"Wife in the middle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Ron)

CHAPTER FIVE

Caron Archer spent a lousy night, the rottenest of her life. The sleeping pill went to work, but it catapulted her into dreamland, and the dreams were as bad as being awake. In one of them she was with Paul, on the beach. They were fucking gloriously, the way they'd done this afternoon. He was mounting her from the rear, really giving her the dick, and he leaned close to kiss her on the side of the face and she could feel a moustache. "Oh, God, no," she moaned, turning her head round, staring right into Lou's face, the bald head, the big moustache. It was his cock ramming in and out of her, sending messages of delight from her pussy to her brain, and even as she understood she felt herself beginning to come, to come like a bandit, her body shaking and writhing under him, and he could feel it too because he stepped up his fucking and speared her with his tool and she couldn't stop, she could only lie there and weep and buck and climax, again and again.

She awoke from that dream with a cry of panic, but she was alone in her bed and the house was as silent as a grave. The digital clock by the bed said it was 5:17 and that had to be A.M. because there was only a chilly-looking gray light outside. Caron closed her eyes, sank onto her bed again, and sleep came stealing back. Her dreams were no more pleasant, but at least she didn't awake until the alarm rang.

She staggered out to the kitchen, loaded up Mr. Coffee, and her hand shook as she poured down the first cup, black and hot. Sleeping pills always made her nervous the morning after. She almost never took them. But last night it was essential. And tonight? Would she have to drug herself again tonight? She didn't know. She could only swallow the hot coffee in gulps that hurt her throat and shake her head. There was a note on the refrigerator, pinned up by a tiny magnet. Caron took it down and read:

"CARON – I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, but I had to get out of this house. I'm sorry. I'm desperate. Everything is so awful. Please don't hate me for not being here. I'm painting, at the cove. If you want to, come up and be with me. I had to go. Love, S."

Well, she thought, laying the note on the counter, who can blame her? I wish to hell I could get away from all this so easily. Maybe I should get my paints and brushes out of the attic. How long will it be till Paul gets here? God, I can hardly wait to sign the papers and to see the last, the very last of Lou Archer!

She'd wanted Paul to stay here last flight, but he wouldn't. "We don't have to go through the rigmarole of declaring him legally dead now, darling," he'd told her. "You can simply get a divorce and take everything but his moustache. That, too, if you want it. I'll draw up the papers tonight, and I'll bring them over tomorrow as soon as I've gotten my afternoon business out of the way. Besides – if I stay the night, he might get the smartass idea of filing a countersuit of some kind, and maybe charging us with adultery. It wouldn't be more than a joke, in view of his track record, but it would be a complication, and we don't need any more complications, do we?"

They didn't, but she had missed him, last night, and she had needed him. Someone to hold her in his arms all night long, to tell her it would be okay. Well, she'd have him tonight. Even if it did embarrass Sheila. Oh, maybe they'd all get drunk. Maybe Paul could find a date for Sheila and they could have a party to celebrate getting rid of Lou. Caron sipped more slowly at her coffee, brightening. The world was beginning to take on a rosier glow.

"Mind if I have a cup?" someone asked, and she whirled, spilling coffee on the floor. It was Lou, shirtless. His hairy chest was broad and tanned. His moustache glistened. She really hated that moustache. He'd not been bald when they were married, but he'd not had that God awful thing either. He had really filled out in the last seven years; muscled where he used to be flabby, thick where he was once thin. He looked more like a lumberjack or some other, kind of really macho character. He was more like a seasoned truck driver than like the assistant professor of English he'd once been. Even his voice was different. He had a street twang to his talk, not the cultivated tones she'd encountered first as his student, then as his wife. First as his student, then as his wife.

(Saxon found herself wishing he had really died during his seven year absence. Maybe, she thought, maybe this is the dream. I'm all tense and nervous because the court proceedings are coming up, and I took a nap and dreamed that Lou had really come back. When I do wake up Paul will be kissing me hello and he'll have the court decree in his hand and I'll be a widow instead of a deserted wife, and he and Sheila and I will split a magnum or two of champagne, and… It wasn't a dream. It was real. His hand brushed hers and she knew it was really real. A fucking mess. And she was in the middle of it, right up to her ass.

