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From: al_steiner@hotmail.com
Subject: The Teaser by Al Steiner (FM, adultery)
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This is my latest effort.  Like always feel free to archive, repost, send to
others, or just about anything else besides plagiarism, changing the text, or
using for profit.  And, like always send any comments to
al_steiner@hotmail.com    I try to answer all legitimate E-mail but it
sometimes takes a day or two.


THE TEASER
By Al Steiner



My first year of college I really wanted some freedom.	I'd lived under my
parent's roof for nearly nineteen years, living by their rules and constantly
under their watchful eyes.  I had a part-time job making pretty good money
driving a truck for one of the local newspapers and so, when the opportunity
to strike out on my own presented itself in an affordable way, I took it.

Of course I wouldn't be on my own.  I was part of a threesome of college guys
that rented a twenty-year old, three bedroom house in a once middle-class but
by then declining neighborhood.  We divided the rent and the utilities up
evenly, making me responsible for two hundred and forty dollars a month.  For
this I received a private twelve by ten bedroom and a third of the kitchen,
living room, and bathroom.

Freedom certainly wasn't everything I'd envisioned it to be.  Though I didn't
miss my Mommy or anything like that, I did quickly develop an immense respect
for how much my mother had done around the house that I had always taken for
granted.  Laundry for instance.  I now had to do it by myself and I was
always a week behind in it.  Cooking.  I was now forced to live on fast food
and pizza (and lots of beer) instead of home-cooked meals on most nights. 
And cleaning! That is what I missed the most.  I grew up in a clean house, my
mother nearly a fanatic on the subject.  The three of us guys were horrible
slobs, none of us wanting to clean up after ourselves, let alone each other.
Our house was constantly an embarrassment with beer cans, dishes, empty food
containers, even a bong full of dirty water lying around.  I don't believe we
even owned a vacuum cleaner or cleaning supplies.

The neighbors, some of whom were homeowners and some of whom were renters,
tolerated us.  The reason for their toleration was that we kept mostly to
ourselves and were not prone to throwing wild parties (or even un-wild
parties).  We were not of the wild partying class you see.  I was a History
major, angling towards a career in teaching.  I'd always been shy, especially
around females.  Jack, the sophomore among us, was a computer science major
and a stereotypical one at that.  He had it all, thick glasses, high IQ,
pocket protectors, no women and few friends.  Lance was a general education
major who had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. Whenever he wasn't
in class or working he enjoyed staying home, watching TV, and smoking grass.
I have never seen anyone smoke as much pot as Lance did.  If he was home, he
was taking bong hits.  Our house constantly reeked with the odor of greenbud.
 The only thing that kept him from flunking out of school was a
near-photographic memory and an eerie ability to pass nearly any written test
given to him.

Lance and Jack were friends of convenience but I was never really close to
them.  All Jack wanted to talk about was mainframes and Cobol and this
ridiculous idea of his how one day every computer in the world would be
linked together.  Lance was very talkative when he was stoned but he was TOO
talkative.  He would ramble on about strange ideas and things, voicing
insights that he'd come to on every subject from politics to why they put
those little black things in pre-packaged salami meat.	It was difficult to
get a word in edgewise around him.  I didn't have many other friends, just
acquaintances, and dates were few and far between for me.

I might have moved back home at some point, just to get some intelligent,
worthwhile conversation, had I not started hanging out with Roger and Fran.
They were a couple in their early thirties that owned the house next door to
ours.  Roger was a mechanic who worked in a shop nearby.  He was a chubby,
short man that perpetually had grease and grime beneath his fingernails.  He
was painfully nice and always jovial; always willing to help out anyone and
everyone.  He was the kind of guy that couldn't pass a panhandler on the
street without dropping in a buck or two.  As far as I could tell he was
completely incapable of being offended by anything.  Even before we'd
formally met, he always had a friendly wave for me whenever he spied me
coming or going from our house.  His wife, Fran, was also slightly chubby in
a top-heavy way.  She was a natural blonde with an average sized waist but a
large torso and huge breasts. Her face was plain but pretty though she rarely
wore make-up.  My first impression of her was of a woman who used to be
somewhat loose back in high school but was now playing the role of
respectable married woman.  She was a full-time housewife.  They had two
blonde children, a boy and a girl, ages two and four respectively.

