James Evers - Hungry wives

And still the mind pictures flew by. "I need you in me," she mewed. "I need your cock in me, filling me up. Give it to me! Give me your cock!"

She sunk to her knees, spreading her legs wide and opening her burning pussy. Tauntingly she pulled, her finger up, barely touching the dripping gash. Her loins were aflame, her head swimming with the strength of her overwhelming need.

"Now," she uttered, her breath raspy and gasping.

"Give it to me now… now… uuuuugggghh!"

With a savage lunge she rammed her finger into her inflamed cunt. Her breath exploded in an animal growl, the sweat flying from her jerkins taking head. The want, fleshy walls of her cunt collapsed around the juice-drenched finger, and sucked ravenously at this pleasure-giving intruder.

But the powerful force of her hunger drove her ever on. One finger was not enough. Desperately she plunged another, and then another into her hot, dripping cunt. She frantically twisted her hand, driving the hard probes deep into the cavernous depths of her quivering pussy.

Her other hand now opened, allowing the photo to drop unnoticed to the floor. Her fingers began to knead at her breasts, the nails digging into the tender tit-flesh, trying to crush the overwhelming fire that raged within them.

She was moaning incessantly now, her hips jerking and twisting to the unyielding probing of her cock-like fingers. The whole lewd rhythm of her frenzied dance gained momentum until her lust-crazed body toppled, thrashing wildly in the soft pile of her bedroom carpet.

"Ooooohhh shit! Let it come… God! Let it come!!"

Her head rocked frantically, sending the sweat-drenched, matted locks of her hair flying to each side of her. Her hips rose up in spasm after spasm of delight. Her hand battered mercilessly at her driving cunt as every muscle in her body stood tensed and ready, waiting for the final releasing blow.

Suddenly Marge's twisting body was convulsed with a gigantic spasm. She girded her loins and checked the motion of her hands, holding her trembling body on the very edge of orgasm before finally shattering into the climactic abyss. It broke over her in wave after wave of screaming tremors.

Her body jerked like a hooked fish, her breath gasped out in low, sustained moans, leaving her unable to breathe, and her heart seemed to atop beating as the raw power of climax raced through her.

In one final great sigh she collapsed, exhausted and satisfied onto the carpet. For several moments she lay there, allowing every ripple and shiver of her orgasm to play itself out before moving.

Now, finally, she stirred. She leaned over and grabbed her cut-offs and panties, putting them on quickly. She was suddenly self-conscious about her nakedness. She lifted her scarf, and wiped the sweat from her face, rising at the same time to check her face in the mirror. She adjusted the curls, blending the wet locks into the dry ones, until only her red swollen breasts remained to expose her wanton act.

And then it happened. Every feeling she had suppressed in the heat of her passion now welled up. Every bit of guilt, humiliation, every dirty feeling that she could associate with the word masturbation ran through her.

"Goddamn it!" she cried. "I've managed to avoid masturbating my whole life, and what do I get? Fifteen yearn of marriage, five years of no real husband, and I'm ramming my hand into my own cunt."

Her feeling quickly surrendered, giving in to an anger more intense than possibly any she had ever experienced before. All directed at Roger.

"You Prick!" she screamed, her balled-up fists crashing against the dresser top. "You motherfucking prick! You son-of-a-bitch… SON-OF-A-BITCH!"

She was blinded with rage and humiliation. She turned and kicked at the nearest object, the vacuum cleaner, but only succeeded in hooking her ankle around the hose and falling to the floor.

Undaunted, she pounded her fists into the bed, the dust swirling up with each blow, her voice screaming her curses to the full limit of her rough, angry throat. On and on she slammed, only stopping when her gaze caught hold of the wedding picture face down on the floor.

She got up, and rushed to it, pulling it up to glower at her husband's grinning face. It was still streaked and smudged from the grinding contact of her tits, only serving to inflame her anger.

In one quick, decisive move she cocked her arm, summoning every ounce of strength and emotion, and threw the picture against the wall. She watched gleefully as it shattered, sending fragments of glass flying in every direction. But with it, her anger too seemed to shatter and she staggered back, limply sitting on the bed.

She only had time for one heavy sigh before the door burst open.

"Mom! Mom, you okay?"

She stared mutely at this younger reflection of herself for several seconds before she could answer.

"Your mother was sick for a while, honey. But she just made herself well."

"What?"

"Nothing Laura, nothing. I'm just mumbling."

The young beauty walked over. Picking up Marge's blouse from the floor, she placed it over her mother's bare shoulders. "It's Dad… isn't it?"

"Oh great!" she moaned. "I think it's a secret, and now you come to tell me everyone knows."

"Not everyone, Mom. Just me… remember me? I live here. It's hard to miss."

"Yes… I guess it is."

She stood silent a few seconds, unsure of her mother's mood. "Look, Mom, I know I'm only eighteen and not supposed to know… but, if you ever want to talk…"

"No! I don't need to discuss it! I'm quite capable of handling it, thank you!" She was not sure why she was snapping at Laura. Maybe it was the fear that her daughter might know more about her sexual problem than herself.

At any rate an uncomfortable silence followed her outburst, a silence that now made her aware of the presence of Laura's boyfriend Larry Melrose. He had apparently been standing in the hallway since Laura came in, and at the moment was devouring her naked tits with his eyes.

She thought a moment about covering up, but decided the hell with it. At this point she was too confined and spent to be anything but grateful for his appreciative glances.

The moment hung stiffly, it was an impasse, with each player waiting to see if the other would resume the action. It was the phone that finally broke the static.

"Oh damn," Marge moaned. "That's Jenny wondering where the hell I am. Answer it will you, sweetheart? Tell her I'm on my way over."

Laura moved to the phone while Marge crossed to the mirror and retied her top. She was just finishing up when Laura hung up.

"Better warn you, Mom, she sounds real drunk."

"You sure?"

Jenny was frequently upset, as was Marge, but never upset enough to get really loaded.

"No doubt about it."

"Jesus!" she mumbled. "Whatever it is, it's worse than I thought."

Marge's thought was broken by a sudden outburst from Laura. "Oh my God! I forgot about Larry. He's standing out there waiting to help me pack."

"Pack? Where are you going?"

"God, Mother, can't you remember anything? My encounter group is having a one-week retreat, and Larry and I are going. Does any of this ring a bell?"

"Yes, yes I remember now. Well don't let him hang around out there. Bring him in so I can say hi." Marge waited while Laura grabbed Larry and pulled him into the room. She stared at him hoping to see some kind of embarrassed look, but instead found herself blushing as his eyes met hers confidently, his appreciation of all he had seen of her written clearly on his bold, handsome face.

"Hello, Mrs. Sommers… you're looking good." She winced at what she hoped was an accidental turn of phrase. "Thank you." There was a moment's pause in which Marge realized that she was too flustered by his incessant stare to talk. "Look, I've got to see Jenny. I'll see you both before you leave. Have fun packing, kids."