James Evers - Hungry wives

Roger stared down the length of her firm, white body, and watched as his cock sliced in and out of her tight, mysterious cunt. In the starry half-light the glossy columns of her thighs shone eerily, and he could almost glimpse the pink gleam of her moist cunt. He fucked steadily, mindless of my possible pain, thrusting his cock in full, hard strokes.

Marge pulled his face to her, and threw out her tongue passionately in a full, ardent kiss. Their breaths mingled hotly, and their tongues sparred wildly together in the rising heat of desire. The hard lips of her jugs burned into his chest like tiny irons, and every sense – every single nerve – responded, intoxicated by the erotic pliancy of her body.

"Oh God, it's too good to be true!" she shrieked. "Nothing's ever felt like this! Oh…darling… oooohh God!"

Her hands were clawing into his back, urging him to fuck deeper into her squirming, sucking pussy. Their combined animal moans reverberated in the desert patch of woods that hid their wanton union. Her nails raked his body, digging into the driving muscles of his ass, and plunging him in hard, reaming strokes into her body.

"ER… fuck me… fuck me harder!" she cried, her cunt clutching fiercely at his pistoning cock. "Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me!"

Her words inflamed him beyond all semblance of sanity. The roar of his own pounding blood filled his ears as his sweating, gasping body drove into her sucking, clasping cunt. An anguished groan rumbled deep in his throat as he felt the giant map of his cum rising from his aching balls.

"Oh Marge… I can't stop it… it's… shhiiiiiiht!"

"Yes! Me too! Aaaarrrgqgghhh!"

Their bodies began to heave uncontrollably.

Thick, hot streams of burning fluid gushed from cock and cunt to drown the lovers in glorious, jerking release.

Roger and Marge stared into each other's fats, adrift in a boiling sea of love, marveling at the flushed beauty that only sex an bring as his cock gushed the last remaining drops of cum into her wildly contracting cunt.

Marge's mind returned from its mental journey, and slowly focused on the familiar surroundings of her bedroom. Her body was sweating and taking, its position completely altered by the force of her memory. She found herself balled up on her side, one hand pressed fiercely between her drenched thighs, her other hand rubbing passionately beneath her blows.

She flushed with embarrassment at her own manipulations, and rolled on her back, spreading her arms to each side of her.

"Shit," she whined, "why can't it still be like that? Why doesn't he still see me the same way he did that? Have I changed that much? Am I still beautiful?"

Suddenly she was consumed with curiosity. Maybe it was her body. Maybe she just wasn't attractive any more. Quickly she scooted down, and off the foot of the bed. She stepped over the vacuum cleaner and walked to the huge dresser mirror that dominated a large section of one wall. She paused to stare, and choked down one more rush of embarrassment before beginning to slowly undress.

First she removed the scarf from her head, watching as the soft white-blond curls fell to frame her youthful, angular face. Her features refused to away her thirty-five yearn. She possessed bright, almond-shaped eyes, and a slightly protruding lower lip that almost begged to be licked and nibbled.

No, it wasn't her face. She was still pretty. Next she reached below her breasts and knotted the loose ends of her blouse, pulling it slowly off her rounded white shoulders, and letting it drop to the floor. She stared critically at the braless perfection of her full tits. There was a little more sag perhaps, a few stretch marks as a badge of motherhood, but still they hung large and firm, the small pointy nipples marking them dead in the center.

No, it wasn't her tits.

Finally she unsnapped her cut-offs, and pulled them down, pulling the thin, white panties with them. She dropped them down the full velvety length of her slender, white legs, and with a quick flip of her tiny ankles, kicked them off. She stared again, studying the soft vee of her blond crotch. The hips were a touch wider perhaps, but still tempting, retaining all the set and resilience of her ex-cheerleader's body.

No, it wasn't her at all. She was the kind of woman men kill for – beautiful, and hungry for a man's loving touch.

The sight of her own body was exciting her. The electric pulses of her previous remembrance still tingled beneath the thin layer of her glistening, sensuous body. "Oh Roger," she sighed, grabbing the wedding picture from the dresser before her, and clutching it to her gently heaving chest. "Why? I'm still beautiful. Why can't you fuck me like you used to like you did that night?"

And now she relived that night again, blocking out all the parts but the feel of his hand, his mouth, and his cock as she pressed the cool glass of the picture against her breasts. Her mind flashed its images, each sensation playing across her body, while her baud idly moved the photograph from one tit to another, speaking to it as though it were living flesh.

"It's so good, so good when you suck or touch my tits. You pull the love right through them. It pours out my nipples into your beautiful hard body."

She could see her tits in the mirror. The full pink nipples were awake and stretched as the brown skin around them began to contract and squirm. She continued massaging them, moving the squared frame across her body, and staring dreamy-eyed at the reddened buds jutting out boldly from the soft white mounds.

She was sinking now, sinking into the vivid picture of his hard, muscular body, clawing and rubbing against her tingling flesh. No longer able to see, her eyes shut tightly, her mind concentrating on the glorious insanity of that first erotic night of sex.

"Take my body," she groaned. "It's yours. Take it, anyway you want it… oh God! Take me!"

The picture slid unconsciously from her hand, and began circling the milky expanse of her flat, smooth stomach, gliding effortlessly on the thin veneer of sweat that now coated her body.

A moan escaped her throat, and a weakening charge erupted in the pit of her stomach as the picture frame grazed the wet, clinging curls of her blond bush. She pressed the picture's cool edge momentarily on the glistening mound of her cunt, and trembled while a shiver climbed defiantly up her tingling spine.

Her nipples seemed to grow even stiffer, crying out for more and fuller contact. Her hand involuntarily flew up to clutch the hungry orbs. Her fingers worked frantically at her straining nipples, twisting and turning them like dials to raise the maddening volume of passion that was radiating from her drenched thighs.

"Oh God!" she cried, her mind guiding, then following the lustful lead of her imagined seduction. "More… I want more of you. Take my body. Take all the pleasure I have to give! Fuck me!"

Her hands switched positions. The picture came up to crush and slide across her sweaty tits while her other hand dropped lower and began to search gently in the swelling folds of her pulsating cunt. Her finger brushed against the tiny knob of her clit, startling the tiny bulb into instant erection, and jolting her with a sudden shock of ecstasy.

For one brief moment the awareness of her actions interrupted the smooth chain of imagined events. She was stunned by the realization she was masturbating, something she had never done, and with it came all the torturing voices of guilt so firmly associated with the act.

But nothing could prevail against the yearning borne of yearn of frustration and longing. As quickly as it had come, it fled, leaving her once again in the warm, delicious grasp of her sexual fantasy.

Her fingers persisted, tracing up and down the throbbing length of her cunt, swelling to wanton firmness the pink fleshy gash. Her fingertips slid gently around the screaming clit, and down into the inner folds, drawing ever nearer to her hungry, neglected hole.