It was my car that did the job of bringing me into this family.  It was a
battered Toyota Corolla that was ten years old and had nearly a hundred and
fifty thousand miles on it.  I'd purchased the car a year after getting my
driver's license.  It's paint was faded, it's interior trashed with yellow
upholstery and springs showing through multiple holes in the seats.  The
heater didn't work and the engine was covered with so much grime and oil that
it actually smoked while it was running.  I treated that car like shit.  I
changed the oil only when I thought about it, which was usually every twelve
thousand miles or so.  I drove it with the tires underinflated and I never
checked any of the fluids.  I rode the clutch.	But still it kept on running
faithfully for me until one morning when it rebelled in a big way.

It just so happened that Roger was out in front of his house that morning,
watering some plants in his front yard while his car warmed up in the
driveway prepatory to taking him to work.  He tossed me a friendly wave as I
hustled out of the house, back-pack in hand, working on being late for my
8:20 class.  I returned his wave and jumped in the car, which I'd never
bothered to lock since there was nothing inside of it worth stealing.  I
inserted the key into the ignition, pumped the gas pedal two times, and gave
it a crank.  It fired up like usual, ran normally for about ten seconds and
then, just as I was about to put the gearshift in reverse, from beneath my
hood came the most agonizing sound of mechanical torment that I've ever
heard.	There was a loud screech, a bang, multiple thumps, and a louder bang
before I had the presence of mind to shut off the key.	The noises gradually
ground to a halt along with the engine.  I then heard the sound of fluid
pouring to the cement driveway beneath the car.

I popped the hood latch and stepped out of the car.  Though I knew next to
nothing about cars I still felt the typical male urge to have a look under
the hood.  Roger had heard the sound too and headed over from his driveway,
sensing the call of a vehicle in peril.  The first thing I saw was a large
puddle of shit-brown liquid beneath the car.  It was still dripping out from
underneath and running down the driveway to the gutter.  Mechanical ineptness
or not, I was pretty sure that this wasn't a hopeful sign.

Roger, who I'd never been introduced to or spoken to before, looked at the
puddle too.  "Looks like old radiator fluid."  He told me matter-of-factly.

I looked at him, offering a polite smile.  "That's probably not a good thing
to have pouring out of the car, is it?"

He shook his head sadly.  "Afraid not.  And that sound it made most definitely
didn't sound too healthy."

"I was afraid of that." I sighed.

"Open her up."  He suggested.  "Let's take a look."

Afraid of what I'd see, I unlatched the hood and raised it.  The entire front
of the engine was a mess.  Like I said, I'm not the most mechanically
inclined person in the world, but even I could see that my fan and my
radiator had met at high speed, destroying both.  Brown fluid was everywhere.
 Fragments of plastic fan blade, metal fragments, hoses, and radiator parts
were strewn throughout the front of the engine compartment.  Several pieces
of the fan were actually protruding from the back of the radiator.

"Hole-ee shit."  Roger said cheerfully.  "Looks like your water pump up and
exploded, sending your fan right into the radiator."  He shook his head again.
"That's the thing with these rice burners.  They run forever but when they go,
they go in a big way."

I sank my head, immediately depressed.  "Can it be fixed?"  I asked.

"Oh sure."  He answered.  "Anything can be fixed.  It's bound to be expensive
though."

"How expensive?"

He thought about it for a moment.  "Well, you're talkin' a new radiator
complete with all the hoses, a new fan, new belts, new water pump."  He poked
around inside for a second.  "Oil pump and alternator look okay.  All that
plus labor is gonna run you about a thousand at a reputable shop."

"A thousand?"  I exclaimed.  The whole freaking car wasn't worth a thousand
dollars.

"If you went to the dealer though it'd be more; like fifteen hundred
probably."

"Oh shit."  I said, majorily depressed now.  There was no way in hell I could
afford that, not even in my wildest dreams.  I also couldn't live, work, or go
to school without my car.  I was truly and utterly fucked.

Roger seemed to see this in my face.  "Tell you what."  He said.  "I'm a
mechanic and I do this kind a thing for a living.  If you buy the parts, I'll
be happy to help you put them in."

I looked at him, wondering if there was some sort of catch.

"Really?"

"Why not?"  He said.  "Shouldn't take more than two hours or so.  It'll save
you a lot of money that way."

"How much are the parts?"  I asked.

"Well," He said, "How about I help you after I get off work tonight at four.
You gonna be here?"

"I sure ain't going anywhere now."  I told him.

