Robert Taylor: Bored wife

She felt him lift it, then his square, hard hand caressing her bare buttocks.

"You've opened my eyes," he said.

Sipping her drink, she slid a hand down between him and the counter and lightly grasped his cock. She moved her finger, gently, an easy jerk-off action.

He said, "You talk like you're leaving your husband."

"If he can't adjust to Betsy, yes. George, it has taken all my nerve to speak out, to act out my desires. Like, I wanted to fondle your cock, well, I'm doing it. And the argument I gave you, I was inventing as I went along – discovering! Yes, finding what I am. I think I'll get a job, George, prove I can do it, just as tonight I'm proving I can make love with a man on the same level, something mutual instead of rape."

George's fingers were invading her ass crack. She spread her legs to give him room.

And she grasped the tab of his zipper, saying, "I'm going to take it out, if you don't mind."

"Be my guest," George chuckled.

She opened it and dug out his hot and horny prong. Thick, very thick, though shorter than Tom's, filling her hand. She could scarcely wrap her fingers about it.

"Vera says its small," George said.

"Bah, that's because she has a big cunt."

"Do you know that?"

She laughed. "Cunts stretch to hold a biggie, shrink to hold a small one. Oh yes, I've been at Vera's pussy, which is none of your business, what she and I do, unless you're tolerant enough to let us be ourselves. But of course she had to let us fuck."

He was pressing her anal button. Betsy squirmed back against the pressure, it felt so good, and she squeezed his hot cockstem.

Like that, sipping her drink, hearing dance music in the living room, and rain beating on the roof, Betsy felt lifted on a wave of euphoria. She could achieve anything. And George seemed content, as tough caught up in her mood. Despite his rigid prick he seemed in no hurry to fuck.

They had finished their drinks. Betsy poured two more. Laughter in the other room, voices becoming raucous. Boozy now.

Time to find a bedroom. But she did not want to leave the kitchen. Like the john now belonged to Vera and herself, she wanted to leave her mark on the kitchen, with George. She glanced about. The linoleum looked awfully hard. She saw a counter stool. She giggled.

She pointed to it, said, "George, I think I'd like to fuck on that tall stool."

"You lady!" He was laughing.

"Come on. Naked, huh?" Gulping at her drink she slipped from him, curled an arm behind her to get at the dress zipper, thinking this might be the last undressing of the night. Yes! From now on, nude.

She tugged the dress off over her head, and tossed it onto the kitchen table, then went – wagging her rump – to the counter stool and brought it back to the drinks.

George, grinning hugely, was peeling his shirt off, revealing a hairy chest that looked three feet wide. Then he dropped his pants, Betsy watching closely. Lots of cock hair, stumpy prick protruding hammer-handle stiff from it, and a nice big pair of balls weighting his scrotum. His biceps bulged. Strong!

She said admiringly, "You didn't get that physique doing math or reading poetry."

"I'm a stone mason, Betsy. Or I was, that's how I worked through college. I build walls, fireplaces, in my spare time."

And Betsy, standing there naked, sipping her drink and feeling no embarrassment whatsoever, found she liked his body.

She said, "I love stonework. You should build a house!"

"We intend to. Vera and I…"

He paused, frowned, and she knew he was thinking in old terms, himself and his wife.

She said, "Maybe a house for three, since I like stone."

"You do upset my calculations, Betsy."

"And you mine. I was never interested in short men, being a tall girl, but I like looking straight at you." She stepped to him, her belly pressing his cock, turned her head and briefly kissed his lips. "How nice! The same height!"

"You make me feel like I'm growing."

Smiling, she gave his cock a slap. "That's the only growing thing on you, that horny cock. Hey, George, suppose somebody came hunting drinks and found us naked…"

"I've been thinking of that."

"But I mean, not fucking. Just talking." And now, flying on her wave of elation she added, "I'd rather they find us fucking, though. I want everybody to know we fuck!"

"We don't, not yet."

So Betsy backed to the counter stool, climbed the rungs and sat on it with her legs spread wide. She gave her cunt a rub – it itched-and said, "We'll have to test for height."

George broke up, bent over laughing. "Shit, Betsy, I've never had such a strange – love affair – in my life."

"Because you've never fucked a cunt who has just emerged from bondage and discovered she's alive! And well! And Betsy."

Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, George came to her, halted with his stiffly protruding cock precisely at the level of the stool seat, his knob butting her pubic bush.

"This stool was made to order," he said.

And George, Betsy thought, was made to her order, this stony-muscled smallish man with the wide chest and the hard cock.

She braced her heels on the stool rungs and squirmed to him while thumbing his prick down below her bush into the steaminess of her split.

George had grasped her hips, pulled, helping her impale herself on his rigid meat. The head slipped right into her yawning hole, for a second plugging the entrance, as fat a knob as had ever gone up her cunt. Only a second, then wedging up the curve of her vagina. She seized George's hard buttocks and tugged and oh, there, the fat cock had filled her, snug, stretching her channel just a bit.

"Ugh!" George grunted. "Feels like you're scalding my tool."

She giggled and threw her arms about his shoulders and kissed him wetly, openly, tongued into his mouth as deeply as his prick had penetrated her cunt.

George's hands slipped up her flanks, between them to fist her tits.

His hands had a hardness that compressed her boobies. She could feel every callus; she shivered with delight. And his rocky shoulders thrilled her, and the thrusting tongue now forcing into her mouth, and the cock rooting in her hole. He made her feel soft and cuntish, rather helpless but not put down, for their fuck was a sharing of opposites, and she could still be proud of being Betsy.

The kiss ended. He gazed at her, eyes twinkling. She kissed his chin, then smiled. She squirmed about, wriggling herself on the rigid cock that so filled her hole, and he, the darling, did not start reaming her but remained still, letting his prick be kneaded and cunt-sucked.

He said, "But gosh, if Vera came through that doorway…"

Betsy put her hand over his eyes as he partly turned to look at the kitchen exit.

She said, "If she does we'll invite her to join us. To share your cock."

"You think she would?"

"She'd better. It's time to open up to each other. I mean, George, Vera isn't the only cunt you've fucked since you've been married. Is she?"

"Well, I've strayed a couple of times."

"And she's gotten into pussy more than once. Let's clear up the smokescreens, George, come out of hiding. Let her catch us fucking and you'll both feel better."

George lost track of the argument then as his cock gave a powerful twitch that set Betsy's cunt to fluttering.

"Oo-oo!" she cried. "Oo-oo, George!"

Grunting, he rooted inside her, rotating his hips so his horny rod stirred her bubbling, drooling hole to a frothy, jellied viscosity. For the moment her cunt had no form. It was pure heat. Only the stone-mason's hands squeezing her breasts to hard little oranges kept her from falling, for although his cock stood high in her belly and she seemed to hang on it like a piece of clothing on a wall hook, she felt liquid enough to slip right off.