Martha was one of those girls whose tenderness could not be understood by the men she loved, and at times, even by herself. Her deviant need to be punished became the most important need in her life, and the most dangerous sexually.
Let us intro her by way of a flashback, say ten years before our story takes place.
She was a good student in high school, an avid cheerleader-type who boasted the Salutorian Award at graduation. But that was on the surface.
Underneath, she revealed a darker side. For ever since the first time she babysat for her neighbors, she harbored a secret-one that was to run her life.
It began on a spring evening, balmy for April, but filled with the promise of summer days to come. Martha was eager. She bounced home from school and threw her books on her bed with a cheerful thud.
She stripped off her plaid skirt and revealed her hip-hugging panties in the mirror. Her adorable pubes had just begun to sprout a soft down of mossy fair hair. She wondered if anyone could see her budding bush beneath her snug-tight pink panties.
She examined herself cautiously in the mirror. "Too early to tell much of anything," she heard herself say aloud. "I can practically see my clit poking through my pussy lips."
The fact alarmed her. What should she wear? That was important because tonight was to be her first babysitting job.
She wanted to appear mature, but not dowdy, like her school's librarian. She yanked a powder blue short-sleeved sweater off the hanger and grabbed her cut-off jeans from the dump of clothes at the foot of her bed.
"Simple, but surly," she grinned as she spied herself again in her bureau mirror. "I've got to show them who's in charge, after all."
She unbuttoned her white blouse and gasped.
Had her precious little titties bulged during the night?
She couldn't remember that they showed this much in the cleavage of her starched white bra.
"God, I'd love to cop Mom's strapless," she thought mischeviously. "I've got something to put in it at least."
She ran her hand slyly over her nipples and felt them rise to the touch. "They're still so fucking PINK," she said, unaware how alluring some men found pink nipples. Like so many young girls, she equated brown nipples with maturity.
Grudgingly, she kept the bra on. She pulled her fuzzy sweater on over her head and turned profile. "Shit, I am developing," she swore. "Maybe some guy will look at me now," she thought with a smile.
Martha didn't realize that many men had already started to check her out, particularly one young neighborhood hood by the name of Sandford, or Sandy as he was called by the members of his gang.
About the time Martha was admiring her newfound curves, Sanford walked to the garage of his mother's tract home and gunned the engine on his souped-up car.
He harbored no thoughts of seeing one Martha tonight. He had bigger fish to fry. There was, among the teenage legions of girls who sought after the town's gang members, a girl they called Peanut Butter.
Her name was April Bergland, but they called her "Peanut Butter" because she spread so easy.
Sandy had her up all three holes by their second date-if you could call picking up a girl after the drag races a date.
She went down on him five minutes after she climbed into his car-at the first stoplight they encountered along the Main Drag of town.
Two hours and a mere root beer float later, she hoisted herself over his startled dick and rode his fuck stick to a frenzied climax right under the lights of the drive-in restaurant.
That was Thursday. On Friday, he had only to cruise by her trailer park and honk a couple of times before she came running out, tits bouncing provocatively in her tight tube top.
She greeted him with a wet French kiss and a hand on his joint. She opened his jeans with one hand and diddled her pussy with the other. Seems this girl never wore underpants.
"They're excess baggage," she said as he questioned this habit. "Don't want anything to get in the way of my having fun. Wanna fuck my butt?"
Sandy had to allow as how he did. And he did. It was kind of strange, him never having stuck his dick in any girl's ass. Strange, but when it was over he felt bored, aloof, disconnected from her.
"You don't talk much, huh?" she said, dragging on a filter cigarette. "I like that. I like your car, too. Wanna take me to the drags Saturday night?"
He didn't. But he couldn't think of a way to say he didn't. So he nodded quietly. He had seen James Dean do that in some moldy black and white movie his friends all insisted he see.
She loved it. "We can do it doggie style in the back seat if you want," she grinned through the gap in her teeth.
Christ all he wanted was an exit. She was beginning to scare him. And that was the night Sandy discovered the joys and jadedness of casual sex.
Sure his pecker got hard and he shot his load damned near as good as any man before or since, but there was something missing.
That confusing thought played on his mind as he drove down Hill Street, honking the horn as he turned the corner because some cute little thing was wandering right out into the street without "Hey, lady," he hollered out his window, "why don't you look where you're-"
He stopped short. He beheld the vision before him. It was Martha on her way to her first babysitting job. Fifteen and a half years old with ripening tits and rear end sculpted to resemble a Valentine.
He heard himself stuttering for the first time in his life. What would the gang say if they could hear their leader now?
"You..uh ... you go to school at Northrup?"
"Yeah," she said. "Did I ever see you there?"
"Not unless you went there two years ago," he said, fishing around for her age. "I dropped out after my sophomore year."
"To do what?" Martha heard herself ask.
"This and that," he fumbled. "I got a job."
"Oh," Martha said, trying not to sound impressed, because she knew very well who Sandford Clark was. He was the hoof of all time ... the leader of the pack ... the person her parents warned her about ... and she was about to throw caution to the wind and talk to this dreamboat.
And that is how Martha discovered the joys of forbidden sex. Read on, it gets juicier.
CASE TWO: DELLA
Delia had perhaps the most wild and perverse sexual experiences with which the interviewer came into contact. Her need to be satisfied, when and where and how she chose took precedence over everything else.
Her men were as wild as the wind. The wilder, the better. What was she covering? What did she want?
Can you guess that she was attempting to purge herself of the guilt she felt towards her father?
It happened so long ago, her memory of it had nearly been extinguished. But from the dim, deep past Delia pulled a story so wretched and painful, so twisted with sexual fury and desire, that we feel especially brave to bring it to you.
Talk about taboo. Sex with daddy, even a foster daddy is delving into the realm of the unreal, not to mention unlawful.
And Delia broke every commandment. Truthfully, it all began quite innocently. She was just turning thirteen, a particularly enticing age, if viewed from the perspective of a beer-guzzling, redneck trailer park habitue. For that is what Delia's foster father was. No court in the land would have awarded him custody, but Delia's parents were divorced when she was nine, and neither of them wanted her, what with their all-consuming loves of booze and drugs. The man who eventually got custody was the courthouse janitor!
At first, he sounded caring and concerned about the plight of little Delia, and he swayed the court. After he got her back to his trailer, he beat her bottom ripe ruby red with his worn leather belt.
She cried and protested at first, but the neighbors turned a deaf ear. So did the court, for Delia's foster father was a trusted employee, and no amount of tear-stained letters from the little girl could persuade them that she was being routinely spanked.
Maybe they shouldn't have bothered after all. The man never did her any serious physical damage. The spankings were mostly playful. He never broke the flesh actually. The damages were to Delia's psyche. For never again could she accept sex without spanking as foreplay. He had spoiled her forever for the joys of normal foreplay.
He never actually had sex with her those first few years. In fact, his pattern never varied. He would begin by finding her at fault for some minor infraction-having the television too loud, filling the tub too full. And he would call her on the carpet. She would show up with downcast eyes and he would berate her, asking her if she thought a spanking properly punishment.
She would nod, and he would throw up her dress or rip down her jeans and turn her over his brawny knee so that her ripe buttocks were exposed to his hands and face. Then he would begin with light, insistent strokes, working up to firm, manly pats, then harsher, more probing slaps.
Poor Delia. She was clearly aroused, as was he. She could feel her clit tickling the edges of her quivering pussy as surely as she could feel the bulge in his stiff green workpants probe the reaches of her downy pubes.
Her exploits will steam the pages of this tome, and no doubt make your genitals stand at attention.
CASE THREE: CAROL
Carol had a strange need for love that was perverted by her need for pain and humiliation.
An old story? Perhaps, but this one has a twist. Her addiction to pain and humiliation happened quite by accident. She was, shall we say, a victim of TV violence.
Yes, we know what the media has pronounced, what the legislators have touted, what the shrinks and wannabe shrinks have trumpeted, what Oprah has brayed. But the truth remains-TV violence happens. Whatever the consequence, it does exist.
For this pretty young thing, it was a turn-on. And it started in the rec room of her very own house, during prime time.
Carol loved the tube. When she was a girl she used to watch cartoon characters explode. As she grew to adolescence, she liked the cop shows, the more realistically violent, the better.
When she turned to puberty, she began experimenting with TV and fantasy. She fantasized herself the heroine of some news magazine format show-a hooker who had been abused and tortured, a child who had experienced torment at the hands of vile captors. Katie Beers left her breathless.
She went one step beyond fantasy the day she reached into her mother's laundry basket and fetched a length of clothesline and two sturdy wooden clothespins.
She started out clipping them to her nipples beneath her blouse, rationalizing that this was only play. She tied her feet first, and with what was left of the smooth rope, she twirled it around wrists and fashioned deft knots, left and right.
Read on, gentle reader. But be not judgmental. Never forget the words of the immortal Mr. Tease. "To each his own turn-on."
CASE HISTORY: "MARTHA
"You killed him ... you no-good bitch...." And I remember tightening my semi-nude frame, biting down hard on my lower lip, I wanted to screech the word: murderer ... but it got caught in my throat.
And then I got frightened ... realizing that I was once again talking to my mirrored image. I tried to tell myself that it can happen when you're suddenly left alone-but I was still frightened.
I glanced at myself in the mirror more cautiously, noting the fine lines of my lithe frame-that certain way my bikini panties hugged my lovemound. I started my hands at the inner reaches of my thighs, edging slowly upward to the filmy material of my panty-crotch. I could feel that moistness starting there, and I started to tremble with want.
I couldn't trust myself ... I worked my hands up to the trimness of my hips, tightening the fingers there, aware of the slight tinge of pain I was bringing to myself. I jutted out my knockers, recalling how I always seemed to do that whenever I met a guy I really dug. Like the first time I met Pete ... I had to bite down hard on my lower lip again, not wanting to think of the man I had been married to for only six months, three weeks and four days....
"He's gone...." I murmured, just as I had done continually after the accident. " ... And it was all my fault," I whispered hoarsely, tightening my hands on my hips. And I had the urge to call myself names, to yell at my mirrored image of how I was to blame for my husband's death.
I loosened up slightly, wondering if I wasn't going mad. I worked my line of sight upward, using my hands to concentrate on the smooth lines of my body. I edged forward slightly, aware of the milky white flesh of my knockers jutting out over the bra-cups, seemingly determined to escape. Yeah, just like I wanted to escape from within my miserable self.
I tightened my hands over the bra-cups, watching the wild distortion in mirror, especially the deep cleavage I had created, and my hands tingled as I thought of how Pete used to make love to my breasts.
"So tenderly...." And I fixed my hands all the harder on the bra-cups, wanting to experience the opposite of all the beautiful things Pete had managed to bring to my life in such a short span of time ... six months ... three weeks ... four days....
You know, I thought of something really bitter-bitter enough to make you bust out laughing, before you break down sobbing. I always thought of widows as older women. Yeah, really old bitches who were too damned old to do anything, anyway. Well, I was in for quite a shock-because I was finding out what it was to be a twenty-one year-old widow!
Let me tell you-it's one hell of a frightening experience, and you can't seem to break out of it so fast. Especially not when you were married to a really great bread'n butter guy ... and you were a cheating bitch.
That's what killed Pete ... that night he went off the highway and wrapped the car around a telephone pole. That night ... and I had to tighten my hands on my bra-imprisoned knockers, wanting to feel the pain, and I thought that I should be imprisoned. Maybe Pete was driving the car and he was alone-and yeah, he was bombed out of his mind. But I had driven him to it ... just as surely as if I had taken a gun and placed it to his head and pulled the trigger.
Pete was one of those beautiful people who just can't believe the worst about anyone. All his friends were trying to tell him about me, but he wouldn't listen. Now I'll tell you something really far-out in left field ... subconsciously, I was trying to tell him that I was a cheating bitch-slut, too.
It's hard to explain, the need to continually swing with new guys-the lure of the new cock-but I wanted my marriage to work, to really last, and I somehow must have foolishly thought that if Pete caught me cheating-he'd beat me up and force me to put an end to it.
Yeah ... my old man had beaten the living shit out of me when I was only fifteen for catching me with a kid in the garage. The boy had a hand underneath my skirt, sneaking lingers up into my panties. I had wanted to cop out by saying that he had forced me to be with him in the garage-but I had the kid's fly unzipped and I was stroking his cock in a very compromising position. Yeah, the old man caught me right down there with my head close to the boy's throbbing prick, only seconds before I was about to kiss it. That came naturally to me from the very beginning nobody had to give me any lessons in the fine art of cocksucking. The first time I ever saw and touched a cock-I think it was while I was still twelve, maybe only weeks before I became a teenager-I could sense my mouth watering, and I knew I had to run my mouth down there on the throbbing prick.
Like I said, that one time I got caught, my old man ordered me up to my room, sadistically twisting my ear as he did.
"You tramp! I'll teach you to behave!'.' And the thick leather strap was snapping loud, and it was as thought I almost wanted to be punished, that I wanted to try to not fool around. I had been foolish taking a chance like that with a boy so close to the house. I might just as well have left the garage door open.
"You'll disgrace us!" my old man had screeched, the first heavy slashing of leather falling hard across the filmy material of the panties covering my buttocks. Yeah, I had to life my skirt and take the punishment hard across my buttocks. When I had been younger I even had to tug down my panties, but I think my old man was too embarrassed to go that far as I started to really develop.
"Don't ever let me catch you again!" And the old man worked the thick leather strap viciously over my buttocks, ramming it down about the back of my thighs, and then upward again, seemingly never about to bring the punishment to a close. "I'm warning you, Martha!" and the last blow fell sadistically across the filminess of my panties that seemed ready to tear apart at any moment. "Don't you ever fool around again!"
Pulling out of my thoughts of the time my father had punished me, I realized that I had tightened my hands on my bra-imprisoned knockers, my nails digging into the milky-white flesh at top. I loosened up a little, and I suddenly felt totally depressed ... and I asked myself why my husband didn't punish me that night, instead of running off to get drunk and kill himself.
"Why? ... why?...." I lamented, thinking of how Pete had broken in on the three of us ... yeah, he had caught me with Marty and Hal. I closed my eyes, trying not to think of the wild position I had been discovered in with the two guys, but it was there and I couldn't erase it from the blackboard of my mind.
"Why didn't he punish me?" I murmured aloud to my mirrored image, thinking of my late husband. And then I felt even more depressed recalling the heart attack that had claimed my father only months after the time he had punished me with the strap. After that, I started fooling around with the neighborhood boys, since I felt cheated that my old man was gone. Anyway, that's what I told myself, and then when I noticed my old lady starting to go out with guys again-I really started to ball like crazy.
Okay, so the mind plays crazy tricks on us, and I can now realize that when my old man had punished me, it was as though I was saying to myself that I would remain true to him. Far-out, okay! ... especially since I had never had sex with my old man ... but let me tell you, I masturbated to the fantasy of swinging with my father plenty of times!
But Pete ... my husband ... I must've thought that he would punish me and make me stop cheating on him ... or I wouldn't have left so many tell-tale signs that I was cheating on him, actually wanting to get caught with Marty and Hal.
Marty ... I had met the ruggedly handsome dark-haired Adonis in a shoe store ... yeah, a shoe store in the shopping plaza near the house. And I have to stop kidding myself about the first time I met him. I had watched the store before, and realized that the owner-anyway, the older man-went to lunch at twelve-thirty, leaving my fantasy-guy alone to take care of the store. I walked in only seconds after the old guy had gone out to lunch, and there was no else in the store. Yeah, I was damned shrewd, I had picked a slow day in the beginning of the week. "Something different...." I had jutted my knockers out at him, casually looking over at a rack containing some of the latest styles.
"Certainly!" he had beamed, and I could spot his eyes greedily traveling the length of my body. "I'd be glad to show you our very latest...." And he gestured for me to have a seat to try on shoes.
He was showing me plenty-let me tell you, my eyes went to the crotch of his trousers, and I could watch the bulge growing so delightfully before my eyes. The moistness was starting, down at my pussy and the watering of my mouth. I can't help myself at times like that, it's the kick of a new cock, the cock you haven't seen yet, but your imagination is having a field day on it.
I sat down and pointed at a pair of shoes any damned shoes, just to get him on the stool in front of me to help me slip into the damned thing. I didn't have to give him my shoe size, he guessed that immediately. So I figured he deserved a reward-a big juicy reward ... and I was damned careless about trying the shoe on, opening my thighs enough for him to hook his eyes right up into my snatch-area. That was on one of my real "kicky" days, and I had not bothered to wear panties. I'll tell the world-I could feel my flame-haired snatch standing right up at attention for the benefit of his eyes. I dug the way he so forcefully placed his hand at the back of my foot, supposedly to help me slip into the shoe-but that one exchange of the eyes told us both why he was really doing it.
I tried on a lot of different shoes, and he was more than willing to go through the whole bit, just as long as he could work his eyes up into my bare snatch. And I got to the point where I was asking him to get different styles just so that he would have to continually get up on his feet. Yeah, world, because every time he did, I could fix my eyes on the bulge of his imprisoned cock dangling sideways at his crotch. I can't tell you how I longed to free all that hidden meat, to bring it out to the open and stroke it and then savor, it so fully. And each time he got up, I could sense him getting bolder and bolder, actually standing closer and closer to me, that enormous bulge throbbing hard under the scorching strain of my eyes.
I could sense the guy really start to get uptight, continually glancing up front at the show window and door, and I realized that another customer could walk in at any minute and break up the fun-gambit. I spotted his line of view going to a curtained-off door at the rear of the store, and more than once I worked my eyes back there, too.
Make your move, mister ... I inwardly tightened, hoping he would at least ask me to meet him for a drink after work, or on his lunch break. I'd take him to my house, and I'd do the lunching-right on all that imprisoned cock I longed to see and touch and savor.
"I've got a few more selections in the stock room," he nervously gestured toward the rear of the store at the curtained-off exit. "I'll only be a minute...." And I saw the wishful thinking on his part-and he was a hundred percent right, I followed him back there, only seconds after his retreat.
"How you doing!" I beamed, watching him with a hand solidly on his bulging crotch, leaning against the wall by the curtain. "Find anything?"
"Oh, baby!" he spouted all the frustration within him. "That bare snatch of yours drove me wild!"
"This did it for me!" I countered and made first move, planting a sweaty palm on the bulging crotch, fevering it with instant circular motions.
"Oh, wow, you're too much!" And he hooked a hand underneath my mini and clamped on to my moist and ready flame-haired snatch, fingers instantly doing their thing in the loveslit. He-nervously strained forward toward the curtain. "Anybody could come in at any minute!" I spotted the beads of perspiration forming at his forehead.
"I know," I dug the excitement, and added to it by quickly unzipping his fly and straining and struggling to pull a lot of long and thick prick out of the confines of his underwear and trousers.
"Can I see you tonight?" he was trembling.
"Right now would be better," I had to suck in on my breath, the touch of his throbbing cock in my hand driving me wild. "Like they say-no time like the present!" And I dropped right down on my knees and lunged down on the full length of his hard prick. I banged right into the base of his stomach, burying my face at the front of him.
"Oh, damned...." he tensed and he clamped his hands hard at the back of my head. "This is crazy ... "
I flicked my tongue all about the underside of the massive prick, the thick cockhead banging down at the start of my throat. Talk about a greedy cocksucker-at a time like that, I actually had a pang of regret that I had not had time to really work the big prick up with kisses and some tongue-foreplay. I could sense the guy's hand getting rough and anxious at the back of my head, and I knew that I couldn't take all the time I wanted to get accustomed to the feel of the new victory in my mouth.
Yeah, that's how I always thought of a new cock-a victory. And I was really grooving on that victory, digging the danger element, the feel of my knees on that hard floor. I widened my starfce and jammed a lot of fingers up my cunt as I started to ride my mouth up and down on the cock. A man standing-a woman kneeling ... that's what I always thought it was really all about, and I slobbered my stuff, racing up and down on the length of the cock. Something damned perverse within me thought of all the people walking about the shopping mall, that anyone could enter and stride to the back of the store and pull the curtain on the greatest cocksucking act since Cleopatra.
I grooved on new cock all the more, going wild at the fierceness of his hands, and the way he was humping me. It was a race, as though I was trying to suck his cock before he could manage to mouth-fuck me. Fast and furious, we made it a wild combination of sucking his cock and getting my mouth fucked.
"Now, baby, now!" he shuddered and buckled and slammed the full length of his prick down my throat, shoving me hard against the wall. It had to be right then for me too, and I finger-fucked a storm. I shuddered and creamed my hot stuff as all of his stuff streamed down my throat.
The taste of new hot cream ... I went wild on it, and once again I told myself smugly that no two guys ever taste exactly a-like. A lot of times, when it gets to be so damned routine, the way two different guys fuck your pussy seems so very much a-like ... but not eating a cock or swallowing the hot cream ... world, I'll tell you ... each man is different!
"This is crazy!" He yanked his spent cock out of my mouth and was about to wipe the head of it off with a tissue from a nearby empty shoebox.
"Last drop!" I had to be the bitch, flicking out my tongue and wiping the head off dry.
"You're too much!" he hurriedly tugged the spent prick inside his trousers and zipped up. "Just too much!"
"You'd better believe it!"
"We couldn've got caught!" he nervously looked out through the curtains. "But we didn't...."
"Hurry, get out there!"
"Why not?" I was being real bitchy and I gave his crotch-area a little pat on my exit.
"Can I see you again?" He was still breathing heavily, trying to look business-like as he nervously eyed a couple of older chicks about to enter the store.
"I might give you a call," I shrugged, telling myself that it all depended on whether or not any other new cocks were on the scene."
"Hey...." he whispered hoarsely, one eye on the woman starting to look at shoes on display. "I don't even know your name...."