"I guess not."	He said.  "I'll call my friend at the wholesalers that my
shop deals with.  I can probably get you a refurbished radiator, rebuilt
water pump, new fan and new belts for about a hundred and fifty total."

"You're kidding."  I said, not sure I'd heard him right.

He chuckled.  "That's the advantage of being in the business."  He told me.
"Can you come up with a hundred fifty?"

"I sure can."  I said.

"Cool.  I'll see you around four-thirty or so then and we'll take a ride."

"What can I pay YOU for this?"  I asked timidly.  I'd been taught from birth
that you didn't get anything for free in this world.

"How 'bout a twelver of Budweiser.  We'll pick it up while we're getting the
parts."

Numbly I said, "Sounds like a deal uh...."

"Roger."  He said, holding out his hand.  "Roger Brunt."


As promised, he was there precisely at 4:30.  I hopped in his Ford Falcon and
we stopped first and foremost for the twelve-pack.  As we drove across town
he chatted to me about his job, his kids, his house.  He was friendly and
easy to talk to.  He kept the open twelve pack between the two front seats
and drank can after can of beer while he drove.  When he was finished with
them he tossed them over his right shoulder to the floorboards of the back
seat where a large collection of similar cans rolled back and forth.  By the
time we picked up the parts and returned to his house, he'd consumed six cans
of beer.  I myself, though I didn't like having an open container in the car,
drank two out of politeness.

He brought a few simple tools over to my driveway which he used to drain all
of the old radiator fluid, that which hadn't leaked out in the explosion
anyway. He eyed the brown fluid as it dribbled out.

"When was the last time you drained and flushed this thing?"  He asked.

"I wasn't aware that you were SUPPOSED to drain and flush it."  I answered.

He chuckled as if I was joking.  I wasn't.  My Dad had taught me a lot of
things as a child and young adult, but automotive maintenance and repair were
not among them.  Dad always sent the cars to the shop when something went
wrong.	I was probably in my teens before I'd even seen the inside of an
engine compartment.

We pushed the car over to his garage, having to struggle to get it up the
steep incline, and he went to work.  He did all of the actual procedure,
drinking beer all the while and explaining carefully to me what he was doing
each step so, if my water pump ever exploded again, I would know how to fix
it.  About fifteen minutes into the old radiator extraction, Fran came
outside with one of the kids in tow.

Like her husband, I'd seen her coming and going but I'd never actually spoken
to her before.	She was wearing black stretch pants and a baggy button-up
shirt.	Her hair was tied back in a ponytail.  She greeted me politely after
her husband introduced us and she immediately began chatting me up brightly,
her blue eyes shining.	She asked about me, my roommates, my life at the
college, my girlfriends.  She was as easy to talk to as her husband was and I
conversed gladly, grateful to discuss something other than computers or what
the government was REALLY up to with that space shuttle.  I noticed
immediately that Fran was a toucher and a frequent invader of personal space.
 She was also quite a flirt.  She would stand very close while she talked,
occasionally reaching out to touch an arm or a shoulder to punctuate some
remark.  Her husband seemed completely unfazed and unconcerned with this.

In the two hours it took to repair my car I became a friend with the two of
them.  I drank beer, watched the car repairs, and talked to Fran and Roger
about anything and everything.  Fran came and went with frequency, sometimes
alone, sometimes with one or the other of the kids with her.  I talked to the
kids when they were out, finding them cute and personable.  When the last bolt
was tightened down and the radiator refilled with antifreeze and water (fresh
antifreeze is GREEN, not brown, I discovered), Roger had me start up the car.
It roared to life instantly, it's parts once again meshing as they should.  I
was beyond grateful and I must have thanked him sixty times before I pulled it
out of his driveway and back into mine.

Fran, just before I'd left, had invited me over to dinner the next night and
I'd accepted, my mouth watering at the idea of a homemade meal.  I went over
at the prescribed time and enjoyed potroast with mashed potatoes and gravy.
After dinner we drank some beer and watched television together.  I played
with their kids enthusiastically and they seemed to like me.  We talked some
more amongst ourselves, our conversations becoming more comfortable and
animated.  We were officially friends.

>From then on I began spending a lot of my free time with them.	They both
obviously liked my company and I never had the sensation that I was imposing
upon them.  Their kids loved me.  On nights off from work, I would go over
after school when Roger got home from work and hang out, usually eating
dinner with them.  Our friendship grew and, as a natural part of friendship,
I learned a lot about their respective personalities.

