Duncan Fox: Hot piece wife

Kimberly Sanderson squirmed sideways on the hard wooden bench. The naked studs of the locker room wall were digging into her shoulder and back, distracting her from the simmering lust in her gut. Bracing one heel against the bench, the other in a crack on the floor, she fingered her nipple, pinched and rolled it, stoked the fire under her pot of horniness.

Feet and chattering voices passed the door of the cubicle. Kim thought of the teenage boys passing, thought of them seeing her toy with her naked body. Her lust soared. Closing her eyes, she imagined them watching her, seeing her mature tits, her thick brown bush, the pink petals of her inner pussy. Her lust boiled higher.

She let a finger steal down through the wiry kinks of her muff. She let her finger stroke the soft, puffy lips of her pussy, skate around the pleasure nubbin of her clit. A bar of sunlight speared through the foot-high gap above the top of the flimsy door and painted a warm stripe on her trim belly. When it touched the untanned skin that was usually under her bikini, it felt like it was burning her.

Kim pictured the sweaty faces of three of the boys from around the pool. She imagined their nude bodies, their cocks jutting out from immature patches of crotch hair. She imagined spreading her thighs wide before them, and fingered the sizzling heart of her cunt. Her finger touched the bump of her clit and a jolt of pleasure wrenched through her.

For a moment she froze, thinking she had heard something from the next locker. Only a thin wall separated the two cubicles. Then she relaxed and let the horniness sweep over her. Her hand cupped the warm weight of one breast, rubbed the rubbery button of her nipple. No sag at all, and she was pushing thirty. She was as trim and firm as the teenage girls that frolicked around the pool, teasing and taunting the boys.

She let her hand slide farther down on her pussy. She parted her warm, soft aunt lips, slid a finger between the damp inner petals. The tip of her finger found the slippery mouth of her aunt and cautiously explored the rippled orifice.

A heavy sliding sound from next door distracted her. A little afraid, and more than a little frustrated, she scanned the featureless wall. In the distance she heard laughing and splashing from the swimming pool. Someone was singing in the shower down the corridor, and there were footsteps one aisle over.

Was that panting? Concentrating, her lust fading, Kim fought to blot out all sounds but the soft huffing. For a moment, she thought she heard it. Then it was gone.

A touch on her clitoris, and her lust raged upwards once again. Drawing her knees up and spreading her thighs, she toyed with her pussy and breasts. The barely private setting of the locker increased her horniness. Thinking of how close she was to naked exhibitionism made her pussy steam. She let her finger slide slowly into her slimy vagina. She used her thumb to roll the squirmy little protuberance of her clit. She bit back a moan, and pictured Al Lomata, mentally stripped him naked.

How big was his cock? The bulge in his bathing suit gave the impression that he was hung like a horse. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a Mediterranean handsomeness – dark curly hair and flashing black eyes. Her eyes closing, Kim dreamed he had a jutting tower of a prick, aimed at her, and felt her twat flood with hunger.

This time the next-door noise sounded like a grunt or a groan. Kim's lust was too high now for her to lose much of it. Still fingering her clit to keep her lust boiling, she pried her eyes open just a slit and scanned the gray asbestos wall carefully.

For a moment, she thought she saw something. Then it was gone. She focused on the shadowy area just under the row of hooks on the horizontal one by three.

Then she saw it: a flicker, like a wink. A flaw on the wall became a hole, about half the diameter of a pencil. It was black now, but for a moment it had been white – like something had reflected the sun through it. Someone was behind that hole. Someone was watching her.

She didn't move. As her insides coiled tight, she felt ashamed. Who was watching her as she masturbated? The thought of being watched made her excitement rage higher.

It had to be kids, or a kid. A boy was standing on the bench in the next lockers his eye glued to the hole he had painstakingly augured through the hard sheet rock partition. He was feasting on her display, panting from the sight of her naked breasts, her gaping snatch, and the way she was playing with her most intimate parts.

It couldn't be Al Lomata; it wasn't his family's locker. She visualized him anyway, thought of the aching hard-on he would get from the sight of her. She slipped her finger deeper into her hole, and moaned. Her hips shifted on the hard bench. She began pumping her finger in and out, fucked her pussy with a wet, squishy noise. She deliberately did it so the action was blatantly exposed to the unknown watcher. Let him get his biology lesson. The knowledge that he, whoever he was, was watching, made her lust rage higher and higher.

Lifting her head, she glanced down at her gaping display. She wasn't able to see her own pussy, which was frustrating. Then she remembered the mirror on the shelf beside her, and grabbed it. Sitting up for just a moment, carefully not breaking her mood, she propped the mirror against the wall at the end of the bench. When she leaned back, she had a perfect view of her aroused twat. A slight shift, and the bar of sun that had spilled on her belly washed into the creaming heart of her snatch.

She watched herself, imagined herself being watched, and finger-fucked herself. She fingered her clit, saw the little nubbin writhe as she tried to pinch it against her pubic arch. Then, using both hands, she spread her cunt lips wide, displayed her whole hot gash to herself and her Peeping Tom.

The only intrusion on her carnal pleasure was a stray thought about her husband. If it weren't for that damn work-a-holism of his, it would be his dick and not her finger that was pumping in her twat. Her digit was a skinny imitation of his pecker.

Deliberately, she slid a second finger into her boiling shaft, and pinched her clit hard, tried to blot out any distractions. She focused her mind on the Lomata youth, less than half of her thirty years, hung him with a wang like a baseball bat, and groaned. Then she reminded herself that someone was watching her display all her charms. She was getting there. She was getting close to the peak.

Whining aloud, letting her hips hump and squirm, oblivious now to the way the planks were grinding into her tail, she pumped her two fingers in her sodden twat. She pinched her clit between her thumbs and dragged her vagina open with her fingers. Christ! She wished there was no wall between her and whoever it was that was watching. He'd come down on her, and hammer his dick into her ravenous hole, and she'd be full, full, full. His cock would burn twat walls as it pistoned into her. She would finger her clit, let him crush her hand with his pubic arch, while she massaged herself to a screaming cumming.

Like the one she was close to now. She was getting closer, and closer, and closer. She heaved her head up and took one more look in the mirror. Her cunt was wide, and the hairy labes framed the finger-widened tunnel. She thought of the youngster watching her, and her belly convulsed in a rippling, rutting contraction. She gurgled with ecstasy, and her throat knotted closed. She rubbed her clit into a fireball. She was aware of her vaginal walls spuming around her finger, and felt the gush of cum as her insides coiled themselves around the bonfire of her cumming.

For an eternity, she held her clit between her thumbs, pinched it while she wiggled the fingers in her vagina. Then, her insides aching and satisfied, she went limp, her hands slid out of her cunt and her hairy labes closed. Just the pink ruffles of her still-distended inner folds showed in the dark brown heart of her muff. She painted the insides of her thighs with her cunt juice and then slouched don, exhausted.