Sid Farmer - Hot and horny weekend

They fit each other perfectly. George's desperately straining cock, already almost at the breaking point, found its place as if it were a hand slipping into a tailored glove. There was no room for error. Their bodies had been molded to perfection after years of making love to each other, and they began to move together in perfect unison. The ecstasy of the moment rose within Abby as her lewdly aroused husband stroked into her, his pleasure-giving cock caressing the smooth inner walls of her moistly lubricated vagina, the rubbery head finding its mark at her cervix and pummeling against it as he thrust deeper and deeper into her. The half dark room seemed to light up in strange colors to her, blinding, flashing, mingled with the electrifying shocks that shot through her madly spasming body to the seeming depths of her very loins. They were both ready, both already driven to the point of orgasm by their impassioned licking and sucking of each other. Abby could feel the rhythmic muscles of her abdomen begin to contract spasmodically.

"Oh, oh, ohhhhhh!" she panted, knowing she would be the first to cum. But she was wrong.

As if he had been struck by lightning, George jerked suddenly forward. Abby could feel his swollen balls burst with the fiery liquid that had been held back for this cataclysmic moment, and she screamed aloud as she felt his blazing sperm shoot deep into the hidden darkness of her dilated cunt, filling her with the warmth of desire that would culminate for her in a few distant seconds.

"I'm cumming," she heard her husband gasp at her between breaths. "I'm cummmmmiiiinnnnggggg!" as the smooth jets of boiling sperm shot far up into her churning cuntal depths.

Abby arched her back, every muscle in her voluptuous body contracting as she rose up and fell to the side in an almost violent attack of contraction. Her sphincter began to clench and open like an angry fist, and her straining buttocks flexed to rock hardness as her orgasm hit.

"I-I, me too, my darling, I'm cummmmiiinnnggggggg, nowwwwwwww!" she screamed as the power of her body unleashed at the moment she had been waiting for all night. There was no time, no space, no motion in the world, only the unbelievable experience of her climax as she was hit again and again by the spasmodic twitching of every muscle in her body. Every fiber of her being seemed wrenched apart by the tremendous force of her exertion, destroyed and then remolded to the shape of this latest climactic passion. Slowly, ever so slowly, the sweat-soaked body of the completely exhausted woman ceased its reflexive spasming, gradually giving up the tension of her orgasm to the incredibly euphoric calmness of sexual satiation. She felt George pull his already deflated cock from the warmth of her sperm-filled vagina, and fall wearily on the bed beside her, sighing out his own satisfaction to the sudden stillness of their bedroom.

No one could ever approach him, Abby thought to herself. No one could ever even come close to satisfying her the way her husband could, and she knew it. If she should ever lose him.

With a slow about-face, her thoughts came to rest on Laura Wilson: young, beautiful, provocative Laura Wilson. She raised herself slightly on her elbow, and gazed into the closed eyes of her husband, as he began to fall to sleep. Could Laura Wilson be the one, she thought? Could this young girl finally be the one to tempt her husband away from her, to tempt him away with the pleasures of youth and innocence which, she knew, she herself had long ago surrendered? Gazing at George's ruggedly handsome face, Abby wondered.

Not without a fight, she concluded with a determined smile. Not without one hell of a fight. And the first round of that fight she decided, might very well be the last round. It certainly would be if Peter Lessing's valet, Jackson, lived up to his reputation. And even before she let Jackson loose on Laura, Abby knew that she would have a whole weekend to undermine Laura's marriage at the vacation house. It certainly shouldn't be too difficult to persuade Bill Wilson to join in a little extra-marital socializing.

Abby lay back down on the bed, her eyes closing over visions of what was in store for her potential rival. It was too good, she thought sleepily… Too sweet… First take the girl's husband… Jackson take the girl… She didn't have a chance… No chance at all…

Laura Wilson sat dumbly at the table in her immaculate kitchen, staring stupidly at the broken pieces of china that covered the freshly waxed floor. That was the third plate she'd broken that afternoon, and the crash had made her tense nerves even tighter, and more strained.

As she bent to the floor to pick up the pieces, Laura looked up at the kitchen clock, and then sighed to herself with resignation. Bill would be home any moment now – he'd just called from the airport that he was taking a taxi home – and she wondered if she could face him. She gazed around the freshly scrubbed kitchen, and realized that all the house cleaning in the world would never make her feel any more guiltless when she greeted her husband.

The few days since her experience with her neighbor, George Farrington, had been spent indoors: watching television, sleeping fitfully, or simply sitting for hours on end, staring straight ahead, thinking of absolutely nothing. She didn't really trust herself to go outdoors. She didn't want to see or talk to anyone, especially her next door neighbors, and she was terrified that George might try to call her or see her. At least that hadn't happened… one small bit of light in an otherwise somber few days.

Laura finished picking up the scattered pieces of broken plate almost mechanically, throwing them into the garbage can with the remains of the earlier ones she'd broken, and sat down again at the kitchen table, smoothing her freshly ironed skirt out across her lap with unconscious precision. As she sat, from all outward appearances perfectly composed and calm, her mind raced through a maze of conflicting emotions, bounced off the contradictory explanations of what had happened to her the last few days, and finally came to rest on the motives for her actions: motives which, for her, were still painfully unclear. Why had she done it? What was she going to tell Bill, for he would surely find out by himself in due time: George Farrington would see to that. And worst of all, how was she going to rid herself of the awful hold her lascivious neighbor had over her, his chance knowledge of her husband's run-in with the law in San Francisco?

All these questions tangled themselves together in maddening and conflicting patterns, filling Laura's mind and heart with an almost tangible pain, a tightness that threatened suddenly to choke her. And then, as spontaneously as they had come, those patterns were vaporized by the sound of a loud greeting from the living room, and the slamming of the heavy front door.

"Hello? Laura? I'm home, honey!!!!"

Laura felt her body freeze, then thaw, then turn reluctantly toward the kitchen door and her husband's voice. Well, she thought to herself wryly, it won't be long now.

"Laura?" Bill called out again. "Are you home?"

"Yes, darling," Laura felt the pressure against her vocal cords, heard the sound of her words, but didn't really feel as though she were speaking. "I'm out in the kitchen."

The kitchen door swung open with a crash, and Laura's husband strode into the room, his face illuminated by a huge, happy grin.

"Hey, no flowers for the returning hero? No kisses?"

Laura suddenly rushed forward and threw herself into her husband's arms, pressing her lips against his as though it might blot out all the anguish she'd been living the past few days; as though she could lose herself in him, and thereby escape herself.

"All right!" Bill exclaimed, "that's more like it! How's my little angel been?"