Fran, as I mentioned earlier, was a toucher.  She was also a hugger. 
Whenever we greeted each other she would throw her arms around me and squeeze
my chest against hers, allowing me to feel those large breasts pushing into
me.  She flirted shamelessly with me, always sitting on the couch next to me,
touching my leg, my arm, making sexual comments towards me. She would even
kiss me on the cheek or the neck when we parted.  She did this openly in
front of her husband and Roger didn't seem to be the least bit concerned
about it.  I realized after a while, when I met some of their other friends
(there were two other couples that routinely hung out with them) that this
was because she did this sort of thing with everyone, not just me.  Roger
must have been used to it.

Eventually it worked up to the point where I felt I could say damn near
anything in front of Fran or Roger.  I could comment on how big her tits were
using the crudest language imaginable.	I could ask her to show them to me.
I could ask Roger if she sucked his dick well and if he'd mind if I borrowed
her for a while.  I could give her ass a friendly squeeze when I hugged her.
I could even kiss her on the lips when we parted.  She ate up my comments,
always laughing at them and Roger always thought they were funny too.  The
man seemed not to have a jealous bone in his body.  She always flirted back
with me, even going so far as to squeeze my ass too but, since she treated
every male friend of hers the same way, I had no reason to believe that she
was actually sexually interested in me.

I, on the other hand, was very sexually interested in her.  Though she was
not Playboy material by any means, she was attractive in her own way.  Sure,
she could've stood to lose fifteen or twenty pounds, but her breasts were
huge and her legs, though chunky, were nicely shaped.  She was also a married
woman, forbidden fruit, and that, in and of itself, is a powerful attracter.
I thought about her a lot, usually when I was in my room at night rubbing my
hand up and down my cock.  She gave the distinct impression that she was very
good at sex.  I never thought that I'd actually get to sample her treasures
however.  I was only nineteen and still naïve.	I simply assumed that a
married woman would have no interest in sleeping with anyone but her husband.
 Oh how wrong I was.

My first solid indication that her flirting was not mere wordgames came on an
early May night just before summer vacation.  Roger called me up and told me
that he, Fran and another couple, Candice and Bart, were going to take his
truck to the drive-in to catch a movie.  He wanted to know if I cared to go
along.

"I don't think so."  I told him.  "I don't have a date or anything."

"So?"  He'd enquired, giving no indication that his offer was simply for
politeness sake only.

"Well," I went on.  "I'd be kind of an oddball with two married couples,
wouldn't I?"

"You said the magic word there."  He informed me, chuckling.  "We're married.
We don't go to the drive-in to make out or fuck.  We go to watch the movie and
drink beer."

It didn't take him long to convince me to go with them.  I'd met Candice and
Bart many times before and was almost as friendly with them as I was Roger
and Fran.  Candice was very overweight, coming close to three hundred pounds
I figured, but she was very nice and easy to talk to.  Her husband Bart was a
biker friend of Rogers from the shop.  He smoked almost as much pot as my
roomate Lance and discussed conspiracy theories while stoned that Lance would
take another six or seven years to work his way up to.	They followed behind
Roger, Fran, and I in their Chrysler.  When we backed into the drive in, we
all climbed into the back of Roger's Dodge pick-up.

We piled in our ice chests, blankets, and food bags.  Fran planted her back
against the cab of the truck and had Roger and I sit on either side of her.
It was cramped and I found myself pushed against her soft body on one side
and the edge of the truck on the other.  Bart and Candice spread a blanket
down near the open tailgate and lay on their stomachs.	Beers were passed
around and opened.  Bart produced a large joint and fired it up.  That too
made the rounds.  The first movie was "Platoon" which I'd already seen once
in a conventional theater (by myself).	By the time Charlie Sheen was
watching the VC creep through the bush towards him after the lookout had
fallen asleep, I was flying high and feeling very horny with Fran's body
pressed against me.

I put my hand on her thigh, feeling it.  This was an act that I'd done before
in front of Roger and he never seemed to mind it, seeming to treat it like a
normal showing of affection.  He didn't mind now, he simply stared at the
movie, sipping out of his beer can and hitting the joint thoughtfully when it
came his way.  Fran put her own hand on my leg, again something that she
always did.  With the pot and the horniness, I was soon spouting a powerful
erection as my mind, ignoring the movie, pondered the feel of her leg beneath
my fingers and the sensation of her caressing hand on my thigh.

