Ron Taylor - Wife on the prowl

"Hey, lady," he said in a light, rather tense voice, but he had his hand on her ass again, and before Melinda could get her second wind she was rubbing him up and down with her body and his hands were stroking everything within reach, and that hard-on in his pants was getting birder by the moment, each pulse of fresh lust-carrying blood hammering on Melinda's flesh whore she kissed him with her crotch.

"Your husband ought to be shot," Dave whispered into her ear. "Unless you can't deliver."

"I can deliver," she promised. "Oh, God, can I deliver!" She reached between their bodies and her fingers caressed the swelling in his trousers. He moaned a little and pushed himself toward her hand. Somehow she managed to get his pants unzipped and her fingers inside, and it was worth the effort. His shorts were full of pecker, and soon her hand was full of pecker, too. "Mmmm," she cooed. "How about you, Mr. Hammett? Can you deliver? Because if you can't, I'm going to be very disappointed. Maybe I'll shoot you!"

He smiled. "I don't even have a gun."

"What's this?" she countered, squeezing his cock forcefully. "It feels like at lent a six-inch howitzer."

"You're close," he grinned, and his breath smelled very much of whiskey. "But you're guessing under."

"Mmm," she sighed, "then it'll be that much more pleasant a surprise. Oh, I'm not Lauren Bacall, but you're not exactly Bogart, either. Don't let that stand in the way. I need it more than you can imagine. Give it to inc. Huh?"

"Baby," he said, "I am gonna try."

First, however they had to get out of their clothes, and Dave had to lock his office door. "You never know," he said. When he returned to Melinda she was leaning against the desk, her hands cupping her breasts through the cloth of her sweater. Dave pushed her hands away, replacing them with his own, and he covered her tits with his palms. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Not too big, not too little. I think they're just right. And…" He pulled the sweater loose from her skirt and lifted it above the swell of her tits. She was wearing a sheer nylon bra, and he looked at the small dark nipples visible through the fabric. Melinda watched his eyes, saw the approval in them, and then she leaned back, tits lifting. Dave bent his head toward their twin thrusts and he began to lick her nipples and the sheer bra which covered them. Her tits were stiff and pointy against the nylon, and where they'd itched before, they now felt as if they'd been wrapped in poison ivy instead of clinging, caressing synthetic. Melinda began to hum and moan, wishing he'd get down to business. It had been such a long time since anyone had made love to her. But that was obviously about to change.

She pulled off the sweater while Dave played with her boobs, and then she removed her bra, her tits falling into sight, the flesh of them creamy with blue veins standing out in the milky curved skin, the dark nipples long and aching for affection. They were big tits, full and firm, the nipples pointing straight outward, and Dave filled his hands with them. Oh, Jesus God, Melinda thought, he made her feel so good when he squeezed her tits, when he flipped the nipples with his tongue, when he opened wide and chewed softly, provocatively on the ends of her breasts.

"Yessssss," she managed to moan, though it made her throat and chest ache with the need, the passion. "Your skirt," he said, and Melinda stood up so he could unbutton it. The skirt fell swirling to the floor and he cocked his head to one side. "Jesus," he said, "with legs like those, why do you wear skins below the knee?"

"It's fashion," she defended.

He stroked her thighs, and she began to sway on her feet. "Fuck fashion," smirked the detective. "Legs like these were meant to be seen."

"Speaking of fuck," Melinda put in. "I mean, Bogart did screw Bacall, didn't he?"

"If he didn't, I'm gonna find soothe hero." Dave hooked his thumbs in the wispy panties and tugged them down her legs. The stockings he left in place, and his eyes kept returning to them. So did his hands.

"Oh, damn it," Melinda gasped. She hopped onto the edge of the desk and sat with legs spread, pussy open. One of her hands thrust downward, into her crotch. She ran a fingertip across her slit, then parted the lips and fucked that finger into her cunt. Oh, Christ, she was wet and hot inside! "Come on!!!" she snapped. "If you'd been waiting as long as I have…"

"It's only been a minute," he countered, "and I'd like to get to know the territory."

"Well, for me, it's been six months?" Dave let go of her legs. "Six months?" He shook his head. "He hasn't done you in six fucking months? Oh, hell!"

He dropped to his knees and his head burrowed into her crotch. If Melinda hadn't jerked her finger from her pussy and pulled it away, he'd have bitten her.

He split the lips of her pussy with his fingers and almost as soon as the air touched Melinda's interior, she felt the flicking caress of Dave's tongue.

It went into her deeply, swiftly, and she moaned through chattering teeth, her lips almost numb with the excitement trembling in her body. Melinda opened her legs further and she clasped her bare breasts, squeezing them as they throbbed responsively. Her thighs undulated, especially when his medium-length, wiry hair brushed them while he worked, and it was an irresistible impulse, indeed, to bend her legs around Dave's head, to pull him into the eager maw of her snatch.

"My God," she whispered, "don't stopppp!!!" Melinda's emotions were already at boiling point. The very touch of his tongue was thrilling to her love-starved body, and it was so much more wonderful than the lonely masturbation with which she'd been forced to make do. "Oh, Jesus!" she cried.

His tongue was in her, snaking around wickedly, darting in and out of the cuntal opening. His fingers kept her splayed for Dave's oral attack, and the tips of his thumbs were nagging little goads at the base of her clitoris. He worked the sensitive flesh there while he licked the sensitive, responsive mouth of her twat, and occasionally his tongue shot northward to play provocatively upon the extended nub of her sex button. Each time he licked her there she moaned again, and her fingers squeezed at her tits and the upstanding nipples. Her breasts were hot and hard, throbbing, itching, and aching with the passion and desire that coursed through her neglected body.

Neil. She hated him. She despised him. How could he have deserted her bed for the pleasures of his barely pubescent mistress? God, did she compare so poorly to Kathy? Dave apparently didn't think so. His mouth was hungry and greedy, licking, tonguing, slurping, devouring her pussy, and already his lips and chin must be coated with the milky discharge of her cunt. She could feel juices flowing inside her body, feel them oozing to the mouth of her puss, and Dave's face groveled in those hot drippings. Oh, dear God, the sounds he made she packed on her! And the sounds her own mouth made, too! "Aaaaaaahhhhiieeeeeee!!!" Melinda wailed, her legs thrashing, tightening on his neck. Oh, God, she'd drown him in the musky creams of her cunt! She'd pull him into her pussy and feed him woman's cum till it was running out his Goddamned ears!

"Mmmmmmmmm," he crooned as his mouth continued to dine upon her gash. The hum of his voice vibrated throughout Melinda, up the channel to her ovaries, and from there, everywhere. She scarcely realized that her ass was bobbing up and down on the edge of the desk, that she was cunt-fucking his face with a vehemence, a blistering passion she had forgotten she was capable of displaying.

And through it all his tongue kept ramming up her cunt tube, so deeply it made her shiver, so expertly her creams flowed in ever-greater abundance, till the hair around her slit was sticky with her juice and his saliva. His thumbs kept pressuring the nub of her clit, too, until that tender organ ached from abuse but whimpered for more, more, more…