"I wouldn't give you an ice cube if you were burning at the stake." She picked up the coffee urn, dumped it into the sink. "Swim down the pipes and get some," she suggested acidly.

He laughed. She hated that new laugh, booming and hearty. "You're hostile, Caron. Spunky, too. I like it. You've changed a lot over the last few years. Want to see the picture I carry in my wallet? You, as you used to be? No? I don't blame you. Jesus, Saxon, I can't understand what I ever saw in you then. You were a dog, you know that? A dumb little dog."

"Fuck you. Up the ass."

"Did you ever wonder why I left?" he pursued. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. "Well, it was you, partly… I mean, you were a stone fucking drag. A dishrag in bed. I wasn't much better, I guess. My nose in a book all the time. My magnum opus. Keats and the Romantic Revolution. I can remember two lines from 'Grecian Urn'. Forgotten all the rest."

She started to move past him. "I wish you'd also forgotten the address of this house." He thrust out one arm, blocking her way. She edged to the other direction, but he thrust out his other arm. "Wait a Goddamned minute," Caron said angrily. Her back was against the kitchen cabinet. She couldn't move forward, nor to the sides. He was looking down at her, smiling under his moustache. She hadn't really remembered him as so tall. Had he grown? Or had she forgotten?

"No, you wait," he said. "I woke up one morning and I was thirty-one years old and I was trapped. I had money, but what good was money doing me? I had a job and a career and they didn't matter a fart in a hailstorm. I was a paunchy nothing, sick of my life. So I said, fuck it. I'm getting out. And that's what I did. I got out. Be honest, Caron. Did you ever really miss me?"

She shook her head. "Not once," she said. It was half true. There was a time when she, had thought she loved him, or they'd never have been married. But it had passed. They had nothing now, nothing except a soon-to-be severed bond.

"Interested in where I've been?" She shook her head again. He leaned in closer and she shrank back. She felt like a rat in a trap. She could smell the masculinity of him. He'd never smelled like a man before, but he did now. She tried to sink down, slide under his arms to freedom, but he sank with her. "I've been everywhere," he said.

"Europe, Asia, Africa. I've done construction work, been a stunt driver in low budget movies ran a chain of massage parlors in Arizona. I've grown. A lot. Not only outside, but inside, too, where it counts. And the last year or so I've been thinking. About us. I wondered what you were doing, what you were thinking, you know?"

"No, and I don't care either!" Caron snarled, pulling her dressing gown shut. It had fallen open without warning and she'd been all too aware that his eyes were momentarily taking in the sight of her pink nightie. Thin, almost transparent, a gift from Paul. Nothing that Lou had any right to look at, to get cheap thrills from. She set her lip and pushed at him. Hard. As hard as she could. Christ! He had a body like a piece of worked iron! She rocked back, unable to move him, and his hand came in, seized her wrist. "Aaaaahhhh!" she said, rising onto tiptoes.

"You've grown a lot, too, Caron," he said. "Unless my eyes deceive me, you've turned into a woman since the last time I saw you. I can see it now, the way your eyes sparkle. You're afraid, but you're not a coward. You'll fight me, even if you know you'll lose. I can see it in the way you move, too, the way you carry your body. You've filled out a little since I was home last. Almost thirty, starting to bloom – you're at your prime, Caron, and I like it. Are you shacking that guy, Paul? Maybe figure to make it permanent once you've gotten rid of me?" He twisted her wrist, not roughly, but enough to give her the message. "Well, baby, before you make any rash decisions, maybe you should try out all the angles. Know what I mean?"

"Don't know and don't fucking care!" she spat. His face clouded momentarily and his other hand came in. He cuffed her across the face, not brutally, but hard, very hard. No one had ever struck Caron Archer in her adult life and she was shocked. Her dressing gown fell open as she slumped, and when she reached to close it, he caught her other wrist and held her up.

