David Ingram - The naughty bride

"I thought it would be safe here," she said.

"You're probably right. Nothing could happen to you here. Now come on to bed."

She finished her drink, took another straight from the bottle, and staggered in to her bed. John was already back asleep. Eva crawled under the satin sheet and quickly passed out, a silly, satisfied grin on her face.

When John awakened at six, Eva was sprawled nude, half on the bed, half off. He looked at her with distaste and went into the bathroom and turned on the cold water in the shower. Exactly eleven minutes later, he left the suite. He had hot tea and unbuttered toast in the coffee shop and then went directly to the stables. As he crossed the courtyard, he saw Roxanne waiting for him. She smiled and waved.

John had learned a great deal about Roxanne DeWinter in the past three days. She was forty-one years old and a widow. She married Abraham DeWinter when she was twenty-two and he was sixty-seven. He died of a stroke at eighty-four, leaving her a wealthy woman. It had been a good marriage as May-December marriages go, and since Abraham had been active up to the end, her sexual contacts outside her marriage had been few, yet she wasn't the frustrated widow she led John to believe. She had a seventeen-year-old son who was a robust, sexually advanced boy. He called his mother Roxy and she called him Ronny darling.

Roxy was quite the opposite of Eva, with dark brown hair, flashing brown eyes, and a chubby face with deep dimples in both cheeks. Her body, naturally, was much fuller than Eva's, though it was apparent that Eva would be built much the same when she reached her forties.

John was first attracted to her by her skill on the tennis court, and then her talent for bridge. He completely ignored his wife that night in bed. The next day, Roxy proved an excellent horseman and that afternoon she almost beat John at golf. Eva tagged close behind, seething with jealousy. At bridge that night, she let her knee slip between his thighs under the table and it excited him so that he forgot about his young bride. He fantasized about Roxy the whole sleepless night.

On the third day, Eva wasn't so persistent in keeping up, and he kissed Roxy for the first time. It was in the rough on the fourth hole; they were looking for Eva's ball. Roxy melted her lush body against him and gladly let him kiss her. They played footsie through the whole bridge game that night.

John felt the stirrings of illicit passion in his loins as he crossed the sunny courtyard. She was a magnificent-looking woman.

"Where is little Eva this morning?" Roxy said, when he came up to her.

"She got drunk again last night. She won't be going with us," he answered.

"I'm glad," she purred, stepping in close to him. Her hands came up to the side of his head and pulled his face down to hers. After a long, hard kiss, she pulled back. "My late husband drank a good deal, too," she said.

John felt the blood pounding in his temples, and he was glad that Eva was up on the bed drunk. The drunker the better. He slipped his arm around her waist and directed her into the stables. "Let's get our horses and go," he said.

Roxanne was wearing skin-tight riding breeches and a white, long-sleeved blouse that was open at the neck where she wore a red silk scarf. Her large tits bulged against the white material, the nipples sticking out like little knobs.

"I felt naughty this morning and didn't wear a brassiere," she said.

"Yes, I noticed," he said.

"Do you like me this way?"

"You can't imagine how much." His hand had moved up until it was against the bottom of her heavy tit. He turned her to him and kissed her again. Her mouth was open this time, and his tongue moved in as if it belonged there.

"Oh, John," she moaned, "I wish I had met you before Eva."

"I do too," he gulped. He could feel her pussy mashing against his hard-on. He gripped her ass in his hands and pulled her tighter.

She moved her belly back and forth against him, exciting him even more. As they hunched and kissed, she moved him backwards towards an open stall; she didn't bother to push the door closed.

There was a horse blanket conveniently spread across a pile of straw and she pushed him over backwards and came down on top of him. She straddled him lewdly and started dry humping, her mouth covering his. She knew he would play hell getting her breeches off, and it excited her. She enjoyed it when a man had to work to get at her pussy.

"I think I love you, John," she said. "The catch and zipper is on the side."

"Oh, Jesus!" John said, his hand groping. He got the catch open and fumbled clumsily at the zipper, finally working it all the way down. She kept humping against him as he tried to push the breeches down her wide hips.

"Hurry, John, hurry," she gasped. "I need you so bad."

He was sweating profusely when he finally got them halfway down her thighs. He gripped the cheeks of her generous ass, his fingers sliding into the deep cleft and almost accidentally probing at her tight, puckered asshole.

"Oh, God, that feels good. I never wear panties under riding pants. The coarse material feels so good against my cunt when I'm on horseback. I can actually come that way. I'll raise up so you can get unzipped and take your prick out."

"Oh, Jesus." John said, fumbling at his fly. He got it out, but it wouldn't go between her thighs they were pressed together so tightly by the pants.

"You'll have to take them off," she said, rolling off him onto her back.

He got to his knees and tugged at her pants. "You'll have to take my boots of first, darling," she said. He got her boots off and then finally her riding pants. She spread her legs open and placed a hand on each fat thigh. "Kiss it, honey," she said.

John looked at the great hairy gash and hesitated.

"Well, at least take your pants down and put something in it," she demanded.

He got his pants down to his knees and dropped on top of her. She found him with her hand and guided his cock into the wet, hairy mass between her thighs. Her cuntlips opened and sucked his cock inside.

A squat, ugly young man stood at the door to the stall watching, his massive cock sticking from his dirty jeans. He grinned and wrapped his hand around his prick and stroked the thick foreskin off the huge, bulbous head. He knew that John Richardson would get it good; the widow DeWinter was one fine fuck. He knew because he had fucked her here in this same stall the day that John and his bride had arrived and then again each night after the bridge game had ended.

Roxy gasped with pleasure as John's cock pushed in to the hilt. "Ooooh, it's been so long, darling, so long since I've had this." Her thighs came up against his hips as she locked her ankles behind his back. "Get it all in… I need it, I need it!"

Her cunt closed like a vise around his cock and he knew he couldn't last long. He felt cum rising from his balls like a garden hose filling with water.

"Not yet… not yet!" Roxy gasped, driving her cunt up to meet his insipid thrusts. But it was too late, John's cock was spurting jizz in gobs of saved-up lust.

She moaned with despair when he pulled out and his cock shriveled to nothing before her eyes.

"We'd better leave separately." John said, getting to his feet and adjusting his trousers. "We wouldn't want to be seen."

"Of course not." Roxy said, her cunt aching with desire. "Light me a cigarette before you go."

John lit a cigarette and stepped over and put it in her waiting fingers. And then he was gone. Roxy sighed and drew deeply on her cigarette.

She lay with her legs open and inviting, her mouth on the cigarette, when the ugly youth reappeared. His cock still hung from his open pants. It was easily ten inches long and not completely erect.