pounds she'd weighed as a college senior and soon-to-be-bride. And she was nicely dressed today, in that yellow springtime dress Tom had liked so much when she'd bought it last year. Smooth yellow, almost as smooth as satin, cut deep in front between the firm round mounds of her tits, and trimmed rather closely on the sides, too, the top secured with a tie around her neck. The dress was long, as was fashionable today, but slashed up the sides to allow revealing glimpses of long-thighed legs. Well! she thought. I put this dress on, expecting to take it off in a motel room while my husband drooled from the bed. I don't think my plans worked out. But I'm still going to take my dress off, and I certainly expect to see some drool forming on that lovely boy's lips. She reached up, brushing her hair out of the way, and she undid the bow behind her neck. The top of her dress fell down, baring her smooth, hard-nippled tits. Ronnie coughed and she was pretty sure she saw froth at his mouth.

Joanne held the fallen dress in place, and she breathed, and her nipples were poked out in stiff brown erections. She raised her hand, stroked her fingers across each nipple in turn, and she murmured softly between puckered lips. Ronnie made a sound, too, light and airy, and he was standing by the bed clenching and unclenching his fists. The look his face bore was remarkable – as if, she thought, he hadn't believed it was going to happen, until now. Joanne looked up, ran her tongue across her lips, and pointed at him with her free hand. "Your turn to take something off," she suggested kittenishly. "Why not your pants, love? They look as if they're about to split, you know?"

Ronnie grabbed for his belt buckle, undid it, and skinned the mug jeans down to his knees, taking his legs as they fell the rest of the way. He ware a pair of tight white torts underneath, and it was incredible how those shorts had managed to restrain his cock as long as they had. He was sporting an erection that looked really big, pushing out the tight white cloth. Joanne taught, it can't be too big. Not the way she kit, not the way she needed it. Drunk or not, she had to have him, and she didn't understand how she'd been able to go as long as she had without a man, a real man. She remembered the plastic substitute she'd used on herself this morning. God, she thought, did I really do that? Me? She shivered in a moment of self-disgust, but her eyes drifted again toward the bay's crotch and she felt only her need, the burning, wanting lust that simmered inside her. It had simmered inside her for so long it had scared her, but she wasn't scared any longer, not at all.

Ronnie put his thumbs in the waistband of his tons, jerked until the tip of his stiff rod tapered out, and she moved toward him, letting her dress fall as she moved. She stepped out of the fallen heap of yellow, moved her feet twice more, and she was standing in front of him.

All she wore under her dress was the special outfit she'd put together with the intention of seducing her husband back to love today: a lilac garter belt, trimmed in crinkly lace, and a pair of black mesh stockings. The garter straps framed her chestnut-fuzzed twat and she worked her thighs together until she felt the sure, telltale moisture beading between her labes, starting to leak out and dampen the curly hairs of her bush.

Ronnie had frozen in position, the fat ruby head of his cock sticking out above his partly lowered shorts. Joanne came closer, leaned her face toward his. She kissed his mouth, kissed him hungrily, her tongue working into his mouth, and at the same time one of her hands shot toward his crotch and she trapped his prick between thumb and forefinger. She gave it a pinching squeeze of affection as she thrust her tongue into his mouth, and he put his arms around her, tight, grasping, ready. The two of them leaned sideways and fell onto the bed, still kissing, still touching.

"I don't believe this is happening to me," Ronnie said breathlessly, fighting free of Joanne's mouth. She worked her hand down into his shorts, rubbed her hand along the full length of his stiff cock. His cock was shorter than Tom's, maybe six inches long at total erection, but his rod was thick and bulky and her fingers slid around it as she felt his burning arousal and the equipment he possessed to satiate that arousal.

He put his hand on her chin, turned her face back a little, and brought his mouth down onto hers. It was a fierce male kiss, and she relished every second of it, drinking his saliva, sucking his tongue. She hadn't been kissed by someone who meant it in a long time. Too damned long! Her fist tightened on his cock and she got her other hand into play, working the shorts down his butt, freeing his rigid prick totally for the delight of her fingers.

"Leggo!" Joanne panted, breaking free. His eyes clouded, but they warmed fast when she pulled up his t-shirt and began to lick and kiss his smooth, almost hairless chest. Nice skin, she thought, tasting it with her tongue. Tom didn't have a lot of body hair either, and she'd never cared too much for the stuff on men. Tom. Her brain boiled a second as she thought of Tom and wondered if he was still in his office, maybe getting seconds or thirds from that girl, Alice Custer. But her lips closed on one of Ronnie's nipples and she forgot her rage in the sweet joy of feeling his little pap hard and stiff against the tip of her tongue. She tasted his flesh and his anxious, horny sweat, and she bit him ever so lightly, the way Tom always liked her to bite. Used to like. "Godddddd!" Ronnie moaned.

He was trusting in her fist now, groaning, his fingers working in her hair. A boy, she thought, all hot and horny. Not a lot of subtlety about him, but she didn't need subtlety. What she did need she was pretty sure he could give her. A fucking, fast and hard, a rocking ride that would turn her marrow to jelly, her pussy to hot simmering juice that oozed in puddles from her raw red crack. A fuck that would melt her ovaries and send her screaming into a fiery, frenetic come. A fuck. A real fuck. She stroked him more vigorously, licking her way down his belly.