By the time Charlie and his Vietnam buddies were smoking out on the screen,
Bart and Candice had thrown a blanket over themselves and were making out
contentedly.  I was so horny I found myself wondering what it would be like to
bag Candice.

"Candy," Fran said, passing the latest joint, which was technically a roach by
then, to Roger.  "How about tossing one of those blankets over here?  I'm
getting cold."

They interrupted their session long enough to toss over a thick comforter.
Fran draped it over herself, Roger, and I, pulling it tight around us.

Before five minutes had gone by I felt her hand creeping up my leg.  She
inched it towards my crotch, squeezing and feeling my thigh through my jeans
as she went, her face impassive as she watched the movie.  It felt wonderful
and I found myself glancing at her and at Roger, wondering just what she was
doing. Did she realize how high on my leg her hand had gone?  Did she realize
that it was ME, and not her husband that she was doing this to?

Finally she reached my crotch.  Her fingers moved over the bulge of my rigid
cock and squeezed gently, making me twitch in my seat.  I heard her utter a
faint "Oooh" as she felt what I had.  I looked at her, staring into her face.

She returned my gaze and said softly, "Watch the movie."

I turned my face back to the screen and she began squeezing and kneading my
cock through my jeans once again.  She felt every inch of it, from the base to
the head.  What was she doing?  Her husband, my friend, was sitting less than
two feet away!  This knowledge did not make me stop her however.  In fact, it
made the whole thing more exciting.

After squeezing for a few minutes she began poking her fingers through the
gaps between the buttons on my jeans.  Her fingers rubbed me now through my
underwear only.  She did this for five minutes or so and then she withdrew
her hand and moved it to the waistband of my pants.  She unbuttoned the top
button and, with deliberate slowness, every button below it until my jeans
were open. She then inserted her hand into my underwear and grabbed my bare
cock.  Though she couldn't perform a proper hand job with the confinement,
she caressed me up and down, feeling my flesh with each of her fingers.

My breathing quickened as she did this and my horniness increased
exponentially.	With the hand that was on her thigh I moved into her crotch,
rubbing her through her black stretch pants.  I could feel moisture seeping
through them.  I knew that touching her was madness.  If her husband decided
to put his own hand on her leg he would not be able to help noticing mine and
it's current position.	But I couldn't help it, I was entranced.

This went on throughout Platoon and the copycat second feature "Hamburger
Hill".	When I had to get up to piss I buttoned my jeans back up under the
blanket and marched to the bathroom to do my business.	When I returned, Fran
would unbutton them again and go back to feeling my cock.  She never came to
the bathroom with me, she never did anything else that night.  By the time I
got home I had the absolute worst case of blue balls I'd ever encountered in
my life.  My entire lower torso ached like a rotted tooth.  I jacked off and
came in less than two minutes once in the privacy of my bedroom.  Fran's body
was in my mind and my come shot more than four feet into the air, the orgasm
lasting nearly a minute.

>From that day on I was obsessed with her.  I felt strong guilt feelings the
next morning about what I'd done with Roger's wife but they were overridden by
my lust for her.  I jerked off two times a day at least, always thinking of
her.  I wondered what step our relationship would take next.  It didn't take
long to find out.

The next time I was over at their house, things were as usual for the first
few hours.  We sat and watched a baseball game on TV, we ate dinner and drank
beer.  Fran was her usual flirty self, grabbing my leg on occasion, making
crude comments.  Nothing the least bit out of the ordinary until I came out
of the bathroom and found her standing there.

My eyes widened in surprise as I found myself facing her.  From the living
room I could hear the television droning on with Roger presumably on the
couch watching it.  Without a word she pulled me to her, squeezing me against
her body.  Her mouth slammed against mine and her tongue shot into my mouth.
I returned her kiss, my dick hardening instantly in my pants.  Her hand found
it, groping through the waistband of my pants and snaking beneath my
underwear. She fondled me expertly as I grabbed her right tit through her
blouse and began feeling it.

Abruptly she withdrew, pulling her hand free and breaking the kiss.  She
offered me a flirtatious smile and then entered the bathroom, closing the door
behind her.  Dazed, I wandered back into the living room and resumed my seat.
Roger talked to me like normal, with no idea of what his wife had just done to
me.

