Ron Taylor - Wife on the prowl

What interested her more, so much more, was the way his coat moved up and down. As if it were veiling something… And the way he looked at the screen, so intent upon every detail of the movie action…

Oh my God, she thought suddenly, he's playing with his cock!! Of course! There could be no other answer. He was stroking his penis, drawing inspiration from the porno film and its explicit sexual, and stimuli.

Melinda turned completely away from the movie and stared at the young man down the row. He was breathing harder, his face setting into a giveaway grimace. His lips were slightly parted – Melinda could hear the raspy breath, which seeped through those ajar lips – and the coat on his lap was moving up and down at a noticeably faster rate. Oh, she thought, he's getting closer!

The inspiration was sudden and irresistible. Melinda rose in a crouch and she moved down the aisle, planting her delectable ass upon the soft cushioned seat right beside the boy. He turned, his face paling even in the darkness, and he whooshed frightened breath through his ovaled lips.

"Shah," Melinda purred, moving her face toward him. He was very young, she saw at once. The age limit for admittance to this movie house was eighteen. Odds were, the ticket lady had asked him for an I.D. Not a day over nineteen, if that old, Melinda decided.

"What do you…"

She cut him off, cleverly. When she sat down, her ass had slightly dislodged the coat across his lap. Her hand now shot beneath it, weaving like a snake. Loud music blared from the screen. Down front, some people were talking among themselves.

Melinda heard a discernable "muthafuckah" here and there amid the conversation – but she felt as if the rest of the world had suddenly vanished. There was only this boy, only Melinda, the darkness, the seats on which they rested. That sense of isolation enfolded her and she basked in its protective blanketing.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. She could feel each and every action in her arm as she sought about beneath his coat, and when she found his pecker, sticking from his pants, Melinda discovered it pore by pore, her fingers slowly becoming aware of the male treasure they had sought and achieved.

"Oh, lady," he moaned, a tingly whisper in the dark.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she purred, and it took an eternity to utter the words. He jerked back, still in slow motion, but as his head and shoulders moved away, his loins seemed to pivot toward Melinda, and suddenly her clutching hand was full of his hard young cock.

"You poor child," she sighed, "does it make you so hot to watch other people having fun?"

He didn't answer, but he wasn't looking at the screen, either. His eyes were focused on Melinda's, and the connection was almost visible, like a beam of light running between their faces. She sucked in her breath, then squeezed his cock, and suddenly his face had thrust toward hers, and she was kissing him hotly. Under the coat her hand began to fly up and down, teasing his cock, shucking it, milking it in the soft moistness of her palm. He groaned into her open mouth and she stabbed him with her tongue. Oh, God, she thought, am I the same Melinda Stillman who got out of bed this morning? I was a faithful wife then, your typical garden-variety all-American homemaker style. And what am I now?

I'm a woman whose husband was gone straying, she told herself. I've seen it on videotape, I've heard it from the lips of airline and hotel desk clerks. So if Neil Stillman doesn't want me, then I'm available to anyone else who does Dave Hammett, in his office. Ron what's-his-name at the Holiday Inn. A lonely young man frigging himself at a dirty movie. And this is only the beginning.

"No-no-no-no," she chirped, prying her mouth from his. God, when he got started basing he didn't want to stop. And his cock felt like a fence post an her hand, throbbing the way no fence post ever did, pulsating with the hot young blood of lusty excitement.

She eased her face back, lips pursed for a long distance blown kiss, and her fingers teased the spongy resilience of his swollen peckerknob.

He groaned and seemed to lift a little in his seat. Mmmm, she thought, he doesn't give a shit what they're doing on screen now. He'd lucked onto something a hell of a lot better than masturbation fantasies.

"Let me show you how much better," she smiled, lifting the coat that had so far remained in place across his lap.

A lovely cock! She was getting to be quite a connoisseur of peckers, Melinda reflected. Well, Neil had driven her to it. Men had no monopoly on catting around, nor on sexual desire either. She nodded smugly as she looked down at the boy's bare rod. Long, rather slender, but hard as a rock, and so inflamed it seemed to glow in the dark theater's interior. She leaned across the arm rest, tongue already out, and her fingers swayed the cock to meet that hungry, lascivious tongue.

"Oh, shit," he sighed, jerking as if electricity had been shot thin ugh his body. The action made his cock leap up, up to make contact with Melinda's frisky tongue.

She land his pecker tip, softly at first but with an impatient frenzy that built and mounted. He must have been playing with himself for some time, she decided, because she could taste the preliminary leakage of cum from his slitted aperture. God, she'd not tasted such fresh young semen since she was this young herself. And not much of it then. She's always been a good girl, curious, interested, but faithful, too. And what had faithfulness gotten her? A husband who took up with a perky blonde. Well, the Goddamned hell with faithfulness! She slurped up the dribblings of cum on the boy's dong, washing him till the velvety flesh of his knob was sloppy with her drool, and then she welcomed him into the treasure chamber of her mouth.

He sank deeply, but not so deeply as she'd liked to have taken him. Melinda remembered that videotape, of Kathy swallowing almost the whole of Neil's throbbing dick, and she wished she could do it too. But her mouth seemed incapable and she could only offer this stranger the best head in her power. Hope it's good enough, she thought, knowing it would be.

She sucked wickedly at the portion of him she was able to swallow, and her tongue washed round and round the hard length as it moved in and out her mouth. Her fingers anchored his base, reached into the undone fly to fickle his swollen balls too, and he writhed in his seat, hands flying here and there. Sometimes they touched Melinda. Once a set of fingers moved beneath her, closing for a moment upon the tip of one breast.

But it was a shy pinch, not at all bold and assertive, as if he were half afraid of her despite his pecker in her mouth. Melinda chuckled around his rod, remembering how bashful young boys could sometimes be, even when their cocks were standing up and hungering for release. She pulled his hand to her breast and fitted it round the full swelling prominence, clamping down until she knew he was brave enough to cup her without assistance.

His hand was tense around her boob, but it was strangely comforting, and she felt her nipple begin to ache inside the beige brassiere. Something else ached, too. Something moist and pink, fringed in hair, sheltered between her sleek thighs. Her pussy.

She was taking excellent care of his momentary sexual needs, but what about her own? Melinda swallowed hard, pulling his cock into her mouth for a bathing in hot saliva, and she slipped her free hand down, down.

Lifting the hem of her short skirt, she planted her fingers upon the panty-covered puff of cunt and she began to massage herself in strokes that matched and counter pointed her oral massage of the boy's penis. God, it felt so good! His cock in her mouth, her fingers slithering up and down the crotch of her panties, where a moist pussy had already begun to glue itself to the covering of nylon. She punched at her slit, driving finger and panties alike into the crease, and she writhed against that stroking finger, legs twitching as she grew more excited.