"Don't be shy, kid. I've seen it all before. I used to own it. But I think…" and he tilted his head, eyeing the revelation of her body through the sheer pink nightie, "I think the property values have gone up a little since I was the tenant."

"If you don't let go of me right now, you motherfucker, I'll…"

"You'll what?" he wondered innocently, just before he grabbed the neck of Caron's pink nightie and tipped it downward, savagely, tearing the flimsy garment to shreds while she screamed and kicked and went beet-red. She tried to double up, to deny him the cheap peek at her bare body, but he pulled on her hand and, she thought he was going to jerk her arm out of its socket. "Ohmygod, stopppppp…"

"Good tan," he admired. "I was hoping you'd be tan all over. Jesus, I really hate those pukey white places where chicks are afraid to take off the bikinis and let it all get sunkissed. Golden tits, Caron. Sweet and golden." He touched them. "Firm, too. And look at the nipples. Little cherries, aren't they? Mind if I tickle them a little? Of course you don't mind?" And he laughed, and his hand stroked across her nips. She moaned, and squirmed and sputtered, but there was no way she could get loose, not with that steely hand of his clamped onto her wrist. Her nipples stiffened in fear. What the bloody hell had gotten into him? Did he think he could take a walk, stay away for seven years, then come back and pick up where he'd left off?

"I'll see you in prison," she said. "For attempted rape."

He laughed heartily. "Attempted? Who said I was finished? Anyway, a husband can't rape his own wife. And as far as the law is concerned, we're still husband and wife. The little separation doesn't change it one damned bit. Listen – do you think this is easy on me? It's hard, Caron, and getting harder. Feel." And with that, he ground himself against her, his jeans scraping her bare belly, and she could feel it, his cock, starting to bulge inside his pants. She screamed. For Sheila, for Paul, for Jesus. For anyone to come help her.

But no one did, and she didn't really expect it. Sheila was at the other end of the island, and the only person around, besides Lou and herself, was that blonde tramp of his. Hadn't he said something about operating a massage parlor? A glorified pimp, in other words. And that little bitch looked as if she'd stepped right out of a massage parlor. Probably a dingy one. She tried to think about that, and not about the fact that Lou was eagerly stroking her naked body, dragging her across the floor kicking and protesting.

They stood in the middle of the kitchen. He jerked her wrist and she snapped upright. Lou was grinning. His moustache wiggled. He leaned in close, kissed her without warning. She could feel his hairy growth against her skin. God, it tickled! "We have the house to ourselves," he said smugly.

"I sent Melissa on a tour of exploration. If she finds a seashell it will occupy her for hours. She's not a very bright girl, but she's fun."

"She's a cunt."

Lou grinned. "You've picked up a new vocabulary since I left home. Yes, she is a cunt, a sweet, hot, tight young cunt. But she's only a cunt. I think you're a lot more than that, and I intend to find out. Anyway, Melissa seems to have made herself a conquest already."

"Paul?" Caron was livid. She remembered the glazy-eyed way Paul had stared at Melissa's sumptuous tits, but to think that he… "How dare you say that?"

"Mmm," Lou smiled, "you are the innocent one, aren't you?" He didn't give her time to think about what he'd said. His hand swept down her front, caressing her tits, sliding over her smooth rounded belly and into the forest of her pussy. His fingers traced the little hedge of fur that trimmed her slice. She groaned, trying to close her legs on his hands, push him out, God, anything! A moment later she realized that her spontaneous action was only helping him, pinning his hand to her pussy. Blushing scarlet, Caron unclamped her legs, tried to hold her breath until she passed out. She sucked it in till her chest hurt and her brain went woozy from lack of air, but Lou was fondling her pussy with greater and greater involvement, his fingertip flirting with the smooth tight lips of her gash, and her lower body was starting to twitch and undulate. "Goddamn you," she moaned, releasing her breath. Her lungs filled with air. She wasn't going to faint. "Oh, Goddamn you!"

"Here?" he asked. "On the kitchen floor?" He looked round. "Hey, the table. Come on, Caron." He dragged her to the table, shoved her head and tits down upon the smooth Formica top. It was cold against her bare skin. Her ass was sticking out and up. Lou lifted the hem of her dressing gown, her ripped nightie. He stood behind her, prodding her with the bulge in his pants. It had grown enormous, Caron thought, since the first time he rubbed her with it a few moments ago.

