John Friday - Raped wild wife

"Hhhhmmmm, I can feel it. Christ. There must be a quart. It's still gushing! Oh, God… don't let it stop. Don't ever stop! I want you to fuck me forever."

It usually took Samantha longer to reach a climax, but the heat and the flooding volume of his jizz did something to her. His jetting, splashing fuck-cream touched nerves in places seldom reached. She jerked and moaned, arching to lift her ass high above the bed.

"I'm cumming too! Ooooh, shit – you're making me cum so hard!"

"I can feel it." The wavering motions of her clinging fuck tunnel became violent bursts of movement. They made his padded cock tip shiver and tingle with delight. They pulled and sucked at his wick root. "Ohbh, shit… and it feels so good!"

When her seething pussy had milked every last drop from his cock, she finally relaxed and fell back, squirming joyously on the thick, fur-like spread.

"I want to suck your cock again," Samantha said when she caught her breath. "While it's still wet. I love to taste hot cum, and I like it best licked off a big cock still flavored with fuck honey."

"You're really something!" Grant said. "How about some 69? I like to suck pussy too."

"Even when it's sopping wet and dripping with cum?"

"I haven't tried it that way before, but I want to now."

"I thought vice cops knew it all."

"Yeah, we do. And this is how we learn." She laughed and watched in the mirror above while he turned around to straddle her face and bend down over her pussy mound. His huge cock had gone halfway soft after shooting its load. She felt grateful for that. It was hard to get or keep his whole prick in her mouth when it was fully hard.

Samantha felt some guilt knowing that Grant was married, but what the hell – if he hadn't fucked his wife for a month, it wasn't much of a marriage.

She also knew from her training that the divorce rate among cops was extremely high. The pressures of the job, the long hours, the physical danger! They all combined and often made an officer's home life pure hell.

"There's nothing better than sucking a flabby cock and feeling it swell hard in your mouth," she said.

He laughed. "That is not exactly my idea of a good time. But sucking a sweet cunt like yours sure is!" He bowed his head and burrowed into her, startled by the salty taste of his own fuck-cream mixed with the familiar musk of cunt.

"How many laws do you think we're violating right now?" she asked after licking her tongue all over his swaying cock.

"Enough to get locked away for a long time," he assured her.

"In the same cell?"

"I doubt it." His laughter roared again. God, how long had it been since he had had so much fun with a woman? "I've been thinking," he began cautiously. "There's no way we can do all I want to in an hour."

"Neither can I. But we're supposed to go on duty… what can we do?"

"Call in and say we're staking out this motel."

"Can we do that?"

"Sure… We saw two suspicious characters, and we have to check them out." He gave her dripping cunt slit a playful swipe of his tongue.

"Hhhmmmm… Who were these suspicious characters?"

"A sexy young silver-haired blonde and an older guy. It's gotta be a high-class hooker with a john."

"Are you saying I look like a whore?"

"That's what I thought you were when I first walked into the squad room."

"You son of a bitch! If I didn't love your big cock so much, I'd bite the damn thing off!"

"If I didn't need it for what I plan to do, I'd let you try. I love the way you suck cock."

"Hhhhmmmm!" She started again, and she sucked his prick so hard that he could hardly reach the phone.

Fucking with Billy Chapman had not satisfied Veronica at all. She found the small brass key, and with some difficulty, managed to wiggle it into the cuffs and free her wrists. She sat rubbing them for the longest time and trying to think.

Lack of good fucking wasn't all that had gone wrong with her marriage to Grant. That was just a symptom, not the disease. The whole thing had gone sour. She hated their tacky little house, but it was the best they could afford on his salary. She hated their social life… if she could even call it that.

With Grant's hours, it was all but impossible for them to attend normal functions. And he hated parties anyway, except with other cops. "Everybody else is so uptight," he would say. "Some asshole whips out a joint or snorts a little coke and thinks… Oh shit… He's a COP. The real pricks call you a PIG or ask… How many people did you beat up to day? Fuck that. Fuck them all!"

So they exchanged visits with other cops, and Veronica hated that. The men sat around telling war stories. One night, she was trying to eat dinner, and a friend of Grant's talked about nothing but a man he shot the night before with a shotgun full of buckshot. It was enough to make any ordinary person throw up. And she did – right in the middle other dinner plate.

She walked into the bathroom and took a steaming-hot shower. The stinging spray only magnified her feelings of discontent. "I'm entitled to a better life than this," she cried to the empty room.

If only he'd go to work inter father's furniture store, learn the business and then take it over when the old man retired. That would be in three or four years, maybe sooner, if he really caught on and got the hang of things.

They'd have money for a nicer house in a better neighborhood, a new car, maybe even a mink coat for her to wear to all the parties they'd attend. He shouldn't mind that. He'd be a prosperous merchant, not a seedy cop that people either feared or hated, or both.

And she wouldn't have to worry as she had for years that some night an officer would knock to say that he had been killed. He'd already been wounded twice… badly the second time. A small bullet had ripped into his chest, narrowly missing his heart.

Suddenly, Veronica realized that if such a message came tonight – if Grant was gunned dawn and killed in some dark alley, it would be a relief. It would free her to lead a better life. That realization shocked her and made her feel sick.

He was sitting in the back corner booth at a burger place three blocks from Veronica's house. That was his booth. It had B. CHAPMAN carved right in the middle of the table. He was sharing it now with his two best friends, Jason Stern and Lyle Hunsaker. They called Lyle "Hunk" for short. He had the body of a bull moose and the brain of a split pea.

Tanya Mason was also there. Chapman had his arm around her shoulder and his hand resting on her right tit. She was new in town – a runaway, probably. She had never said, and Bill had never asked.

But she was a looker! A redhead with long waves of hair that fell clear to the crack of her ass. Chapman and all the other guys were so hot to fuck her that they could hardly keep their cocks in their pants. But she played hard to get.

Bill decided now it was time to give her a dose of her own medicine. "Guess what I did this afternoon?"

"What?" Jason asked.

"Yeah, what Billy?"

"Don't call me Billy, you fuck head. Bill is all right. Chap is better. But if you ever call me Billy again, I'll break your Goddamn arm. I don't care if you are big as a fucking house!"

"O.K. Bill." Hunk just managed to choke off the y. "What did you do?"

Bill gave Tanya's ripe tit a teasing little squeeze. "You know that cop's wife… Veronica Dunlap?"

"Oh, yeah that's one sexy lady! I don't care if she is damn near old enough to be my mother."

"If your mother had tits like Veronica, I'd fuck her too."

"You didn't," Jason said in a flat, disbelieving voice.

Chap squeezed Tanya's luscious little tit again, harder this time. "Yeah, I did. I fucked her good. If you think she's sexy with her clothes on, you oughtta see her bare-ass naked. Her tits were so big and beautiful, she makes Tanya here look like a stick."