Throughout summer vacation this became somewhat of a routine.  I went over
like I always had.  I talked to Fran and Roger like I always had.  A lot of
the times when Roger was out of the room, nothing would happen.  But a lot of
the times she would French kiss me and grab my dick, or she would put my hand
up under the skirt of her summer dress allowing me to feel her wet panties
and slide my fingers beneath them for a brief instant, feeling her thick
pubic hair and the wet, slimy lips of her cunt.  She never directly gave me
an orgasm during this time.  She never allowed me to see any forbidden body
parts; just to feel them for a few seconds.  Though she was often home alone
during certain days that I also was, she never invited me over when Roger was
not there.  I jacked off to no other image but hers.  The best jack off
sessions were after I'd managed to touch her pussy and could smell her strong
secretions clinging to my finger as I whipped myself to a powerful orgasm.

A sane man would have long since labeled her as a cock-tease and walked away,
but I wasn't exactly sane then on the subject of Fran.  I was more than a
little obsessed with her and I neglected other things just to be around her
when I could in the hope of further sexual contact.  I was firmly under her
spell.

School started again and this continued without furtheration.  And then came
the night that the Seahawks were playing on Monday Night Football.  Fran and
Roger threw a party for the occasion, inviting me and all of their other
friends.  They cooked up a pot of chili that we all enjoyed.  Bart brought a
large supply of pot that we all smoked continuously.  The beer flowed like
water.  By the time the Seahawks had gotten their asses thoroughly kicked, we
were all wasted.

The other couples left after the game, saying their good-byes and staggering
out to their cars to go home.  Soon, only Fran, Roger, and myself were left.
I prepared to make my own leave but Roger stopped me.

"You don't have to go now."  He told me.  "There's five beers and two roaches
left to finish.  Hang out and watch TV with us."

Roger was about as drunk and stoned as he ever got (but still as polite and
friendly as always).  I accepted his offer to stay and we all three sat and
smoked some more pot and drank some more beer while we lounged on the couch
and watched the mindless sitcoms that come on after MNF on the west coast.
For a change of pace I noticed that Fran was turning her attentions to her
husband. She stroked his thigh and rubbed his cock openly but he didn't seem
to be the least bit interested.  Before long his eyes were drooping and he
seemed barely conscious.

"I'm going to bed."  He finally announced.  He stood up and headed for the
bedroom.

"I guess I'd better be going too."  I said, standing.

"You don't have to leave just because I'm going to bed."  Roger told me,
kissing his wife lightly on the lips.  "Finish your beer."

"Yeah."  Fran said, staring at me.  "Go ahead and finish your beer.  I'll keep
you entertained."

Roger chuckled, stifling a yawn.  "Just don't entertain him too much," he
joked, going down the hall.

We heard him using the bathroom and then the squeak of bedsprings as he
climbed into bed.  We conversed about mundane things for a few minutes,
sitting next to each other on the couch, and then came the sound of drunken
snores drifting down the hall from the bedroom.  Fran gave me a frustrated
smile.

"Well, bummer."  She said, crossing her legs and allowing the hem of her
summer dress to creep quite a ways up her bare thigh.  "I was planning on him
givin' me some dick tonight, but he don't seem to interested."

"I guess he was tired."  I offered in his defense.

She snorted a little, twisting on her back and putting her bare feet in my
lap.  "He's just not into sex all that much."  She said.  "Never has been.
It's amazing we managed to reproduce at all."

"That's too bad."  I said, springing an instant woody as her toes began to
softly caress my upper thighs.

"I'm used to it."  She said cheerfully, working her toes further up my leg to
my crotch, where they began rubbing up and down the bulge of my cock.  I put
my hand on her foot and pushed it harder into me, increasing the pressure.
"I just have to play with myself a lot."

With that she let her left leg fall off the couch to the floor.  With the
right one still in my lap, this served to open her legs to my gaze.  She wore
no underwear I realized instantly.  Her crotch, which I'd felt before but
never seen, was covered with a thick mat of light brown hair.  Her pussy lips
were swollen and peeking out from the center of this mass.  While her foot
continued to caress my cock, her hand dipped between her legs.	She began
slowly sliding her fingers into her slit, moving them up and down.  I stared,
fascinated and immensely turned on.  I'd never seen a woman masturbate
before.

"Do you ever play with yourself?"  She asked me, removing her foot from my
crotch and placing it on the back of the couch, near my head.  Her pussy was
now wide open to my gaze as her fingers began to rub faster.

"On occasion."  I admitted, the understatement of the year.

