Ron Taylor: Wife on the prowl

But her hand was still clutching her pussy and she couldn't bear letting go. Instead, she clutched a little tighter, feeling her cunt swell slightly in her clasped hand. Man it-it felt nice! And lately she'd done so much masturbation. How else was she to release the need that built and festered inside her body? Neil was obviously little interested. God, how could a man get so caught up in his work that he would neglect the woman who loved him? Didn't he see what it was doing to her? Couldn't he guess? Tonight's getup – the negligee, the perfume, the makeup – it was a desperate effort to recapture his interest. Oh, why had they ever left Pittsburgh? They'd been happy there, their sex life dynamite. Six months in their new home and everything had gone to hell. She wished… she wished…

Melinda looked round the bathroom. Neil's clothes were where he'd left them, folded neatly, ready to go into the hamper and to the washing machine. "Your clothes," she said. "I see more of your clothes than I see of you, darling. I wish you were here now, with me, so I could tell you…"

Aaaahhh!! Her fingers dug into the puff of her snatch and she felt a throb of excited response shoot through her body. Melinda's eyes closed, her head spun. She clutched at the basin for support, but she didn't take her hand off her twat. Instead, if anything, she clutched it more despairingly.

"Oh, I need something," she whispered, "and if I can't get it from Neil…"

Her eyes still closed, she turned round and stumbled toward the john. She found it with a questing foot and sat down, more by instinct than anything else. The cloth cover of the lid warmed beneath her buttocks and she squirmed about, moving till her ass felt comfortable. Melinda opened her eyes and fixed her gaze upon Neil's clothing. His shirt, his tie, his trousers. The undershorts which held, all day long, the cock she couldn't even get at night. Oh, God!

She reached down, then, with both hands. One set of fingers spread back the lips of her pussy, baring the slick reddish flesh inside. Flesh red with desire, slick with lustful wetness. A milky ooze emerging from the hole of her cunt itself, a milky ooze that coated and further slickened her vulgar flesh, that stuck to her fingers in glue-like beads. "Aaaahhh," she moaned, peeling back her fuck-starved labia, running one fingertip across the revealed puss and its tingly folds and crevices, hungry for love. Any kind of love. Even the kind that came from her darting fingers.

She felt so degraded whenever she had to resort to this, but what choice had she? Tonight she'd built herself up, physically and mentally, and the passion still rolled in her belly. Until it was satiated, she could think of nothing else.

Melinda didn't have to rub her clit to stir up that eager nubbin. It was already up, lithe and hot, when her finger got into action, and she pressed her love button tensely. She rolled it against her. Pubic bone till she wanted to scream for the pleasure of it. Why couldn't Neil do at least that much for her? Why did he have to be so… so fucking dead? Had he fallen out of love with her? Didn't he care?

She cared. She had to care. It was her cunt, her clit. If she didn't take their needs into consideration apparently no one would. Her finger rubbed harder against her vulva, the tip gouging now and then into the splayed mouth of her cunt.

"There," Melinda congratulated herself. "There!!"

The hole of her twat seemed to open further, and it was a real mouth now, lacking only net of teeth. She could even feel a tongue of flesh inside, or so she thought, one which lapped and tickled the finger as it suddenly thrust deep into the chum of her buttery sex.

She stabbed deeply, passionately, her finger stiff and pecker-like inside her clinging, sucking cuntal walls. Ohhhh, she was so wet! She'd been hotter, even, than she thought. No wonder her disappointment at Neil's lack of performance was so strong. No wonder her cunt ached now, ached for the release she had to give it with her hands, with her hands, with her.

Two fingers in her pussy now, two fingers that dived and stabbed and reamed the tight-clutching walls. She was snug inside, as snug as a much younger Melinda had been the first time she allowed Neil to fuck her. Oh, God, it had been so fantastic! That cock, big and hard and horny. The balls that manufactured cum by the quart, not the spoonful. The sex drive that spurred him to fuck her again and again – four times on the first night of their first date – a date that had stretched by mutual consent into a rapturous weekend together. Friday night. All day Saturday. All day Sunday. He'd even balled her in bed on Monday morning, so delightfully she'd demanded another go-round and had been late for work.

They lived together for three months, then married. He wasn't the that man she'd ever fucked – there had been two before him, one in high school, one in college – but he was the first man she'd ever wanted to spend the rest of her life with. The rest of her life? They wouldn't celebrate their fifth anniversary until next year. If they lasted that long. God knew, something had gone sour in their relationship.

But for the moment she could make herself forget. Yes! Forget! Think only of the two fingers – no! – it was three now, and each of them a passion-mad beast roving in the sheath of her cunt, thrusting up her slick, dripping channel, burning her ecstatically with the friction of their in-out strokes.

She was twisting about on the john, her legs stretching, curling, and her lower body fucked furiously at the hand which fucked it. There was a throbbing in her body, a throbbing that originated in the swollen lump of her clit.

"You too, darling," she panted. Her other set of fingers planted themselves around the beacon of her clitoris and started to massage the aching flesh there. Two fingers pinched her sex trigger from the sides, causing a thin, tight whine to seep from Melinda's mouth, and she arched her back, screwing more and more of herself into the action of her masturbating hands. It wasn't as good as sex with Neil, but it was all she had.

"Ohhhh…" Four fingers in her snatch, the thumb of that hand tickling round and round the outer lips as its partners penetrated deeper and deeper. She felt as if she could thrust her entire hand up her cunt, catch hold of her uterus and pull herself inside out. Oh, what a beautiful idea! Then all her most sensitive parts would be right out in the open, where she could get to them whenever, wherever she wanted. Melinda giggled, and each time the sweet, silvery laugh rippled through her body, it met and collided with a spurt of physical ecstasy, radiating upward from her self-violated twat.

The onrush of orgasm was like a kick in the belly, but it wasn't a painful feeling. Quite the opposite. It was best of all when Neil's cock was in her balls-deep, tickling her womb, teasing her with the promise of his cum as her own sex organ exploded deliriously around his prick. But she couldn't have that. He wouldn't – couldn't – give it to her. And, the lump of her fingers made a substitute nearly acceptable. Oh, bunched up this way, her four fingers provided a thick barreling tool in her churning snatch, but it wasn't the same. Not at all. She missed the steady pulsation she could always feel in her husband's cock as he fucked her, the way his heart seemed to beat massively in the extension of his prick. She missed the telltale twitching that always heralded the bunting open of Neil's cum-ducts, the flood that would saturate her cunt in boiling milk. When had she last felt that?

This evening, as she rubbed his dick on her face. That same giveaway twitching, and she'd known, even as his cock began to spray her, wasting that delicious gooey load.

"Oh, Goddd!!" Melinda moaned, her heart twisting in pain inside her body. She didn't want to think about… couldn't think about… not now not when it was… when she was…