Robert Taylor: Bored wife

And Doris came sliding off the couch, down on hands and knees, seizing up an outward-sloping tit and stuffing her mouth full.

The cool, wet suction seemed to draw out the fire. Grunting with pleasure, Betsy stroked the girl's sleek head. And then Laura came, leaving George's cock, knelt on the other side and suckered onto Betsy's left breast cap.

Their suck pulls were not timed together. A suck on the left tit, almost immediately one on the right, then a pause as both pushed into cushiony breast, nuzzling, licking. Now the left was quivering as Laura's tongue encircled it, just as Doris sucked the right one to her very throat. This unevenness was driving Betsy wild, but Tom's thrusts right up her middle provided a core to her being. She concentrated on screwing herself onto the plunging fuck tool, stripping it, squeezing until her cunt took over and began racing smoothly into orgasm.

She had become that enormous bubble again, all tits and cunt. She slipped her hands under the girls sucking her breasts and found Laura's big boobies spilling about as she rocked back and forth, seemingly riding an orgiastic wave of her own. Betsy snared both nipples in her fingers and clung to them. But her other hand found only one of Doris' breasts. Too disoriented now to calculate the position of the other, she simply clung to it.

Then Tom howled, "Now-www! My fucking nuts are roaring!"

Betsy felt his cock grow longer, and, if possible, harder, and heard the loud slapping of his scrotum on her ass.

"Shoot it – into me!" she cried, writhing and squeezing on the ramming cock, shrieking as her cum blew, scalding, thrashing around despite the mouths holding her breasts fast, tossing so wildly that her tits seemed to stretch like rubber.

Tom reared up and roared, "There!" and like a fountain within her jism splashed the walls of her cunt, splashed again. He held firm now, rooting about as he spurted, then again shouted and resumed his banging thrusts, his face turning red with the effort of spilling out his overload of cock spew.

Three times, four, five he spurted into the flow of her ebbing cum.

With the last he gave a groan, and slumped, exhausted.

But Betsy, squeezing her sphincter on the weakening prick, felt a new storm arising.

"Again!" she panted. "Tom, fuck me more, I'm getting another cum, like oh, God, my cunt is starting to turn over…"

"I'm pooped," Tom moaned. "It's shriveling up…"

"Then let George fuck me! George, George!" George came with a rush, seized Tom's shoulders and wrenched him away, his cock flipping out and sending white blobs of jism spraying all about.

And George thrust into the breech, spreading Betsy's legs as they fell and plunging his thick cock into the gaping red funnel shape of the gushing cunt she offered him.

Feeling the new hardness inside, she had only to squeeze in, hump at him once, and the new cum was triggered.

"I'm cumming!" Betsy shrieked. "Oh George your cock is so hard and wonderful I'll cum a dozen times…"

Her voice rang out in silence. No talk. No movement. George had paused, his prick buried deep inside her. The tit-sucking girls drew off and gazed upward.

A newcomer stood over them, a man in a gray suit. His face was white as chalk and grooved with rage.

Betsy was looking up at Jim, her husband.

The next horrible moments were a blur. Roaring trough orgasm, her world crumbled as though she had been thrown into an ice bath.

Naked bodies jerked away from her like frightened quail spooked from cover. A voice was bellowing, a wounded animal screaming out its venom. Iron clamps snarled into her hair and lifted her by it. Yes, iron cables and chains snarled together lifted by a steel derrick, raising her into the air and shaking her like a puppet.

Then the toe of a shoe smashed into her backside and she was running, crashing into a wall, careening away, flopping onto the dining room table. The cables and chains hooked into her hair again and flung her off to the kitchen.

There shoe leather ripped at her asscheek and she piled up against the screen door. It gave way and she was outside, running naked in the rain.

She skidded on wet grass and spilled, sliding on her tits and belly through a puddle.

The cables and chains snared her arm, yanked her up and she ran again.

"You whore!" Jim shrieked. "You filthy slut of a fucking whore!"

The blur faded as she slammed down on their bed. Aware now, she saw Jim wrap adhesive tape tightly about her right wrist and then tape it to a bedpost. Then the other wrist, stretching her arms painfully.

"Filthy slut, I work my ass off so you can live like a lady and I find you in an orgy, one stud shoots into you and you scream for another, one fucking isn't enough, you nympho!"

She saw the belt in his hand.

Then he uncoiled and the leather belt struck her backside like a ribbon of flame, fire burning inches deep.

Screaming in pain, she thrust from him.

"Tie your fucking legs too!" he snarled.

He rushed off to the kitchen, returned with the clothesline she used in summer when she wanted to sun-dry bed linens. He whipped it about an ankle, knotted it fast.

Shortly she was spread eagled, wrists taped to the bedposts, ankles bound to the foot by clothesline.

And he began to beat her.

The belt snapped like a gunshot on her buttocks, and as she shrieked in pain it landed again, on her thighs now, then on the small of her back.

"Please!" she screamed. "Don't…" Again the stripe of fire crossed her asscheeks. Writhing in pain she shrieked, "But you fuck your secretary!"

"Liar!" he howled. "You nympho lying cocksucker of a cunt! I'll beat you until you piss!"

She fought, tried to flinch from the next blow, only succeeded in catching it on her hip instead of her buttocks.

And then she saw his pants.

His cock stood out, rigid, making a tent in the material.

"You sadist!" she howled. "You're getting an erection from beating me!"

"Shut your filthy cocksucking mouth!" he roared.

"Your prick is up hard! You want to beat me and then fuck me!"

"I'll stick it up your dirty ass!"

"Go ahead, that's your style. You could pretend it's a man's asshole, you buggerer, you creepy sadist!"

"You aren't worth it," he snarled.

He had stopped, stood panting, his face now a congested purplish red. "I should make you suck my prick."

"I'll suck it. I like sucking cocks!" she cried.

And she knew that somehow she had defeated him. Defiance, though she was helplessly spread eagled on the bed, that and the shock of his discovering her being fucked in the house next door, that and the truth, the fact that he had gotten a hard-on from beating her!

"I'm going to divorce you," he choked.

Despite the burning welts on her back, she laughed. "I have witnesses, people who know you fuck your secretary, June Haley. You had no idea I knew, did you?"

"That's a lie. I've never touched another woman."

"Witnesses, you sadist. Look at you, your cock stiff from beating me. You aren't a man unless you can beat a woman down to less than you are!"

"What witnesses?"

"You'll hear that in court." She had no witnesses, just whispers from the wives of other men in his company; he had kept her that far from his affairs. She did not even know the girl, had no idea what she looked like.

"I suppose all three of those studs next door fucked you?"

"All three, and I sucked their cocks and lapped their wives cunts. So how do you like that?"

He lost control, raised on his toes and now the belt struck like a club mashing her ass. And again, as he cried, "I'm going to strap you until you piss the bed!"

"You asshole!" she cried.

The belt sang like a whip, and cracked on her thighs so hard she rose off the bed, screaming.