His hand stroked her buttocks, traced the deep cleft, zeroed in on her unprotected snatch. She moaned in tenor as his finger began to assault her from behind, and she started to buck and twitch. His finger slipped inside and there was a cold clamminess in her armpits, a sense of tenor just behind her eyeballs. "Please," she sobbed, wishing the tears would flow. Just this once. Couldn't she cry? Shame him? God, he had no shame! He'd left her, and now he'd come back, dragging along a slut barely out of diapers. But Melissa wasn't enough for him. He wanted her, too, the woman he'd abandoned. He wanted to shame her again, more brutally than before. He was going to fuck her.

"Haven't you been fucked on the kitchen table lately, Caron?" he asked, insidiously. "You don't seem very comfortable. Maybe we'd better go the traditional route. So let's try for a replay of our wedding night, hmm mm? Only this time I expect something more than a fuzzy glove wrapped around my cock. I want a cunt. A real live cunt. Your cunt, Caron. I want to feel you fucking me back, I want your legs around me like a spider web, I want to hear you mooooooaannnnnn when I sock you into paradise. 'Cause, baby, that's what I'm gonna do!"

She didn't have time to answer. He swept her up into his arms and went strutting through the house, carrying her. He kicked doors open as he came to them. Caron could only hang on lest she fall. She couldn't believe he was carrying her. The old Lou had been a weakling; the OXFORD BOOK OF ENGLISH POETRY was a heavy load for him. Once. But not now. He carried Caron into the master bedroom and he threw her onto the large double bed they had once shared as man and wife. It was rumpled from her night of tossing in fitful dreams and as he towered above her, she knew achingly that it was going to get a lot more rumpled.

She huddled in one corner of the large bed, legs drawn up. Her dressing gown was gone, lost somewhere between kitchen and here. All she wore was her ripped nightie. She tried to cover herself.

"Shy?" she heard him ask. "You were pretty damned shy that first time, too. Let's see how well you've gotten over it."

He grabbed her ankle, pulled her across the bed. There was no way she could retain her dignity or decency. The torn nightie opened, stiff-nippled tits sticking out. She quivered with fear as he pulled her to him. He sat down on the edge off the bed, still holding her foot, and slid his other hand up her thigh, onto the hair-hedged mound of her twat.

"Pulsating," he observed. "With anticipation? With dread? Or with a mixture of the two? Which is it, Caron? You have three choices, after all. Pick a winner."

"Paul will kill you for, this," she said through clenched teeth. "When I tell him what you did, he'll kill you. And not, a jury in the state will convict him. They'll set him free and they'll give him a medal and…"

Lou raised his hand and he bit her, for the second time. Sharply, alongside the jaw. "Sometimes you talk too fucking much," he told her. And with that he threw himself forward, onto her supine body.

His face burrowed into her cowering crotch. She screamed at the first touch of him, at the tickly wiriness of his moustache on her smooth tanned flesh, and she tried to rock him off her. But it was no go. He was a heavy burden upon her lower body and she could not move her legs. His arms pinned her hips to the bed, his face commanded her midsection, and she felt his tongue serape across the cleft of her pussy, scampering like a predator in pursuit of some fleeing prey.

He split her twat with his fingers and licked his way inside, tongue picking up speed as he raced over the slick purplish-red flesh of her vulva. He found her clit and assaulted it furiously, whipping with his tongue until her button peeked out to see what the hell was going on. Caron felt it, felt the shudder run up her body, followed immediately by the heat, oh, God, the heat! She dug her fingers into the bed sheets and she clawed, moaning, "No, no, noooooo!"

She tore, she ripped, she pawed, she panted and she whined, but still he drank at her trough. His tongue flailed round and round her stiffening clit, scurrying lower to steal into the winking mouth of her terrified hole. Sweat began to pour across Caron's forehead. She would kill him for this. She wouldn't wait for Paul. Paul could defend her in court. Did he think she was some kind of machine that could be turned on and off at will? Didn't Lou know she was a human being; that he had hurt her tremendously and could never make up for that hurt? Oh, he'd pay for this! She'd see that he paid!