"Martha...."
"Yeah, Martha ... wow!"
I was about to exit the store, and he had to greet the two older chicks. I played it so straight and corny, turning just as I was about to exit the store.
"Thank you!" I beamed back at him. "You were most helpful!"
I called him the very next day, the taste of his fantastic cock still haning in there with me. And something told me that he was the kind of guy who dug ass-fucking, a big in-thing with me. And I dug the forcefulness of his hands. And I'll tell you something really wild-I actually wanted to know his name....
Marty ... And when I called and he gave me the address of his pad, since he must've figured I was a married chick, he asked me if it was okay for his buddy to be there.
"Yeah, sure...." I tightened my hand on the receiver, always digging the odds of two guys to the one me.
"You'll like Hal!" he beamed back, "he's a real stud!"
Marty and Hal ... let me tell you, it was as though they were meant to be teamed-up to take care of greedy sluts like me. That first night-I couldn't get over the length and thickness of Hal's prick. While Marty was dark-skinned and had a heavy mat of coal-black hair on his chest-Hal was a Nordic contrast, blond-haired and a sun-bronzed smooth chest.
I'll tell you how much I grooved on the pair, going wild at the rugged contrast of their equal masculinity-I had to get both of their cocks in my mouth that very first night. Hey, world, I don't mean separately-I mean jammed up together to make my mouth damned sore with the double load of hard prick.
Side-by-side, I urged them to stand sideways and press their midsections together. I can still remember how I hooked my hands on their buttocks, grooving on having them both totally nude. I had to open my mouth wide to get both thick cockheads in at one time, and I made it to the tune of their lewd encouragement.
Double-cock ... I lunged all the way, the two tastes blending to make one new really great taste. Yeah, wild enough to jam my mouth all the way down until I thought my jaw would rip apart. It's amazing how you can stretch your mouth out, once you get the feel of hard cock down your throat, and I actually started working my mouth up and down on the double load of cocks.
"Suck hard and fast!" Marty tightened his hands at the back of my head, and I could feel all the strength surging forward in him. He liked his sex rough and ready ... while in contrast, Hal's hands were soft on the high rise of my knockers, the fingers tracing my brownish-hued tips. They were like two overgrown boys sharing a favorite toy, and I let them play like crazy.
"Go for the windup!" Marty kept slamming his hands hard at the back of my head. Ana mouth too ja-packed to speak, I groaned the kicks I got out of his rough touch. He got idea, and he yanked hard on my flaming tresses, really turning me on in the pain-pleasure thing.
Marty and Hal ... and Martha made three! Let me tell you, once I was hooked on making it with the two of them, one man at a time just couldn't cut it for me. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was as though they were meant to operate as a team-and chicks like me got the sexual benefit of the teamwork.
We graduated to a lot of wild lovemaking things together, and from taking them both in my mouth at the same time I graduated to some of the wildest positions for getting fucked front and back by the terrific duo. Let me put it this way-I just couldn't get enough of Marty and Hal.
My husband? ... I was handing him all sorts of phony excuses for being out night after night ... and like I said, I think I had the subconscious desire to get caught. I started leaving phone numbers and other evidence all over the house. Pete was one of those beautiful good-natured slobs, and you had to hit him over the head with something before he would believe it. He worked hard as a construction foreman, and he brought just about all the loot home to me. He was okay in bed, too ... I couldn't really complain, even if he dug most of his sex on the straight and narrow.
Crazy ... but as I thought of Pete, still standing before the mirror clad in only my panties and bra, I started loosening up on my knockers. When I thought of Marty, I had squeezed and mauled at the milky-white flesh protruding over the bra-cups ... but with thoughts of my late husband, my hands grew gentle on my own body.
That last night ... I had to re-live it again, forcing myself to re-experience very detail ... I had told Pete that I was going to visit my sister-and all the while I had the notion that my sister would be calling me about a future happening. I should have-and certainly could have-called my sister before going out. But like I said, I was purposely living dangerously in the hopes of being caught and stopped. And then I had left the match-cover of the motel where I was meeting Marty and Hal that night. Yeah, clue after clue, dumping them right in my husband's lap.
The mind can go bananas like that, and it's not easy to look back and wonder why you didn't play it straight. Like, when it's too late it's too late. Clue after clue ... right where he couldn't miss them ... and then I'll give you the really big payoff-I parked my car right in front of the cabin Marty and Hal had rented. Number seven ... only it didn't turn out to be very lucky....
... I needed more booze to get into the wild stuff with Marty and Hal that night. I wasn't even bothering to pour it in a glass, just taking it down straight from the bottle. I can still remember how I was in only my panties and bra and Marty and Hal were getting anxious to make a really wild scene.They were both completely nude, and I always sensed the strange bond between them. They really got their kicks sexually performing in front of one another. They were straight-that's for sure-but they both got up extra steam from watching the other get solidly into it, always sharing their females. And Marty was the leader, and Hal was the follower.
"Get your panties and bra off, Martha!" Marty's voice was tinged with impatience. "And get over here on the bed!"
"I' don't feel like taking them off yet...." I wanted to be the bitch, taking another swallow from the bottle. And I can remember glancing over at Hal, anxious to grasp a hand about his thick prick, but trying to hold off for a while to get them bugged over me.
"Take 'em off...." Marty jumped up off the edge of the bed, his hard cock standing beautifully at attention, " ... Or I'll rip them off you!"
"That's the best offer I've had in a long time!" I playfully giggled, arching my knockers forward, the stretch garment suddenly cutting into the flesh of my sides. "You think you can do it?" I did a little hump with my snatch-area, and I was painfully aware of my panties seeming glued to my pussy and the crack of my ass.
"I'll rip 'em the fuck off you!" Marty started edging forward, "And then you're gonna get a lot of cock coming at you strong!" he fisted his thick prick and aimed it at me.
"I wanna get ripped to shreads!" a masochistic surge was starting to kick through my body. "Oh, yeah...." And I edged back into a corner, really strutting my stuff.
"And I can do it," Marty was tightening, obviously anxious to oblige.
"I want Hal to rip me apart...." I aimed my knockers at the Nordic Adonis. "I want him to latch onto my bra and panties and yank and tear 'em apart...."
"That's not his thing," Marty cut in, his annoyance starting to show.
"Then I'm not putting out," I shrugged, playing the role of the bitch to the hilt. I even started to make a move toward the remainder of my clothing draped over a chair. Marty was damned mad and stormed up close to me.
"You bitch!" And he was damned close to viciously backhanding me. "You do what I say...."
"Hold it, Marty!" Hal moved into the fray. "I got the invitation to rip her apart ... I'll oblige the chick...." And I saw something new in his eye, the need to show the female creature how rough a man can really be.
"You think you can do it?" my voice was low, that certain gleam in his eye starting to frighten me. I could understand Marty's sadistic streak, it was a surface thing-but suddenly Hal worried me, and I wondered if I was taking on more than I could handle.
"I'll just have to take care of Martha," Hal was moving in on me, motioning for Marty to step aside. "And you've had enough to drink, honey...." Hal pulled the fifth of booze from my hand and handed it to his buddy. "You can't escape inside that bottle...." And he moved in on me, and I started to tremble, backing up toward the big kingsized bed.
"I'll take 'em off myself...." I whispered hoarsely, starting to hook fingers into the waistband of my panties.
"No, baby...." Hal tightlipped, moving right in on me. "You extended the invitation to me!"
"Do it, Hal, do it!" Marty was getting all worked up. He had set the fifth down after taking a heavy swallow and had a hand fisted tightly over the shaft of his hard prick. "Rip the chick bare!"
"I'll just have to oblige...." Hal brought his big hands forward, hooking up up to the front of my bra, the other one going directly to the waistband of my panties. "Martha needs more kicks, Marty ... But all the while, I think there's one kick she'd really dig the most!"
"What's that, Hal?!" Marty laughed, stroking his ready cock back and forth, moving in for a better view of the hands hooked into my undergarments. "Shit, we've done just about everything with her! What the fuck is left?!"
"I think Martha-honey would dig having her husband watch the action...."
"No!" I instantly tightened, backing off, but stopping short as I felt the pull of my stretch undergarments cutting into my flesh. "Hey, this is getting kinda outa hand...."
"Bullshit, baby!" Hal moved in on me. "I got that gut feeling-I can tell when a chick would love to have her husband not only know she's balling other guys-but even force him to watch it ... "
"No-no!" I tried to pull away from him, the stretch material of the bra cutting viciously into me.
"Invite him any time!" Hal yanked and twisted my body, the bra snapping apart.
"Hey, wild!" Marty echoed.
"We'll show him how to double-ball a chick like you!" And he ripped hard at my panties, the filmy material cutting into the inner reaches of my thighs, right up into the crack of my ass.
"How's this, chick?!" Hal held the shreads of material from my undergarments in his hands. "You thought I couldn't do it, huh? Baby, you can drive a guy just so far!" And he tore the material apart again in his hands and then tossed it about the room, the pieces coming down like so much confetti.
"Hey, let's ball!" Marty cried out, shoving me down on the bed, a hand jamming right up to my asshole. "Let's ball like crazy!" and he tested my asshole with two fingers, jamming them right into me.
"I'm gonna fuck her mouth!" Hal cried out, and I suddenly realized that I had managed to bring out the very worst in a basically nice guy.
I couldn't let the two of them get the best of me-I still had to be the fun-chick doing my thing, being the bitchy female calling the shots.
"Shove it to me!" I positioned myself wildly across the bed, welcoming Marty's cock to get started at the crack of my ass. I watched Hal get up on his knees on the other side of the bed, aiming his thick cockhead down toward my mouth.
"You'll get it, baby!" Hal worked his way down to get his cock over my mouth. "Just open it like another pussy!"
"With an over-active tongue for a clit!" I shrilled, flicking my tongue out to dance about the head of his prick.
"Take it, baby!" Marty tightened at my rear, and I could feel his hands prying my thighs apart the limit, his thick and long prick jamming solidly up my asshole.
I couldn't move, trying to get accustomed to so much prick up my asshole in one wild drive. I could barely let out a faint animal cry, when Hal rammed his prick down into my mouth. Hard and fast, he didn't stop until the thick cockhead was banging loudly at the start of my throat.
Double-cock ... I had to twist and gyrate to the unbelievably great sensation of cock coming at me from two directions. And then I had the greediest sensation to have a third cock-my pussy tingling to take it. I bounced my rear-end off the bed and Marty hooked his hands about my thighs. I let out a piercing groan, my m outh-jam-packed with Hal's prick, and Marty dug his fingers sadistically up into my hips.
Double-cock ... and my greedy body wanting a third prick ... and then maybe even a fourth ... and shit, I knew damned well I was ready for more and more cccks ... coming at me ... coming strong.
Cocks ... I wanted to scream my ecstasy, but all I could do was writhe and twist my joy, the two cocks driving me wild, fucking my ass and my mouth. Let me tell you, there's a difference between sucking cock and getting your mouth fucked. All you chicks who haven't played so damned much, I can tell you about the difference. When a guy fucks your mouth, you lose your wind and he just keeps pistoning hot cock in and out of your mouth as fast as he can. You hang on, feeling the thick cockhead making the start of your throat rough and raw. And if that's your scene-you really start to soar, the pain-pleasure of it all the biggest kick of your life.
My asshole ... my mouth ... there was something fantastically perverse about getting them both fucked while my pussy wasn't being used. It brought out the sheer fun element of the motel room, and my eyes went continually to the door.
Hal was right ... I guess I subconsciously would have wanted to get my kicks with my husband in on it. The desire to get caught had to go a lot deeper with me. It was linked up to a hidden desire to experience group sex-with my husband watching the action, actually encouraging me to take cock after cock, to cheer my on while I did a wild mouth-thing on a lot of hard meat.
I had to bite down hard on my lower lip, swirling to the sexual madness of making it in that motel room with the two studs, my eyes continually going to the door.
Soaring high ... and it had to come, as I had actually anticipated it ... the heavy knock on the door-spelling out a lot of trouble.
"Who the hell...." Marty moaned, and I could feel him going soft within me, stalled at the crack of my ass.
"Be quiet...." Hal whispered, and I wanted to go bananas as he actually pulled back and let his stiff prick come out of my mouth.
The knocking grew heavier and I wanted to screech out for Hal to shove his cock back in my mouth. And I wanted Marty to get his cock back into action, to get it rock hard again. But they were sweating out the heavy banging on the door.
"Martha?!" Pete's voice came through loud and clear. "I know you're in there!" And the pounding on the door continued.
"Oh, fuck-" Marty murmured.
"Her husband," Hal concluded in defeat.
"Martha!" And the door suddenly opened, and both Marty and Hal were caught totally off guard, so damned certain the door had been double-locked. Okay, so now I'll give you the really big kicker ... I was the last one to enter the room, and maybe I didn't remember it creystal-clear, but I must have purposely kept the door unlocked.
Far-out ... really crazy ... but you can get that way, when you know you're a slut-bitch, you really dig a decent husband and yet you can't seem to stop yourself in the continual quest for strange cocks.
"Martha...." Pete remained outside, his hand seemingly glued to the doorknob. He was trembling, his eyes bulging on the scene of the three of us in wild sexual disarray. "Martha...."
"I'm a tramp!" I screeched, tumbling forward between my two illicit love-partners on the bed. "I'm a no-good slut! So do something about me!" I whimpered, the need for total humiliation engulfing me. "You're the last to know, Pete!"
I waited, hearing my breath coming in troubled spurts. I waited, anxious to have my husband come charging in to drag me out of that bed. Yeah, to shove me to the floor and beat me up, to make me a pulpy, bloody mess.
I thought of how I would get on my knees and beg him to forgive me, and tell him that I would never cheat again. And if he ever even thought I had the urge to go after a strange cock, to beat the hell out of my no-good body. I wanted to be dirt at his feet ... because Pete was such a great guy.
"Martha...." he was getting pale, and I wanted to scream for him to make his move. But he turned and ran to his car, leaving the motel room open. He charged out of there like a madman ... and the was the last time I ever saw him alive....
"Tramp...." I found myself hissing at my mirrored image, and I wondered when I would stop re-living that night, and pick up the shattered pieces of my life. Maybe ... just maybe ... meet the right guy again.
"No...." I tightened, hating the sight of myself in the mirror. "No...." and my throat was suddenly so damned dry and I crossed my arms over the front of my bra and panties, telling myself that I would only ruin another guy's life-just as I had done to Pete.
I forced my self to really look at myself in the mirror, and I had that frightening moment when I didn't think I really knew myself. That had to be another person within me that had to go in search of new men and new kicks. That couldn't be me that needed the humiliation of going down on cock and being called a cocksucker. That couldn't be me....
"You miserable bitch-slut!" I hissed at the other me in the mirror, and I suddenly wanted to be punished, but there was no one there to do it for me. There was no one to give me the punishment I so rightfully deserved for killing my husband.
The widow ... Thinking about new cocks, but too frightened to go out after them, about to go bananas for a man ... And yet, I couldn't force myself to get dressed up and go out on the town. I was so confused, and so annoyed at myself ... and I knew that only punishment would turn me in the right direction. But who? And the loneliness was engulfing me, the self-hate, the need to humiliate myself in the mirror....
"You slut-bitch murderer!" And I couldn't control myself, my hands fisting and unfisting. "You tramp!" And I gave in to the need to slap myself, screeching out at the thudding sound and the feel of the stinging pain across my face.
"Tramp!" And I went wild working my hands hard all over my face, slapping with both hands, harder and harder-then faster and faster. I was getting engulfed in a sea of perverse pain-pleasure and I was dumbfounded that I could actually go through with the self-inflicted punishment.
"I don't need anybody...." I whimpered, pounding my face all the harder with both hands. "I don't deserve anybody!" And I brought my hands down over my bra-imprisoned knockers, slapping and mauling myself. Down, continually downward, I backhanded and slapped the flat of my stomach and then made my lovemound sting deliciously with a steady flurry of combined backhands and slaps.
"No-good cunt!" And I slashed harder and faster at the front of my panties, my eyes going over to the wild sight of self-punishment in the mirror.
"Stop it...." I tried to catch hold of myself, bringing my hands upward, trembling toward my bra. "Stop it...."
But I couldn't and I thought of how Hal had ripped my bra and panties to shreds that very night-the night the accident had made me a damned young widow. The twenty-one year-old widow-and not so fuckin' merry about it. The widow animal ... that's how I felt, and I tightened inwardly, all of my body aching while I told myself that I had not started to properly punish myself.
"You bitch-slut!" And I hooked both hands into the front of my bra and blindly yanked on it, ripping it apart, my entire frame shuddering as I held the torn stretch garment.
"Bitch-bitch!" I tossed it across the room. "Miserable bitch-" And I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my panties, giving in to the perverse desire to shread my final garment into a million small particles. I yanked hard and the material cut deep into the inner reaches of my thighs. "Miserable cunt-" I screeched, feeling the pain down there as the filmy material came apart.
I couldn't stop my hands from trembling, holding my torn panties. I ripped them again and tossed it all up into the air. I couldn't control myself, and I had to bang my hands down hard over my pussy. I was slapping myself down there, harder and faster, wanting to feel the pain. But I couldn't-something was so damned numb within me, and I had to pound harder and harder.
I had to pull out of it, I had to quiet my wild body-and I jammed fingers of both hands sadistically up my snatch, recalling the first time I had ever fingerfucked myself as a young girl. Yeah, with one exploratory finger and ever so cautiously. Well, I had a lot of fingers up my greedy cunt, and I was thrusting them in and out fast, wanting to experience an orgasm and rest....rest ... and stop thinking about Pete, and how I was responsible for his accident.
"Oh, come!" I screeched down at my pussy and went wild on the finger work, shuddering and buckling and getting my fingers all sticky.
Exhausted ... so exhausted ... I made it over to the bed I had once shared with Pete and stretched out, crossing and tighting my hands over my breasts and my lovemound. My fingers were still sticky with my own hot cream, but I didn't give a damned about cleaning them, digging the feel of being so totally an animal that way.
"Sleep...." I whimpered, begging to fall asleep and get out of all my thoughts of the past. "Sleep...."
Sleep came, but it was damned troubled that night. I kept tossing and turning and calling out my late husband's name, and I knew I was getting to be a mass of high-strung nerves. More than once I was awake enough to think about going downstairs for a drink, but I just couldn't seem to muster the energy.
I got up that following morning with one thought solidly fixed on my brain-I had to sell that house so jam-packed with memories of my short marriage. I had to sell it and get a small pad somewhere and try to find some new outlets for my self. Anything-just to not dwell on the past.
I had to start living again ... and as I put my bathrobe on over my nude frame, I told myself that I would also have to start having sex with men again. It was a very solid need with me, and I was driving myself bananas by denying myself a man since Pete had died. But one man at a time ... and try to keep it straight and narrow, I told myself. And crazy, but I couldn't seem to look in the mirror for very long while I hurriedly a brush through my long flame-colored-hair.
"A man...." I moaned, making it down the stairway, telling myself that it would be the cure-all for everything that was bothering me. I would never again fall into the trap of marriage, and I was actually smug in my thought of being able to bill myself as such a young widow while out on the town in search of the opposite sex.
Guys dig going out with young widows, I rationalized, since they probably thought they were doing such a great thing in cheering them up. Well, I needed more than my fair share of cheering up, since I couldn't go on blaming myself for Pete's death forever. He should have charged into that motel room and grabbed me and beat the living shit out of me, I tried to put on a hard front.
"A man...." I repeated to myself, getting the coffee pot on the fire. I had to get back into the sex-swing of things again, or I would be forever slapping myself around and then masturbating. But never again the way I was swinging with Marty and Hal :.. It would have to be with one man at a time-and a stranger at that. I tightened the sash of my robe, suddenly wondering how Marty and Hal were making it.
"This has got to be it...." Marty had moaned, reaching for his clothes after my husband had rushed away from there. And the motel manager coming around hadn't helped any. I accepted it that way, arid I even kept away from the shopping plaza in general and the shoe store where he worked in particular. I could never again swing with them, not even with either one of them separately. That was over with ... that night ... that night....
But I didn't want to think about that night I wanted to think about making a new life, and I watched the coffee start to perk, and I told myself that it was about time I started perking again. I had a quick pang of sadness, annoyed that I would have to at least wait until the late afternoon to once again make my rounds of the bars and out-of-the-way cocktail lounges I used to frequent before Pete was killed.
"A man...." I tightened in anticipation, resolved to not have to masturbate again. "A man...." And I opened the blinds of the kitchen window to let more sunshine pour in. I stopped short, catching the great view of the light-haired boy next door mowing the lawn.
"Kevin...." I tried the boy's name on for size, recalling how he had come over with his mother and father to offer their condolences after the funeral. And suddenly a smug thought crossed my mind, recalling how I had just been chanting the magic word: A man....
"A boy...." I had to suck in my breath, peering out to get a better look at the seventeen year-old high school boy clad in those skintight cut-off dungarees. I worked my line of sight up and down his lean and muscular frame, from his soiled white sneakers minus the socks, those skintight cutoffs hugging the highlights of him and the summerish shirt wide open at the front, revealing a sunbronzed chest and taut stomach.
"A boy...." I could handle virile young boys, I told myself, still frightened at the thought of encountering men. I could get what I wanted from a teenage boy and not have to submit to a man. Boys can be handled ... I kept telling myself, thinking of the many times groups of teenaged boys gave me the eye, and sure as hell were turned on by me.
"I'm not so old myself...." I had to reassure myself, especially since my new status of being a widow had suddenly made me seem too old. Kevin was seventeen, I could remember his mother telling me that he had just turned seventeen only weeks before. But let me tell you, whenever I observed him up close, lid had all the earmarks of manhood, especially the bulging front of his crotch.
