Ron Taylor - Wife on the prowl

But when she saw him suck his wet finger, suck it as freely, as curiously, as she'd licked his toes, she knew that resistance was in vain. Her nipples erected even before she'd climbed off the commode, and she was in his arms, being carried like a bride back into the bedroom, planted on the bed.

"And I have something else to plant," he said, brandishing a magically-restored hard-on. Melinda licked her lips with anticipation. She lifted her arms, spread her legs. Charlie climbed aboard, and the bed began to shake, rattle and roll beneath them. Oh, God, she thought, I'm glad I picked him up, glad I noticed him, glad I blew him in that scrungy theater, glad…

"When can I see you again?" he asked hopefully, snuggling close. Three times, plus that introductory suck off. Melinda ached, but such a sweet, happy ache.

"See me again?" she asked coyly. "Oh, Charlie!" Melinda shook her head. "I can promise you'll see me in the morning, the first thing you see when your eyes open, but after that – I don't know. I'm going through a lot of changes right now, and you're part of them, but I don't know where my head will be tomorrow afternoon. Don't look so sad! By this time Monday, you'll have so many women crawling over you that you'll have forgotten my name. Oh, Charlie love, I'm glad I got you started. But you'll have to go on by yourself."

"I don't want to. I want you."

"No," she cried. "I'm your big sister, your understanding aunt, the woman next door who saw something in you that was worth developing, bringing to the surface. We met by chance, like ships that pass in the night…" – had she heard some of this dialogue before? In a corny old Bette Davis or Joan Crawford movie, perhaps? It sounded familiar, but it also sounded appropriate…"and if we meet again, then perhaps we can share a laugh and a smile and maybe even a little kiss or two. But if we don't, Charlie sweetest, please think of me with kindness. Will you? Now kiss me goodnight and let me go to sleep in your arms. I want to feel your body close to mine all night long, and I want to wake up still in your arms tomorrow morning. Goodnight, darling."

As she snuggled up against him, she thought proudly that this game seemed to be made precisely for her. When she was with a man, a strange man, she seemed to fit perfectly into a role, to play that role to the hilt. With Dave Hammett, she'd been, unconsciously, the wronged wife in need of consolation. And she'd gotten it, in spades. With Ron, at the Holiday Inn, she'd been a free spirited young thing seeking her thrills with an older mature man, willing to give him her gratis, to teach him how the younger generation felt about sexual freedom. And with Charlie – well, with Charlie, she was definitely Deborah Kerr, in "Tea and Sympathy". Three different Melinda's, each of them a rousing success.

But which Melinda had failed to keep her own husband happy, had allowed him to drift into the arms of another woman? If only she knew…

It was almost one in the afternoon when she finally turned onto her own street. God, what a night! And what a morning, too! Dear, sweet Charlie – twice more before getting out of bed, then in to breakfast while his disgruntled roommates slouched in the living room, red-eyed, hung over from a night of Ripple and envy. And though Charlie seemed to agree that it had been just a one-night stand, however magical, she wondered if he wouldn't haunt that X-rated theater for the next several weeks hoping to meet her again. Mmmm, she thought, wouldn't it be nice to know that someone was that interested [missing text]?

A car was parked on the street in front of her house; Melinda had to cut sharply to get into her driveway. Inside the car a figure stirred, but she was almost past by then and she couldn't very well look over her shoulder to see who it might be when she was trying to put the car into the garage, could she?

Melinda shut off the engine, retrieved her purse and coat, and get out. Oh, it felt good to be home again, even if it was to an empty home. She went outside and pushed the button which closed the door. When she turned around, Dave Hammett was walking up the driveway.

"Hi," hr said, smiling wryly, appealingly. Melinda smiled too.

It was a bright spring morning, but the air was crisp and Melinda shivered, coat over her arm. "Come inside," she invited. "It's a little cool out here."

"I see you, took my advice," Dave said. "About your skirt lengths. That one's much more like it." He pointed to the high hem, which brushed Melinda's legs about four inches above the knee. She hadn't worn it in some time, but last night scorned like a good occasion. "But," he added, "it looks like you slept in it."

True. Her clothes were somewhat wrinkled, after being put on three times and removed twice during the course of the festivities last evening. But her face was clean, with a minimum of makeup, and her hair fell upon her shoulders in dark swirls that danced round and round her bright eyes and moist red lips.

"I, uh, tried to call you last night," he continued. "You'd mentioned that your husband always came home late, and I'd thought that if you were just kicking around, with nothing else to do, we might…"

"Fuck?" she asked innocently. "Would you like a drink or something?" She mixed herself a whiskey and soda.

"Too early in the day for me. Mind if I smoke… oh, I forgot. Anyway, I didn't get any answer, so…"

"So you came over to wait for me? Oh, poor Dave! How long have you been sitting by the [missing text]?"

"Uh, since last night. But seeing you now makes it all worthwhile. Where's your old man, anyway? He didn't come home last night either."

"Oh, Neil. He's in New York. For a weekend convention. Mr. and Mrs. Stillman are booked into the Plaza, so I only hope he can tear himself away from her long enough to get around to whatever business he went up for." She downed her drink and fiddled for a moment with the empty glass.

"You oughta divorce him," Dave said. "Kick his ass into the street. Hit him for every cent you can get. Christ, a man that would divorce you for a skinny, titless broad like Kathy…" He stopped in mid sentence. Melinda had begun to unbutton her blouse.

She was braless under it, just an she was pantyless beneath her skirt. Melinda opened the skirt and shook it free of her dark-nippled tits, and then she looked at Dave, a smirk forming on her lips. He only shook his head, admiring.

"Christ you know how to bring out the beast in a man, don't you?" He crossed the mom in no more than three steps, his arms sweeping her up, his mouth coming in to dominate hers, to kiss it, to mall it, to crush it. Melinda sighed and purred and threw herself into that kiss, just as she threw her bare tits against him, the nipples erecting swiftly as they rubbed on his jacket.

"Aren't you going to ask me where I went last night?"

"I don't care," he replied. His pecker was stiff inside his pants, and she certainly remembered that pecker, its cunning prows, its fascinating tapered construction. Just grinding against him now she could feel his dong buried in her pussy, spreading the lips widely while the narrow tip burrowed about in the feminine depths.

Neil didn't care, either. She doubted if he'd even bothered trying to phone her from New York. Why should he, when Kathy's seductive charms were at his disposal? She probably had her mouth on his cock before he'd gotten his toothbrush out of the suitcase. She probably still had her mouth on his cock. Had him buried in her throat, sucking till the cum oozed down her gullet, straight from neck to tummy. Well, was that such a big deal? I can do it too, Melinda thought. Probably just as well as Kathy can.

She wiggled out of Dave's arms and tossed away her blouse. "Right now, if you can, I'm going up to take a bath. I smell all hot and funky and I'd like to clean up."