"Tasty cunt," he complimented, smacking his lips. It was a vulgar gesture and she knew that he intended it to be one. His face moved a little lower down her cooze, and now it was his thick wiry moustache brushing her clitoris. Caron's eyes threatened to pop from their sockets. It was like nothing she had ever imagined, the sensation of bristly hair slipping and sliding across her button. She husked a cry, a cry of shame, and her fingers tore through the sheet they'd been clasping so tightly. Her pussy began to lubricate, not gradually, but in a flooding river of woman juice.

It must have touched his chin, those trickling juices, because she heard him chortle and then his tongue was ramming up her hole, followed closely by two or three of his fingers. Caron screamed and tried to kick at this new violation, but she was powerless to move, as impotent as if he'd tied her down before setting about to rape her body.

Only my body, she thought, willing herself to resist with every strength left to her. He might take her body, but he couldn't get within gunshot of her mind, let alone her heart. Oh, Lord, she thought as his tongue swirled in and out of her creaming tube. Oh, Lord God, he never did anything like this when we were married! If he had… if he had…

He whipped her clit with the end of his tongue and she knew that there was no possible way she could hold back anymore. Her body was going to come. She was powerless to prevent it. But she would fight as long as she could. She'd rob him of whatever perverted satisfaction this act might be giving him. Oh, Goddamn you, Lou Archer, she thought, Goddamn youuuuuuu…

His fingers filled her tight sucking twat. She kept herself in good shape. Paul liked a tight fit, and he hadn't come near to wearing out her elastic pussy. She could snap it shut around him and milk his pecker with all the oozy muscles of her cunt. And right now Lou's fingers were getting the benefit of that tip-top conditioning. He flexed them inside her, made her shake and shudder and whimper, and her pussy ate him greedily. Her pussy couldn't tell the difference between a friend and an enemy. She knew now why a stupid person was often referred to as a "dumb cunt". She had a dumb cunt between her own legs and she'd never known it till now.

It was too late, much too late, for Caron to send a message down to her pussy. She suffered the tortures of the damned as Lou continued to fuck her with his fingers and to lick up the hot juices that were overflowing her drippy crack. Again and again his tongue sloshed across her, and he opened her gape as widely as he could, slipping into her vulva with his nose and his chin and that damnable ugly moustache of his. She hated him! God, how she hated him! He had not been content, this wicked terrible man, with deserting her. He'd chosen to come back and totally ruin her life. Caron's nostrils twitched nervously. She could feel the simmering excitement in the pit of her churning stomach.

His fingers stiffened inside her, fucking into Caron as if he had a cock in his hand. She screamed, tossed, bucked, and then she was coming and it felt as if she would never stop coming. Her body rocked and twitched in the throes of her orgasm and hot sticky juice leaked from the mouth of her snatch. He'd never been that good, she told herself. Not when they were man and wife. He'd never made her come, not once, in all their past relationship. She hadn't been good either, just a frigid woman, but if he'd been as adept as he'd just shown himself to be, she'd have melted in no time. Fear began to crowd the inner reaches of Caron's mind – tense, terrible fear.

She tried to think of other things, but it was hard, so hard. Melissa making a conquest in the house. He'd snickered something about that, grinned when she defended Paul's devotion, when she said it wasn't possible. And she knew it was true. Paul could never be excited by such a cheap, trashy tart. Sure, he'd looked at her tits. So had Caron. That didn't mean she was hot for the little whore. Anyway, who could help looking at the damned things? They stuck out like artillery, distorting the printed HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD legend across her front; the nipples rigid under the skin tight cotton, her ass wiggling like a shithouse door in a gale whenever she walked. Some men would find that attractive. Obviously Lou had. Most likely, Lou would find a piece of moss growing on a rock attractive. He'd become an animal during his wanderings, an ugly dangerous animal. He belonged in a cage.