I leaned over against the window, watching the boy taking a break from mowing the lawn. He was wiping his brow with one hand, the tautness of his stomach showing from where I was. And then I let out a squeal of delight, watching the boy absently rub his other hand over the bulging front of his cut-off shorts. I was amazed at how he could even get into the skintight garment. And when I peered over all the more I was certain I could make out the waistband of his jockey shorts right about the leather belt of the cut-off shorts. I even grooved on the distant shot of his navel, and I had to sneak a hand in underneath my bathrobe. I was deliciously nude down there and my hand had a field day, and I felt like a young girl again as I quieted the throbbing of my pussy by edging a couple of fingers down into the moistness.
"Kevin...." And I had to keep trying his name for size, something in my brain telling me that I could get what I wanted from stud-type teenagers, but that I wouldn't have to cope with supposedly mature men. I could never marry again, I told myself that repeatedly. As long as I felt the lure of a new cock-I could never make a go of a marriage. But those handsome young teenagers ... I was certain they almost all had fantasies of swinging with a more mature woman ... and then going back to their own high school sweethearts.
Just great for me ... I inwardly made a silent pact for the near future. I had a habit, I had to square with myself. Yeah, like certain people have to have booze every day of their lives, and other need dope ... well, I needed new and different cocks! And as I held my fingers up flush to my snatch, I was zooming my eyes in on the fantastic front of Kevin and actually trying to anticipate the feel and taste of his young cock.
I had the blinds open all the more, really wanting to groove on the sight of him, when I was suddenly aware of him peering over at the window. I had to jam fingers further up my snatch, digging the trim basketball-player built of the seventeen year-old, noting that he seemed to be so much a younger version of Hal.
There were no cars in the driveway of Kevin's, and I knew that both his mother and father were working. Kevin had an older brother, but he had an apartment with some of his buddies in the heart of the city, and he was almost never home. I had my big chance then and there, I inwardly tightened, and I wouldn't have to wait until the late afternoon to go pub-crawling at the cocktail hour.
"No...." I murmured, convincing myself that I didn't want to risk making it with mature men, sensing that I couldn't cope with them in my frame of mind.
"Yes...." I murmured, eyes fixed on Kevin and planning to get all the younger stuff I wanted-young cock that I could handle and get my kicks on. "Yeah...." and I pulled my hand reluctantly away from underneath my bathrobe and straightened my hair out.
"Just call if you need any chores done around the house...." Kevin's mother had volunteered the boy's services after Pete's death. I could still remember those words ringing through my brain, as I couldn't seem to keep my eyes from running up and down the boy's trim frame. Well, then and there, that morning, I knew damned well I had some chores for Kevin to do. Yeah, I had the chore of tugging his young cock out into the open in mind. And then I had the delightful chore of having him stuff my mouth with eager young meat in mind. And then a lot more fantastic chores in mind-like getting that young frame solidly over my greedy body and getting all that cock jammed into my snatch.
The trash down in the basement ... those disposal bags were much too heavy for me ... I smugly told myself how weak I was and that I would have to have Kevin come right over to do it for me.
"This is crazy...." I stopped short, do damned close to opening the kitchen door to call out to Kevin. "I can't...." but I caught one more glance of him rubbing his sweaty hands down along his lean thighs, the fingers edging inward at the bulge of his skintight shorts, and I put all reason and sanity aside. My pulsating pussy was calling the shots from that moment on, and I boldly opened the door and worked a big smile and an hello at him.
He stopped mowing in a hurry and came closer to my driveway. He had returned the hello by calling me by my surname. A perfect opening, I told myself.
"Why don't you just call me Martha?...." And I opened the door all the wider for him, and I could tell that he was working his eyes up and down my bathrobe and probably trying to guess what I had on underneath. Well, I was just dying to let him know that I was totally nude beneath it. But all in good time, step by step.
"Kevin ... I have some heavy bags of trash in the basement-I wonder if you'd mind-"
"Sure, Mrs...." And he hesitated, kicking a sneakered foot nervously into the ground. "I mean, Martha ... I'll take them out for you! When?"
"They say there's no time like the present ... don't they, Kevin?" I found myself jutting my knockers out proudly, certain I was showing plenty of cleavage at the neck of my bathrobe.
"Sure...." he suddenly seemed ready to stammer, and I hooked my eyes solidly into the front of him, and my fingers tingled as I thought of how I would have to struggle to tug down those skintight cut-offs. And let me tell you, I was determined to tug them down and let a lot of hard, young meat bob into sight.
"It won't take long...." I uttered, and then felt foolish about it as I opened the kitchen door wider for his entrance. I watched him amble over toward me, feeling a certain exuberance the moment he crossed over to my property.
"Glad to do anything for you now that husband...." And Kevin let it hang there, obviously flustered, and I could spot his line of sight going to my lush cleavage at the top of the robe. I couldn't watch what he was looking at for long, because I had to work my greedy eyes up and down the fantastic teenaged frame, sucking in on my breath at the tautness of his stomach, the prominence of his navel and then the trimness of his hips. I could just anticipate getting my hands all over that young equipment on the way to the big prize-his young stud-cock. I worked my eyes in solidly at the V of his formatting summer shorts, and I could distinctly make out the very obvious and long bulge of his imprisoned cock hanging in there at a side angle. And below it, the roundness that only a large scrotum can make. And yeah, where you've got that, you know you've got a couple of balls that will need very special mouthing.
Let me tell you, world, that's where it's really at! And I motioned for the boy to enter, purposely standing there to let him brush up close to me.
The back of my hand had been only inches away from the delightful front of him, and I could have sneaked it over there, but I told myself to not be too pushy, play it just a pinch slower. I was about to offer him a drink of orange juice or a soda-but I told my self that I wasn't about to play it that slow. I had to get him down in the cellar-since I couldn't just lead him up to my bedroom. That silly excuse ... I still had to go by it, and so I turned on the basement light and opened the door leading down there. I started down first and he followed me.
"Watch the last few steps-" I turned about and looked up at him on the steps directly above me. My line of sight didn't bother going all the way up to his face. I grooved on the more direct line of communications to the bulging front of him, and I was certain that his bulging crotch had grown tremendously on the way down into the basement.
"I'll help you with anything you need-" he suddenly seemed so beautifully awkward, and I caught the one quick moment that he had to brush his hand against what had to be an aching crotch. "Anytime at all...." And both of our eyes went beyond the neatly stacked bags of trash and over to the summer lawn furniture I had not bothered to put out. We both seemed to be zooming in on the gaily colored lounging couch propped up against a musty wall.
"I could all that stuff up for you...." he was walking past the trash and over to the lounging couch.
"I had forgotten all about it...." I murmured, suddenly sitting down on the couch and looking right up at him. And as I did, my bathrobe parted up front, and I knew it was almost up to my bare snatch. I was about to pull it together again, but then I remembered what the whole charade was all about.
Cock ... cock ... man or boy ... the fix I needed to pull out of my state of depression. Let me tell you, I widened my thighs all the more, letting the bathrobe part enough to show the inner reaches of my thighs and the very start of my flame-haired snatch. Kevin's eyes were right down on it, believe me, I could feel them scorching right into the moistness of my love slit.
I looked upward and over at him, his need evident by the throbbing of his imprisoned cock. His hands were dangling nervously down along the side of his thighs and he kept fisting and unfisting them. I worked my eyes finally upward and we had that all-important meeting of eyes the moment the game is over and you admit to what you're really up to. We had that beautiful moment, and I still tried to think of a number of witty things to say, to fake it through ... but they all got stuck somewhere down deep in my throat, and I widened my thighs all the more to stress my basically honest need.
"I'm very lonely...." the words tumbled out by themselves, my arms extended, my hands reaching out to him.
"You're really beautiful...." he breathed heavily, letting my hands takes his. "I mean ... "
Thank you, Kevin ... And I urged him to stand closer before me, both of my hands holding his, my eyes grooving on the continually rising bulge of his skintight shorts. So unblievably tight ... I could make out the outline of his jockey shorts, especially where the pouch started to hold all that living, breathing cock.
"You're a very handsome boy...." And I worked one hand over the bulging crotch, rubbing it in circular motions, getting those guttural clicks to come from down deep in his throat. "Really handsome...." I pushed down on the palm of my hand, exploring the full length and thickness of him imprisoned meat. And I could sense that he was too flustered to utter any words, his eyes scorching down at my cleavage, and then down to where my robe was parted at my thighs.
"You're so very big...." I rubbed all the harder, my fingers tingling to unzip his fly. "Like a man...." And to myself I thought of the joy of having all of a man's equipment hanging on a boy-a boy I could easily handle. I edged forward on the couch, and a loud guttural click told me that he had gotten a better view of my flame-haired snatch. I decided it was time for a total unveiling and I proudly undid the sash of my bathrobe and parted it totally.
"Oh, wow ... You're really something, Mrs...." And he stopped short, smiling. "I mean, Martha!"
"This will have to be our secret, Kevin...." I arched my shoulders and edged the bathrobe off my nude frame. "Nobody must know ... but I'm so lonely now ... "
"I won't tell!" And he hurriedly brought a hand close to the high rise of my knockers, and then, he hesitated.
"Touch me, Kevin...." I got up on my feet and posed before him. "Touch me all over, just like you want to-"
"Oh, wow!" And while the one hand made contact fully with one lush mound, the other hooked in solidly at my lovemound, the fingers awkwardly gliding up into the loveslit. "You're really something-"
"So are you!" I had my hand back on his throbbing crotch, rubbing it hard. "And you'll be something even greater with all your clothes off," And I pulled my hand away from the crotch of him and worked both hands up to his opened shirt. "I want to undress you, Kevin ... so that you're really showing all you've got...." And I pulled the shirt off him, letting it fall to the concrete cellar floor.
"You feel so smooth and strong-" I glided my hands down his sun-bronzed chest, flicking my mouth over it a number of times to taste the strength of him. "Like a real man," And I inwardly loved the boy-thing about it all, telling myself that I was taking the right ticket for my special needs.
I hooked my hands about his belt, loving the feel of the leather. I unbuckled it and moved slightly back to undo the top button and make a production out of unzipping his fly. And then I had a need to tease him, watching the shorts part to show a tight V of the white cotton of his jockeys.
"Did you ever have a girl unzip your fly before, Kevin?" And I hooked my fingers solidly into cut-offs, ready to tug them downward. "Did you, Kevin?"
"No, but I've fooled around some with girls-" And I could watch the imprisoned cock almost screaming to be freed.
"All the way?"
"Almost-" he flushed red at being so inexperienced.
"Well, it will be for real with me, Kevin-no almost!"
"Oh, wow!" And I tugged down on the skintight summer shorts, purposely not taking the jockeys down at the same time. I wanted to go through the bit a second time, the tugging down of jockeys even wilder than the shorts.
"That's really something!" my eyes zoomed in for the close-up of the bulging pouch of his jockes, my fingers tingling as they tugged down hard on the unbelievably tight shorts that seemed to have been molded to his lean frame. They had to be tapered down to be that snug, and I realized that most teenaged boys did it to show off their male-merchandise.
"Really something...." I echoed, flicking a kiss to the bulging cotton pouch as I worked the shorts down his tighs and right over the soiled sneakers.
"I'll untie them-" he started to bend over, but I restrained him, letting him know that I was completely of service to him.
I untied one sneaker, and then the other. I lifted the first foot and removed the soiled sneaker, digging the fact that he wasn't wearing socks. And then I lifted the other foot and made a big thing of removing his other sneaker, and I glanced upward to groove on the sight of him in his final youth-oriented garment, the snug jockey shorts that seemed to be at least two sizes too small for him-accentuating the beautiful bulge of the stretch pouch.
Turned-on ... I'll tell the world! Especially after having gone so long without leaving the house in search of a man. Well, I didn't have to leave the house and I had something even greater than a man-a boy with man-sized equipment. No involvement ... all I had to do was satisfy the boy and get my kicks in doing it.
I was turned on the limit and I had the most perverse desire to show it. The masochistic urge to feel pain had suddenly become a desire to lower myself before the handsome young stud, to show him through self-humiliation that I would do anything to please him. Anything and I found myself kissing his foot, licking and lapping at every toe. That really turned him on and he jammed a hand down over my knockers, racing back and forth, squeezing and mauling at one brownish-hued tip and then the other. And then I spotted the other hand at his own crotch, soothing the bulge that so obviously ached to be freed and put into service.
I had to pay equal homage to the other foot, and I even tried to outdo the homage of the first foot, licking lapping not only each toe but underneath and all over-and then I started the trip upward, widening my stance on my knees to feel that very special strain on my pussy. The strain that goes all the way to your ass, and makes you tingle all over and wanted to screech out the greatest four-letter word ever: COCK! COCK!
I slobbered my way back up, crisscrossing my mouth from one lean, muscular thigh to the other, grooving on the legs of the trained young athlete: I could feel my hands tremble with delight as they raced ahead of my busy mouth to hook up into the waistband of his jockeys. And then my mouth pressed hard against the living, breathing, jam-packed pouch of hard meat.
"I can't wait-" he groaned, and I wanted to scream out loud that I couldn't wait either.
"Great...." I moaned, edging the jockeys down ever so slowly, wanting to torture myself the limit until I was rewarded by the most beautiful sight in world-yeah, a cock bobbing up at rock-hard attention!
I edged the waistband down more and more, going wild at the fantastic contrast of his sun-bronzed legs, chest and stomach and the whiteness of the flesh that must have been covered by a pair of extremely snub swimming trunks.
"Oh, I love it!" I could feel my saliva start to roll down the side of my lips and over my chin.
"I love it!" I watched the unbelievably long and thick cock bob up at attention at the most delightful angle. I wanted to touch it, but I wanted to keep watching it throb by itself. The boy had more cock than my late husband-that was for sure, and he just about rivaled either Marty of Hal.
"You're great!" I complimented him, urging him to step out of the jockey shorts. "Really something, Kevin!" And I wanted to pay even more homage to him, to let him know there would be no limit to my worship of his youthful masculinity. I was about to toss his jockey shorts aside, so damned anxious for that all-important first taste of his cock ... but I brought the jockey shorts in my hands up to my mouth, working the inside of them uptight to my lips. I kissed the cotton material fully, sniffing and then running my tongue up and down the length of it.
"Oh, wow...." he groaned, hooking one hand on a knocker and the other on the heavy throbbing of his cock that just had to over ten inches long. "You're really something!"
"I'll handle this," I finally tossed the jockeys aside and removed his hand from his thick and hard prick. "Every way you can think of, Kevin!" And I worked one hand up to cradle his low-slung scrotum, the other hand going to the underside of the thick and long and beautifully circumcised prick.
"You're got me going-" he started, bub tightened completely the moment I ran my tongue up and down the topside of the prick, my hand holding it up as though I had it on the scales.
Good'n heavy ... I inwardly murmured, and I saluted it with countless kisses up and down the length of it, the pal of my hand cradling the underside of it.
I opened my mouth wide and instantly captured the thick cockhead. I savored it, letting the saliva flow freely from the corner of my lips. I had to work my hands around his lean thighs and up about his buttocks. I wanted that first drive to be complete, until I could feel the cockhead jammed deep into the start of my throat. I tightened my hands at the buttocks, fingers edging to the crack of his ass. I widened my stance on my knees, digging the feel of the hard concrete. All the way, I slammed my face into the V of him, getting my mouth solidly over the full length of the prized young cock. I let out a string of low guttural clicks, trying to work all of him inside my mouth, not stopping the fantastic madness until his balls were banging against my chin.
"You're really something!" he shuddered, getting his hands clamped tightly on the high rise of my knockers.
I got my mouth into action, thrusting up and down to live up to his high expectations of me. I slithered my tongue about, continually racing up and down the length of the prick I had moistened so perfectly with my saliva.
Fast and furious, continually gripping at his buttocks, sneaking fingers right up the crack of his tight asshole ... and then slow and easy ... my tongue slobbering like crazy as I slowed my mouth action to give him a contrast in cocksucking styles. Like riding a bike-no matter how long it's been since you've done it last, you never forget how to do it.
Slow and easy ... I worked my mouth up and down the full length of the thick prick, digging the mansized cock on the teenaged boy. And let me tell you, there was something perversely exciting about having the illicit sex in the basement of my house. The bed is so damned traditional for sex-but the mustiness of the basement is really something, especially the feel of the damp concrete. I had the urge to really slam my knees down hard on the concrete blocks, reminding myself continually of my cocksucking specialty and the only way to really do it-yeah, right down on your knees, seemingly in worship of the phallus.
I wanted to start the mouth-thrusting of Kevin's cock fast and furious again, but I sensed he was close to an orgasm and I wanted that first time to last as long as humanly possible. I tongue-licked and lapped the thick shaft, slowly inching my mouth up and down the long hot trail of boyishly delightful cock. Up and down, my hands planted so firmly on the trim buttocks, I could feel my pousy about to explode, so damned anxious to get the cock my lucky mouth was working on.
"Martha ... please...." Kevin was bending over me, working his anxious hands down from my throbbing knockers to the trimness of my hips. "Can I do it to you? I mean, shove it in your...." he hesitated, and I sensed his need to hear it dirty and low, to get him to tell it like it really was.
"What do you want to do, Kevin?" I worked my self up on the couch, thighs spread wide apart, my pulsating pussy inviting him into the V of me. "Fuck me! Is that what you want to do-fuck me?!"
"Yeah!" And he moved right into me, aiming the thick cockhead at my pussy-lips.
"Shove it to me, Kevin!" I spread out the length of the dusty couch. "Oh, fuck me, young lover!" And he was down on me, straddling me as I guided the thick shaft to the start of my pussy. "Drive it to me hard and fast!" I dug being the teacher. "All the way home, Kevin!"
I had to let out a shrill gasp of air, taking the full length of his thick prick in one lunge into the very core of my vagina'. I had to tighten all of my shuddering frame to get accustomed to the feel of so much thick prick, after waiting so long.
My period of mourning was over, and I was ready to start writhing and twisting and to encourage Kevin to shove fast and ready cock to me. Yeah, I was through feeling sorry for myself and I had the smug thought of being the merry widow. Corny but true-ready to be the merry widow taking on a lot of of new cocks. Young cocks ... I inwardly murmured, breathing heavily to the first heavy pistoning of ray pussy by the thick and long cock. I dug the idea of doing the chasing, of leading the teenaged stuff to me-and I wouldn't have to cope with a mature male or the idea of ever getting married again.
Hard and fast-I took it all, gyrating and twisting my body up to him, digging the straight-fucking of my pussy, thinking ahead of the times I would graduate Kevin to fucking my ass and other wild games sexually-oriented people play.
"I'm coming-" he shrilled. "I can't hold it anymore-I'm coming!" And he buckled and shuddered and I went wild to the heavy eruption of cream within me. I had to join him, to let my hot stuff mingle and flow with his and it just took some wild thudding of my body up to his and I was off and running with him, only seconds after he had erupted.
"Any time you want me again...." I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. I had the need to run my hands up and down his trim, athletic frame, keeping my vagina walls tight on his spent cock, refusing to let it go. "Anytime at all, Kevin ... when you're sure the coast is clear...." And I inwardly trembled at the thought of his parents ever discovering the boy making it with "the young widow next door."
I had to flick kisses all about his young and sensitive face, digging the flushed and satisfied hue to it. I felt proud that I had given a gratification to him, and couldn't see anything wrong in future swingings. But I knew I would have to be careful of that nasty outside world a world that would insist I make it with mature men, since I was a widow. Either that, or really go the straight'n narrow route and get married again. That wasn't for me, and I raced my hands up and down the sleek young sides, feeling his cock rehardening instantly within me.
"I could do it to you again," he gasped, hooking his hands about me, pressing down hard on my buttocks.
"Something new!" I shrilled, and I shoved my legs upward, toes up toward the ceiling. I let the stiff prick slide out of my pussy and instantly positioned it at the crack of my ass. "Shove it to me back there, Kevin!"
"Wild-" And he jammed into my rear, getting right up on his knees. He didn't need much schooling and I could instantly feel my ass blowing right up to the feel of thick cock. He stopped halfway, seemingly worried about hurting me.
"Hard and fast!" I backed right up into his hard prick. "Make me hurt! I love-I love it!" And he let out a gush of heavy breathing and jammed it to the very core of my rear-end. And the I instantly started twisting and turning, wanting to feel the excruciating pain of the instant cock-grinding.
"Oh, do it-do it!" And the teenager did it like a pro, thrusting cock fast and furiously in and out of my pussy. And his hands went so automatically to where they belonged-right smack on my lovemound. And with a little extra twisting and moaning sounds from down deep in my throat he got the message and started to delightfully finger-fuck my snatch.
In time with the heavy cockthrusting of my asshole, fast and steady, and the second-time around I had to shrill my urgency.
"Oh, now-now!" I knew I couldn't hold back my eruption. "Make it together, young lover!" And I spurted the creamy stuff all over his fingers, and then felt him shuddering and buckling and spurting more cream up my asshole.
"Oh, Kevin...." I struggled to catch my breath as I slid down on the couch to rest with him. "Anytime you can make it over here ... I'll be ready for you ... "
"Martha...." And he couldn't quite catch his breath, his eyes meeting mine, and then came the words I associated with Marty and my past with swinging mature men: "Can I bring my buddy with me the next time? You've seen Dean at my house! Can I?...."
Yeah, I had seen Dean over at Kevin's ... and my mind raced ahead to the thought of the dark-haired teenager, possibly even younger than Kevin with the sturdy built and the eager look about him.
"How about it, Martha?" Kevin persisted.
"Yeah, sure ... bring your buddy...."
