Jason Cannon: Swap mates

Then they were back on the sofa and he slid his hand boldly up under the sweater and began to stroke the naked skin, of her back. She cuddled closer and kissed him gently on the cheek, nuzzling his rough skin.

Instinctively, her hand began to rove over his muscular back. She loved his powerful body, hard as a rock, and she felt a spasm of excitement pulse through her as she touched his skin. She nestled softly into the dark curling hair on his well-developed chest, feeling tiny and secure.

He slipped his hand around so that he could gently knead her firm, ripe breasts, and luxuriated in their resilient softness. Delicately, he squeezed first one nipple, then the other, feeling them harden and grow taut. Desire was strong in him now, and his body throbbed with growing passion. He kissed her again, this time with an animal intensity that could communicate only one thing; he wanted to make love to her.

As she sensed this, Margie found herself growing tense, and her mind began to reel. God, what am I doing, she thought. I want him, don't I? Why am I wavering back and forth for?

"You want to now, don't you?" Allen asked gently.

"I want you," she replied. "I want to keep you."

"You've got my personal guarantee," he said, and drew her close to him. They kissed and she could feel forgiveness and warmth and yearning all boiling inside her.

He pulled and tugged at the sweater until he had it off. She shivered, hut her shivering stopped when she saw the open admiration in his eyes as he drank in the twin white bulges cascading over the top of her bra cups.

Totally excited now, he pressed himself against her, kissing her, running his hands over her smooth shoulders. The sensation of her skin was warm and sensuous, and he helped her slip out of the sweater as begot out of his own shin.

She started to massage his back and he turned and unfastened her bra. Her breasts spilled out into his hands and he grasped them hotly, savoring the feel of their fullness, squeezing them slightly. They were large and firm. Sensuous and white as the purest marble. But they weren't cold like marble. They vibrated, pulsating with a deep-seated sensual desire. When he touched them they seemed to have a passionate life of their own which made them warm and vibrant in his hands.

And his hands on her breasts had the same, alarming excitation for Margie. "Ohhhhh, Allen, I love you so much. Please… don't let this ruin everything for us!"

"It won't… it won't. God, Margie, your breasts are the most exciting things I've ever seen!"

When he touched them they would become firm, swelling with pent-up passion. He liked to take her tits in his hands and hold them, massage them, and feel them against his body.

The two of them lay there, with the fire playing over their smooth bodies, and he touched her in a thousand places, all areas of pleasure and delicious sensuousness. As he touched her, Margie sighed and moved in a steady rhythm, her hands roaming across him, tickling, feeling, touching.

"Do you like this?" she asked, as her hands moved over him, covering him with caresses.

"Yes," he said. "Keep it up!"

His hand slipped down low over the soft, trembling plane of her stomach until it reached the pink bikini panties. His fingers slowly found their way past the tight elastic waistband and into the curly tangle of her pubic hair. She tried to relax and let his roving hand freely explore her most private parts, yet deep within, a raging turmoil had begun that made her almost cry out with anguish as his finger teased the quivering folds of her vaginal slit.

"Baby," he moaned. "Baby, I want you so bad."

"Oh, my God," she moaned into his ear. "That's… that's driving me crazy."

"It's gonna be good, Margie… you'll see, it's gonna be good for bath of us." He talked as he slid his pants off and then her skirt.

Soon he was on top of her, moving against her. Her body, tanned by the sun, made her look like a Goddess in the firelight. He liked the way her hair fell over her shoulders. He looked at her as she lay there. Her hand languidly rested on his leg and toyed with the little hairs growing there. He laughed as she did this and ran his own hand over her leg.

Her legs were long and shapely, the flowing curve of her calf moving sensuously into the fullness of her thighs. He touched her, his fingertips dancing lightly across the smooth and pent-up passion of her flesh.

As he lightly excited her with his feather touch, she touched him also, just as lightly, just as erotically.

"Allen," she said idly, without really thinking, "do you love me?"

"Kiss me and I'll show you," he said.

He pulled her to him and their lips met, bodies straining against each other. Her breasts, firm and full of desire, mashed against his masculine, hairy chest.

Again his hands went under her panties. Allen let his fingers slide up and down the soft flesh, hoping that his gentle activity would trigger her female juices and moisten her pussy. Finding the tiny nub of her clitoris, he began to massage it, kneading just the right spot until it began to harden involuntarily, like a tiny penis. With growing urgency, he began to twist the little hardened bud, hoping to rouse Margie into a fever of desire to match his own.

His middle finger found the tight, puckered entrance of her pussy, and he was delighted to discover that it was slightly moist. With great care, he began to probe into the constricted passage, widening it, increasing the lubrication. As he did, Margie again found herself becoming tense, and involuntarily her vaginal passage began to tighten and resist his penetrating finger. Her legs drew closer together, almost damping his hand between those white, firm columns.

Allen sensed her anxiety and relaxed, trying to penetrate her slowly. His love play had caused his tick, lengthy prick to stiffen with lust, and his loins were hot and aching with desire. He wanted her tonight, wanted to screw her like a stallion mounting a mare, and cry out in triumph with his release.

"It's okay, honey," he whispered reassuringly. "It's okay. Just relax. Everything is going to be all right."

Despite his words, however, Margie found herself growing steadily more anxious. Her mind reeled with stormy thoughts: This is evil, sinful… He's like an animal… a filthy animal. Don't give in to him! It's dirty! Vile! "No…" she groaned. "No!" Then suddenly, her head began to pound with the beat of a thousand savage drums, and she drew back from him, raising her hands to her temples, trying to ease the throbbing.

"What's wrong?" Margie asked, with a certain edginess in his voice.

"I can't," she whispered. "I just can't."

Allen drew back coldly. "I know why," he said. "It's the sex… you don't want to make love to me."

"It's not that," she protested. "I do want to make love to you… but something keeps stopping me. I can't seem to get over it."

"Jesus," he said frankly. "How long is this going to go on?"

"I'm trying, Allen," Margie said. "You know that! I just need time!"

"How much time?" he shouted suddenly as his repressed fury burst to the surface. "God, I need a good lay! I haven't had one in at least three months! I need a real fuck!"

"Margie, don't use that kind of language with me!" she shouted back, furious at his display of temper.

"I'll use any kind of language I want," be snapped. "I'm sick of having you behaving like a Goddamn princess! Why the hell are you so afraid of sex? Why?"

"Because… because… it's ugly," she blurted out. "It's horrible and ugly.Ugly!"

"Crap!" he shouted back. "That's what that dried-up mother of yours keeps telling you. Your old man probably left her because she never gave him any. Everybody in town knows your old man would fuck anybody, because he wasn't getting any at home!"