But what the hell did he mean about Melissa making a conquest? What the hell was he talking about? Thinking about that occupied her mind while Lou's hands and mouth continued to ravish her unwilling but orgasmic pussy, allowed her to fog out the humiliations he was forcing upon her. Twenty-four hours ago she had thought the man was certainly dead, but this was no corpse eating her pussy.

His fingers worked in her twat and she moaned again, an unwilling and agony-full moan, but God, it felt so good, even if it was rape, it felt so good down there, the lips of her pussy raw from lust and arousal, the juice sticky wet all over her genitals, seeping out to dampen her hedge of pubic hair. His tongue, sloshing wickedly through her cuntal froth, tickling her budlike clit, working through the folds and crevices of her privates. And his fingers, stroking at her. Gentle fingers, really, she decided, not nearly so animalistic as they'd been at first. It was almost as if he were starting to make love, rather than take his pleasure in rape.

What came next? She couldn't remember. The bed creaked, and it felt lighter, less occupied, and she wanted to open her eyes but she was afraid to. She heard the sound of a zipper, and she did open her eyes. Lou stood beside the bed, dropping his faded jeans. His cock jumped out as the pants went down, and it was in gigantic erection, that prick of his – enormous, towering, like a battering ram that jutted from his loins and the patch of hair at the base.

Caron sat up, eyes bulging. It had been seven years. Had he been so big then, too? God, he must have been! Men of his age didn't experience sudden spurts of penile growth. But she hadn't remembered him that way, not so huge, so monstrous, so… so…

She clutched at her breasts, trying to cover herself from the proud thrust of that incredible prick. Big, swollen, with a glowing ruby knob the size of both her eyeballs, put together. A slight curve up the jutting length, as if he were beginning to form himself into the shape of a crescent. "Oh, my God, no," she said, pointing, "there is no bloody way – I won't let you use that thing on me – absolutely not – Lou – for the love of God – Louuuuuuuu…"

Her voice died away in a trembling whimper as he climbed onto the bed naked, his cock fully erect, the tight scrotum flesh clinging lewdly to the huge stones of his testicles. They jiggled beneath his lancing dong. Caron took a deep breath, but, her lungs refused to fill up. She felt as if she were strangling. She couldn't speak, only whisper. "I will not," she told him in a low, almost inaudible voice. "I most certainly absolutely Goddamned fucking NEVER will not! No, Lou, no, no, noooooo…"

"Lie down," he said. "Flat on your back." He raised his hand and she was very frightened, afraid he'd hit her again. He'd done that twice already, not really hurting her but startling her, reminding Caron that men were, after all, the stronger sex. And he was a man. If nothing else, the vivid thrust of his erect cock proved that point. Her heart skipped a beat and she lay down, shivering.

Lou straddled her chest, his hips settling down upon her shaking tits. His flesh was hot, nearly as heated as her aroused hippies. He pressed down upon Caron, grinding his ass against her chest. Her hips twitched and she moaned, "No, please Lou, I'm sorry for everything I said, but don't…"

He was already angling his cock down, toward her mouth. "Suck it Caron. Open your pretty little mouth and suck it. You always had some excuse for not doing that when I was living with you before, but I've heard all the excuses. What I want now is a blow job, and something tells me that I'm going to get a damned good one. Anyway, look at my prick. You haven't seen it in seven years. Don't you even have a little hello kiss saved up for me?" He grinned, pushed the tip of his dick against Caron's lips.

She stifled the urge to scream because that would have opened her mouth widely, given her tormentor the impetus and opportunity to shove it in. But his cock tickled her lips, and she trembled, and before she knew it her lips had parted ever so slightly and the end of Lou's rod was flush against her teeth and she felt tears well in her eyes. It wouldn't be so bad. Once she'd hated the very thought of this act, but that was a long time ago. Only yesterday afternoon she'd sucked Paul's cock, giggled as his cum spurted into her face, into her mouth. It wouldn't kill her, even if it was Lou's prick. And if she refused, God only knew what he might do in his anger.