"Play with yourself while you watch me."  She whispered.  "Take it out and
stroke it."

I'd never masturbated in front of anyone before; in fact I took strict
precautions just to make sure that no one ever walked in on me and now Fran
was asking me to perform the most private of acts in her living room while
she watched.  I hesitated.

"C'mon."  She told me, her voice firmer and more breathless, her strokes
speeding up.  Moisture was now dripping out of her, saturating her fingers.  I
could smell her odor rising into the air.  "Jack off for me while you watch
me.  You can come on my pussy."

Lust got the better of me.  I started fumbling with my jeans, popping open the
buttons.

"Kneel between my legs and do it."  She panted, her face flushed with
excitement now.

I got to my knees and positioned myself about eight inches from her juicy
snatch.  I dropped my pants and underwear down, letting my dick free.

"Very nice."  Fran told me, stroking herself faster.  I could see that her
clit was huge and protruding proudly from its hood.  I stroked her smooth
thigh, wanting more than anything to lay atop her and slam my cock into her
cunt, but she pushed my hand away firmly.  "No no."  She said, "just jack off
on me.	I wanna see it."

I gripped myself as I'd done a thousand times in the past and started
stroking.   My hand felt good but it was all too familiar.  I stared at her
pussy and her fingers frantically rubbing it.  Her hips began to move up and
down a little as she became more and more aroused.  I inhaled her strong,
feminine odor and my head began to spin.

She gave herself an orgasm as she masturbated, her hips bucking up and down,
her hand moving like mad, her vaginal lips pursing back and forth.  She bit
her lip as she came to stifle a scream.

"C'mon."  She told me, staring at my blurring hand.  "Come on my pussy, squirt
it all over it."

She spread herself widely with her fingers, allowing me to see between her
wet lips.  I felt myself starting to come.  My own hips bucked back and forth
and I had to grab the back of the couch with my free hand in order to support
myself.  I reached the point of no return.

"Yes."	Fran squealed as the first blast of sperm shot out of my dick.	My
aim was a little off and it landed in her pubic hair.  I adjusted, continuing
to jack like mad and the second shot hit right between her spread lips.  I
continued to spray her pussy, hitting her hand and fingers as well.  When the
last shot dribbled out she began rubbing herself again, massaging my cream
into her flesh.

She looked up at me.  "Now come down here and clean this up."  She said,
holding her pussy open once again.

"Huh?"  I said, confused, my body thrumming with post-orgasmic bliss.

"Use your tongue."  She told me, reaching forward and grabbing my shirt.  She
tugged me towards her crotch.

Now I'd never eaten a girl that had sperm in or on her vagina before.  If I'd
ever thought about such a thing in the past it had been with revulsion at the
idea.  But now that I was faced with actually doing it, it didn't seem so
bad. I allowed myself to be pulled forward and I stuck my tongue right
between her swollen lips.  Her taste was strong, overpowering as I lapped up
and down in her cunt.  I could taste myself a little, mostly by texture, but
this was almost completely overridden by the sharp odor and taste of her
secretions. Though strong enough to make the air seem thicker, I lapped for
all I was worth and loved it.  Eating pussy had always been something I
enjoyed, still is today, and to finally stick my tongue into Fran's hole
after all of the previous frustrations was simply heaven.

Her legs came around my back and her fingers began twirling through my hair
as I licked and sucked her hot cunt clean.  I began planting kisses and
finally sucks on her clit.  I fingerbanged her as I did this.  Soon she was
bucking and moaning once more.	I took her clit between my lips and sucked
gently on it, bringing her to what seemed a powerful orgasm that lasted
almost two minutes. She pulled a pillow over her face while she came and
screamed into it.

When she was finished coming I pulled myself up on top of her.  My dick was
rigid once again and I was going to have her right there, right then.  I don't
believe she could have stopped me if she'd wanted to, but she didn't want to.
She threw her arms around my neck and put her mouth to mine, giving me a
sloppy, tonsil cleaning kiss.  I grabbed cock in hand and put the head against
her dripping lips.

I didn't hesitate, I shoved my cock inside of her, driving in to the hilt,
feeling her muscles stretch and surround me, feeling my balls slap against her
wet ass, feeling my pubic hair mesh with hers.  It was the most intense sexual
moment of my entire life to that point, even better than the first time I'd
gotten my cock inside of a female.  I'd dreamed and fantasized about this
moment probably a hundred times while jerking off and now I was doing it.  It
was better than I'd imagined.