I was back at it ... only taking on duos of boys instead of men ... I had to think about it, alone and having a drink in my living room, long after I had sent Kevin on his way, back to finish mowing his lawn. I gulped down a double of scotch, and warned myself about the many problems of taking two on at one time-men or boys.
"They start talking...." I murmured aloud, knowing damned well what they can do to an already shakey reputation. But even worse ... I recalled how the greatest of guys become animals while showing-off in front of their buddies.
"It's starting all over again...." I inwardly tightened, and I found myself fisting and unfisting my hands, pacing the length of the living room. Crazy, but after I had rested alone in my room, long after the wild spree with Kevin, I actually thought that getting fully dressed would take my mind off the sex-thing for at least a little while. And yet, I knew I couldn't' go back to swinging with doubles men or boys.
"You miserable bitch!" And I had the need to slug myself hard across the face. That first stinging sensation-it really got me into motion and I had to keep it up, harder and faster. Yeah, sure, I know it must sound sick to a lot of people-but it's rough to explain the need for self-punishment. You just know you n eed it, and once you get started, you just can't seem to stop doing it.
"You slut-bitch!" I yelled at myself, and I worked my fisted hands all over my body, my clothing suddenly stifling me. I wanted to rip everything off, to mark my body black and blue. I couldn't stop myself, and I was about to hurry up the stairway, to go to my bedroom and watch that miserable bitch in the mirror, to call her every name I could think of.
"The strap...." I murmured, recalling the thick leather strap up in my late husband's closet. "Why didn't he ever use it on me?" I lamented, and I was suddenly too tired to make it up the stairway, and my hands were tingling from how roughly I had worked them all over my body.
I had to get out of that house ... I inwardly tightened, especially since I had ruined it all by making the kid next door. I had to bite down hard on my lower Up, thinking of what might happen to me if Kevin's parents found out that I had seduced him.
"That widow...." the scandal would start all over the neighborhood. I had to make plans to move out-but then and there, I had to find Kevin and tell him that he couldn't bring his buddy over, that it was all a big mistake, just one weak moment that he should try to forget ... I rushed to the kitchen and looked out the back window, but Kevin was nowhere in sight. I hurried to the front of the house, checking to see if he might be somewhere out front by his house. Kevin was nowhere in sight.
"Probably in the house...." I murmured, and hurried to the phone to give him a call. But I needed a drink first, and I hurried to the bar in the living room and poured myself a double.
I downed it, feeling the amber fluid scorch down my throat, right where it had been aching from working Kevin's thick cock in and out of me. I wanted another, but I told myself I had to call Kevin, to tell him that he couldn't bring a friend over. I had to I jumped back and tightened, hearing the heavy knocking at my kitchen door. I had to pull out of it, scolding myself for being so jumpy. That could have been most anyone and I didn't think Kevin would bring his buddy over so soon after our long sexual spree in the basement.
I hobbled over to the kitchen and was just about to open the back door, when something within me told me to not answer the steady knocking, to run upstairs and stay in my bedroom. Let me tell you, the panic button was going off loud and clear within me, but I didn't pay attention to it. I opened the door, and there was Kevin's anxious face.
"Martha!"
"No...." I whispered, starting to shudder and Kevin marched right in, and behind him came not one buddy-but two of them, handsome teenagers, Dean and Tad.
"Tad wanted to come, too," Kevin shrugged, all so very innocently. "Do you mind?"
"Kevin...." And I felt wobbly on my feet from the self-inflicted punishment and the booze I had put down. I wanted to try to call it off, but I worked my eyes down the trio of young studs, digging how they all had on skintight summerish shorts of varying colors. But they all had one thing in common-they were all snug at the crotch and bulging beautifully. Dean, a dark-haired boy, was wearing a summerish shirt open down the front-much like Kevin's-and the waistband of his jockeys was sticking out over the thick, brown leather belt. I worked my blurry line of sight over at the other boy named Tad and was awed by the formfitting colored T-shirt accentuating the well-muscled chest of a football player. I worked my eyes downward on the third boy, grooving on the white duck cut-off pants that had to be glued to his midsection, accentuating a lot of young cock and balls. He couldn't have been over sixteen, but he was all man down there, where it really mattered.
Soiled white sneakers ... three pairs of them, and I had to restrain my wildest urge, to get right down there and kiss them all, licking and lapping and totally humiliating myself.
"You've been drinking, Martha?" Kevin asked. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm all right ... I gave in to the madness, my pussy starting to moisten by itself. "Couldn't be better!" And I made a wave of the hand for the boys to enter and head into the living room. They scampered in, Tad with a hand planted solidly on his crotch-and I knew there was no turning back.
"Can we have a drink?" Dean asked, eyeing the booze on the side bar.
"I don't really give a shit," I shrugged, and I removed Tad's hand from his crotch and replaced it with mine. "Except this-I don't give a damn about anything but cock!" I had the need to humiliate myself, the three teenagers laughing up a storm. "So boys, what did Kevin tell you?"
I waited, and while I did I unzipped Tad's fly and got my hand into the tightness of his cut-off pants to fever the jockey-pouch so beautifully jam-packed with the throbbing stuff. I could tell by their smug glances that Kevin had told them everything, possibly exaggerating it all.
"Hey, pour me a drink, too!" Tad called over to Kevin and Dean at the sidebar.
"What did Kevin tell you guys?" I persisted, and don't ask me to explain the need to humiliate myself. "Did he tell you guys what a terrific cocksucker I am? Or how I love to get my ass fucked as much as my pussy?!"
"Yeah, like, wow!" Tad shrilled, my hand fevering the loaded pouch. "We thought he was kidding!"
"Let me show you how it's done!" And I hurriedly unbuckled Tad's belt and undid the top button. I tugged and yanked downward on the skintight cut-off pants and let them rest down atop his soiled sneakers. I had to hurry my fingers back up to the waistband of his shorts. I glided all the way down, right on my knees and started the underwear downward, flicking kisses to the loaded pouch as I did.
"She's wild-" Dean called out, holding a drink in his hand. "Like real fun-"
"Watch me suck cock!" I hissed and tugged the underwear all the way down Tad's muscular thighs, letting out a lot of shrill groans as his thick prod of hard cock bobbed up at attention. "All the way down!" And I didn't bother with the foreplay, opening my mouth wide and lunging right down. I zoomed down fast, not stopping until I could feel my chin banging against a beautiful pair of balls, and the thick cockhead made my throat raw and raspy. Up and down I instantly started my mouth up and down to the delighted groans coming from the three boys, one participant and two spectators.
"I want to see her naked!" Dean called out, "Like you said she was, with her knockers and snatch showing!"
"Everybody get the fuck out of their clothes!" I screeched, letting Tad's cock plop loudly out of my mouth. "Then we'll really ball!" And I threw every last shread of inhibition to the winds, ready to go the route of three cocks at one time.
I pulled and tugged at my clothing, racing down to only my panties and bra, eyes fixed on the eager young studs, realizing how much more fun they could be than mature men. They all three looked ready to pop their loads at any moment, just pulling their clothing off their muscular young frames. I dug the sight of Kevin tugging off his jockey shorts again, and then moved my eyes over to Dean, watching him yank down on his jockeys and let his long and thick prick bob beautifully into sight.
Nude ... completely nude ... my eyes feasted on the three nude masculine frames and I smugly took a guess at the total number of inches of hard cock among the three of them. Realistically, I shuddered at the of from twenty-five to thirty inches of thick and hard prick. But I had to exaggerate it, and through blurry eyes I grooved on the fantasy of over thirty inches of young and eager cock.
"Hey, you've still got your panties and bra on!" Dean called out while Tad moved faster and had his hands pawing all over the front and back of my panty-crotch.
"Be my fuckin' guests!" I spread my arms out wide and jutted my lush knockers forward. I could feel the stretch material of the bra cutting into my flesh, the filminess of my panties caught up into the inner reaches of my thighs and up the start of my asshole. "Finish the job for me all three of you!"
"Hey, wild-" And I felt a lot of hands suddenly pawing all over my anatomy, going to the waistband of my panties and at the clasp of my bra.
"Why so gentle?" I tightened up on them. "Show me how rough and ready you are! You want me-rip 'em off my body!" And I had to restrain myself from slapping my face hard, knowing damned well they would never understand it.
"Rip me-rip me!"
"Fuck, yeah!" Tad was first to yank hard on my panties. "If that's your bag!" he mocked me, and then Kevin and Dean followed the obvious leader of the trio, pulling and yanking and tearing those final two garments off my shuddering frame, so damned anxious for the action.
"Oh, hurt-" I groaned, feeling fingers being roughly jammed up my snatch, and I knew damned well that Tad was leading the attack. "Hurt ... hurt...." I writhed and twisted, falling down on the rug and being aware of hard cocks all about me, rubbing against my knockers and my face.
"Oh, take my prick in your mouth!" I heard Dean's voice and I obliged, opening my mouth wide.
"Take it all!" I heard another voice, and I was placed in an awkward position on my side, and Tad's cock was jamming solidly into my aching pussy.
"The bitch is wild!" Tad cried out, humping me hard and fast and the more I gy rated, the more he threw cock to me like an old pro.
"The guys will never believe us!" Dean cried out, shoving his cock in and out of my mouth, moving faster than I could work my eager mouth up and down on the long length of eager young cock. "Oh, take it!" he rammed my mouth. "Take it all!"
I was writhing and twisting like and animal, and I could only let out wild grunts and groans of pain-pleasure, feeling Kevin's planted solidly at my rear-end. He was urging Tad to fuck me in more of a side position and I knew damned well he was out to ass-fuck me. Those fingers ... they kept jabbing right up the crack of my ass, and I could sense his hard cock positioned right behind them.
I twisted all the more, getting on my side, the cock in my mouth plunging harder and harder, the thick prick up my snatch never missing a beat. I thought I would soar over the entire neighborhood, suddenly feeling Kevin's prize-sized prick jamming right up into my asshole. He didn't stop until all of it was buried up my rear-and he seemed to be in a race with Tad working the front of me.
Three cocks ... they had me going bananas, working me from every direction, and I didn't seem to know what to do with my hands. I wanted to feel all of their young bodies, and I worked them eagerly all about me, feeling the young male anatomy crowding me from all sides.
"I'm gonna shoot!" Dean cried out, jamming his throbbing prick all the harder, in my mouth, the thick cockhead making my throat raw and aching. "I can't hold it-"
I let out a guttural click of want, hooking my arms up about him, the hands wrapped solidly about the boy's lean buttocks. I worked the fingers eagerly up into the tight asshole and prepared myself for the hot avalanche down my throat. I thought he would flood me, shooting an enormous load into my mouth and right down my throat. And all the while, there was no letup in the fucking of my pussy and ass by Tad and Kevin. Dean was shuddering like crazy, and I wouldn't let go of him until I was certain I had suctioned hard on his last ooze of semen. All of it-my greedy mouth demanded every last bit of it.
My fingers up the boy's ass, I loved the perverse feel of it, and the moment he pulled his spend prick out of my mouth I urged him to spin around, my words coming in troubled gasps.
"Sit that fantastic ass on my face!" I screeched, urging him right down over me. "Let me tongue it!"
"The bitch is wild-wild!" And Dean spread himself out over me, sitting on my face with his buttocks spread out wide. "Eat my asshole out!" he laughed, mocking my perverse desire.
I had to show him, I didn't give a damn, I had to totally humiliate myself. Yeah, and as I darted my tongue up into his shit-trail I could just imagine him bragging to his other buddies how I ate his asshole out.
"Take it-I'm coming!" Tad screeched at my front, pumping thick cream into my snatch. And grooving on the taste of asshole, I gyrated and twisted on my side and joined Tad, erupting only seconds after him. And all the while, Kevin kept ass-fucking me like a pro, seemingly able to control himself better since he handballed with me in the basement that very morning. I had to go tongue-crazy on Dean's asshole, and I dug the humiliation of having him sit over me as thought my face was his chair. I wanted my face, and especially my mouth, to be his toilet, and at that moment I wouldn't have cared what he did to my face and mouth.
Kevin was going at it fast and furious, and the moment Tad pulled his spent prick out of my pussy, he hooked a lot of fingers up into the loveslit and I grooved on the pain-pleasure of it. I kept backing up into Kevin's thick and long prick, hoping he would be fucking my asshole for a lifetime. Yeah, because while I was getting cock up my asshole and eating out that delightfully young asshole, I didn't give a damned about the reality of the world about me. I couldn't worry about my future status as a young widow. At that moment, the young widow was letting three neighborhood studs ball like crazy-and the future could go take a flying fuck at the moon.
Kevin's fingers were growing continually more sadistic as they worked my pussy. I had to twist and writhe to the wonderful feel of it, and I let the saliva flow right down my chin and on my knockers as Dean continually widened his buttocks as he kept jamming the crack of his ass harder and harder down on my face. I had the tip of my tongue like a steel blade and I kepi working it deeper and deeper up into the shit-trail. Greedy-greedy ... I actually wanted my cunt serviced again with cock instead of fingers, and I looked about me, realizing that I was being occupied by only two of the three nude studs.
Tad ... I inwardly tightened, sensing that of the three teenagers, he had the greatest potential for sadism-the special brand I craved via rough and ready sex. Tad ... I wanted his cock back into the action, and I pulled my face over to one side, letting my tongue drift out of Dean's asshole.
Tad was on the phone, and I could hear his excited words, of invitation. He was telling someone to bring over more of the guys, to go through the back door.
"She's taking us all on!" Tad was boasting. "Hey, bring Ricky! She'll really dig his big prick! And there's plenty of booze here! See if you can get any pot!"
I wanted to tear loose of it all, knowing that it was all about to explode before me, and that I couldn't seem to stop it. I wanted to work my head free, to shout out at Tad to tell them they couldn't come, that the madness had to stop. Dean shoved my face right back under the crack of my ass, sitting down on it hard, cutting off my breath.
"Eat my ass out!" he was wildly jerking himself off, "Oh, sit on it hard!"
The madness was engulfing me, and I could feel Kevin slamming the windup into my ass, shuddering and then erupting a heavy load of cream up my asshole.
"I got more guys coming over!" Tad yelled, strutting back over to the action, his semi-hard cock dangling majestically. "Then we'll really ball like gangbusters!"
No ... no ... I thought I would suffocate with Dean's rear over my face. And then Kevin's spent cock was hurting my asshole, the pain seemingly ready to tear me apart. The beads of perspiration started thick at my forehead, and I was frightened that I couldn't bear the pain. I was suddenly aware of the pain, and I couldn't seem to cope with it.
"Eat my cock!" Tad cried out, hooking both of his hands savagely about my head. I couldn't ward them off, and it suddenly seemed like hordes of "youthful Martys and Hals" and I gave it to the madness.
Teenagers were pouring in from all over the neighborhood, mocking me, grabbing for me, yanking out hard cocks and shouting to take turns at me. Maybe the mind exaggerates at a time like that, but I couldn't count the boys, and they seemed to be swarming wild all over my house, drinking up my booze-and that certain scent ... I sensed they were smoking pot.
"Watch the hot bitch take cock!" the cry went up, and they all seemed to be gathered about me.
No ... no ... I couldn't seem to get the one negative word to rise from out of my throat, and I couldn't understand how it had all run away from my control.
A boy ... just one boy to give me the sexual satisfaction I craved ... to not have to cope with mature men ... but then he had friends ... and they had friends....
"Get out of here!" I roared, tearing myself loose as much as I possibly could, two hard cocks brushing hard against my face. "All of you...." And I wanted to whimper that I was a widow, and that I deserved some sympathy.
They were laughing at me, mocking me, and I started screeching like a madwoman, and I had to throw things at them-and, yeah ... all the neighbors came crashing in on us, bringing in the police at the report of a wild pot and sex party in progress.
"I'm a widow...." I whimpered, pathetically. "They broke in here ... "
But nobody believed me, and a number of the parents have pressed charges against me. One of the kids stashed pot in my clothing strewn about the floor, and that's another charge I'll have to face.
But all I can think of is how I had pathetically cried out my lonely status: "I'm a widow ... a widow...." But nobody really gave a damn.
I'm glad I told my story ... maybe somebody does give a damn ... and maybe just maybe-I can straighten my life out again-just maybe....
CASE HISTORY: "DELLA
"Drop dead, you sonuvabitch!" ... That's what I had yelled at my husband on the very day he died. I'd had about all of his jealous rages that I could take. Those constant accusations, the dirty names he would call me-and, yeah, the vicious beatings he would give me....
"You cheatin' bitch!" he came after me, drunkenly stumbling through the kitchen. "You're all over town, Delia! "I'll catch you, I'm warning you, I'll catch you!"
"You couldn't catch a fly, you drunken bum!" I had the need to agitate him.
"I'll show you!" And he had me cornered, and lightning-like, he unbuckled his thick leather belt and yanked it out of the loops. "You need to be straightened out, Delia!" And he snapped the strap loud and clear, as he had done only a few days before.
"Leave me alone-I'll come and go as I damned please!" I roared back at the man old enough to be my father. Yeah, Jerry was exactly double my age-thirty-six to eighteen ... how about that? My old man used to beat the shit out of me, and I ran away from him to marry a father-image.
"I'm warning you, Delia," Jerry seemed about ready to retreat and not use the strap on me. And then his voice was almost pathetic: "Don't go running around, Delia ... please stay home...."
"You can't take care of me!" I hissed at him, trying to get him worked up again. I had my eyes on the thick black leather, and I wouldn't admit it to myself, but I wanted it slashing hard and fast across my body-especially over my buttocks.
"Please, Delia...." he stumbled forward, the strap hanging loose in one hand. "We used to have it so good together-"
"You can't satisfy me!" I screeched, reminding him of the age difference. And then I really let him have it: "Even when you're sober-which isn't too often!"
"You pig!" And the anger gushed forward in him, the strap tightening in his hand. He snapped it again, moving in on me. "I gave you everything!" And he started slashing the strap across the side of me, spinning me about and landing it hard and fast across my buttocks.
I screeched dirty names at him, yelling that he was a drunken slob who didn't know how to take care of a young girl. And then I really got him going, screeching out his big problem, that he had trouble keeping a hard-on long enough to orgasm. Then the strap really started to welt hard and heavy across my rear, especially down low at my exposed thighs.
"I'll show you-" And I tripped and fell and the heavy slashings of the strap were more than I could handle, falling sadistically about the filminess of my exposed panties. "You little tramp!" he reminded me. "I took you off the street and gave you everything you wanted!"
The strap slashed unmercifully at my panty-covered buttocks, my mini-skirt hiked up high in my awkward position on the floor.
"Everything but what I need the most!" I screeched back up at him. "Action-action!" And I had the wildest urge to spread my thighs out and bump my greedy snatch right up at him. I got up on my feet, watching him tremble and try to control himself. My body was all charged up, fixed on the sadistic slashings of the leather strap, and I was determined to make a night on the town of it.
It was beginning to get dark out, just right for an early start at the bars for the cocktail hour. Always plenty of studs hanging around, and I had plenty to entice them with. I watched my husband pathetically standing there, the strap falling from his hand, and I knew the punishment was over. He reached out for me, and I knew from past experiences that he wanted to smother me with gentleness, to beg forgiveness for punishing me.
"My little Delia...."
"You make me sick-"
"Delia! Baby...." He had trouble standing, and he was gasping, and I didn't realize that it was more than just too much booze. I knew his next words would be of all the things he would buy for me, and he could certainly afford it, he made damned big money in the Export business.
"I'm going out, Jerry...." I whispered, edging away from him, smoothing out my mini and see-through blouse, then quickly working my hands through my long honey-hued hair. "Don't try to stop me...."
"Please, Delia, baby...."
"Drop dead, you sonuvabitch!" I roared, backing off from him, not wanting him to possess me. I was about to repeat it, so damned anxious to be free, to get the wild sexual spree to go along with the punishment I had taken from my husband. Crazy, I know, but that had gotten to be my bag, my big thing ... And those words were the last I had uttered to Jerry ... Drop dead, you sonuvabitch....
They called it a heart attack ... and they fixed the time of death at somewhere around midnight. The housekeeper found the body on the living room floor when she entered to clean at eight in the morning ... Where was I?
In a strange bed ... where I found myself quite often, morning after morning, working off the effects of booze, pot and sometimes even a variety of pills. Yeah, in a strange bed, in the middle of a handsome black stud named Hank .,.. and a petite blonde chick named Inga.
Now I'll tell you something really perverse and frightening. When I heard that the time of death was about midnight, I tried to piece together exactly what I had been doing at that time ... and I strained to remember that I had met the wildly contrasting pair of Hank and Inga at a cocktail lounge at about eleven that evening, and after a few drinks at the bar we had decided to make it a threesome at their pad. A drink or two and a little pot at the pad, all the little preliminaries, the bit-by-bit foreplay, and I realized the real three-way action got under way at slightly after midnight.
I had been swinging both ways with the black stud and the petite blonde chick as a widow and didn't even know it. I thought of the irony of telling myself that I finally quit cheating on Jerry that night slightly after midnight, from the moment I had become a widow, even if I had not known my correct status at the time.
Hell, I barely knew who the hell I was, once the clothes started flying off bodies and the action got going. Hands were all over me in that strange bed-big, strong black hands and dainty white hands. They were all over me, and I could remember the way they had gone about taking my bra and panties off. They were both totally nude and crawling all over me, and I could remember the distinct feeling of those two final garments imprisoning my anxious body.
"You're something else, chick!" Hank had one hand inside the stretch material of my bra, pulling hard and cutting into the milky-white flesh of me.
"Let's get at this blonde snatch!" Inga was crawling down low in the bed, her fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties. ' I had to twist and turn, feeling her hot breath scorching right through the filmy crotch of my panties and I'wanted to yell and screech for Nordic beauty to tug my panties down and get her mouth down on it hard and very much for real. But she was toying with me, keeping her fingers tight on the waistband, flicking wet kisses at the moist indentation through the sheerness of the material down there at the V of me. And then I could feel a finger tracing the length of my loveslit, pressing down on the panty-crotch, all driving me bananas.