Caron closed her tear-filled eyes and she unclenched her teeth. Lou thrust hard into her mouth, filling her with the bulk and heat of his stiff, strange-tasting cock. She gasped, summoned her courage, and then she began to suckle him. Not enthusiastically, but her lips were working and they could not help but be felt by Lou.

"Is that your mouth, Caron, or did I take a wrong turn and wind up in somebody else's bed? I can't fucking believe it. You're really sucking me! I can feel your tongue floating around, and your mouth is full of spit. I'll bet that if I went deeper, if I gave it a nice big hard shove, you wouldn't even gag. You'd open your throat and take me as deep as I wanted to go. Right? Grunt if you want to put any money on it, Caron. Don't want to bet? No matter. You're getting it anyway, and… here goes! Oh, hot shit!"

He grabbed the sides of her head, lifting her slightly from the pillow, and humped his cock into her mouth for what seemed an eternity. He was true to his word. The head of his dong slipped into Caron's throat. She wanted to gag, but she couldn't. It wasn't that bad. She'd done this very act for Paul, more times than she could count, and the trick was simple. It had to do with breath and muscle control. Anyone could learn it, anyone who really wanted to. And now she was using her sexual education, using it for the pleasure of a man she hated with all her heart and soul.

He was big, thicker than Paul. Why didn't she remember that? Could seven years wipe out all those memories? But she'd never really sucked him when they were man and wife. She'd pleasured him in bed as infrequently as she could manage.

"If I'd known you were this talented," she heard him say, "I'd never have left you. You open any deeper, I'm gonna be fucking your throat. Would you like that, baby?"

He tasted salty, like ham, she decided, and when the end of his cock brushed the tip of her tongue, she could taste the faintest sampling of the jism that was already starting to leak from his pecker. His jizz? Once she'd have been ready to puke at the thought of sperm in her oral sanctuary, but that was a long time ago, and another Caron. She'd sipped gallons of sperm since the last time she'd seen Lou. It tasted good and she loved to drink it. But not Lou's. Oh, she'd show the cocksucker! She'd take his cum into her mouth, suck till he'd finished shooting, and she'd collect the stuff in her cheeks, under her tongue. Her throat would be shut off tightly, by God. And when he was done coming, when his cock had softened and slipped from her greasy mouth, she would look up at him. No. She'd get up, as soon as he was off her, and she'd put her arms around his neck and she'd give him the biggest wettest kiss he'd ever gotten.

Oh, what a kiss it would be! She'd spit his cum into his grinning superior face. She'd spit it all over him, every fucking drop of his lousy seed! And she'd laugh like a hyena while he turned purple and green and every other color under the sun, trying to wipe the scum off his features. Yes, Caron thought, the upper hand is coming back to me. But that would only be the start. When she was finished, his ass would be better off dead.

"Suck harder, baby, I think I'm almost there," he was telling her. "Jesus, you have a mouth and a half. Feels like two chicks giving me head at the same time. I don't know who taught you how to blow, but he deserves a medal. I think I came home at just the right time, baby. I've caught you in your prime. May not go away again. Suck in your cheeks. Vacuum me. Mmmm, yeah, I could sweep floors with that mouth of yours. Do it tight. I won't break. Mmmmm, Caron, honey! Did you ever see Jennifer Welles suck cocks in a dirty movie? You should. Oh, fuck, what the hell for? She couldn't teach you a Goddamn thing you don't already know. I could make you a porno star, baby. Would you dig that? Heyyyy!! That little twat Melissa was born with a dick in her mouth, but you could give her lessons. Maybe after we get this all straightened up, the three of us can shack together. You ever make it in a threesome, Caron? You'd dig it. Melissa is as queer as a six-dollar bill. She'll go down with anything. Man, woman, fag, dyke, German shepherd. She made an eight millimeter movie out on the coast where she jacked off a Shetland pony. The RSPCA has her on their permanent shit list, but she doesn't care. Come on, suck me. I can tell you're holding back a little. Don't hold anything back. Give it all to me, Caron."