I pulled out and put it back in, feeling the wet squish of our union.  Her
tongue continued to duel with mine as I picked up the pace of my thrusts.  In
and out I moved, feeling her wet membranes clench and release with my rhythm.
Our pubic bones smashed together pleasantly, intensifying the feeling.	I
broke our kiss and attached my mouth to her neck.  My hands began stroking
her thighs, her stomach.

I began to groan in pure excitement and Fran had to hush me.  That made me
remember Roger, her husband, who was sleeping just down the hall while I was
fucking his wife on his couch.  This would be a bad time for old Roger to wake
up and stroll down to the living room.  The sense of danger involved made me
more aroused.  I tried to listen for Roger's snores while I slammed in and out
but between my own grunts, Fran's panting, and the wet squishing that
accompanied each thrust, I couldn't hear anything else.  The uncertainty was
blackly exciting.

Fran bucked and stifled another moan as she came beneath me, her pelvis
slamming mercilessly into mine.  She began squeezing my ass cheeks, running
the back of her hand in between them while I kissed and sucked her earlobes.
I felt another orgasm wanting to be set free but I tried to stifle it.	I was
enjoying her body considerably and I didn't want it to end.

Soon I could hold off no more.  My thrusts developed a rhythm that was
independent of my wishes.  Fran began kissing and sucking my neck and
whispering dirty, filthy things into my ear, encouraging me.  I knew I was
almost there.

"Come in me."  She whispered, sensing my impending orgasm.  "Fill me up. 
Shoot it up in me.  Let me feel it."

I stifled a groan as orgasm gripped me. I shot wad after wad of thick sperm
into her clutching pussy while she shoved a finger into my ass.  Spent, I
collapsed atop her while we exchanged gentle, teasing kisses.

When I climbed off her she stood up, pulling her dress back down while I
pulled my pants and underwear back up.

"Well," she said, once I was dressed again.  "I'm getting kind of tired now.
I guess I'll hit the rack."

She gave me the standard hug as I left.  She did not mention what had just
happened between us.

I took myself home and climbed into bed.  For the first time in forever, I
didn't have to jack off before going to sleep.

That was the first time.  There were others.  It was the strangest, most
exciting, most frustrating affair I've ever been involved in.  Fran never
talked about our relationship.	Even when we were alone she made no comments
of any kind.  Sometimes I would go over there and she would have nothing to
do with me other than the obligatory hugs and kisses of greeting.  Sometimes
she would tease me, sending me home with blue balls.  Sometime she would fuck
the living shit out of me.

It was completely unpredictable.  I never knew what I would receive from her.
The only constant factor was that I was not welcome in her house when Roger
was not there.	She only wanted contact with me when there was a danger of
getting caught.  We took outrageous chances in this regard at times.

Once, while Roger was in the bathroom taking a shit, she pulled out my cock
and sucked me to orgasm in less than three minutes.  Once, when he went to
the store to pick up some beer, she pulled me down atop her on the living
room floor, casting her pants aside and frantically fucking me right there.
We finished up that one about two minutes before Roger pulled into the
driveway. The best and most daring fuck we shared was at a nearby reservoir
where we'd taken the kids to swim.  While Roger paddled around on the shore,
Fran and I worked our way out about thirty yards or so, to where the water
came to our necks.  With Roger in plain sight she began stroking my dick
while I inserted my fingers beneath the crotch of her one-piece bathing suit.
 After we were suitably excited she tugged me towards her.  She pushed my
suit down while pushing the crotch of hers aside.  She planted me between her
lips and then floated on her back while I stood on the bottom and fucked her.
 To anyone on the shore it appeared that we were simply floating together,
talking.  I rubbed her clit and slid my fingers into her ass, giving her two
orgasms before I finally shot a huge, pent-up load inside of her.

Things went on this way for nearly eight months.  We never got caught although
there were a few close shaves.  Gradually she seemed to lose interest in me.
She never discussed it but our encounters became fewer and further between.
Eventually they stopped entirely.

Shortly after this my roommates and I had a beef with our landlord.  We moved
to a different house in a different part of town.  I promised to visit Fran
and Roger often and I did make a few obligatory visits.  But the visits soon
stopped as I got Fran out of my system and developed a more normal social
life.  By the time I met the woman that would eventually become my wife, I'd
ceased visiting them entirely.

Even today though I still find myself occasionally stroking off to the image
of Fran.

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