I drove my open mouth into Hank's, feeling his tongue instantly slither and twine mine. His hands moved to the clasp of my bra, and he was working his massive frame upward and I could feel that long length of hard prick up against the flat of my stomach. Pressed against my stomach, jamming me right down into the bed, that long and thick prick seemed even larger and I tingled all over to experience it.
"Pretty pussy," Inga groaned, and the panties came right down and her tongue was instantly into my loveslit, the tip of it like a steel-blade.
"They're fantastic!" Hank grabbed at my lush knockers, the very moment he had tossed the bra aside. He was ramming them tightly together and getting continually up on his knees. I peered downward and had to let out a sheer cry of ecstasy as I watched the black'n beautiful prick coming at me, coming strong.
I flicked out my tongue, letting the saliva edge out of the corner of my lips. I sucked in hard on my breath, anticipating the great taste of the black meat.
"Beautiful!" Hank was still grooving on my lush mounds, pressing them continually inward, the cleavage getting deeper and deeper. "Beautiful, man-made hairless pussy!"
"Oh, do it-" I whispered hoarsely, getting the wild shock treatment of Hank suddenly shoving his hard prick into the jammed-together cleavage of my lush mounds. "Do it-do it do it...." I moaned to the steady pistoning of his black prick up and down where he iiad tightened my knockers together.
I worked my head up, fixing it on the sight of thick, coal-black cock thrusting wildly at my pressed-together knockers-what Hank had called a "beautiful, man-made hairless pussy!" The sight of it, the contrast of the black meat against the milky-white flesh was driving me bananas and I had to writhe and twist to it. But each time I did, Inga drove her tongue deeper and deeper into my snatch.
I had to orgasm, and I could barely form the words to warn Inga. At that very moment, Hank jammed his hands all the tighter on the outer edges of my breasts and he fucked like crazy for the windup. He beat me to it by seconds, erupting hot cream all over my knockers. Then I really thought I'd have to climb the wall and I erupted my love juices, Inga suctioning and swallowing every last drop I had to offer her.
"Let's ball!" Hank cried out, rubbing his spent but still hard prick up close to my face. "Let's get it ready for more action!"
"I'd love to!" I playfully yelled back, taking the enormous tool in both of my hands. And it was at that moment that I had glanced over at the clock on the night table. It was damned close to one A.M., and that last sexual spree had been after Jerry had died. Of course, I had no way of knowing that I was being a merry widow-I had thought I was the cheating wife, and doing a damned good job of it.
"Lick it up, chick!" Hank worked his big black hands firmly over my shoulder blades. "Get it ready for the action again!" he massaged my shoulders, tightening at the feel of my tongue up and down the length of his prick.
"Oh, great!" I cried out, jamming forward as I felt Inga's tongue go searching up the crack of my ass. "Do it up nice," And I widened myself back there, licking and lapping on the black prick all the faster.
I had been swinging with black studs quite often during those last months before Jerry died. And at first, it wasn't because it was really my bag. No, I had a smug attitude about the first black'n beautiful cat I made it with, because I always suspected my husband of being a little prejudiced. I mean, I had that first black cock thrusting my lily-white snatch with the attitude of: If Jerry could only see me now!
Black cock ... it was the symbol of the "forbidden fruit" to me. Like, if I was going to cheat on Jerry, that would be the ultimate in my extra-swinging affairs. I would always go through the fantasy of Jerry catching me with black studs. Yeah, I would go through the wildest make-believe of my husband finding us together, charging in to break it up. I'd really go through the make-believe bit, creating a scene of my husband yanking me away from the black stud, slugging me hard a number of times. Yeah, then my black lover beating the living shit out of my husband. I imagined it a lot, and I kept frequenting bars with a mixed clientele and having the black studs pick me up more and more ... but Jerry had never seemed inclined to come looking for me.
My husband would make with the accusations and the name-calling-and believe me, he had reason to . but he would never go out in search of me, and that was what really made me mad. You might say that's really far out, but when a woman can't control herself, she hopes that the right guy can do it for her. Yeah, she's looking for a miracle, but that's what every chick expects out of that one certain guy ... nothing short of miracles.
"You got it ready again!" Hank cried out, pulling me out of my thoughts of my husband. Only I had no way of knowing that I was thinking about my "late husband" and I grooved fantastically on the black stud-prick that I wasn't supposed to have. I held it proudly in both of my hands, running my tongue all over the thick cockhead. And all the while, Inga was having a ball behind me. She kept running her tongue up and down the length of my asshole, her fingers tracing circles about the back of my thighs and up about my buttocks. She was purposely slobbering back there and working her tongue continually deeper up into my shit-trail.
"Get that pretty ass ready for me, Inga, baby!" Hank called over to the European chick at my asshole, and I realized that she was damned subservient to him. She licked and lapped and got it ready with her saliva.
I was tingling all over, wondering if I could actually take all that thick and hard prick up my asshole. I had been swinging with big black studs, but Hank was built unbelievably large. I kept working my tongue all over the coal-black shaft, and then I thought I'd really lubricate it all. I opened my mouth wide and got up slightly for the first mouth-thrust. All the way down, I had to stop for air beyond the thick cockhead. I felt Hank's hands suddenly jamming down on the top of my head and I continued the mouth-to-cock trip, lunging down fast and hard until I could feel the cockhead lodged tightly at the start of my throat.
That special hurt ... I grooved on the feel of it, letting out a string of guttural clicks, his big hands hanging right in there, continually pressing down on my head, shoving me right into the powerful V of him. And then Inga was really doing inventive things with her mouth jammed to my ass, her tongue going berserk up my shit-trail.
"Suck it hard and fast, chick," Hank's voice was firm, and I grooved on it all the way. And I'll tell you something really bananas. Usually, when I made it with a lover who dug his sex-thing on the sadistic side, I could visualize my husband using that thick leather strap on me. Yeah, I could go into a fantasy grabbag and visualize my husband working the strap all over my buttocks, the back of my thighs and up about my back while I was in the female-superior position, shoving my pried-apart cunt over a big, black prick. And when I could get that fantasy-thing going in high gear, I could then imagine my father standing on the other side of me, working his thick leather strap over me in perfect time with the punishment I imagined coming from my husband. The two of them, my husband and my father, I could imagine them both slashing hard all over the rear of my nude frame, screaming and begging me to stop being such a slut-bitch. That was the mental-game I always played while swinging with black cats ... but that last time, after my husband had already died ... I couldn't bring in the fantasy. I just couldn't seem to get the mental picture going. I started my mouth going wildly up and down on the thick black stud-prick, slobbering loudly. I worked myself upward, trying to get my buttocks up in the air, even with Inga hanging right in there, sucking my asshole right out-but I couldn't fantasy my husband beating the shit out of me with his thick leather strap.
I closed my eyes ... ramming my entire face up and down at an unbelievably fast pace. Hank's hands were fixed hard on the back of my head, but he could barely keep up with my mouth-to-cock thrusts. I wanted to bring in that fantasy, the strap slashing hard all over my body, and Jerry calling me names. But it wouldn't happen. From after midnight, from the time that Jerry had his heart attack-even thought I had no way of knowing about it then and there-I just could not bring in the fantasy of him sadistically punishing me for being a cheating bitch.
"Oh, chick, you're too much!" Hank went wild at the fantastic mouth-to-cock job I was giving him. "I'd love to fuck your ass-but this is too great to miss!"
"Look at her go...." Inga had to stop licking and lapping at my asshole, struggling to catch her breath.
"I'll show you how I go!" I yanked my greedy mouth up off the long trail of black cock. I had to gasp and struggle to catch my breath. And while I did that, I urged Inga to get off to one side of the bed, almost putting her in the position of the spectator. She sensed it, immediately settling for finger-fucking her snatch, watching me wild-eyed.
"What's the action, chick?!" Hank was still flat on his back, that black shaft of hard prick jutting at the most fantastic action-angle. "Is that ass ready for me?" He worked his arms up about me, fingers of both hands instantly exploring the crack of my ass made moist and ready by Inga's tongue.
"I want to fuck your cock!" screeched, positioning myself in the female-superior position and instantly prying my pussy-lips apart directly over the start of his prick. I want to work my snatch on your meat!" I dug the sound of lewd words, writhing and twisting to the feel of his big fingers reeking havoc on my asshole.
"Do it, girl-" he spread his muscular thighs out all the more, making a regular telephone pole of his big, black prick. "Do it up right!"
Down fast-with no stopping ... I had to let out a shrill cry of pain-pleasure, slamming my pried-apart snatch down hard on all that heavy meat. And even down there at the base of his meat, I jammed totally into hi, grooving on the self-inflicted pain.
The hurt ... I left my snatch in that position, bloated with the heavy load of cock. I closed my eyes and strained to bring in my special fantasy
-my husband slashing the strap all over my nude frame and calling me vile names. I jutted my ass right up there, telling myself that in that way I could help the make-believe along and bring in the sensation of my husband's strap falling all over my buttocks. But it wouldn't come in at all, and I slammed my snatch even harder on the thick black prick, seemingly wanting to rip myself apart.
My father ... he used to beat me with a thick leather strap, but he had died a few years back ... and I could never imagine my father beating me up until I brought in a mental image of my husband working me over. I strained at the pain, eyes closed, but nothing was happening. I couldn't imagine my husband strapping my ass
-and so I couldn't go all the way back to my father's many bouts of punishment.
My husband ... my father ... I could feel the beads of perspiration forming thick at my forehead, my cunt down hard on the black cock, and I trembled at the thought of why I always thought of them together. But something was wrong that night-I could sense it-and I didn't want to think about it.
Fun and games and big kicks ... I inwardly tightened and I started my snatch in motion, riding up and down on the long trail of black cock. I could hear Inga's lewd cried of ecstasy at her spectator-thing, and I opened my eyes to be fully in on it. I peered over at her and dug the sight of the ageless blonde beauty finger-fucking her snatch like a school-girl.
Fun and games and big kicks ... and I raced my snatch up and down on the thick and long prick, grooving my eyes on the glistening black body beneath him, recalling the talk in the bar that Hank was a pro football player. Well, working my cun over his cock, I was smug on the fun-thing that he was a real pro in more ways than one.
"Oh, fuck that cock!" Inga roared, finger-fucking her snatch faster and harder. "Oh, do it, Delia-girl!"
Well, I did it, all right, until I could feel all of me numb and aching down there. I had given up on trying to have my fantasy of my husband working me over with the strap. And without that make-believe bit in motion, I had to work all the harder for an orgasm. I was racing like crazy, and I could sense that Hank was ready to erupt.
"Oh, it's now-now-time!" he savagely dug his fingers up into my asshole.
"Hurt me!" I screeched, getting the rise I needed from the clawing of his nails. "Hurt me!" I begged, slamming my cunt down the limit on his jutting cock. "M.ike me hurt-hurt-hurt!" and I could respond to the sadism of his fingers clawing at the tender flesh of my asshole.
"It's happening!" Hank cried out, erupting as I slammed down even harder on the volcanic flow from the thick cockhead. "Oh, now ... with me...." he whimpered.
"Hurt me!" I begged, and with the last clawing of his fingers up my asshole I was damned close to making it.
"Get it going!" Inga raced up to us, and she knew the score-sensing my special need. Her hands were quick on my knockers, squeezing and mauling me up there, savagely twisting and turning on the milky-white flesh.
"Oh, yes-" I groaned and exploded my load, finding the gratification I needed so desperately. "Yes-yes...." And I worked hard at grinding my entire body up to the hands mauling at my knockers, writhing beautifully to all they had to offer me.
I had to rest, to pull up and off all the spent prick that was aching me. And when I did, Hank rolling over on his side totally exhausted, Inga didn't let up on her sadistic grip of me. I looked to her, gasping for breath, wanting to plead for her to let up, to let me rest and maybe even sleep. I didn't want to go home that night, I wanted to wait until the morning, to get some fresh morning fucking.
I was so exhausted ... wanting to roll over and get up close to the warmth of Hank. Inga wouldn't let go of it, continually mauling and squeezing at my knockers. She moved right in on me and roughly jammed a knee up into my aching love mound.
"Don't...." I whimpered.
"You love it!" she sadistically squeezed hard on both brownish-hued tips, keeping her knee lodged tightly to the V of my thighs. "That's really your bag, Delia-baby!" she called the shots on me.
"Let's rest," Hank stretched out and rolled further away from us. "Like, I'm beat, girls!"
"You're married, aren't you, Delia?" Inga persisted. "You're a married, chick, and I'll make a wild guess that your husband is a lot older than you are-"
"No...." I lied, whimpering amazed at how she could read right through me. I mean, I had never met her before that night, and I was certain I had not told her that much about me. In fact, it was one of those rare occasions that I had given my right first name.
"You're hurting me...." I pleaded with her, writhing and twisting and not wanting to admit to even myself that I was grooving on her very special brand of sadism.
"You dig it, Delia-baby," she wouldn't let up. "And you like to be punished for being a cheating bitch, don't you, honey?!" she jammed her knee up harder to my aching cunt.
"No ... stop it . I whimpered, letting out phony groans of pain, really digging the rough stuff. And all the while I had the urge to reach over and grab Hank's spent cock with one hand and work the other hand over to her snatch. I didn't usually go the aggressive route with chicks, but I had an urge to actually go down on Inga's honey-hued snatch.
"You love it...." Inga persisted.
"Give the kid a rest," Hank moaned, rolling and stretching, further over on his side of the bed.
I stiffened, hoping that Inga wouldn't stop it. I could actually feel my hand tingling to toy with her pussy, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to do it. I had to play it coy, to really get her going over me.
"Your husband beats you...." Inga went on. "How does he punish you for being a cheating bitch, Delia-baby?!" she kept slamming the knee up to my snatch. "Tell me all about it!" her fingers twisted hard on the tips of my breasts.
"No...." And my eyes traveled over to Hank's trousers hanging over the back of the chair, zooming solidly on the thick black leather strap. I couldn't help but wet my lips on the sight of the menacing leather-I mean, just as though I had my eyes fixed on a new and very inviting hard cock. And then the beads of perspiration really started big and heavy on my forehead. I knew that Inga had followed my line of sight over to the thick leather strap. I trembled at the thought of going purposely for the S and M stuff. I had been fooling myself right along, continually agitating my husband into using his fists and the strap on me-but Inga was forcing me to see it as it really was ... For kicks-real kicks!
"I'll bet he beats the shit out of you with a strap!" Inga persisted, clawing all the harder at my knockers. "Do you get him mad enough to beat you up?"
"No...." I tightened, annoyed that she could call the shots on me so perfectly. "No...." and the beads of sweat were really thick and I couldn't take my eyes off the thick leather strap in the loops of the trousers hanging over the chair. I could feel my snatch getting moist and throbbing again, and I longed for whatever Inga had to offer me in the rough and ready line and yet I couldn't give in to her. If and when I did, that would have been a confession that I had been fooling myself about my punishment from my husband for too damned long.
"That strap would really feel good over your n ude body," Inga jammed the knee totally into my lovemound. "Then it's really wild ... You don't get the full kick of it with your clothes on, Delia," she seemed to be mocking me, as though she knew that all my beatings from Jerry had been fully clothed. "That strap is just wild slashing across your bare buttocks, and down about the back of your thighs ... and then right about your snatch!"
"No ... no...." But I didn't move.
"I could give that strap to you for real kicks, Della-baby ... And I know how to really lay it on a chick-"
"No ... no...." I tightened, actually able to feel the strap slashing hard across my body, Inga hovering over me. I was coming alive-and I had a need for it, especially since I had been unable to imagine Jerry strapping me during the wild three-way sexual spree we had just completed. "Please ... don't...."
"You don't sound very convincing, honey." Inga suddenly bolted up, her honey-haired snatch passing close to my mouth as she lunged over and grabbed the buckle of the belt. She yanked it free from the loops of the trousers and snapped it loud as she jumped on her feet at the foot of the bed.
"I'll fix you good!" Inga held the thick leather strap in both hands, hovering over my nude frame. "I'll let you really get your kicks-"
"Hey, Inga-bitch!" Hank jumped up to a sitting position on the bed. "Let her be! The S & M route isn't her bag! Now cool it!"
"No...." I whimpered, and I watched the frightened look on Inga's face and I realized that she obeyed Hank. "No...." I whimpered but I meant it in a different light. I could sense Inga about to put the strap away, and then it would have been too late. I had to have it, especially since I had not been able to imagine my husband beating me with the strap. And something was wrong at home ... I couldn't put my finger on it ... but just the way I had left Jerry ... the pathetic look on his face....
"I want it....", I whimpered. "Inga, please
"You don't know what you're saying, Delia-honey," Hank looked over at me,, seemingly ready to shower me with gentleness the last thing I wanted at a moment like that. I had done something to my husband that night, much worse than all the other times I had left him to go out balling, I could tell by that pathetic look on his face. I needed punishment, and Inga was the one to do it, it seemed to be her sexual way of life.
"I want it...."
"Hey, honey...." Hank started to make a gentle move toward me, his gaze so soft and tender.
"You don't know what the fuck I need!" I roared, pushing him away from me. And then I did it, I hurled a number of racial slurs at him, knowing I didn't really mean them, but wanting to get him angry. Yeah, to agitate him, just as I had always done with Jerry by referring to his heavy drinking.
"Oh, the bitch is ready!" Inga groaned, snapping the strap loud and clear. "Let me have her, Hank, please!" she begged. "I'll show her what it's all about! Let me give her a dose of Master and slave!"
"Piss on the crazy bitch!" Hank rolled off the bed and strutted to a spectator's position on his feet. "Let her have it," he shrugged his approval.
"Yes, yes...." I bounced my frame right up at Inga. "Let me have it, Inga! I'm a no-good cheatin' bitch! Yeah, just like you said I was. Beat the living shit out of me!"
"Say please...." Inga hovered directly over me, her face edging downward to mock me. I didn't hear you say please ... "
"Oh, please!" I writhed and twisted, shoving one hand solidly over the throbbing of my pussy. I couldn't get my eyes off the thick strap in her hand, and I realized the even greater agony of having to wait for it. "Please-please, Inga!"
"You didn't call me Master!" she mocked me, and then she caught me completely off-guard, spitting heavily on my face. Again and again the thick spit fell all over my eyes and my lips and down on my chin.
"Now maybe I'll give you the strap, bitch!" Inga snapped the strap loud.
"Yes ... Master...." I grooved the limit on the special brand of humiliation, and I had crossed over that bridge ... yeah, until then I had taken beatings and humiliation and had always tried to fool myself, telling myself that I had no control over it. Well, Inga had just changed all that, making a ritual of it, a sexual happening of what I had always agitated my husband into giving me.
... Spitting on my face ... Inga had forced me to accept it for exactly that, and I stopped short as I was about to bring the back of my hand to my face to wipe it off.
"I didn't give you permission to dry your face, bitch!" Inga bellowed down at me. "And get your hand off your snatch!"
I obeyed, whimpering and almost wanting to back out of it. But the humiliation of all those thick gobs of spit all over my face told me it was too late to turn back. I had to see it through, I had to find out what it was all about.
"Hey, Hank!" Inga laughed, glancing over at our black stud-lover, "This chick's got a lot to learn in the bondage-bit!"
"Show her what it's all about!" Hank placed a hand on the re-hardening of his prick, fisting and stroking it in my direction.
"Teach me-teach me!" I writhed and bounced off the bedsheets, eyes fixed on the strap. "Oh, please-please!" And instantly remembered the first bondage lesson she had taught me. "Master-Master-oh, Master!" I begged with all of my writhing and twisting nude frame.
"That's more like it-" And she slashed the strap hard across my hips. "Now turn around and let me get those beautiful buttocks! They need some marking up, cheating bitch!"
"Yes-yes!" I turned, taking hold of the first slashing pain across my body. "Please, Master-" And she cut my wind up, slashing the strap hard across my buttocks. I happened to glance sideways and noticed that Hank's cock was rockhard again, turned on by the sight of the strap slashing my nude frame.
"Lay it on her!" Hank yelled and Inga seemed to be obeying him, giving it to me with a greater ferocity, too worked up to even speak. But those wild animal grunts from down deep in her throat told me how far she was into the S & M thing, continually slashing me ahrder and harder, working the strap from the back of my thighs to my buttocks and then up to my back. And then she repeated the pattern of punishment, seemingly moving faster and harder to the shouts from Hank on the sideline.
"Spit all over my no-good fuckin' body!" I turned and pleaded with Hank. "Let me feel it all over my face!"
"You bitch!" Inga slashed the strap hard across the flat of my stomach. "You'll get what the fuck we give you! An' not what you want!"
"Please...." I cringed, suddenly feeling the slashing of the strap hard across my lovemound.
"You've got a lot to learn about bondage!" Inga threw the word that was suddenly so new and mysterious at me. "You've got to be a more subservient bitch, and not so pushy and demanding...." And she snapped the strap loud above me, attempting to catch her breath as she did.
"Hey, Hank!" the honey-haired blonde beauty's voice was mocking. "The chick digs the spit routine . ,. how about that?!"
"She should have waited until we decided to give it to her-" Hank suddenly reached over and grabbed me viciously by my hair. "Oh, she's got a lot to learn!"
"Hank-lover!" Inga placed a hand on the hardness of his jutting black prick. "What should we give her instead of piss?"
"Right in the damned bathtub!" Hank yanked hard at my hair, pulling me over to him. "This way, chick!" And he dragged me off the bed and I had to crawl along to not get the full agony of having my hair pulled out by the roots.
