Ron Taylor - Wife in the middle

Lou's hand stayed busy between her legs, sliding around. Paul's cum was beginning its slow ooze from her slice and he greased her with the stuff, greased her puffy, fucked-up labia, smeared more of the sticky goo into her crack, working with his little finger till the sphincter of her asshole had popped open and he was inside her there. She moaned and her tongue did cartwheels around Paul's cock.

Lou came in behind her then, his stiff cock wet with her saliva, nudging her buttocks. "Spread 'em," he said, massaging her ass. She spread them, and the head of his prong came to rest in her crack. She couldn't tell where he meant to fuck her, in the bun that Paul had buttered or up the asshole. She twitched in suspense, and he teased her by moving his dick back and forth, pushing now at this hole, and now at that.

Finally he gathered up strength and he plunged. Her asshole hadn't tightened up a hell of a lot since he'd fucked it an hour or so ago, and he entered her with no trouble and no pain she could not handle. He went deep that stroke, and she knew that a cock was in her bung. A fat, thick, masterful cock, one that had already spurred her to come after come after come. What are we going to do about Melissa, she wondered, mouth full of Paul's cock, and she shivered a little, understanding that her decision was even now in the process of being made.

But he's a bastard. He deserted me and then, when I'd learned to get along without him, he came back. And look what he's done to me since he came back. Look what he's turned me into! I am a bitch. Paul was right. I am a bitch and I'll roll over for the first dog who comes along and sniffs my snatch.

She tried to count up Paul's good points, to remind herself that she loved, him, that he was the man who loved her. Until this morning it had been perfect for the two of them. Until this morning.

Paul came in her mouth, with no warning. He grabbed her head, forced her to stay in place while he pumped a thinner stream of semen into her mouth and down her throat. She swallowed obediently, tongue teasing him to squirt out more, and then his cock went soft in her mouth and she felt him slipping out. A little trickle of cum oozed across her lower lip and she looked up at him. Her eyes were trying to apologize, but she didn't think he could see that. His own eyes were still blazing, as they had been ever since he walked into the bedroom and discovered Caron pussy-full of Lou Archer. Well, he had a right to be angry. But she couldn't give it a lot of thought. Not now, when Lou was picking up speed in her asshole. He had her from behind, had her fully now. One of his hands mauled her small but sensitive tits, the other was busy with her cunt, thumb-tickling her clit, fingers working in and out of her pussy in counterpoint to the asshole splitting strokes of his thick cock. She moaned and writhed and fucked back at him, her breath coming in short gasps, her nipples rigid, her pussy full of juice. She reached down, touched his hand where he fingered her twat. One of her fingers slipped in, alongside his, and they finger-fucked her pussy in sweet happy tandem. His cock swelled and thrust in her rectum, and she knew he was almost there, ready to shoot. His fingers pinched off her slit and she moaned, knowing that she was almost there too.

"Do it, oh, do it," she whined, "make me come, make me fucking come!"

He did the scissors bit on her clitoris and that was all she wrote. Caron exploded. Her pussy convulsed and her rectum tightened like a vise on the swollen bulk of his dick. He kept fucking, into that constriction, fucking as best he could. Deep, slow strokes that plumbed the depths of her anal tube. Her finger was still in her snatch and she could feel, through the narrow wall of tissue that divided pussy and rectum, the steady, implacable penetrations of his cock. She could even sense the throb of his pulse, rippling through his dick. It was like touching him, finger to cock, and it was magic.

"Now," she moaned, "do it now, do it nowwww! Ohhhhhhh sweeeeetttt Jeeeeeesssuuussss!"

And if the first come had been spectacular, the second might have been orchestrated by Cecil B. De Mile. The only thing missing was Moses parting the Red Sea. Her body went crazy and so did Lou's. She felt every separate gush of cum he poured up her asshole, and she tried to keep count of them, but who could concentrate in a situation like this? He thrust into her seven, maybe eight, even nine times, each thrust dumping a globby squirt of cum deep in Caron's anal passage, and then he lay panting and hushed against her, holding her tightly as she sobbed and wept through the remainder of her own orgasm.

The room was silent when she and Lou came apart. Paul sat on the bed, sullen-faced, as if he'd been morally outraged by the display he had just witnessed. Caron's features were deep red, not from embarrassment, but from the exertion she'd been through. Taking on two men at the same time was exhausting, especially on the pussy. How many men had she fucked on the beach that time, years ago? Five or six? Maybe seven? She couldn't remember, and she was somehow thankful she couldn't. It wasn't the kind of thing she intended to do frequently in the future, and yes, thank you, she did, have a future.

Caron sidled off the bed. She ambled slowly across the room, walking gingerly to ease the strain on her crotch, and she took a robe from her clothes closet. It was late for modesty, but no matter. She'd been undressed all day and she felt like putting something on, even a dressing gown. She tied the sash around her waist and looked toward the bed. Lou and Paul were both sitting there, and she could see the curiosity on their faces. The big moment, she thought. How would Joan Crawford play it? Caron cleared her throat, as if she meant to speak, and both men looked up expectantly, but she remained silent.

"Paul," she said. "Would you get the divorce papers out of your briefcase?"

Did Lou's face drop a little? Did he lose just a hair of that infuriating smugness? Did his moustache droop ever so slightly? That moustache! No matter how good it felt on her clit, she hated moustaches.

Paul came to her, holding the papers. She took them, looked at each page, pensive, of face. "Mmm," Caron said, nibbling her lip.

And then she tore the papers up, one by one, tossing the shreds onto the floor. "I'm sorry, Paul," she said. "I'm very sorry."

Telling Sheila would be the hard part. Sheila hated Lou Archer and Caron doubted she could ever make her sister understand that it really was best for them to start over again as man and wife. I'm not even sure I understand, she reminded herself. But, God, the way he makes me feel when we're fucking! There's no romantic nonsense about it. We're a pair of animals and we interact beautifully. I think it will work, this time. But if it doesn't, I don't think he can ever hurt me again.

Paul had dressed and gone, some time ago. Lou had taken off in his VW, back to the mainland to pick up a case of champagne. "If you think you got it in the ass today," he told her at the door, "wait till tonight, after the party."

Melissa. Caron wasn't sure what they'd do about the girl. Lou had said she meant nothing to him, she was just a piece of ass he'd brought along for the ride. She could imagine him fucking the girl, and it made her a little jealous. He's not going to remember Melissa very long, Caron promised herself I'm going to screw that girl right out of what's left of his hair. That big bald spot was kind of cute. Maybe she'd paint it while he was asleep tonight. Or call in a tattoo artist and have him decorated with a butterfly. I must be crazy, Caron told herself as she walked up the dunes. "I must really be crazy," she added aloud, for the benefit of a passing seagull.

Where in the hell was Melissa? She hadn't seen the girl all day. Lou had said a seashell was enough to occupy her itsy-bitsy mind for a couple of weeks, though. Maybe she was painting her toenails somewhere and contemplating the meaning of life and the chemical structure of nail polish remover. Carol really didn't give a fuck.