David Crane: The wife_s doggy position

At long last, he stopped coming.

He stood there, trembling all over, stiff-legged, his flanks heaving in and out.

Molly continued to jack and suck.

She milked every last drop out of his cock and balls, and when she finally drew her lips away, his cockhead was glistening, polished to a luster. A few drops had escaped her mouth and trickled down his hairy stalk. Molly used her soaking tongue to gather them up, not wanting to waste a single drop.

The dog staggered as he stepped away.

Molly sat there in a daze.

What had she done? How could she have done such a thing?

It was all Carla's fault!

If that terrible girl had not gotten Molly so horny, telling her about fucking dogs, it never would have dawned on Molly to do such a terrible thing. Blaming Carla, she excused herself.

She vowed that she would never do a thing again.

But even as she made that vow, the black Doberman was advancing toward her, his prick as stiff as ever, and a hopeful, expectant look in his big brown eyes.

"No! Go away!" she said.

The dog blinked. He looked crestfallen. The boxer seemed to be grinning, laughing at the poor Doberman, who had only had a handjob instead of a blowjob.

The Doberman whimpered pitifully.

It didn't seem fair that he had to do without, thought Molly.

Molly had always been kind to animals.

The Doberman obviously expected what the boxer had had.

Molly took pity on him.

Her vow still held, however. Molly was determined that she would never blow a dog again, after today.

After she sucked off the Doberman…

After Molly had left the cocktail lounge, Carla had a few more drinks with the man who'd joined her. His name, he said, was Sam, and he was from out of town on a business trip. He made a point of telling her that he was staying in a hotel nearby. He obviously wanted her, and Carla made no attempt to play hard to get. Sam was a pretty good-looking guy and, furthermore, when he had danced with her, she had felt his swollen prick pressing into her belly. It seemed like a nice, big one.

Carla hadn't been fucked for some time now, by a man or a dog, and she was in the mood for some casual sex. That was the one drawback about no longer being married, she figured. When she'd lived with her husband, there was always cock available. True, he hadn't been a great lover, and she enjoyed the variety that she had been getting as a single girl but, still, she had to go out looking for it. Sometimes, she just felt like staying in bed and having it supplied to her without all the bother of finding a man. She was tempted to buy a dog, in fact, since the collie was not always available when she felt like getting fucked. But things seemed to be working out well today, and she figured she would get a nice afternoon's fucking from Sam.

When he suggested that they go back to his hotel room for a quiet drink in privacy, Carla gave him a knowing smile.

"What kind of girl do you think I am?" she asked. Since she had been rubbing against him in a very lewd manner on the dance-floor, Sam thought that she was just the sort of girl that he hoped. But when she asked him, he stammered.

"Err… I didn't mean… that is…"

But Carla gave him a wink.

"That's okay," she said. "I am that kind of girl."

So back to his hotel they drove.

Sam went through the motions of pouring them drinks, but they didn't bother to drink them. He sat beside her and, soon enough, the glasses were on the floor and they were in a passionate embrace. His mouth ground on hers, and when her lips parted, he pushed his tongue into her mouth. Carla sucked on it, then twined her own tongue with it, like two serpents mating in a moist cavern. Jabbing tongues back and forth, they were panting into each other's mouths.

He placed a hand on her tit.

She arched, pushing her firm tit into his hand as she squirmed against him. He felt her nipple grow rigid in his palm.

Sam began blowing in her ear and licking her neck. He unbuttoned her blouse, then slipped his hand inside. She wore no bra. He began to knead and fondle her tits. Then he slid a hand up under her skirt.

Carla's legs parted immediately.

Sam played with her pussy through the soaking crotchband of her panties. Slipping his hand inside, he began to caress her naked cunt, fingering her clit and rubbing her fuck slot. Sam thought that she had the hottest, juiciest cunt he had ever handled. He was looking forward to shoving his cockmeat up her smoldering hole. The man had a raging hard-on by this time and, to his delight, Carla began to fondle his cock and balls through his pants. Sam appreciated a woman who was eager for it, who didn't mind taking the initiative. He would never have married a girl like that, or anything, but he preferred them for casual encounters when he was on the road.

His prick bucked like a bronco.

Carla began to open his fly, drawing the zipper down a little at a time, teasingly. Then, pulling it all the way down, she reached in to haul his prick out. She held his fuckshaft in her fist and worked her thumb against the sensitive point where the thick stalk flared out into the wide knob of his cockhead. She fingered his piss slit, then cupped his balls, squeezing gently as if to find out just how much of a load of jism they contained. He was slipping three fingers up her pussy. She jacked him a little.

"Let's get our clothes off," she suggested.

Without waiting for Sam to reply, Carla slid out of his embrace and, standing in front of him, she began to take her clothing off. Sam watched her with admiration. The brunette disrobed like a stripper, teasing him, revealing her body a little at a time. She was lean and trim, and her cunt was a dark jungle divided by a sluggish river. Glistening ribbons of cuntjuice streaked her inner thighs. She pushed her hips out, her legs parted, thinking that Sam might like to give her soaking pussy a little tonguing to start with. But then, when he just gazed at it, instead of going down on her, she shrugged and knelt in front of him. She began to undress him. His cock towered up before her face.

She ran her tongue up his prickshaft.

Cum bubbled from his piss slit and trickled down his cock, and she lapped it up, gathering the sticky slime on her tongue.

But then Carla drew back and pulled his pants off, too eager to get a cuntful to take much time licking him. She stood up, took him by the hand, led him to the bed, then sat down. He stood over her and she licked his cockhead a little more, then dropped back, her knees lifted and her thighs parted.

"Fuck me, Sam," she whispered.

His prick jolted like a recoiling cannon.

He got on the bed, kneeling between her widespread legs. Taking his cock in hand, he guided the tip to her cunt. Carla writhed about in happy expectation. He worked his pricktip around in her fuck slot for a moment, stirring her with it. Then he braced his knees, his ass whipped forward, and he buried his big prick balls-deep up Carla's steaming pussy.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Ooooh!"

The sound was soft and drawn-out as she thrilled to the feeling of having her hot cunt stuffed full of stiff prick. He held the deep penetration, savoring the joy of having every inch of his huge cock sheathed in slippery cunt. His hands slid down, then cupped her under the ass, tilting her pussy up as he prepared to start fucking into her. Carla had one arm around his shoulders. Reaching down with the other, she held his balls. Her thighs clamped around his flanks, and her pussy muscles began to work on him, sucking and dragging on his buried prickmeat. Sam still hadn't moved.

"Fuck," she moaned. "Fuck me!"

Carla was staring up into his face. She saw him grimace with lust. His teeth gleamed as his lips drew back from them, so that he seemed to be snarling like a beast. His eyes seemed to be glazed. His breath came panting out.