Richard Travis - Another suck wife

"No!" she said, almost in a frantic scream.

He grasped a handful of her blonde hair with a broad, powerful hand. "It's what you want. Why pretend?"

He guided her head down between his legs. His cock-shaft went into her mouth like a streak of lightning. She closed her eyes and sucked like a newborn puppy on a mother's tit, feeling his massive cock grow in her mouth, caressing his balls gently, fondly.

She loved it! The realization shocked her. Sucking cocks was a way to please a man, to pay for the gifts he bestowed, for the attention he lavished. Even sucking Harold's cock had been a mission of duty more than an experience of pleasure.

Yet she loved this gardener's cock. She loved the feel of it in her mouth, the smoothness of the hard cock-flesh, the taste of his cock. She loved it!

She sucked hungrily.

Suddenly she pulled back. "No! No!"

She felt the painful jerk of her hair, pulling her head back. Her mouth opened with pain. Then she felt the round hard bulb of his prick touch her lips, and once again she sucked, and she kept sucking. The more his prick grew, the more it throbbed, the harder she sucked. The more she loved it!

Her hands reached around him, squeezing the cheeks of his soft ass, pulling him toward her, filling her mouth with the smooth hard cock-flesh that began to pulsate against her tongue, the inside of her cheeks. Her mouth devoured his prick eagerly, passionately. Her thoughts shot to the moon and tack.

"No!" She cried. "Please…"

Her jerked her head back again, squirting a stream of warm sticky milk-like jism into her face, her eyes, down her nose. She opened her mouth, eager for the taste of it.

Holding the base of his cock with his thumb and forefinger, James snapped his heavy prick across her face, much like a teacher slapping the hand of a misbehaving child with the flat side of a ruler. He slapped her again. And then again.

The soft cock-flesh hit with a thud. The pain was exquisite.

"Get my clothes!" he ordered, and stepped back under the shower.

She took one last look at his bronzed body, standing motionless under the fine spray, his back to her, the tip of his soft prick visible between his legs. She felt an urge to reach between his thighs and squeeze his cock gently, one last time.

"Go!" he snapped, turning off the water and reaching for the towel.

Kitty instinctively raced inside the house, retrieved his clothes from the dryer and returned. As he dressed, she felt a sense of panic.

"You're not leaving!" she said.

"I always leave at this time."

"But…"

He looked into her pleading eyes, a slight smile crawling across his wide, thin lips.

"You have my address," he said – and left.

It was mid-afternoon before Kitty stopped walking in circles throughout the empty house, unable to keep still because of the heat in her pussy.

It was mid-afternoon, after she had brushed her teeth, washed her hair, and taken a scalding shower, that she began to think straight, to realize what had happened to her, to measure the danger, the senseless danger, she had subjected herself to.

What a fool she'd been! What a stupid, childish fool! If Harold had come home unexpectedly. If one of the neighbors had dropped by for coffee. If she could have lost everything! Everything she had always dreamed of having. Never again, she decided firmly. Never, never, never again!

Harold came home later than usual, exhausted. She mixed him a tall gin and tonic as he undressed for a dip before dinner. Kitty rarely joined him for his before-dinner swims. She didn't like to get her hair wet. This time she did, diving in nude, edging close to him as he paused at the deep end before pushing for a series of laps.

As her tit rubbed against his forearm, he looked at her with a frown.

"Now look at your hair!" he snapped, then pushed off and began swimming laps.

Precisely at ten he went to bed. Kitty joined him completely nude. Her fingers touched the inside of his thigh gently, hesitantly.

"I've had a busy day, Kitty," be mumbled, turning his back to her and falling asleep immediately.

"Pack my bag," he ordered as soon as she got up the next morning. "I'll be in 'Frisco until Saturday night."

She felt both relief and fear over his leaving. She needed some time alone, time to sleep late, then to watch some soaps and stay up for a late movie, time to get her head straight, firmly straight.

So finally had everything she had always wanted – plus a sense of security she once feared she would never have. She had worked for it, worked hard. And she was going to keep it!

Nothing was going to take it away from her! Nothing! Absolutely nothing!

At ten o'clock she drank a glass of white wine to help her sleep. It didn't. Neither did a double gin and tonic. At eleven she stopped fighting it and drove to a run-down neighborhood across town, where house numbers were either missing or too faded to read in the dark.

She looked until she found James' pick-up truck in a carport.

He lived in a small, unpainted, two-bedroom house, sitting in a row of small unpainted houses, all deteriorating at about the same speed. But it wasn't the shabbiness Kitty noticed, or the smallness.

It was the smell. The instant James opened his front door, the smell engulfed her. It was the smell of yesterday's garbage, sweaty clothes, a pile of greasy dishes in the kitchen sink. She almost vomited.

He was in his shorts, barefoot, unshaven, hair tousled. He didn't invite her in. He merely stepped back and allowed her to enter, then closed the door behind her and clicked off the blaring television set, making no effort to scrape away the litter of discarded clothes and newspapers that cluttered the cramped living room.

There was one short easy chair in front of the TV. In it were the work clothes he had worn all day.

"Aren't you going to offer me a chair?" she asked.

"I've only got one, mine."

"Harold's in San Francisco," she said, feeling obligated to say something by way of an explanation.

He was looking through her again, his dark eyes gleaming with a superior smile. She wondered what he saw, what he was thinking. She wondered why she had come.

"Beer?" he finally offered. "No thank you."

He led the way into a small bedroom, as if talking big her on a tour of his house. The sheets were gray and tangled. The odor of locker-room sweat was overpowering. He clicked off the light.

Kitty stood frozen as he quickly unbuttoned her blouse, removed it, then unsnapped her bra.

"You don't waste time," she said. His powerful hands squeezed her tits painfully. "Oh!" she squealed.

He squeezed again, more painfully.

"Please, James!"

"It's what you came for, isn't it?"

Was it? She felt confused, uncertain of what she wanted, fascinated by his confidence, as if he knew, as if he knew her better than she knew herself.

He pushed her backwards onto the bed, then peeled down her shorts and panties. Suddenly he was sitting on her, his limp prick resting in the valley between her tits.

"You're… you're hurting me!" she said, hardly able to breathe.

A laugh came from deep in his throat. His eyes gleamed in the darkness.

He lifted her legs onto his shoulders as he would two small sticks, then buried his head in the moist patch of cunt-hair. His hands grabbed both tits, his fingers pinching her nipples.

"Oh!" she screamed again, feeling her pussy get moist as his warm tongue darted inside her, feeling pleasure like she had never felt before, pleasure mixed with the sharp pain from his grip on her nipples.

Her legs went around his neck, pulling his face into her. She squealed, then muffled her sounds by putting her fist in her mouth, biting hard on her own knuckles.

"Nobody will bear you," he said, grabbing the cheeks of her ass with powerful hands and squeezing them red.