Donna Allen: Naughty nympho wife

She played with his balls again, lifting the sac, rolling the eggs with her fingers. She was on her knees now, her head bent over his crotch, her mouth moving slowly up and down the hard shaft of his prick. She loved the taste and feel of his hot cock-flesh. She didn't care if he came. She would take his jism. She liked to hold Martin's balls when he came in her mouth. Poor Martin. She felt so guilty about kneeling there on a bed with another man's cock in her mouth. Her saliva flowed freely over Al's cock-knob and cock-shaft and down to his balls. What a nice cock he had. She kept his foreskin pulled all the way down as she rolled her tongue over his big cock-head, around the rim and over his piss-hole.

He made her stop. "You keep doing that and I'll shoot off!" he said. He made her lie down on her back and then he climbed between her legs and used his arms to get her knees back to her tits. She moaned as she felt his cock-knob pushing at her cunt, nuzzling around to find her cunt-hole. And then finally his cock was inside, his cock-head and then his cock-shaft, his big cock stretching the mouth of her cunt-hole as she moaned and rocked her knees.

His head came down and he chuckled in her ear. "You're a hot piece of ass. The first time I saw you, I knew you were a hot piece of ass!"

She quivered under him. "Fuck me. Stop talking and fuck me!"

He laughed and swung her legs over his shoulders. Now when he pushed her knees back to her tits as she was wide open to him. He started fucking her, slamming his cock in and out of her cunt, the bed shaking each time he pounded her.

They were still half-dressed. She thought it was crazy to be fucking with clothes on like a pair of kids at a party or in the back of a car.

But she liked it. The fucking had an excitement that was never there when she did it with Martin.

She humped her ass at Al's plunging cock. God, how hot she was. She loved the way he pounded her. She loved the feel of his big cock sliding in and out of her stretched cunt-hole. All she cared about now was the fucking. There was no guilt anymore. This was the first time she'd fucked another man since her marriage to Martin, but now she felt no guilt about it. Maybe tomorrow she'd feel guilty as hell. Yes, she would, she knew herself. Tomorrow she'd feel guilty. She'd feel so terrible about fucking Al Gorman.

He was such a good fuck, so strong and forceful, his balls slapping against her asshole each time his cock rammed her cunt. One of her girlfriends had once joked that a woman never knew what a man was like until she had his balls tapping against her asshole. Al's big hairy balls felt so good down there. She rolled her ass on the mattress, fucking her cunt on his sliding cock.

Then suddenly she felt his hand on her ass, his fingertip pushing at her asshole. She groaned and tried to push his hand away. "Don't do that."

It was too late. He had his finger inside. She guessed he'd used her cunt-juice to lubricate it. His finger slid all the way inside her ass and it felt marvelous. She was embarrassed by the idea that he had his finger up her ass, but she loved the feel of it.

Then she came. She rocked her knees and grabbed at his arms and moaned as the orgasm blew its way through her cunt. She was so hot and the climax was so good. She held on as he continued fucking her. She pumped her cunt at him and she came again and at the end of this one she suddenly felt the wet down there and she understood she'd pissed all over him.

Al laughed when he realized what had happened. "That's great," he said. "It's great that you can come like that!"

She was mortified. She moaned as she squirmed around under his plunging cock. Then at last he came, grunting and snorting as the jism boiled out of his balls to fill her cunt. She felt so wide open, so totally female as he dumped his come in her fuck-hole.

"I pity whoever sleeps in this bed," he said, grunting as he rolled off to the side.

Candice shuddered. Then she giggled as she cuddled against him.

She was in a blue funk of guilt for three days. She was thankful Al Gorman stayed away from the gallery. Then finally Martin was home again and Candice told herself the best thing was not to think of Al Gorman. What she had to do was think of Martin.

She still loved him. He was still her husband. He was still the man whose company she enjoyed most. She felt so guilty about cheating. She argued with herself about it. One side of her head reminded her she'd been alone at the party that night, alone and depressed and vulnerable to Al's advances. She couldn't be blamed for being so vulnerable. But the other side of her head said she wasn't a child, she ought to be responsible for her actions.

The second night Martin was home, she talked him into taking her out to dinner. He wasn't that eager for it, but she kept insisting until he agreed. They dressed and went out to a quiet restaurant. They had a few drinks and during the meal Martin seemed more relaxed.

Candice thought Martin looked tired. She thought maybe he was working too hard. He seemed to be down both physically and mentally. She tried talking to him about it, questioning him about how he felt and about his job.

"The job's okay," he said. "But you might as well know that I'll be out of town again in a few days."

Candice groaned. "Oh Martin."

"That's the ballgame."

"I hardly see you anymore."

"Look, we've talked about it."

"I hate being alone at night."

So they talked about it again. All the old arguments for and against his job. The money was too good for him to leave.

"You can find some way to keep busy in the evening without me," he said. "If you want to get out, there's always Frank."

"Frank?"

"Yes. Frank. I'll tell Frank to take you out to dinner sometimes."

Frank Mason was Martin's best friend. They'd been friends for years, ever since they'd been at college together. Candice hadn't seen much of Frank since Frank's divorce.

"I think you ought to get another job."

"Candice, I can't get another job. Now now. It's not the right time for it. Maybe in six months, but not now."

She decided not to dwell on it. It would serve no purpose to have an argument with him about it. He would do what he wanted anyway. He was building a career, and if she was lonely on occasion he couldn't see that as reason enough to make a severe change in his plans.

"I want chocolate mousse for dessert," she said. "I want something suicidal."

Martin laughed. "Now you're talking. After chocolate mousse you'll be in a good mood again."

She was determined to enjoy the evening. She had the mousse and then coffee, and then after that she held his arm as they walked out of the restaurant to the car.

"That was good," Martin said.

"Let's make some whoopie when we get home."

He chuckled. "Sure, why not?"

You've got to work at it, she thought. A marriage doesn't make itself good, you've got to work at it.

When they arrived home, she left him in the living room and she went upstairs to change her clothes. After she had her clothes off, she decided to wear nothing at all, except maybe a pair of shoes. She liked the way her legs looked when she wore heels. She went downstairs wearing nothing but, a pair of high-heeled sandals. Martin whistled when he saw her. "Oh boy."

"Do you like my shoes? I just bought them yesterday."

"I like the shoes and all the rest of it."

But he didn't seem that enthusiastic and it worried her. She went to the bar and poured some vodka into two glasses. She added an ice cube to each glass and carried them back to where he was sitting.

"Martin, do I still turn you on?"

He looked at her as she handed him his drink. Her tits were hanging over his face. He reached up and took hold of one, his hand cupping the tit and pulling at her nipple. "What do you think?"