"Move it, bitch!" Inga shoved her bare foot right up my ass. "We'll give you something better'n spit!"
"No...." I whimpered, suddenly frightened, telling myself that I had taken on much more than I was able to handle. And yet, I couldn't fully comprehend why they were dragging me into the bathroom. And even when they shoved me into the bathtub and spread me out wide on my back I couldn't fully anticipate their next move.
Bondage ... that seemed to be the key word, and I was getting my sex education in that area in one hell of a hurry. I could feel the total surge of humiliation going through my numb frame, and I was beginning to realize that bondage was getting what so many people managed to get in fife-but being totally honest about it. In fact, bondage made a ritual of the never-ending desire of so many people to receive humiliation at the hands of others. To pay-always to pay for what the hell you know you shouldn't be doing. No, not digging sex-it's hurting some one person that you shouldn't be doing. But that had been my thing for too long-first hurting my father by letting him find out that I was a tramp, and then repeating it with my husband.
"She'll dig this bit," Inga was suddenly with her back to me, her snatch aimed up over my face.
"No...." I murmured, still unable to figure out the action. I glanced up at the other end of the bathtub and Hank was standing on the ledges, legs spread wide and aiming a semi-hard prick down at-me.
"Dig the golden shower, bitch!" Hank yelled and suddenly started pissing all over my body, pelting the high rise of my knockers and the flat of my stomach.
"No...." I writhed and I tried to move upward, but met a heavy deulge of hot piss from Inga pouring all over my face and right into my mouth.
Hot piss ... coming at me from both directions, scorching all of my body, humiliating me the limit. I wanted to scream and sob that it was sick-sick ... but yet, I was grooving on it, the salty fluid making the strap-welts pain all the more. And then I was writhing and twisting to it and wanting more, sad that the two steady streams of hot piss had to come to an end, especially the one directly over my face.
"Wash up and come back to bed," Inga's voice was tender again, adjusting the hot and cold water taps for a happy medium. "You needed that bit, strap and all," she hugged me and kissed me on the lips."
"Yes...." I whimpered and realized that I was even more satisfied than after a spree of sucking and fucking. "Yes...." And I realized that I had orgasmed as the last of the hot piss had poured all over my body.
"You'll get into it, little by little," Hank seemed to be assuring me, planting a kiss on my lips right after Inga. "So make it back to bed and some rest.
Some rest ... I hadn't been able to rest that well in a long time. A fix-that was exactly what they had given me. A very honest fix of what I needed so desperately.
That morning ... I remember yawning and stretching in the rays of light streaming in through the blinds. I was waking up in a strange bed, just as I had done so many other times. But something was different about that morning ... I was beautifully at peace with the world, having been fixed.
"Thank you!" I suddenly beamed over at Inga and I moved my mouth over to hers, kissing her fully.
"And you, too!" I turned to Hank, soul-kissing him and bringing my hand down on his semi-hard prick. But it didn't remain semi-hard for long, not once I started stroking it.
I had the need to satisfy another hidden need, since I had been honest about the S & M thing for the first time in my life. I started to satisfy the other need by planting a hand solidly on Inga's honey-haired snatch, racing a finger up and down the moist loveslit. I hurriedly slid downward and encouraged her to ride her pussy-area upward toward my face.
I wanted to please them both, and I positioned myself to get my pussy ready for Hank's cock and my mouth up to Inga's pussy. It was a bright morning for me, and I wanted to swing free and easy, letting loose of all my inhibitions. I dug my tongue up into Inga's pussy, racing it up and down, savoring a snatch for the first time in my life. I had tongue-kissed other females while swinging at mixed sexual sprees, but I had never gone that far before.
"Oh, do it," Inga worked a hand about the back of my head and I worked the tip of my tongue deeper and deeper into her snatch.
"Take it-" Hank tightened and spread my snatch out, carefully guiding the thick prick into the very core of me. Straight and easy sex, that was the morning ticket and I wanted to be in the center of it.
I wrapped my hands about Inga's trim sides, getting used to the taste of the pussy, getting accustomed to the different mouth-approach from sucking cock. I suctioned hard and fast, seemingly trying to keep time with Hank's cock riding in and out of my moist pussy. And all the while I tingled to the welts all over my body from the night before, and I grooved as I recreated the wild scene of the two of them pissing all over me.
That hot piss ... I knew I'd be back for a lot more of it, just as I knew I would be back for more lessons in the art of bondage. A lot of things were clear to me, and I really dug the morning sex, taking cock faster up my vagina, working my tongue deeper and deeper into the tight loveslit. I would be back for a lot of things I suddenly realized I needed, and I grooved on what I knew I would always need-honest sex. Yeah, the brand that screams for fun and kicks and total satisfaction all the way around.
Morning sex ... it's just the greatest, and I twisted and turned, digging the sense of pain of my awkward position, taking the heavy thrusting of the black cock in time with my tongue-work up the lily-white snatch. I was solidly into it, knowing that it would only be the one orgasm that morning, and that I wouldn't need the strap or the other forms of humiliation. I wouldn't need for a while-but when I did, I wouldn't kid myself any longer. And most important of all, I was determined to stop using my husband. There was something I had to do-I had to give my husband a big break, and I could only do that by leaving him. Maybe it would take him a while to get used to it, but he would be much better off in the long run.
I told myself that, and I realized that I didn't really hate the big lug, and that he deserved better than me. Only one thing ... I still had no way of knowing that he had passed away that night-yeah, while I was making it hot and heavy in the strange bed. I had no way of knowing....
I could feel the explosions about to take place, and I pulled out of my thoughts of Jerry and into the very-resent thing of total gratification all the way around. You give-and you take-and you look out for one another's special needs ... maybe that's what real sexual freedom is all about....
"Now, baby, now!" Hank cried out, thudding hard prick to my snatch for the windup. "All the way-"
I could feel his heavy eruption and I made it with him, only seconds apart. I suctioned hard on Inga's snatch, running the tip of my tongue the limit to the very core of her. I tightened, going wild as she erupted all over my tongue and the creamy stuff poured on my lips. It was all so different from taking a load of hot cream from a cock and I adjusted to it quickly, suctioning hard on the stuff, swallowing as much as I could, and then greedily licking and lapping.
"Oh, wild-" Inga moaned, her hands loosening finally at the back of my head.
"Well put!" Hank loosened, letting his spent cock plop out of-my pussy.
"I've got to make a phone call!" I jumped out of bed, bounding over Inga's nude frame.
"Your husband?" she smiled over at me, her sixth sense obviously hard at work.
"Yeah ... I'm going to do him a big favor ... I'm going to leave him!"
I couldn't wait to hear the big lug's voice, to beg his forgiveness for how rotten I had treated him. I was a swinging chick, and always would be, and I could never be any good for him. I didn't want a dime from him, I just wanted him to let me go free and easy. I dialed the number and as I listened to the ringing, I had it all planned what I was going to tell him.
"Let me speak to my husband-" I blurted out the very moment I heard the housekeeper's voice. And then I got wobbly and had to slump down on the couch, and I couldn't believe the housekeeper's sobbing words.
"No ... No...."And I finally hung up, and felt so cheap and disgusted with myself. "No ... no....
"What's the matter, Delia-baby?" Inga got up off the bed, edging continually closer to me.
"Hey, chick...." Hank was concerned, sitting up on the edge of the bed, his voice carrying firmly over to me. "What's the matter?"
"I'm no good...." And then I couldn't control myself, I had to start slapping myself, hard and fast all over my face.
"I'm a bitchin' killer!" I roared and I pounded at my knockers and down about the flat of my stomach and then pounded fists down about my lovemound.
"Stop that!" Inga moved in on me.
"I'm no good-" And I was pounding my hands all over my face again, wanting to feel the pain, slamming hard to beyond the pain-pleasure thing.
"Stop it!" And Inga moved right in and whacked me viciously, hard and high across my face. "Now pull yourself together!"
I pulled myself together ... and I told it to Inga and Hank, just exactly as it was. Inga helped me get dressed and she made it home with me. Hank wanted to go with me, but we all realized that a lot of straight and narrow people-especially my husband's relatives-just wouldn't understand.
Inga ... I don't know how I would have made it without her during those first few weeks. I mean, she stuck right by me as though she had known me all my life-not just since that night ... yeah, that night ... I couldn't seem to erase the thought of how I had tormented my husband that night of his heart attack. Okay, so they told me he had a history of heart trouble, but I kept putting the bulk of the blame on myself.
"I'll be a merry widow now!" I'd screech at Inga, the moment I was bombed out of my mind on a lot of straight scotch. "Just watch me make the rounds of the bars!"
Only something kept holding me back, and I did a lot of drinking right at home. I kept getting up later and later and not doing a damned thing but booze it up. I fired the housekeeper, because every time she looked at me my conscience would bother me, since I remembered that she had always been my late husband's housekeeper, long before he had met and married me.
"Merry widow...." I would chant, getting drunker and drunker. "And a very rich, merry widow!" I would purposely stress, since Jerry left his entire estate to me. And then I had to try to agitate Inga, after she continually came over to keep me company.
"Do you like the idea of my being rich?" I would taunt her, edging up closer to her on the couch, drunkenly hooking my arms about her.
"I couldn't care less-"
"Maybe that's why you come around here so much?" I kept at it. "Maybe it's because I've got this property and loot now...."
"You're drunk!"
"And I'm not stupid either!" I would continually let her have it, just waiting for her to slap me hard across the face. "You'd love to move in here with me and live free'n easy!" And then I would push her away from me. "Well, I still prefer men!"
"You bitch!" I had finally agitated Inga enough to slap me hard and high across the face. "I should leave you alone-I don't need you!"
"You want to dominate me!" I screeched back, my face still stinging from the blow. "Just like Jerry-" And I stopped short, realizing that I was doing with Inga exactly what I had done with Jerry.
"Oh, wow...." Inga got up on her feet, hands hooked into the trimness of her hips. "I see it all now ... and I was starting to fall into the pattern...."
"Inga ... I'm sorry...."
"Okay, Delia-baby, we both know what you need ... but you're going to be honest about it
"No," that word bondage looming large in my mind again. I tightened, refusing to believe that I could purposely go after it. And yet, I knew damned well that I had been trying to antagonize Inga into punishing me, just as I had done with my late husband ... and yeah, before him, it had been that way with my father.
"You need a little bondage...." Inga hovered over me, leaning down and hooking her hands into the lapels of my bathrobe. I had reached the point where I spent the entire day in a robe, not bothering to dress. "You need to be straightened out-once and for all!"
"I'm not sick like that!" I knew I was lying to myself. "I don't need that crap!"
"Bitch, don't lie to yourself, and she yanked my robe open, revealing my nudity beneath it. "Now I'm running this day for you," she smugly pulled the robe off my trembling frame. "You'll get what you've been craving these past weeks but my way, the honest way. And when you've really had enough, when you want to face the issues, then I'll release you-"
"Release me?!" I asked incredulously, leaning forward and trying to stop the heavy throbbing of my knockers. "What the hell-"
"Yeah, you heard me!" And she worked her hands out to sadistically pinch hard at the brownish-hued tips before her. "Like I said, I'll release you when I'm good'n ready. But in the meantime you belong to me, bitch!" she squeezed hard on the tips, twisting and yanking on them. "And I want you to obey me! I'll teach you what bondage is really all about!"
"Get the hell out of here!" I roared, fisting and unfisting my hands. "I'm not sick-"
"Okay, okay...." she released the tips of my breasts. "You're not sick ... and you don't need my brand of action-so I'll leave now," And she turned to leave.
"No!" I tightened, shuddering visibly with what I needed, what she had to offer me. "Please, Inga-"
"What, Bitch?!" she turned suddenly and viciously backhanded me hard and fast, high across the face. "How did you address me, you cheating, miserable slut-bitch!" And she spit at me, the gob of heavy stuff hanging on my lips. "Let me hear it right, bitch, or I'll leave you alone!"
"No, don't leave me alone," I wanted to sob. "No ... Master, no!" I got with the bondage-thing. "No, Master-master-master...." I whimpered pathetically, and I knew I had to have the special fix only the way Inga could dish it out. Humiliation-all the way, total humiliation. And by surprise happening after happening, never able to second-guess her.
"You belong to me for the rest of the day, Delia," she stressed, and I knew that it was still in the morning, somewhere between ten-thirty and noon. "And you'll be totally subservient to me on this day."
"Oh, yes, yes!" I held my face up to her, hoping for a thudding slap or more spit-or both. "Yes, Master!" I added, remembering the ritual of bondage. "Whatever you say!" And I reached for my double scotch on the coffee table, telling myself that I would damned sure need to gulp it down in a hurry to steel myself for the rough stuff Inga could dish out.
"Who the fuck said you could have a drink?!" Inga slapped the glass out of my hand, sending it careening across the room, spilling partially on the plush scatter-rug and partially on the floor.
"Go lick it off the floor!" she grabbed me by the hair and yanked me off the couch. "Get your tongue right down on the floor and lap up the booze off it!"
I went wild, about to orgasm as I flicked my tongue down on the floor, my ass up in the air as I was down low on my knees. I pulled in on the spilled booze, working my tongue all over it, getting the particles of dirt at the same time. I sucked in on all of it, digging the taste of it that way.
"Stay down on the floor all day-unless I tell you differently, bitch!" Inga savagely shoved her spiked high heel at the crack of my ass. "I'll show you that you're lower'n dirt, baby! And I don't give a shit how much money you're got now that your husband is dead!"
"Dead...." I murmured, my mind ablaze with that last night and how I had mocked him, screeching that I hoped he would drop dead. "Dead...."
"That's right, baby, face the truth!"
"Beat me-beat me!" I cringed on the floor, lifting my face to her. "Get the strap, Inga!"
"Stop it, bitch!" she kicked me hard with the tip of her shoe, my eyes going right up to her panty-crotch.
"Master!" I yelled, trying to remember the bondage routine she was putting me through. "Use the strap on me, Master!"
"You'd like that-"
"Jerry's is upstairs! Hanging over the chair in the bedroom! Get it and use it on me, please, Master!"
"You don't tell me what to do, bitch!" she kicked me hard on the buttocks. "I want you to crawl up the stairway and get it-and then I want you to crawl right back here with it!"
I was about to move toward the stairway, but hesitated, wondering if I had really become a part of the madness. I stopped short and squared with Inga.
"Inga, this is crazy-crazy!"
"No, it's no crazier than what you've been doing since you were a kid, Delia!" she knowingly screeched at me. "You've been playing games with people who loved you, antagonizing them into being cruel to you!"
"No-no...."
"Everything you told me," she cut in. "You did it with your father, and then you did it with your husband! You've always had a need to humiliate yourself, to make yourself appear as just so much dirty trash! Well, today-for one long day-you're going to do it consciously!"
"No-no...."
"Yes, you bitch!" she shoved the tip of her spiked heel right up into the V of my bare thighs. "Today, you're going to do openly what you've been doing to yourself since you were a kid! Now get the fuck up those stairs!" she kicked me continually. "And crawl all the way up and back, and bring back the strap!"
Yes ... yes...." I whimpered, crawling on my stomach, right up the stairway and down the hallway to the bedroom. Up there, I didn't dare disobey Inga, I remained on hands and knees, grooving on the humiliation. I crawled back down the stairway, and at the bottom I really went wild at the sight the "new Inga." She had removed all her clothing and had put on the brown leather jacket she had been wearing when she had entered that morning. She had it zipped up the front and the hemline of it fell right there about the end of her blonde snatch. That was all she wore-that and the spiked high-heeled shoes that seemed so much a symbol of the domination she had over me.
"Oh, here!" I held the strap up to her. "Beat me-beat my no-good body!"
"I might and I might not," she mocked me, taking the leather strap from my hand and holding it loosely.
"But I need to be punished-"
"My fuckin' way!" she roared back, kicking me on the thigh, rolling me over in the foyer. "Not your way, you slut-bitch!"
I looked up to her again, and wondered why I let the madness go on. But I knew why-she was right, I had to go the S and M and humiliation route honestly. I had to accept what my big kick really was. If I was to ever straighten out, I had to face it squarely first.
I waited, all of my body throbbing loudly in wild anticipation of what she might dish up. I was hoping she'd call Hank, getting him to join her in the humiliation of my body all day long, yeah, and to get that thick, black cock of his in any way I could. I'd crawl all over the house to get that stud-prick, I found myself drooling. I even told myself that I would crawl out into the street for Hank's cock.
"What are you thinking about?" Inga moved in on me, the hand tightening on the strap.
"Cock!" I screeched the half-truth, not wanting to tell her that it was specifically Hank's cock. I thouht she would deny me that pleasure if I wanted it so badly.
The doorbell rang, shattering the stillness, and I sensed that it saved me from her next question, the one demanding to know whose cock I was thinking about.
Inga pulled out of our thing and edged over to the door, glancing through the window, pushing a curtain slightly aside. "Looks like a salesman young and handsome, Delia-honey ... sneak over here and see who it is."
I obeyed, edging up closer to where she had pulled back the curtain. I strained my line of sight and made out the mod-dressed, dark-haired guy in his early twenties.
"I've never seen him before...." I honestly stated.
"I'll be hiding behind the kitchen door, Delia," Inga quickly turned to me, .the doorbell ringing again. "Invite him in and tell him you're a cocksucker and you want to suck his cock!"
"What?" I was dumbfounded. I mean, I did a lot of swinging with guys who'd pick me up at bars, but I never went that route ... I just couldn't...."Inga, you're crazy!"
"Do it, slut!" she backhanded me furiously. "Or I'll leave you! And tell him you only have time for a fast blowjob! Give him any excuse but just down on your knees here in the foyer where I can watch!"
She backtracked, and I was alone, the doorbell ringing loudly again. She had called me a slut, and that's exactly what I had been. So I fooled myself, telling myself that it was a date, once I'd met a guy at a bar and he'd bought a few drinks. Yeah, so he gave me his name ... but most of the time guys give you phony names ... so big deal ... when you're sucking a guy's cock, he's really a stranger. A slut-I convinced myself, grooving on the thought of humiliating myself as Inga had ordered me to do.
I opened the door, and got a great smile from the guy and a very obvious canned spiel for magazine sales. I had hurriedly put my bathrobe on, but the sash wasn't tied, and I was holding it tightly over the front of my nude anatomy. I could tell that his eyes were going to the cleavage and he seemed to be having a rought time concentrating on the canned sales spiel.
"Come in," I amnaged to get the two words out, and he seemed to be stumbling forward, surprised that I had not slammed the door closed in his face.
"Ma'am, I want to ,.." And he did not manage another word, not once I closed the door behind him, uttering the words Inga had ordered me to speak:
"I'm a cocksucker-I want to suck your cock!"
I thought his eyes would bug out of his head, and when I pulled my hands away from the front of the robe-he really went bananas. I could feel his eyes straining up and down, from my bare snatch up to the high rise of my exposed knockers, and then down again. He finally managed to clear his throat, making those throatty sounds, continually clinging to his briefcase.
"I've only got time for a quick blowjob," I remembered what Inga told me to tell him, and I reached over and planted a hand on his crotch, grabbing onto a lot of semi-hard prick starting to stir to life. I could sense the battle down there, all that prick rising against the imprisonment of his shorts and trousers.
"Jus ta fast blowjob," I got down on my knees and zoomed down my line of sight on the strange trousers. I was instantly floating, honestly doing the stranger-thing, my hand rubbing harder and faster on the rising crotch. "It'll have to be real fast!" I groaned, and then I found myself off into fantasy, recalling the chances I had taken with boys when I was only thirteen and fourteen, my father always trying to keep me in the house.
"My father'll be back any time," I whimpered, unzipping his fly. "We have to hurry-"
"Can't we go somewhere?" he finally found his voice, still clutching his briefcase in one hand. "Where it's safe-"
"No! Right here, real quick!" I was working the hand up inside his trousers like crazy. I had the palm of my hand tingling to the feel of a very jam-packed jockey pouch and I grooved on the long, hard object and the delightful roundness of the balls.
"Oh, please-" he started to pull out of the stupor and become the male animal, his hands groping toward me. "Not right here-" he was shaking, hovering over me, one hand going down low for my snatch, the other up at the high rise of my knockers.
"Don't fool around!" I pushed him back slightly, my and hurriedly tugging his enormously hard prick out of the tight fly of his cotton briefs. "I just wanna give you a fast blowjob!" And I fisted the throbbing meat tightly. "Before my father gets home!" I was going into my fantasy-kick. "Just a fast blowjob!"
"Oh, wow-" he almost flipped through the ceiling the very moment my wide-open mouth raced down the full length of his throbbing prick sticking out of his fly. I slammed right down on it, flicking my tongue up and around the underside of hard meat. I worked his balls out of the fly and slid my hand up underneath to cradle the huge delights.
"Wild-" he managed to moan and that's exactly what it was, my mouth racing up and down on the jutting shaft of hard prick. I raced my mouth at an unbelievable speed, slobbering openly on the new cock, harder and faster, and I felt that I was being honest about my desire.
Damned pickup bars ... I inwardly tightened, cock-racing my mouth like crazy. I thought of all the times I met guys at bars, exchanged all the phony small talk, and all the lead-up crap. Yeah, a lot of phony lead-up crap before going to a guy's pad or a motel room ... and all for what? For exactly what I was honestly doing down on my knees at that moment-sucking a cock.
I dug the feel of saliva racing down my chin, my throat getting raw and raspy as I kept pounding down hard on thick cock. I raced faster and faster as I actually thought of the bit about my father catching me at it. I refused to tell myself that my father was dead, and I had to play out the fantasy of being caught in the act of going down on the stranger's cock, and then I doubled my fantasy, telling myself that both my husband my father could catch me in the act of sucking a guy's cock. They were alive, I kept telling myself, grooving on the taste of cock. I was a wife-not a widow! I was sucking cock and I could get caught at it at any moment.
