Duncan Fox - Deep throat wife

Then she went to her bed and lay down, naked, and stared at the ceiling. Whether she liked it or not, she had to face herself. She couldn't put it off any longer. She wasn't able to tell herself that she had hated every minute of it or that she had been forced. She had invited most of it. And she had enjoyed all of it. Even her death had been pleasurable.

The only thing she hated were some of the men involved. To most of them all she was was apiece of meat. Come to think of it, that's all she was to Shanda, too. To Bernstein, and the ad man, and her celebrity "partner" and Peter Sandier, she was a cunt one of a long line of cunts.

The only one who had given a shit about her was the technical director. He had shown more thoughtfulness toward her than her husband had in the past month. Granted, the guy had fucked her, right along with the rest of them. But, she had asked for it. And welcomed it.

She had to go back there in two days. What frightened her about the situation was not that she would have to face all those men again. What frightened her was that she knew she wanted to go, wanted the endless series of fuckings and suckings.

She knew she was going to do it all again. But she didn't want to give the sons-of-bitches the idea that she was just another cunt for them to use. She wanted to get fucked, all right. But she wanted to get fucked by men it would mean something to. She wanted to be special.

Somehow, she had to manage that, without messing up her chances on the show. She still had to be the big winner. She didn't know what future her marriage would have, after it was all done. But if she didn't win, it didn't have any future at all. Her infidelities could be concealed, but the debts she had piled up couldn't.

Karen was climbing the walls. The day between the tapings was excruciating. The tension was absolutely nerve-racking. With nothing to do but pace the shabby little house, she was going mad. She wasn't sure if she was just anxious to get the game show over with, or if she was horny.

Finally, seeking escape, she made out a shopping list and headed for the supermarket. It was a block-and-a-half walk to the store a block, and a half in the hot sun. She was sweating through her light dress by the time she got there. Once inside, the air-conditioning chilled her, and her tits jabbed up sharply. She glanced down, and suddenly wished that she had worn a bra after all. The bruises on her titties had made the cups painful, but now, her boob ends were showing, poking anxiously against the soft cotton bodice of her dress.

She wasn't wearing any panties, either. She was suddenly exquisitely aware of her nakedness under the dress. The cool air touched her naked snatch as she pushed the cart down the aisle. The stack of cucumbers made her pussy simmer, made her think of all those cocks she was going to have the next day. Turning away from the long, green cock-like vegetables, she saw the bananas, and her cunt convulsed again.

She was unbelievably horny, and she was going to have to wait a whole day to get her hole filled. Her insides squirmed at the thought. A whole day of excruciating hunger would drive her mad. If only she had a man for a husband, instead of a damn fool machine, it wouldn't be so bad. But all he did was fall into bed, and go right to sleep. He hadn't even noticed that she had gone to bed naked.

Karen idled her way down the aisle, killing time as much as anything. Most of the sloping bins were nearly empty this early in the morning. But it didn't matter. She didn't need any vegetables anyway. But it seemed that everywhere she looked, there was something that made her think of pricks. If it wasn't cucumbers or bananas, it was a squash. She kept having the urge to curl up in a tight ball around the hot core of horniness in her gut.

At the back of the store, the swinging doors into the cooler, the stock room for the vegetables, were propped open. The stock boy was at the back of the room, working at the sink. He was young, about eighteen. He was also tall, slender and black.

Karen tried to remember his name. She had seen it many times on his badge. Peter? No, that was Sandier's name, from the show. Easing her cart off to one side, she glanced casually around. No one was watching. She slipped through the doors into the cool, earthy-scented confines of the produce room. The doors swung closed behind her with a soft thump.

"Mrs. Calder!" the stock boy exclaimed, turning at the sound of the doors. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"I was looking for something fresh, this morning," Karen answered. She felt her titties sharpen from the change in temperature, and from her arousal. The teenager was wearing a pair of tight black slacks. The bulge at his groin was impressive.

"Something special?" the black youth asked.

"You might say that," Karen agreed, running a finger along the edge of a crate. "Something long, and fresh, and juicy," Her insides were boiling. A hot spring of lust had formed in her guts.

"Got some nice fresh carrots here."

"That's not exactly what I had in mind," Karen purred. "But that's the right shape." She wondered how her pussy could get so wet so fast.

The lump in the youth's groin got bigger. His hot, dark eyes were stroking over her body, picking out the tips of her titties, the generous thrust of her knockers, the swell of her mature hips. "Something more along the lines of a cucumber," he said, his voice rich with meaning.

"Something like that," she agreed.

"Something sort of round, and hard, and long," the black youth went on. "Something that the juice sort of spurts out of when you bite down on it."

"Exactly," Karen agreed. Her breath rushed out of her lust-knotted lungs.

"I think I have what you need," the youth assured her. "Just a moment while I fix the door so we won't be disturbed."

Karen heard feet clatter on the wooden slats over the concrete floor. The latch on the swinging doors snapped loudly. She was locked in with him!

He turned. He was standing at the door, looking at her, his hand touching his fly. He ran the zipper down, and pried his dong out. He curled his black fish around his black prick and skinned the foreskin back, revealed the purple-black knob. He pumped his hand slowly, made the skin slide over the rigid center.

"This what you were looking for?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Karen whispered. "Yes," she moaned. "Oh, God, yes, that's it." She tottered toward it, her eyes focused on the vertical slit that would spew hot come into her, come that would put out the raging inferno in her guts.

Without his even asking, she dropped to her knees in front of him. She reached out both hands and touched his throbbing whang delicately, tenderly. She stroked his black dick, felt how velvety soft the skin was, how hard the interior shaft was. She tickled the underside, along the dorsal vein, along the channel that would carry creamy jizz into her.

Leaning forward, she let her warm, sucking mouth engulf his dick. She swirled her tongue over the rubbery knob. She tasted him, savored him, stroked the nerve-patch beneath the cockhead. His goo sizzled onto her tongue, filling her with its taste and scent. Surrounded by vegetables, she sucked his cock. She took half of it into her mouth, took it until it squirmed against the back of her mouth.

Still kneeling on the floor with his dick in her mouth, she used one hand to drag her dress up. She pulled her thin cotton dress up, baring her pale white body. She shoved her dress up until it was bunched under her armpits, and her great, naked titties with their hard rubbery points, were exposed. She had bared her pale rounded tummy, her white, lush thighs, the thick brown tangle of her twat.

She wriggled erotically in front of the stock boy while she sucked on his dripping dick. Her breasts quivered and joggled as she writhed on her knees before him. Her hips pumped and fucked as she mouthed his cock. His strong hands stroked her long brown hair, dragging her face farther onto his dick.