She sucked obediently, her tongue moving, in circles around his thrusting cock. Part of her mind was repelled by what he said, and the images it created in her mind. Melissa. If anyone was born to jack off a horse, it had to be that little blonde twat. And part of her was strangely fascinated, top. She tried to conceive what it would be like, watching Melissa and the horse. It was a tantalizing thought, one that sent hot tingles racing through her body. Oh God, the hapless woman told herself, I shouldn't be thinking that! I shouldn't even be doing this!

"Open your throat, Caron, I want to fuck you deep and hard. Suck sweet, baby. Use your tongue. Make it good for me. I'm… easy, now, baby… watch those teeth… I'm almost… hold on, Caron, hold on… you're gonna get a mouthful… tighten that mouth… don't want you to miss any of it… lot better than blowing a pony, isn't it, baby? Get ready… here it… here it… coommmmmmmmmmmmmmmesssss!"

And his dick began to pump hot thick semen into her mouth. Caron wasn't at all ready, and her throat had apparently forgotten all about the master plan she'd prepared. The first gush of Lou's jizz went right down her throat, and she gulped it without even thinking. Her lips tightened on Lou while he kept squirting and gushing, his hands fierce and possessive on her head, and she realized to her shame and horror that she was actually drinking his cum, allowing it to pulse in viscous gobbles down her throat and into the pit of her churning belly. Tears invaded her eyes. She wouldn't even have her dearly cherished revenge! And she couldn't stop milking him with her lips. Her mouth tightened and sucked, and each time she pulled another spurt of cum poured into her sucking mouth.

"Good job, Caron." Lou grinned, pumping into her. She might as well drink his seed now. She'd already allowed it to happen. Grimly, Caron sucked and drank. The taste was bitter as gall in her mouth. And then her lower body jerked. Lou had reached around and, without warning, stuffed one of his fingers – the middle one, to judge from the feel – into her raw, itchy cunt!

She lurched and bucked under him, almost swallowed his stiff rod, right to the balls, and he fired the last salvo of his wad directly down her throat. His tool throbbed and pulsed against her tongue and when he came out of her mouth he was still hard as a rock. He tapped her mouth with the wet slimy end of his pecker and he announced, "Okay, Caron, now that we've gotten the preliminaries out of the way – let's fuck."

She moaned, her throat gurgly and full of jizz, and his fingers worked savagely in her pussy. Caron moaned and writhed, and she understood that, short of Paul's early arrival, there was no way she was going to escape being fucked too. Semen dripped from her mouth and she was trying to talk, but couldn't. Lou eased off her, still using his fingers in her cunt, and he kissed her sticky mouth. His tongue grazed the sensitive rims of her lips and she shivered on the bed. She didn't want him to fuck her. Oh, God, she couldn't endure the thought of being screwed by this man!

He worked his finger deeper into her cunt and her body convulsed. Sick, Caron realized that she was perilously close to yet another orgasm. Two or three more jiggles of his finger and she would – she would – she didn't know what she'd do. Lou turned her over, onto her side, and he lay down behind her, his cock pushing hard at the round cheeks of her ass.

"Open your legs, baby," he purred into her ear, and she realized that she had opened her legs, realized it as his cock began to slide up and down the cleft of her pussy, gathering momentum for its stabbing entrance. Her breath was ragged and her nipples ached. There was a drool of froth on the slash of her pussy and it bubbled as he continued to rub her, rub her, rub her with his throbbing pecker point.

"No," she said. "Please don't do this to me, Lou." He kissed her neck, then bit it, and his hands were on her tits, squeezing, pinching the hard taut nipples. She moaned. Again she could feel his cock rubbing the crease of her sex, stirring the soup that boiled in her twat. Caron closed her eyes, and then she reached down. She seized the shaft of his rigid peter and brought it to bear on her cuntal mouth. "Aaaaaaaaaggghhhhhhh!" she screamed, plunging down upon him, swallowing his dick in her pulsating pussy. He clenched on her tits and shoved, and they were fucking, and she couldn't understand why. But her snatch thrust to meet him and the juice was like a river inside Caron and she moaned, "Do it, oh, God, Lou, do it, fuck me, Goddamn you you son of a fucking bitch, do it do it do it do itttttttttt…"