I loved the fantasy-danger element and I suctioned my mouth all the harder on the cock. I thought of jamming a hand to my lovemound, of furiously finger-fucking my snatch ... but I wanted to suffer it out. I wanted the moistness to build in my loveslit, to really drive me wild.
Inga ... I suddenly realized that she was watching my cocksucking spree from somewhere behind the kitchen door. I worked a glance in that direction and realized that she must have had a great view from behind the kitchen door. I edged the guy over even better, wanting to give her a great show. And then I slobbered harder on the cock, suctioning the limit as I worked my tongue in circular motions each time I drove my mouth down on the terrific cock.
"I'm coming!" he shuddered and buckled. "I can't hold it-" And his hands went to the top of my head. I got banged by the briefcase yeah, he was actually still holding it. I suctioned down hard and swallowed every last drop he had to offer me.
"Oh, man...." he gasped, the moment I pulled my mouth off his prick.
"You'd better hurry up and get out of here," I struggled to catch my breath. "Before we get caught!"
"Yeah, sure," he reeled his spent cock back in his trousers and zipped up. "Wow ... the other guys will never believe me!"
"What the fuck you want?!" I hurriedly got up on my feet and tightened the front of my robe over my knockers and snatch. "-A sworn statement that you got a blowjob?!"
"Hey, look-"
"You've got your blowjob!" I had the need to humiliate myself. "From a damned good cocksucker! So now take off!"
"Yeah, sure, sure...." And I opened the door for him, and he just kept backing out, seemingly in a complete state of shock.
I slammed the door behind him and wheeled about, wondering how many more stranger-cocks I could suck that day. Right down on my knees, in the position of male-worship. I had to run my tongue over lips, wanting to keep the taste of that cock and that semen on my breath for as long as possible. Yeah, until I could get the taste of another cock to replace it.
"Down on your knees, cocksucking bitch!" Inga suddenly stormed up from behind me. "Get down where you belong!" she slashed the strap repeatedly about my body. "I saw you going after that cock-"
"I'm a cocksucker!" I roared up at her, almost pounding my knees into the rug. "That's what I am!" I was floating on the humiliation-thing, the saliva still running down my chin. "I'm a cocksucker!"
"You're a bitch-slut!" she worked the strap over my buttocks. "That's what you are!" And she grabbed my hair and shoved my face right up on an even line with her snatch. "Get a taste of pussy, bitch-slut!" She rammed me uptight to her face.
"Oh, yes-yes...." And I flicked my tongue out, racing it up and down the length of her moist pussy. There was a lot of heavy cream in it, as though she had orgasmed while watching me suck cock. I dug my tongue right into it, suctioning it out of her.
"Eat it, bitch-slut!" she had me jammed up tight to her lovemound. "Eat pussy, you cocksucker!" she was driving me wild.
That really turned me on, and I licked and lapped at her cunt, and my mind brought the two together-the stranger's cock and Inga's honey-haired pussy. I closed my eyes and worked out a mental image of the guy with all his clothes off and pumping cock to Inga's pussy. Yeah, I thought of all that hard prick racing in and out of her snatch-just as it had raced in and out of my mouth.
Together-together ... the cock I had sucked ... the pussy I was eating out ... and I thought I'd flip out on the wild fantasy. I worked the tip of my tongue like a steel blade, continually jabbing and probing into the very core of her pussy. I could feel her ready to explode again and I jammed my face totally up into the V of her.
"Eat it all!" Inga roared and she orgasmed, holding me flush to her lovemound, waiting until I suctioned up every last drop that first erupted and then oozed out of her.
"Back down on all four, you bitch-slut!" she released my head and shoved me downward. "You'd better damned sure remember what you are!"
"A cocksucker...." I peered up at her pried-apart pussy. "A lousy cocksucker...."
And I was suddenly conscious of the leather jacket she was wearing, and I longed to run my hands up beyond her pussy and on the leather. I couldn't understand the attraction, but I associated it with the bondage-thing. Whatever the attraction, it was doing things to my body, and I could feel my mouth watering, and I knew I wanted to run my tongue all over the leather.
"So you're a cocksucker...." Inga mocked me, circling me, giving me a wild view of her honey-hued pussy with her long strides. And then the leather jacket ... I had my eyes roaming all over it, from her pussy to the excitement of the leather....
"Are you a good cocksucker?!" She kept up the humiliation-thing. "Do you get a lot of compliments on your cocksucking?"
Yeah, I'm good-real great!" I edged slightly upward. "I was only thirteen when I sucked my first cock!" I proudly informed her. "And I took the guy's cream in my mouth!"
"I'll bet you'd love to get Hank's big, black cock in your mouth right now-"
"Oh, yes-" I tightened, actually able to anticipate the taste of it. "Yes-yes!"
"You had a cock today," she kept mocking me. "Isn't one cock a day enough for you, slut-bitch?"
"No...." I honestly whimpered, my eyes shifting from her pussy to her leather jacket and then over to the strap in her hand. "I need a lot of cocks!" I mouthed my moment of truth.
"Then look out the window," Inga gestured for me to crawl over to the spacious living room picture window. "Get over there! See how fast your reputation can spread!"
I crawled over to the big window and peered out through the edge of the curtains. That young stud ... the salesman I had gone down on ... he was across the street with four other guys near two parked cars. Five guys in all and they were looking right over at my house. The guy I had gone down on was obviously bragging to his buddies about the blowjob.
A sales crew ... I told myself, working my eyes up and down the total of five guys. One of them, a ruggedly built Nordic type seemed as though he was in his early thirties-but the other four, including the guy I had done, were all obviously in their early twenties. All beginners ... and I could teach them a lot.
"There's a lot of cocks for you!" Inga shrilled, standing behind me. "And they already know about you! That guy's probably telling them about the nympho-bitch who gives great blowjobs!"
"No...." I turned up toward Inga, suddenly realizing that I was in my home, and I didn't want to ruin everything there for myself. I had always been smug in my nights out on the town, always finding strange places to play away from home. But my reputation in the neighborhood would be ruined if guys were seen coming and going and hanging around.
"Neighbors keep an eye on a widow!" Inga laughed, peering out at the five men across the street. "You're got to walk the straight'n narrow in a small neighborhood, Delia! Unless you just don't give a shit!"
"They'll go away...." I tightened and once again worked my line of sight across the street. I took them all in, noting the various types of handsome young men-and then my eyes hooked into the one black. He had been standing behind a tall blond guy, and I had not noticed him the first time around. I grooved on the sight of him, taking him for a younger version of Hank. Black'n beautiful ... my mouth watered at the thought of tugging out a lot of cock and jamming it into my mouth.
"You dig that young black stud over there, don't you, Delia?" Inga taunted me. "That because you're a nympho, Delia!" she wouldn't let up. "You're a greedy nympho-bitch!"
"No ... no...." but I couldn't seem to take my eyes off the guys across the street, my brain scorching with the thought of them all lined up and waiting for my mouth, snatch and asshole.
"Don't use that word!" I glared at Inga. "I'm not a nympho! That sounds so sick-and I'm not-I'm not-"
"Don't talk back to me, nympho-bitch!" Inga let the strap slash hard across the back of my thighs, raising the back of my bathrobe and catching hard across my buttocks. "You'd better know your place, you nympho-cocksucking bitch!"
"No ... no...." I whimpered, again wanting to fool myself about my sexual appetite, wanting to be dishonest about it all.
"One of them is coming up the walk," Inga peered out the window. "He probably wants to see if he can get a blowjob from the sick nympho bitch living here."
"Send him away, Inga," I was suddenly frightened, my eyes moving out there. It wasn't the same young salesman I had gone down on, but one of his buddies. Probably the one with the most nerve, I started trembling, checking to see if there was a repeat performance available.
"I won't answer the door!" I looked up at Inga, the bell starting to ring loud and clear.
"Answer it!" Inga ordered, starting to retreat toward the kitchen. "I'll be watching it all from back there!"
"What should I do? What should I say?" And I suddenly felt like a lost child, recalling the first time an older boy had led me into a park and started running his hands all over my young body. "Inga!" I called out, and I suddenly didn't know how to relate to her, my brain a confusing whirl of many things.
"You're on your own, Delia!" Inga laughed. "I won't order you to do anything-just whatever you get the urge to do!"
"I'll send him away-"
"You're on your own," Inga laughed, and I faced the instant realization that sadism comes in many shapes and forms, and that the slashing of a strap across your body can sometimes be the most gentle form. I was all alone and damned confused, and I realized what Inga had done to me.
I opened the door and my eyes went to the eager face starting to smile. "Hello, Ma'am!" he beamed, and then he started his sales spiel, but I could tell that it was a mockery, that his eyes were going up and down the front of the robe I held together with my crossed arms.
"I don't want to buy anything-" I muttered, about to close the door in his face with one hand, using the other hand to keep the robe tight over my nude frame.
"You ought to sample it-" he smiled lewdly and he worked a hand solidly down at the bulge of his crotch.
"No...." the word caught in my throat, and my eyes bulged at the sight of his imprisoned prick bulging so enormously at the V of his well-tailored mod trousers. And then I realized that he wasn't carrying a briefcase like the first young salesman, and I knew damned well he had been put up to knocking on my door. The one with the most nerve-that was more than obvious by the way he worked the flat of both hands up to his thighs and rubbed upward to accentuate the high bulge of his crotch.
"Please go...." I groaned the words, my eyes telling a different story, my hands tingling exactly opposite from my spoken words. "Please ... go...."
"You might like what I've got to offer, Ma'am!" his voice was mocking, and then he really let me have it: "Like maybe, a few inches more than my buddy had to offer!"
I wanted to slam the door in his face, to lock it, to find a moment of sanity. And, yeah, I knew I had to get rid of Inga. I had to get her out of my life before she would really drive me bananas. She wanted to possess me, to dominate me with her sick games of bondage ... And yet, I had to face an even greater truth ... and that was the watering of my mouth, my eyes refusing to budge off the outline of very hard and enormous imprisoned prick. I had to face a very real moment of truth, and that was that I could never bear to watch an imprisoned prick without freeing it. And my hands tingled to free the stud's prick.
I was so damned confused, my eyes hooked on the bulging front of the stranger, my thoughts traveling back to where Inga was taking it all in behind the partially opened kitchen door. I had to ask myself the inevitable question: which one of us was the sickest?
A race ... I told myself that it was just one big sick race with Inga. I had to show her that I could get wilder, more perverse and sicker than she could.
I'd show her ... I inwardly tightened, remembering that she had left me totally on my own. I openly wet my lips and the guy got the message.
"Just a fast blowjob!" he moaned, stepping into the foyer. "I'll shoot you a big load!" he rubbed hard on his imprisoned prick.
"Yeah, I bet you will!" And my eyes went straight across the street, my front door still wide open. All the other guys pretended to be busy about the two cars, but they were doing a lousy acting job. One of them was forever rubbing at his crotch, and they all had that "hot-to-trod" look about them. And yeah, I dug the sight of the one handsome black stud among the whites. A nice balance, I told myself, and a really great show to outdo Inga and her fuckin' sickness.
"That other guy tell you about me?" I asked the impatient guy rubbing hard at his crotch. "Yeah, he sure did!"
"Well, I've got the name-" I shrugged. "I might just as well play the game!"
I held the front door open with my one hand, and with the other hand-the one holding the front of my bathrobe closed-I waved at the guys across the street, motioning for all of them to come over.
"Like, crazy!" the guy already in the house rubbed at his crotch all the harder. "Harry was right about you!"
I didn't want to hear a name-I wanted them all to remain strangers. I tried to forget the one name I heard, making a game of anticipating the thickness and length of all the cocks hurrying across the street to my invitation.
"I'll take them all on!" I announced loud enough for Inga to hear from her hiding place in the kitchen. "One right after the other...." And I fixed my eyes on the parade of eager guys marching inside my house-the house that Jerry had left me.
"Is your father really gonna show up?" the oldest of the five guys asked.
"Shit, no!" I hooked a hand on the black stud's prick.
"You've got a husband?" a younger guy asked, lean and lanky, and I just had to get my other hand over at his crotch.
"I used to have one...." I rubbed the two crotches, feeling a lot of hands instantly exploring my snatch, down about my ass, other hands damned busy at the high rise of my knockers. "I had one...." I echoed, "But he's gone...." And then I had a need to proclaim my status, seemingly going for all the sympathy I could get: "I'm a widow!"
"We dig!" a voice cried out, his hands pawing about the flat of my stomach.
"A very merry widow!" I laughed, shouting it loud enough for Inga to hear from her hiding spot. "A cocksucking widow!" I had to go the humiliation route.
"So do your stuff!" And hands were instantly on my shoulders, easing me right down on my knees.
I widened my stance, trying to get the feel of the floor solidly on my knees, grooving on that special position of subservience. I worked my eager hands right out, and I didn't have to wait long-flys were unzipping all over the place and stiff pricks were standing at attention before my eager mouth.
"Down on my knees!" I screeched, the saliva flowing freely from the corner of my lips.
"That's where I belong!" I shouted loud enough for Inga to hear me, wondering what sort of perverse kick she really got from watching me kneeling before cocks.
"Take me, baby-"
"I'm ready for you-"
"I'm more than ready for all of you!" And I raced my open mouth from cock to cock, kissing the heads of all five of them. I grooved on the individual tastes, each one so different from the other-and yet, all so much a-like ... cock ... cock ... I slobbered from one to the other, the black one, the lightest cockhead, the ones with foreskin, the beautifully circumcised pricks. All fantastic cocks and I was going bananas down on my knees, trying to decide which one to mouth first.
The black cock-I opened my mouth wide and went the distance on it, letting the thick cockhead lodge deep in my throat. I sensed that I was in a perfect angle for Inga to view the action, my lily-white mouth lunging down on a lot of black cock-but the other guys kept getting in the way, anxiously working their hands all over my anatomy.
"Double cock!" I roared, pulling my mouth back up on the black stud-prick, and I motioned for the lanky blond guy to stand up close and sideways by the black stud.
"She can take two at once-" A knowing voice announced.
"You'd better believe it!" I urged them to get sandwiched tightly together as I jammed their contrasting pricks together. "Just watch me go!" And I opened my mouth the limit and made it past the double cockheads.
"Eat, baby, eat!" the other guys encouraged me, and I slobbered loud, wanting Inga to hear me from her hiding place behind the kitchen door.
I jammed my mouth continually downward, telling myself that Inga was the sick bitch, and not me. I had a lot of wild images of what she was doing to herself behind the kitchen door, and I suddenly realized that her sadistic ways to cover up for her many fears of men. She wasn't afraid of Hank, but he seemed to have had a strange hold on her. I slammed my mouth down solidly on the two cocks, and I realized that Hank controlled her just as she was trying to control me. Obedience ... that's what she wanted of me. And the wilder I got, the more I believed that I was a sick nympho-bitch, the easier she could dominate me-yeah, hold me in bondage.
I started my mouth savagely up and down the two cocks, my jaws bulging wide, and I had the need to declare my freedom. I had been dominated by first my father and then my husband-a man old enough to be my father and then Inga wanted to dominate me. I wasn't about to let it happen, I told myself, and I grooved on the double cock, going fast for all the hot cream I could get.
"I can't hold it!" one of the two screeched, and I worked fast and hard, working my eyes down on the combined white and black meat in my mouth.
"I'm making it, too-" the black stud tightened, and I thought they would flood me, both pricks erupting hot stuff together. All of it, I didn't stop until I suctioned every last drop in my mouth.
"Oh, dig that tight asshole!" I heard the oldest of the five men positioned at my rear, his cock banging at my rear-end. "I'd love to fuck it-" And he was solidly at my rear-end, kneeling behind me.
I wrapped my arms about the black and white buttocks, pressing down hard on the spent cocks in my mouth. I wanted them lodged securely there, continually widening my ass to take that ready cock back there. All the way, I felt the thick cock about to tear my asshole apart, and yet I refused to let go of the two spent cocks in my mouth. I could only let out shrill animal grunts that way, and I wanted to feel the full pain-pleasure of thick and long cock up my ass.
Hands pawing me, cocks and balls rubbing all over me, the guys were all over me with their hard meat dangling out of flies. I rammed my ass continually back into the hard-driving cock, wanting him to explode damned fast. I had more plans in mind for all of them, and I wanted all their clothing off their masculine frames.
"I'm comin'-" the voice at my rear tightened, and he flooded my asshole, while hands were all over my knockers and down about my snatch.
I yanked back my mouth, the white and black spent cocks dangling beautifully before me. I saluted them both with flicking kisses, struggling to catch my breath. I thought my hands would go wild, grabbing and feeling cocks and balls all about me, dangling so fantastically from unzipped flys.
"Let's really ball!" I cried out, "Everybody out of their clothes!" I gestured over to the sidebar. "There's plenty of booze and lots of cock!"
Clothes were flying off all over the place, and I grooved on the sight of those cocks bobbing at attention, nude male frames all over the place. I worked my line of sight continually over toward the partially opened kitchen door, waiting until the last guy had yanked down his shorts and five nude male forms were surrounding me.
"Follow me, boys!" I yelled, charging toward the kitchen. "I've got a hot cunt for all of you to fuck! And a great mouth!" I slammed the kitchen door open and there was Inga-a broom handle jammed up into her cunt.
"Oh, wow-" one voice uttered, all of the guys totally dumfounded at the wild sight.
"Fuck the sick bitch!" I roared, "She doesn't need that broom handle-she needs cock! Cock!"
"Leave me alone-" Inga cowered in a corner, the guys moving in on her. "You're sick-sick! All of you!"
"No, baby, you're sick!" I grabbed the broom handle she had been shoving up her pussy. "This is sick-sick!" I roared at her, encouraging a stud to position himself at the start of her pussy. "Cock is the real thing-that's what it's all about! It's not wanting to dominate another person, watching people fuck an' suck, or any of that crap! It's cock-cock!" I screeched!
"Hold her, you guys!" the one stud moved in on her, "I'll slam prick to her!"
"Shove it hard!" I roared, wanting Inga to hurt. "Slam it to her!"
"Stop-you're hurting!" she screeched, taking the full length of hard prick up her snatch.
"Give it to her!" I placed a hand on a hard cock near me, and I motioned for another stud to go for her ass. He didn't need much encouragement, working fingers up and down the length of her rear-end in wild exploration. We all worked Inga into the wildest position ever on the floor, right on her side so that she could take cock back and front.
"Hard-hard!" I roared, wanting to get back at her for trying to make me out as the only sick and perverse one. But she needed to make me subservient for her own special brand of kicks. I encouraged both guys to shove cock hard to her, front and back, continually ramming her.
"You're hurting me!" she screeched, "Stop it!"
"Shove cock to her mouth!" I pushed one guy forward. "Shut the sick bitch up!"
"No-no...." And she looked over at me, searching for my sympathy. Her eyes were telling me that she really wanted me, but she had picked a perverse way of showing it, making me totally subservient to her. Well, I was in charge, and I had five stud-cocks on my side, and I'd show her what the sick-sick stuff was really all about.
Crazy, I know ... but I dug my feeling of total dominance over her, and I was really going bananas watching her plead with me. I urged the guy to get his cock right over there on an even line with her mouth, pressing the cockhead to her closed lips.
"Open up, bitch!" I smashed my hand hard across her face. "My friend here wants a blowjob! Just a fast blowjob!" I was mocking her dominance over me. "Because you're a cocksucker-or you're going to be one!" And I slapped her repeatedly across the mouth, and then pried her lips apart with my fingers. "Now take his cock in your mouth!"
The cock jammed into her mouth, suddenly fucking her up there as the cocks servicing her asshole and pussy. I couldn't seem to take my eyes off the broom handle, amazed at how she could have gotten her kicks watching me service all those cocks by shoving it up her snatch. I kept telling myself that it wasn't sick to play with all those cocks-I had a big sexual appetite ... yeah, I needed much more than the average female.
I fixed my eyes on Inga taking the three cocks, twisting and turning and making those low guttural cries. One of the guys had her thighs spread out wide and I was busy holding the free cocks. I can't remember it all clearly now, but I kept shouting and screeching for the guys to slam her harder and harder, and they were all really going bananas over her.
"I can't hold it back anymore-" came the first gasping male voice, and I was aware of the eruptions about to take place all about me. I was tightly fisting a cock, stroking it back and forth, eyes fixed on the wildly shuddering male forms working at the windup on Inga. I wanted to call her every dirty name I could think of, to get back at her for trying to own me-yeah, just as my father and then my husband had done.
"You can't own me, Inga!" I roared, watching the three guys erupt their heavy loads into her, the guy servicing her mouth almost making her gag. "Nobody will ever own me! I'm free now a free widow! I need a lot of cock-and that's exactly what I'll get from now on-is a lot of cock!"
I fisted the cock all the harder, wanting to get him to shove it hard and fast to my snatch, but I had the wildest desire to watch Inga being humiliated by the three spent cocks still within her.
"Give it to her!" I screeched, the guys too damned tired to even move. "More-more! She really loves it! She could get to like cock as much as Bondage and eating out pussy!"
"Hey, I'd love to see that!" one guy cried out. "Let her eat your pussy!"
"Yeah, I've never seen that!" another of the young studs joined in, bringing his hand anxiously down to his spent cock as he pulled it out of her mouth.
"You're crazy!" she screeched, pulling herself away from the other two guys. "Sick-sick! Delia, I tried to help you...." she was sobbing.
"Eat my cunt!" I reached for her. "The guys want to watch you doing your lesbo-specialty!"
