David Crane: The wife_s young lover

His cock looked so tasty that Rosy simply had to lean forward and give the swollen knob a tongue-stroke or two, then slip it into her mouth and sucks her rouged cheeks drawing in hollow as she pulled on his cockhead.

But she stopped after a moment, for it was a point of principle with Rosy that she never sucked a guy off unless he bought her at least three mixed drinks.

Nor did Clyde want a blow-job from Rosy. Thrilled by the knowledge that Billy had been sucked off by that gorgeous wealthy blonde, Clyde would have felt embarrassed to accept head from a redheaded barfly.

Pussy was a different matter.

Rosy proceeded to produce her pussy.

She stood up and raised her skirt and pushed her panties down, kicking them from one ankle and leaving them, like a broken hobble around her other foot.

Her cuntmound was thickly matted with a triangle of red hair – a flaming bush dissected by a slippery slit. Her wet cunt was like a swampy river running through a forest fire. She held her dress up and pushed her pelvis out, letting Clyde get a good look at her steamy pussy.

Then she perched on the edge of a stack of beer crates, her legs extended wide apart, and she pushed her pelvis up so that her crotch was angled for his thrust. Clyde knelt on the concrete floor between her thighs.

Wrapping his hand around the root of his thick prick, he aimed the blunt head at her slot. He pushed his hips out and his cockhead brushed her hairy pussy. He began to rub the tip around in her slot, not penetrating yet but using it like a spoon to stir her creamy bowl.

He thought about the blonde.

She thought about the drink he had promised her.

Fucking always made Rosy thirsty, although not as thirsty as cocksucking did, which was why she would never give head for less than three mixed drinks. She liked the taste of jism, but found it more palatable when followed by some Scotch and soda.

She began to grind her cunt around on his knob.

Her slot was gaping open and foaming as he stirred his big ladle in the creamy bowl. He was holding his cock by the hilt and wiping the tip up and down so that it passed over her stiff clit as well as her crack. The knob was throbbing and the vein pulsating. The head expanded like an inflated balloon.

Rosy was amazed at how considerate Clyde was being – for this was the closest thing to foreplay that any man had showed her in years. She did not require foreplay, however, her cunt was an ever-ready sort.

"Ummm… put it in," she sighed.

He pushed the head between her cuntlips, the proud slab stirring through her tight pubic hair like a purple rodent through thick undergrowth. Then he drew back and aimed the knob right at her gaping gash.

He rammed his cock home with a solid whack, running the whole length up her cunt on the initial stroke. His bloated balls swung in and whacked her ass as his belly slapped hers. She threw her legs out and lamped her creamy thigh around his haunches, dragging him into her crotch as if she wanted to engulf him balls and all.

Clyde held the full penetration for a moment, enjoying the sensation of having every inch of his hard pecker buried in hot cunt, while randy Rosy shifted her hips around and pulled with her cuntmuscles. The suction of her pussy worked on his dick with a steady massaging action. When he pushed his prick up her, her cunthole rippled along the full length. When he drew it out, her skilled cunt seemed to rotate around his stalk like a fleshy nut around a bolt. He corkscrewed in, starting to twitch nd rumble in his throat as the thrill grew. For the moment, he forgot all about his plans for blackmail – and even stopped imagining how it had looked when that wealthy depraved blonde cradle-robber went down on Billy's prick.

Rosy occupied his thoughts at the moment, as fully as he was occupying her twat.

The redhead had gone wild as her orgasm had started to twist and coil through her belly. Her haunches flew about. Her thighs worked like pistons, going up and down past his flanks. She arched her back, and her head switched from side to side, red hair cascading across her lust-contorted face like tongues of flame. Her pussy felt so hot as he buried his prick up it that it was threatening to melt at any moment – like a wax candle around his hard wick.

Cuntjuice fairly streamed from her pussy, pumped out by his tight-fitting plunger and running down into the crack of her ass, soaking the beer crate on which she perched.

She threw her head back and her throat worked as if she were drinking – or, perhaps, howling at the moon, as the animal passion filled her.

Then Clyde joined her at the peak.

He whacked in hard and deep. As his cockhead plowed into the hot depths of her cunt, he blew his load so suddenly that it seemed that his peckerhead had had a blow-out, like an over-inflated tire. He hosed her womb down with thick cream and, when she felt that juice speeding into her loins, Rosy reacted with redoubled energy, her haunches grinding wildly as she drove herself on through the rippling stages of her own climax. Clyde had been so worked up that he shot his whole wad in that initial prolonged geyser.

His balls emptied, and it burst out. Then his dick began to soften immediately.

He stopped moving then, but for his heaving chest as he panted for air, kneeling between her spread thighs. Rosy continued to wriggle on the crate as she worked off her own climax to the last lovely drops.

When Clyde pulled his cock from her cunt, a creamy flood of jism and cuntjuice gushed from the vacated tunnel. His big dick flopped up and down, then sank along his thigh.

His cockhead was streaked with cream.

Rosy's panties were still wrapped around her ankle. Clyde lifted her foot and wiped the head of his dick clean on her already soggy panties.

Rosy laughed.

He tucked his pecker back into his pants and zipped his fly up quickly and defensively. But Rosy, too, had had enough and made no attempt to keep him from putting his prick away. She stood up with cream pouring down her legs. She pulled her soaking panties up her thighs and fitted them neatly, although soggily, around her hips and crotch.

Rosy was used to having wet pants.

Then they went back to the bar and Clyde bought her the promised drink. He had another beer, but he sipped at it only from habit, as his thoughts were elsewhere.

Rosy noticed that he was distracted.

It was not usual to see Clyde Wilson in a preoccupied state of mind – except when he was preoccupied with lewd thoughts while his cock was hard.

"A penny for your thoughts," she said.

"Huh?" He looked at her. Then her words registered and he grinned mysteriously.

"They're worth a whole lot more than a penny," he told her with a slow wink that was supposed to be meaningful but, obviously, meant nothing to Rosy.

She turned back to her drink. If Clyde was keeping his thoughts to himself, it meant nothing to her. She had already had his dick and he had bought her a drink – she'd been a bit worried about that until it was in hand, because sometimes men reneged on their promises once they had gotten their rocks off – and anyhow, she couldn't imagine Clyde having any thoughts that would interest anyone but Clyde.

"A car…" he said, nodding to himself, "I'd better borrow a car. You don't have, a car, do you, Rosy?"

"Hell, no. A car? I'm a barfly, for crissake, Clyde. You know that. I fuck for drinks… why in hell would a girl like me have a car?"

"I wasn't thinking," he said.

But he had been. He smiled again. "How about a camera?" he asked. Clyde, little by little, was putting his blackmailing scheme together.

When Charles got home, Marlene was very attentive and on her best behavior. She was deeply ashamed of what she'd done that afternoon – although the thought still thrilled her to the core – and she tried to make it up to Charles without revealing that she had anything to make up to him.