John Peter - Teenage wives

One morning in the fourth week of her marriage she woke up with such an incredible urge to fuck that she thought she would die. She felt especially open to all sorts of ideas, too, and she found herself trying to climb onto a door handle. She couldn't get her pussy at the right height, however, so she went to the extremes of getting a footstool and trying to get the door handle rubbing against her cunt in that manner. This method, and the dildo, and a carrot, and several other items she found handy throughout the house all failed her. She gave up trying to masturbate her hot little clit and deep narrow tube, and decided instead to find yet another man with which to experiment.

She dressed casually with a short skirt, one that she had left over from high school (only a few months in her past) and with a low-cut blouse which buttoned only so high. It left her titties well-exposed, as she intended them to be, and indicated, without any effort on Janet's part, a good deal of cleavage. She brushed and combed her silky blonde hair and determined to make the sexual aquaintance of the first man who approached her. She didn't care what he looked like, how he was dressed, who he was or how old he was. She was going to ball the first man who asked her to, and to find him, she was going to take a walk on Santa Monica Boulevard.

She parked her car at a side street and casually climbed from the front seat onto the pavement. She hadn't even shut the door to the car when she heard the cat call and wolf whistle of what had to be one of the zestiest men on the boulevard. She turned around and a man in a gas station attendant uniform added to the previous chilling whistle: "Hey, baby, you got what it takes."

"So do you," said Janet back to the gas station attendant. He stood dumbfounded next to the pumps where he was leaning. He smiled and then his smile gave way to a look of odd expectation when he realized that Janet had not only meant her quick retort to be serious, but that she was strutting on her way over to see him. She was eyeing him like no other woman ever had, and, the monkey wrench he held in one hand slipped from his fingers. "Well, I'll be damned," he said to himself as he fell hypnotically into a trance because he was watching Janet's smoothly weaving hips and her protuberant mound get closer and closer to him. "I'll be fucking damned if she's not coming right over here." To himself he added: "And she looks like she means business." "Mr.," she began when she was close enough, "you just must be lucky today. Let me look at you."

The gas station attendant had no idea what to say. He had dark curly hair, he was about six-foot, and he was strong and muscular looking. He had a splotch of grease across his forehead, but Janet didn't mind that a bit. She kind of thought it made him look cute, in fact, and she was ready to say so: "You're not bad looking," she said, putting her hand on her hip and grinding out her thigh in his direction. "If you don't mind my saying so," she added.

"No," he said. "Not at all. I don't mind any woman with legs like that saying she likes my looks."

"I could have done worse," she said with| a smirk. She quickly explained her plan; to him, about how she planned to fuck the first man who made a pass at her that morning. He couldn't believe it. "Now wait a second," he said with concern, "you're just going to throw yourself on me, just like that, just because I whistled at you?” He shook his head and looked around. "What this? Some sort of candid T.V. program or something? Some kind of comedy? What are you talking about lady? You some kind of narc?"

"No," she said, moving up closer to him, inches away from his body. She looked around and leaned forward. "Look in there," she said. "You see those titties? If you say the right thing, if you're nice to me, you can be squeezing both of them whenever you want, provided that whenever is right now, that is."

He looked down her shirt. He couldn't | help but do it. She was right next to him with her titties nearly popping out at him, they were smooth and tanned and pendu-lar and then nipples were upright and fully exposed, cherry red, and her full breasts were dazzlingly beautiful. "What's the right thing?" he asked in a whisper. "What's the right thing I have to say? In order to 'have' you?" "Yes," she said simply. "That's all. Just say 'yes'." "Just yes?" "You said it," she said quickly. "Where can we be alone?"

He didn't believe her, took her to be some sort of a nut, but he also took her by the arm and with a sincere look of concern on his face, and a cautious look around the street corner and the passing boulevard traffic, led Janet Tibbleton into the office. "Now listen, lady," he started to say, but Janet took a seat on the desk and pulled her skirt up around her thighs. "You like the looks of my legs, Bob?"

"How'd you know my name was Bob?" She pointed to his shirt. "It's right there in blue and white, Bob."

"Yeah," he said, "well… Now wait a minute. You mean to say you're gonna ball me just because I'm the first one to talk to you this morning?"

"That's right," she said.

"O.k," he said, "now I'm going to tell you something. I'm going to close down the station here for an hour, and I'm going to take you down to my apartment. It's around the corner. And I'm going to fuck you. And if you don't come through, I mean if you back out of this when we get half-way there or something, I'm gonna be very mean and very extraordinarily pissed off. You read me? Now you can still go out there and…" He stopped talking because she was working her hands up and down on her long stretch of left thigh. "You never did answer my question. Bob," she said softly. "Do you like my legs?"

He grabbed her by the arm, pulled the office sign down so that it read 'Be Back at Noon', and took her out the door and into his tow-truck, which was parked in the lot. He drove with one eye on the road; one eye glued to her hand, which was busily fondling the firming bulge in his trousers. It didn't take long for him to get the apartment, not did it take all that long for him to have somewhat embarrassing tumescence with which to cope on their way in public across the front lawn, up the stairs and into the door marked 203. But once inside. Bob relaxed. "Well," he said, "here we are."

Janet looked around and started unbuttoning what there was of her blouse. She had it halfway undone when she said;

"It's nice. Bob. I like it."

"Yeah, the rent's cheap," he said, taking off his station attendant hat.

"I don't mean that," she said. "I mean this." She moved up along side him and reached down to his trousers,' crotch. She squeezed his joint underneath. "I like this big flesh of yours." She tugged on what could only be the spongy head. "That's what I like, Bob. I like it a lot, too." She rolled her fingers up and down around the buldge. "You want to take your pants off so that we can meet 'head-on'?" She smiled at her own little double entendre, and then she slipped down on her knees. "Go ahead," she heard him say, "and make yourself at home." He watched her with glazed eyes. She undid his belt and worked his pants down around his ankles. A moment later she had his underwear off, and he was sitting on the sofa with her head between his legs, her mouth tied around his joint. She had her big thick wet lips sealing up the rim and her tongue was sliding up and down the shaft. She worked her mouth muscle into position so that she could get a good licking off on the thickest part, on the base. Then she tickled his balls with all ten of her fingers at once. Finally, she massaged his thighs. "I just get so horny," she said, rubbing her fingers into his legs and sucking on his prick at the same time. She let the pecker go flopping out of her face. "Do you know how that is? Sometimes you just have togo out and get a little piece of ass? Does that ever happen to you, Bob?"