"No-no...." And she broke free of all of us, and like lightning, she bolted for the back kitchen door. It was as though no one there could actually believe that she would do it, but she opened the door and ran outside totally nude and screaming like a wild animal:
"Sick-sick-sick!"
The neighbors and then the cops were down on us in a hurry, and long after they took Inga to the hospital, she was still screeching it: "Sick-sick-sick ... "
Yeah, it was sick-sick-sick ... all right, But what was really sick was the idea of the sick helping the sick ... it just doesn't work. Okay, I'm all screwed up, and know it's more than just having too big a sexual appetite. There's got to be answers somewhere, we've got to pull out of the dark ages of old ways of thinking about sex and all its side kicks ... Telling you my story ... that's the first step in the right direction.
Delia's problem was not the usual sexual deviation, but had a special sort of uniqueness about it.
Recall, for instance, her original scene with . her thirty-six year-old husband Jerry:
"Leave me alone-I'll come and go as I damned please!" were her violent and rebellious words. How could such a woman expect herself to function in the norm of society if she could not accept her own need for freedom without such a tremendous amount of anger and frustration?
As a result, of course, Delia had to engage in forms of sex that were not only alien, but frightening to her. Her choice was one of freedom from Jerry, but she ran to a freedom that posed other limits.
She began to experience sex as she had never experienced it before. She knew, suddenly, exactly what she wanted.
She knew, too, when she wanted it.
Delia wanted sex all the time.
This young woman became obsessed with her sexuality and its need for manifestation.
With a young man who wanted to put her off slightly, who wanted to postpone the sexual encounter for only a more comfortable place, and she could not allow it.
"No! Right here and real quick!" was her answer when the young man suggested removal to a spot of greater comfort. Obviously, her need was for the here-and-now; her deep disturbance insisted that her sexual desires be fulfilled the instant they arose. Nothing could satisfy Delia short of total sexual fulfillment, as often-and in whatever manner-she so desired.
Her sickness relegated her to the role of a promiscuous teenaged girl, a woman, although in her own mind, she sometimes felt so.
On one hand, she was very aware of her sexual problems, but on the other hand, she knew nothing at all. It remains then for her to discover the way to a healthy sexual life, if at all possible.
CASE HISTORY: "CAROL"
Ten and a half inches of thick cock ... my hands tingled and my throat went dry. I had to bring my thighs close together and tighten all of my semi-nude body.
I fisted and unfisted my hands, eyes fixed on the bed. I thought of removing my panties and bra, but couldn't seem to move. I bit down hard on my lower lip and tried not to cry ... no, not with joy ... but sadness ... for I would never have that fantastic man again.
"Fred's gone...." I whispered hoarsely to myself, getting ready for bed. "He's gone...." I had to keep reminding myself of the telegram from Viet Nam.
Just like that-an official telegram had changed my status in life, and I couldn't adjust to it. I'll tell you something, I couldn't even bring myself to use that word ... widow ... I somehow always had the vague notion of a widow as someone who was through living, maybe seeking a second foolish fling or maybe just companionship with a new partner. But I was only twenty-two, Fred had mailed me a present from over there only weeks before I had received the fatal telegram.
"A widow...." weeks after the telegram, that night, I was finally able to actually mouth the word of loneliness. "A widow...." And I turned quickly from the sight of the large bed we had shared for so short a time.
"A widow...." I had the sudden need to stress it, to face the reality of it all. I had to turn further away from the bed, my mind ablaze with all the terrific lovemaking I had shared with Fred in that bed ... continually groping and going after that stud-prick of his.
The exact size ... ten and a half inches ... a smile traced my lips as I recalled the honeymoon night when we had playfully measured it, after I had horsed around that it was "mine all mine!" Games and fun-we had a ball at having sex together, and it didn't seem dirty....
... Dirty sex ... I suddenly thought of my bitchin' old lady and how she had always made sex seem so dirty. I cringed, forcing my eyes further and further away from the bed and continually over toward the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.
I had a need to study myself, the lushness protruding over the bra-cups, throbbing and seemingly anxious to escape. I arched my entire frame, recalling how Fred always enjoyed the sight of me that way. I glanced downward at the mirror, making out the slight indentation of my pussy through the filminess of my panties.
"Take it off, baby!" Fred would chant, and I would proudly arch my shoulders and unclasp my bra, letting my firm knockers jut freely forward.
I stopped short, realizing that I had done that, as though my late husband had actually been there. I felt so very much alive and I completed the make-believe, hooking my fingers into the waistband of my panties. I could imagine my late husband with his eyes fixed on me, grooving on the sight of me tugging down my panties. I worked them right down and stepped out of them.
Alone ... I suddenly felt so alone and I had to cross my arms over the high rise of my knockers, hands about the moistness of my pussy. I had gone through the make-believe of removing my final two garments as my late husband had always enjoyed it. But then I had to shudder and face my loneliness, recalling how he would invariably be standing by the side of the bed, clad in only his jockey shorts, the pouch jam-packed with all that thick and long cock and the enormous scrotum.
"I'll take them off for you...." I would always utter the words he liked to hear the most.
He was so much like a boy ... only a few months older than I was ... and he had a lanky frame, long and lean thighs and trim hips. I had to re-live it, how I would hook my fingers into the waistband of his shorts and tug them down, going ape as his huge prick bobbed into sight. Down on my knees, continually flicking kisses all over the thick cockhead, working both of my hands to the base of the huge tool.
I had to pull out of my thoughts of the past a past that was dead with the telegram from Washington . ... I'll tell you how frightening it can be when your mind plays tricks on you. I had found myself down on my knees, over by the bed, my hands tingling and my mouth watering at the imagined taste and feel of Fred's cock.
I pulled myself together and hurried away from the bed that I would sleep alone in that night-and I almost rah into the mirror and was forced to face myself. An animal ... that was how I was suddenly looking at myself, so damned annoyed that my entire thinking process was permeated with sexual hunger. I had to fist and unfist my hands, trying to stop the shuddering of my frame, desperately reminding myself that I shouldn't be thinking of my gratification at a time like that.
But what was I supposed to be feeling? ... I couldn't put the pieces together and I hated the sight of myself in that mirror. I still loved Fred, and a part of that was the beautiful sex we'd always had together. Fred had really taught me what it was all about, that certain light spirit of sexual freedom between two people who really dig each other. Fred was gone-but my sexual appetite was still there....
"You bitch ... "I murmured at my mirrored image. And I suddenly thought of all the vile names my bitchin' old lady had called me as a teenager, before I had met Fred ... so long before ... when I seemed to be searching hopelessly for love and only finding sexual kicks.
The thick leather whip ... the one handed down from generation to generation in my old lady's puritanically-bent family ... I thought of the many beatings my old lady had given me before I had run away with Fred-and I actually found myself craving the whip again, telling myself that I should be punished for craving sexual gratification, when I should only be thinking about Fred no longer being with me.
"Nothing will bring him back ... :" I uttered the words in the mirror, and then I really hated myself. "Bitch-" I tightened, fisting and unfisting my hands again. And then I had to ask myself if maybe my old lady wasn't right about me. Then a lot of really far-out ideas raced through the blackboard of my mind. I thought of going to my old lady and actually begging her to punish me again, just as she had done so many times before ... for even suspecting me of being with a boy....
I suddenly backed away slightly from the mirror, holding my fisted hands close to my face. I started trembling, facing a fact for the very first time since I had received the telegram from the army.
"A widow...." I had to mouth that word again, and I couldn't stop my entire body from trembling. I had always hated my old lady and her narrow ideas toward living in general and sex in particular. I shuddered all the more at the thought that I had never known my father, that he had died of a long illness while I was still a baby. My old lady had always been-and still was-a widow.
"A widow...." I had to stress to myself, my throat going dry as I thought of the bitchin shrew of a female I had always hated with a passion.
I glanced back at the mirror, and then forced myself closer and closer to it. I ran my hands from my shoulders to the outer perimeter of my perfectly rounded breasts, edging the fingers up the milky-white flesh ... up-up-up ... capturing the brownish-hued tips and pinching them, reminding me that I was ultimately the female. I worked the flat of my hands down the tautness of my stomach, hooking them into the trimness of my hips, hanging onto myself there. Vain ... no ... Fred had constantly told me of my beauty, describing my long honey-hued tresses and sensual face over and over again, never tiring of telling me how beautiful I was.
"Beautiful ... beautiful...." I murmured, just as Fred always had done. "Beautiful princess...." And I worked my hands off my hips and down the side of my thighs. I tightened my hands up into the inner reaches of my thighs and worked them up into my golden lovemound.
"Beautiful ... beautiful...." And I felt so very much alive and in need of sexual satisfaction. I was so confused, recalling how I thought of my old lady being a widow as a very ugly and barren thing. My old lady had-and still did-seem to thrive on being a suffering widow, proclaiming that sex was a very filthy thing.
"No ... no .B.." I knew it to be a very beautiful thing, and I hated the sudden realization of being in the same category as my mother. I refused to accept the fact that we were both widows. I just couldn't think and act as she did, screeching that anyone and everything about her was dirty and vile.
That thick leather whip ... it was the one thing I associated the most with my old lady, and I had to ask myself if in some perverse way-the use of the whip was actually her substitute for sex. She had used it continually on my two older sister, before they had run off, one by one, escaping her straight and narrow ways-and she seemed to have used it on me all the more....
"You won't burn but like your sisters!" she'd slash the whip hard across my bare buttocks. "Tramps! Living with men in sin!" And she would continually take it out on me, the last one at home under her authority.
All those beatings ... I tightened as my mind raced backward and all the beatings I had ever taken seemed to have blended into one long sadistic orgy. I had been punished for so many minor infractions of her rules, but somehow, they all seemed to have a relationship to men and sex ... or at that time, boys and "getting into trouble!"
"Dirty!" she would screech. "Vile, filthy creature!" And the strap would fall all over my body, welting my buttocks and the back of my thighs. She always seemed to follow a pattern, starting at my buttocks, then down to my thighs, back to my buttocks-and up to my back for the most sadistic blows.
"I won't let you become a tramp like your sisters!" And she would start the series of cruel blows over again, and she would invariable moan that she was left alone to bring up her children.
She had that whining way of constantly reminding you that she was a widow-and with her, being a widow meant going without love. And whenever she punished me, it all seemed to be intensified. Like, I said, I had to wonder if using the leather whip for discipline wasn't actually her substitute for sex.
I stared at my mirrored image, and I refused to believe that my old lady and I could ever be a-like-simply because fate had made us both widows. I refused to become like her, and I smugly told myself that I wouldn't be like her, even if it meant going out on the street in search of men.
"Strangers...." I murmured the word aloud, fixing the flat of my hand to my lovemound. "Just the physical...." I shrilled, working fingers up into moistness of my loveslit. "I'm not gonna dry up!" I shuddered, thinking of how pathetic my old lady always looked. And she wasn't that old ... she had been a child bride.
I jammed my hand up tighter to my pussy, realizing that I had not had sex in such a long time. I had remained faithful to Fred while he was overseas-even if it meant finger-fucking my pussy every night to all the fantastic memories of our sexual sprees together. I kept working fingers in and out of my snatch and I hated my weakness, wanting to slap myself with the other hand.
"You bitch!" I screeched, pulling my fingers out of my pussy. "You animal...."
I tightened, realizing that sounded so much like my old lady. I couldn't become like her-I just couldn't, not while I was still so young and so much in need of love ... I worked the hand back to my lovemound, pressing hard and working fingers up into the lovemound. I worked my other hand up to the high rise of my knockers, rubbing and pressing them bard. I suddenly worked into the smug' thought of whether or not my bitchin' old lady ever played with herself. No ... she probably got enough kicks just beating me up ... but then I realized that she was all alone now ... and I just didn't seem to give a damn about her.
I worked my fingers deeper into my snatch and fevered my knockers all the more with my other hand, turning in toward the mirror, wanting to watch myself.
Yeah ... because it reminded me of the very first beating I could remember that had an obvious sexual connotation to it. The first of many ... and I could still remember that it was so close after I had turned thirteen. I jammed fingers tighter up into my snatch, the other hand playing with the tips of my breasts ... and I had the need to re-live that first sexually-oriented beating from my old lady ... back then ... when anything and everything tainted of sex seemed dirty to me....
... I had hurried up to my bedroom right after school, since I always had to change clothes. My old lady wanted my school dresses to last forever, and so I had to change into something much older right after school. And then I always had a list of various chores to do around the house and out in the barn. We had a few cows and chickens-that, and a monthly pension my old lady got-regular payment in full for being a widow.
I had thought my old lady was out in the bar, and the moment I closed my bedroom door behind me, I had to work my hands up underneath my dress and solidly over my panty-crotch.
"Oh, Danny-" I groaned, thinking of the fourteen year-old boy who had exposed his hard cock to me on the way home from school. I rubbed harder and harder on the panty-crotch, the aching sensation refusing to leave me down there. My mind was ablaze with the image of what I had seen only minutes after we had gotten off the school bus at the junction. Danny ... he had actually pulled out his cock, his balls dangling low, and had laughingly waved it at me, begging to go down into the woods with Ida and Dick.
I ran all the way home, and was still struggling to catch my breath, my hand jammed up under my dress at the moistness penetrating through my cotton panties. Ida and the other girls always wore silky panties, even with lace-trimmed edges ... but my old lady always bought me plain cotton, considering all frills "the work of the devil!"
I remember how I had told myself that I had to hurry into my old clothes, but I knew damned well that I was just anxious to get out of my dress and slip. I did that in record time, and then I could feel the bra that I had needed since I was twelve starting to cut into the flesh of me. I remained still a moment, wondering if I could hear my old lady downstairs. I did a great i'ob of convincing myself that she was out in the barn and so I hurriedly unclasped my bra, letting it fall to the floor. I cupped my hands over my budding breasts, my hands tingling and my mind racing back to that moment on the bus....
... Danny was pretending to be wrestling me from the rear ... he grabbed me, pressing his midsection, something bulging hard down there, and he had boldly placed his hands over my knockers. Let me tell you, his hands had actually scorched right through my dress, slip and bra, making the budding delights throb like crazy.
I worked my hands fully over the bare, milky-white flesh, playing a game of pretending-pretending that Danny's hands were touching the real thing. I had the sudden flash of being dirty and disgusting-what my old lady had drilled into my head-but I didn't really give a damn. Like every kid, I told myself that I would play with myself and have those wild thoughts only that one time-that was all, and then I would return to being good forever'n ever. But not at that moment of desperate young need, and I edged my hands down my trim sides and hooked them into the waistband of the plain white cotton panties I always hated and hurriedly tugged them down. I could still remember how I had angrily kicked the cotton underpants into a corner of my bedroom and then glancing into the mirror at my budding thirteen year-old frame.
I posed, turning and jutting my young knockers forward, running my hands continually up and down my trim sides, hooking my hands up tight into the inner reaches of my thighs. I can still remember how I seemed to be "all legs" at that early stage of my development, and I would jam my fingers up into the moistness.
Ida had shown me how ... that day over at her house, when everyone was out ... we were both still only twelve, the hairs just starting to grow on our snatches. "You pretend it's a boy's tool!" she had giggled, showing me how she always worked fingers in and out of her pussy.
It had all seemed so dirty afterward, and I had told myself that I would never play with myself again-alone or with my girlfriend, Ida. But I did, whenever the need arose-and that time, after my eyes had scorched at the sight of Danny actually pulling his hard cock out-the need was there. I tightened my young frame, recalling exactly how it had happened, so soon after we had gotten off the school bus. Ida and Dick were instantly heading down toward the woods, and Danny was trying to drag me along behind them.
"I can't-I have to go home!"
"C'mon-" he had whimpered, "We'll find a place to fool around-"
"I can't-" I had shuddered, dragging my feet just as we had reached the large boulders by the stream. "I have to go home...." And I was wide-eyed, hooked into the sight of a tremendous bulge building at the crotch of his skintight dungarees.
"I know what you're looking at, Carol!" he laughed, rubbing his bulging crotch.
"I am not-And I turned to go, his hand still clutching mine. And I couldn't help but recall how Danny had been brushing up against my rear-end, pushing that bulge at me, driving me wild. "Let me go-"
"Take a good look at it!" he laughed, and quickly unzipped his fly. Lightning-like, he tugged hard and yanked it out.. "Touch it, Carol!"
"You're terrible!" I shrilled, breaking away from him and running up the road. And still, listening to him laugh and mock my fear, I had to glance back one more time, fixing my brain on the throbbing hard shaft at that perfect angle as it stuck out of his fly.
"Come back!" he roared. "And I'll shove it to you!"
I was trembling all the way home, wondering how Danny could make it all seem like so much fun-when it was dirty ... it just had to be dirty ... that was how I was always brought up to think, through hints and innuendo ... Dirty sex!
"Oh, Danny...." I suddenly started working first two and then even three fingers in and out of my moist and throbbing pussy. I had worked my other hand down my side and had jammed it up at my asshole, ramming fingers hard back there. I had the mental image of Danny waving his hard and eager fourteen year-old cock in my direction fixed solidly on the blackboard of my brain, and I had done a great job of convincing myself that the three fingers were really one solid cock-Danny's cock-the first cock I had ever seen.
My first cock ... and I had run away from it, my mind ablaze that it had to be something filthy and disgusting. But I couldn't erase the fantastic thought of it, my pussy aching as I jammed the fingers to it. And the clearer the mental picture of that first hard cock came in the more my mouth kept watering and I couldn't comprehend the saliva dripping out of the corner of my lips. I ran through a series of make-believe happenings ... first imagining placing my hand on it, just as Danny had asked me to do. And then I imagined what it would be like to stroke it back and forth. My girlfriend Ida had explained to me how boys jerk off, fisting their cocks and storking real hard back and forth. I would do it for him, I played out the make-believe, feeling the security of my closed bedroom door. And then I really shuddered, imagining myself kissing his cock, just like you'd kiss a boy's face ... and I had to bite down hard on my lower lip, knowing that wasn't something Ida had told me about. That had come to me without any help whatsoever and I just thought that it was something to do especially if a boy would force you to put your mouth on his hard cock.
And I'll shove it to you ... those words of Danny kept ringing through my brain, and I thought of him forcing me to lie down and getting on top of me. Yeah, and forcing my legs apart and shoving his hard dick into me. Those up-and-down movement ... I played them out, jamming my fingers all the harder and faster in and out of my tight snatch.
Shove it to you ... I grooved on the filthy sound of it, everything within me going against the straight and narrow way my old lady had brought me up. I rammed harder and faster on my fingers, and I thought of Ida and Dick and what they were doing down alone in the woods. I could remember how she had been wrestling around with Dick, letting her hand continually slip down to the bulge at his crotch, those girlish squeals continually pouring out of her. Nothing seemed to bother her, and I really envied the red-haired beauty. I thought of how wildly she would be letting Dick shove his hard cock in and out of her, and I told myself that the next time Danny tried to get me to go with him-I damned sure would. The next time he exposed his hard cock-I would grab for it I exploded, unable to control the deep guttural clicks rising sharp from down deep in my throat. My fingers were all sticky with the thick cream and I suffered a pang on instant remorse, reminding myself of all I had ever been taught by my old lady pounding it into my head-sex, and even the thought of it-is dirty.
Dirty ... that was how I felt, slowly pulling my fingers out of my aching pussy. And it was at that moment that I had glanced over at the mirror and caught of my mother standing at the doorway, eyes fixed on my wild completion.
"You vile, filthy animal!" she charged into me, grabbing my hand, the fingers all sticky with my semen. "I'll teach you to abuse your body!" And she backhanded me viciously, hard and high across the face.
"Mother, don't-" I wanted to tell her that I had suddenly felt dirty and was totally ashamed of myself. But she charged in on me again, backhanding me again, making my mouth bloody and sending me sprawling on the bed.
"You're not to abuse yourself-not ever! That only leads to-" And she let it hang there. "You're to be punished!" And she charged out of the room.
She would be back in a matter of seconds, I knew that, just as long as it took her to grab the leather whip from where it always hung in her bedroom. I had a fast and crazy thought, realizing that I wouldn't have to remove my clothing to take the whipping bare that time, since I had that to play with myself. I stiffened the entire length of my thirteen year-old frame, burying my ripening knockers and my throbbing and spent pussy into the bedsheets. I could sense my buttocks raised up very high and I could anticipate the sadistic blows of the thick leather as I heard my old lady's footsteps charging back into my bedroom.
"Vile animal! Dirty-dirty!" And she started the whipping on my bare buttocks, and I was painfully aware for the first time that the punishment was totally due to sexual awareness on my part.
I took it, each and every slashing blow and I inwardly tightened and refused to let go of the mental image of Danny waving his hard cock at me. And the harder the blows got, running from my back to my buttocks and down to my thighs, I blew the sexual aspects of it way out of proportion, imagining Ida and Dick screwing right alongside us in the woods. Yeah, that was how I managed to get through the brutal agony of the whipping-by imagining Danny shoving it to me, working his hard cock in and out of my pussy. I jammed my throbbing pussy deeper into the bed, and just as the last slashing blows fell across my buttocks, I orgasmed again. I play acted a lot of sobbing, and my old lady never realized that I had creamed my load via the beating.
No remorse ... no pangs of guilt ... I enjoyed that moist feeling surging through my spent vagina, and I made a concrete resolution, not really listening to my old lady's final words of warning as she made her exit. I knew damned well that the very next day I would be following Danny down by the stream the very moment we got off the bus. I wouldn't turn and run, and if he didn't show me his cock ... I even told myself that I would get bolder than Ida and that I would grab for it.
I had paid the price, my back and buttocks and the back of my thighs welted and aching. I had paid the price and had not received all the kicks. That very next afternoon I would get what I had coming to me.
We'll have to leave her here, but we think you get the idea. This girl, like the others, is a real case, don't you think?
