Sid Farmer - Hot and horny weekend

A great wave welled up inside her and the first convulsion started lazily, far down in the hidden depths of her quivering belly, and rolled downward like the sea with increasing power until it hit the bottom of her grinding pelvis at her cuntal opening, crashing against her just as George's pelvic bone crushed into her. The next came faster, snapping like a whip.

"Aaarrrrrggghhhh! Now! God, I'm cumming now, oh, oh, I'm cummmmmmiiiinnnng! Aarrgghh!!" she moaned out adulterously into the night air.

The twisting young woman jerked up again as her entire being seemed to snap – again and again the violent waves of her orgasm crashed through her and she rebounded with them, jerking upward again and again. Her orgasmic juices filled her desperately sucking vaginal passage, lubricating it more and more, until the warm liquid sensation was too much for George to bear. Unable to prolong the delicious sensation, he rose up, throwing his head in circles from side to side.

"Aaaarrrrrggghhhh!" he roared, like an animal about to attack, and the pressure in his heavily swinging balls burst as his white-hot cum erupted from his straining testicles and spurted from his cock-head deep up into her desperately flowering cunt.

Laura was still cumming when she felt his semen hotly filling her naked belly, adding more fuel to the already unbearable fires of her lust.

"Oh. OOoooh, God, oooooh!" she cried out and her head rolled helplessly from side to side on the squeaking car seat as George fell on top of her completely spent, crushing her with his weight. Her eyes were closed, but her attention was still focused on the furnace within her, still smoldering in the aftermath of her spent passions. Her legs dropped limply to her sides as she felt George's cock soften inside her, and then slip from her wetly satiated cunt with a satisfying plop.

She lay still for awhile, trying to force her mind to stay on the present, on the pleasure she had just experienced, on George's heavy breathing as he still lay on top of her. But, the violence of her orgasm had loosened the hold the liquor and drugs she'd taken had gained on her, and she became aware of the persistent gnawing that was budding up inside her: the gnawing of her repressed conscience. Laura's dazed mind began slowly, painfully, to focus on the events of the evening, from her husband's departure to Dallas, through all the drinking, the dancing, and now… this final act of obscene infidelity with her husband's friend. She tried to channel her mind back to the beautiful sensations that had filled her only minutes before, but it was impossible.

Oh God, she thought guiltily, what have I done? What am I going to do? I… I must have been crazy to do this… I must have been insane! Tears began to well up in her clouded eyes as she began to recognize the seriousness of her unfaithfulness. Bill was in Dallas, working for her and their life together, facing the possibility that his past might be discovered, spelling the end of their lives in Oak Park. And she, debased and despicable as she was, was giving herself to another man in a parked car like some… some nymphomaniac school girl!

"We'd better go, what do you say?" George said as he lifted himself finally from between her sperm-covered thighs. She nodded, but didn't say anything. He handed her the white bikini panties that were still moist with the first secretions of her earlier excitement, and they both got dressed.

Tears filled Laura's eyes as she tried to think what to say to her next door neighbor. She didn't want to hurt him; he was so gentle and understanding, and it wasn't his fault that she'd been unfaithful to her husband. It was no one's fault but her own. She had to say that she was sorry, but she had to say it in such a way so as not to lose his friendship.

Neither said anything as they drove toward the Wilson's home. Laura decided that George was probably thinking exactly what she was thinking, that it was a mistake, something that would not have happened if they had not been drunk. He would understand, of course he would. After all, he had understood everything else when they had talked before. But, she vowed to herself, it also was something that would never ever happen again as long as she lived!

She stared silently out the window as the convertible sped toward Oak Park. George Farrington sat beside her, smiling.

George Farrington's white convertible eased up into the circular driveway of the Wilson's Oak Park home. George turned off the lights, and turned to the half lifeless figure on the seat beside him.

"Come on, Laura, you're home," he said dispassionately.

Laura straightened up on the seat, half-heartedly running a hand through her snarled blonde hair. She had been crying all the way home, crying until no more tears would come, and her mascara was now rivered in dried streaks along her reddened cheeks. Her mind was made up. Surely George would understand when she told him how terrible she felt about what had happened, and that it couldn't happen again. And she felt sure he would not tell her husband about her unconscionable infidelity that evening.

"You don't have to walk me to the door, George," she said, as her neighbor got out of the car and came around to open her door for her. "I'm fine, really. There's something I want to say to you."

"You can tell me inside," George said carelessly, taking the key she had pulled from her purse as she stepped out of the car. "What we need now is a little hot coffee."

"No. George, really I…"

"You're not going to say no to me now, are you?" he said, almost pushing her toward the front door. He unlocked the door, and then stepped inside. George looked for a moment for the illuminated night switch, then flicked it up. The fluorescent lights flickered hesitantly before sharing their energy with the rest of the room.

"George, please, not tonight," Laura said wearily, "Really, I'm very tired…"

"I like mine black," her neighbor said curtly, walking into the living room as though he owned the house.

Laura stood in the glaring light for a moment, and then decided it would be easier to give him the coffee, and be done with it. She walked into the kitchen, but could not remember where she kept the coffee. Get a hold on yourself, she thought, as tears started to fill her weary eyes again. How am I going to do anything if I fall apart. Where is the coffee? The white canister stood where it always did on the counter next to the built-in range.

She walked to the counter and removed the wooden lid, automatically scooping six tablespoons of the freshly ground beans into the clean white pot. Staring at the percolator, she became impatient that it would not perk immediately. This is ridiculous, she thought. I'm standing in my own kitchen making coffee for a man who has just made love to me, a man who is supposed to be my friend, and now I've used him, and he is going to think it represents something more. Why must I have these problems? What is becoming of me?

The image Laura saw reflected in the glass door of the oven was one of a woman who did not deserve the good life she had, she thought. I look like a whore, and now I'm beginning to feel like one. But I'll find a way out, I just have to. The coffee started to boil over. It had been perking too long.

"Where's my coffee," George shouted from the living room, just before she swung open the kitchen door and entered the room. Her neighbor was sitting on the overstuffed couch in front of the stone fireplace. He had built a fire that was already roaring, and was looking through a new woman's magazine that Laura had purchased the day before.

"These women's magazines are unbelievable," he said, smiling almost contemptuously at her as she crossed the room. "There is more sex and sex problems in this single issue than anyone could ever find in real life. It's no wonder that women can think of nothing else to talk about, except their sex lives, or the sex lives they wished they had. I probably would too if I read this kind of trash all the time."