Sid Farmer - Hot and horny weekend

"Ooooohhhhhh," she moaned gaspingly, her face resting on George's belly, while her own husband's pelvis smacked solidly against the softness of her lush white ass cheeks.

"Oooohhhhh, my God… I-It's beautiful…! I never realized… Oh, Bill… rape it! It's yours! Make me know that you love me! Fuck it hard, darling! Hard! Hard…!" She wanted him to cum… to shoot his hot load of sperm deep into her belly, to split her open and drown her in his sticky warm semen's loveliness.

I'm going to cum in her ass, Bill thought insanely. He felt her reach back between her widespread thighs to graze and caress his frantically churning balls, squeezing them warmly in her hands. Her face was turned so that she could see the effect his sodomizing cock was having on her, and he watched her lips open and close in all consuming torment of pleasurable rapture spiraling through her soft vibrant body. He felt her clench her buttocks tightly, as if to imprison and secure his driving penis inside her, the sensation spurring him to increase his own hammering pace.

"Ooohhhh! OOooooohhhhhh…! Unnnnhhhh… yes… yes…! I'm… going to cum! Fuck it hard… hard…! I'm cuuummmmiiinnnggggg!"

Laura had never realized the delightful abandon she could know with a man… nor such carnally beautiful sensations as she did at that moment, with her body quivering and convulsing wildly in an orgasm that seemed to go on and on in sheer ecstatic bliss. She was gone… utterly in another world beneath this magnificent cock that continued to cause wild exploding sensations of enchantment in her belly and loins.

"Oooohhhhh… aaaaahhhh," she moaned in overwhelming rushing release, her senses blurred by the engulfing ecstasy of the moment. Dazedly, then, she heard him swear outright, then mouth a foul obscenity, gasping behind her and thrusting into her so hard she thought he had reached her throat, and inadvertently she moaned with the slight new twinge of pain. She felt his strong loins jerk convulsively against the flatness of her upraised buttocks, and then a great surge of hot swirling sperm flooded deep into her rectum, filling her contracting passage nearly to the bursting point.

She heard him gasp again and again… until at last he grunted one final moan of release… and she sensed him failing back away, slowly pulling out of her, collapsing on the bunk inside the now suddenly quiet cabin.

George was the first to move. He extricated himself deftly from the tangle of arms and legs on the bunk, and got to his feet, immediately moving to his clothes and getting dressed. He looked silently at the two people on the bunk before him, and then said quietly: "Very interesting. I think you two hold promise. Get dressed and come up to the cottage. I'll have some drinks ready, and we'll talk."

And with that he was gone, leaving Bill and Laura to themselves, embarrassed and self-conscious in the aftermath of their irrational passions.

"Bill… darling… I'm sorry…"

Without a word, Bill got up from the bunk, moved across the cabin, and sat again on the settee with his head between his hands. It was a long time before he spoke.

"No… no, don't say that, Laura. It's… I'm the one who should apologize… I… Oh Christ, what came over me?" he asked, with despair in his voice.

"Don't worry, Bill, please… don't worry."

Bill looked up into the forgiving eyes of his wife, and could hardly bear to see the love and understanding he knew he would find there.

"I'll make it up to you, Laura. I swear I will…"

"I know you will, darling," Laura said with infinite tenderness, "and I'll make it up to you. And don't worry, we'll find a way out of this… as long as we love each other, we'll survive anything anyone can throw between us…" But even as she said this, even as she hoped it was true, Laura wondered fearfully just what would be the next humiliation the Farrington's could think up to throw their way.

The huge giant of a man smiled secretly to himself, a kind of childishly innocent smile, as he gazed around the living room full of well-dressed, softly talking people. The air around him was filled with the tinkle of ice in glass tumblers, the low, musical hum of cocktail conversation, and just the barely perceptible promise of excitement in the looks that shot from one guest to the other, inviting, teasing, and luring challenges from one to the next.

Jackson stood with his huge arms crossed formally across his chest, like some kind of Arabic bodyguard, watching the guests with moronic enchantment, as though they were putting on a play for his benefit alone. In particular, he watched two people: his boss, Peter Lessing, whom he always kept on eye on, and Laura Wilson. As for Lessing, Jackson felt a deep, almost dog-like devotion to the man who had found him in the gutters of skid row and elevated him to the position of trust and responsibility he now held. Jackson knew that it was only through Mr. Lessing's kindness that he was alive and happy today: he owed everything to his benefactor, and would have done anything his boss told him to.

As for the other person who drew Jackson's half-witted but undivided gaze, Laura Wilson, she moved back and forth unaware that the burly giant could hardly take his eyes off her. But Jackson kept staring in a way that was not so much lusting as it was fascination – the fascination a child might have with a promised toy. For Mr. Lessing's friend, Abby Farrington, had already pointed the beautiful little blonde woman out to him, and Jackson could hardly wait to meet her – and play with her. He wondered excitedly how long it would be before his boss' friends began to play their wonderful games… like they always did at these parties.

"Laura, darling, are you enjoying yourself?"

Laura Wilson turned quickly to face the familiar voice, and then shrank inwardly as she realized it was Abby Farrington.

"Yes, lovely, thank you," Laura replied politely, and quickly moved off towards the drinks table, hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband Bill. She didn't catch the almost venomous glare that Abby threw at her back as she retreated.

Laura didn't want to talk to Abby, didn't even want to see her. Since the last weekend, when she and Bill had spent such an orgiastic and humiliating two days at the Farrington's beach cottage, she hadn't seen either George or Abby once, and that suited her just fine. Laura wedged herself in among the crowd at the bar, managed to grab herself a fresh glass of whatever the party's hosts were serving as punch, something exotic and very strong, and then moved back out of the crowd of people around the table, thinking of what had happened the weekend before.

After that terrible experience in the cabin of the Farrington's sailboat, Bill and Laura had had a long and soul-searching conversation, suddenly freed from all inhibitions about discussing their predicament by the violent shock of the unnatural act they had just allowed George Farrington to involve them in. They had both admitted, in all honesty, that, in spite of their moral repugnance at what they had done, they had still become physically excited, no, ecstatic, during the course of the act. But they had agreed, no matter what the consequences, to refuse to participate in any more of the Farrington's perverted schemes.

They had gone up to the beach house from the boat landing, and had curtly refused the drink George had offered them. Instead they had informed him that he could do whatever he wanted, that Bill's job and even their happiness in Oak Park was not worth the humiliation and degradation that they were going through as a result of George's blackmail.

Laura took a healthy swallow of her punch, and gazed around the crowded living room of the Lessing's palatial home, her eyes coming to rest on George Farrington's deceptively charming face. She looked quickly away, and he didn't see her. But his face, so seemingly rational and sincere, brought back to her with complete clarity his response to their ultimatum the week before.