She had to twist herself about to get at him most easily, anti the bed was really too narrow for athletic screwing. But somehow she managed to turn, and her long, mesh-covered legs thrust up the bed, past Ronnie's head, as she worked her face into his crotch toward the stiff red cock that was held upright by her trembling fingers. Lord God, it had been so long since she'd had her hands on a prick that throbbed like his, a prick that leaked little bubbles of pre-cum out its slitted tip as her hands squeezed and teased up and down his thick length, a prick that wanted to be loved, not just a prick that was risen to do some sort of husbandly obligation. And she could feel the difference.

"I'm going to suck you," she announced. "I'm going to suck you and I may not know when to stop. Are you in any danger of coming soon?"

"Christ!" Ronnie moaned, sliding his hand up and down her thigh, "you know it! I feel like I'm ready to bust!"

"You dear sweet boy," Joanne whispered. She leaned closer, touched his large, swollen cum-tube with her tongue.

"Wow!" he yelped, jerking. His cock thrust up into the open air, and she held her breath, afraid he'd spill the goodies now, not even give her a taste. And she wanted it in her mouth, his hot meaty prick, his salty flowing cum, if it so happened that, he couldn't keep his balls restrained. She didn't want it to flow, wasted, before she could get a bite.

But he was under strain, she understood, and she could sympathize. She'd come onto him in the bar, come onto him in the street, and she'd had her hand in his crotch all the way from downtown to his trailer park lodgings. He'd almost come in her hand walking from the car to the trailer. He was a boy, only nineteen, and she doubted if he had a lot of experience under his belt. Boys his age tended to be on short fuses all the time. But, if she remembered her own teenage years, they also tended to be capable of almost nonstop fucking. Get hard, shoot the jizz, get hard again.

His hand touched her bare, fuzzy crotch, and one of his fingers nudged impatiently at the tight mouth of her twat. She moaned, and she felt the sweet wetness begin to flow around his prodding finger. She realized that he wasn't the only one on a short fuse. "Oh, do it!" she whispered, and he screwed energetically at her cunt. His knuckle kept bumping the base of her stiff, risen clit, and she moaned each time he tapped her there. She moaned and watched her vision blur delightfully. She was only inches from the cock she held in her trembling fist but she couldn't immediately find the strength and concentration to approach him with the lust simmering inside her skull.

"Like this?" he asked, charmingly boyish, his finger popping into her hole. She whined in glee as it began to corkscrew inside her snug sucking pussy, turning round and round, plunging deep and spiraling its way back again. Juice was leaking from the walls of her twat, juice that oozed from the splayed mouth of her sex, and she could smell it as it flowed into her surrounding fur. His finger jiggled inside her again and again, coaxing forth greater and greater washes of lubrication, and he used the stuff to grease his persistent passage in and out.

Joanne squeezed his prick and saw one large bubble of cum beginning to form in his deep cock-gash. "Ooohhh!" she moaned, and her fingers locked on his rod, scooted up his thick shaft, and wiped that drop of jizz away. Still holding him with her other hand, she brought her cum-stained fingers to her mouth and licked them avidly, loving every droplet of the fuck juice she was tasting with her lips and tongue. It was sweet cum, young cum, and she looked up from sucking her fingers, looked at the cock that had provided her with that delicious sample. Lips smacking, she moved toward him, bending his rod in the direction of her mouth. She thrust her head down upon Ronnie's cock and began to suck him, suck him with the long-denied passion that simmered inside her bones.

As his cock thrust into her mouth he plunged his finger up her twat, the rest of his hand shivering against the bun of her pussy. He made his finger wiggle deep inside and she moaned as she sucked. Her tongue sloshed round and round his thick hard prick and she could taste more cum, oozing so lazily, so slowly, from the tip, cum that frothed on her tongue and tasted warm all the way down her throat. She tightened her mouth, worked it round and round on him, and she was squeezing his nuts all the while, his nuts and the root of his dick, squeezing, teasing, supplicating. He didn't let up for a second with his finger in her snatch and she wiggled her hips in invitation, a come building in her guts.

And such a different kind of come, too! She was so used to the ones that came from masturbation, hot comes that nonetheless left her cheated, unsatisfied where it really counted. Not this time! She worked her hips, squashed her pussy down upon his impaling finger, and he began to rub her throbbing clit with the ball of his thumb. It wasn't a refined kind of stimulation, not the kind she got from her husband, but on the other hand, what did she get from her husband nowadays? And it was a lot better than doing it herself. By now she knew everything that her fingers were capable of doing to her pussy. She didn't know what Ronnie would do to her next, whether he'd squiggle his finger in her clutching twat or rub her labes with his thumb or strum her clit like a guitar string. He was amateurish and unrefined at best, but he was young – young enough that he probably wasn't very experienced. And he was doing all tight all the same. Joanne sucked harder, and she started working her fingers like a movable ring around the base of his dick while her mouth was adoring the upper half of him.

He fired his juice into her mouth and she drank it greedily. Her excitement was so strong, so advanced, that she began to hootchie-kootch her ass and hips down, sucking up his finger, leaking her early juices all over his hand. He got the message, started to give her clit hell with his thumb while working his finger in her pussy, and she felt the stirrings of orgasm in her belly. Yes! she thought as her mouth savored the final drops of his squirting seed. Yes! She ground down hard, and then she was coming, too, her pussy bumping out its shivering excitement against his pressing hand.

"Mmmmmmmm," she moaned around the cock in her mouth. She sucked it a few moments longer, using her teeth to make sure it stayed hard, and she heard him groan in a feeble but not too sincere protest. When she raised her head, Ronnie's tool was still erect. A little river of cum oozed from one corner of her mouth, down across her small pointed chin. She smiled, and showed him her mouthful of jism-smeared teeth. "I hope you're ready to fuck me now," she said. "I really hope you are."