Sam Stone - Turned on wife

Cleo Brill, naked and stretched out on the bed, was watching Momma do a strip-tease, and Kitten had watched with her. Momma grabbed the bottom of her chocolate sweater and slowly lifted it up and over her head, then tossed it aside and straightened to give Cleo a better look at her colossal knockers. Momma's nipples showed through the bra that held them captive, and she had laughed at the way Cleo was staring at her.

Hungrily. Like a buzzard on a wet limb.

After the sweater was removed, the next thing Momma had done was loosen her skirt and slowly force it down past her full hips to where she could step out of it, and as she knifed forward, she glanced coyly at Cleo and asked if the deep cleavage between her big jugs excited her.

Cleo said yes.

Now, down to her panties and bra, Momma's hips proceeded to grind slowly, and the palms of her hands moved sensuously upwards, from her hips to her magnificent tits, and then between her shoulder blades to unclasp the bra. A few seconds later the conversation had started, with Momma doing the asking and Cleo Brill doing the answering.

"Do you like my titties, Cleo?"

"Yes, darling."

"And my nipples?"

"Ummmm."

"You like to kiss and suck on my nipples, don't you?"

"I love to kiss and suck your big titties."

"Would you like to kiss and suck them now?"

"Need you ask?"

The bra was unclasped and Momma had held it in place over her boobs for a few tantalizing seconds before she permitted it to trail to the floor like an unwanted cobweb.

Kitten kept watching. And listening.

The panties had come last. Momma made an elaborate production of it, letting Cleo stare at her white belly and quivering thighs, teasing her by withholding the final glimpse of her beaver until she sensed that Cleo was becoming impatient, and then she stepped out of her panties and toed them under the bed.

Momma had cupped her boobs and held them towards Cleo in offering, then asked, "Are you excited?"

"Excited? Hell, I'm starting to cream."

"My tits do that to you?"

"Yes. So do your nipples. Especially your long, dark nipples."

"Speaking of boobs and nipples, I love it when you put your mouth on mine. You suck a tit better than any man ever did."

Kitten had seen Cleo's lips tighten at their corners, and heard her say, "Don't mention men to me, darling. I knew how rotten they could be long before you ever took a load of baby-cum from the sorry prick who ran out on you."

Momma had laughed at this, and then went into her final act for Cleo Brill. A dance. Now completely naked, her boobs bouncing and her hips grinding to the tune of nonexistent music and haunting drums, Momma danced until her body glistened with sweat and the animal scent of her became cloying to the senses. Then she hurled herself into bed and attempted to drown Cleo in a pool of lust, biting and moaning and scratching at the other woman who was putting the tongue to her hairy pussy.

"Do it!" Momma had shrilled. "Do your stuff and eat me up, eat me up! Bury your sweet tongue deep in my pussy and make me come all over it! Ah, yes, like that! Lick darling. Lick my cunt!"

Cleo gripped Momma's twisting hips and drove her tongue deeper into her juicing snatch. Momma went wild with delight. Her ass bounced and her hips churned like a mix master gone nuts, and a few seconds later she moaned and shuddered her way through a violent but rewarding orgasm.

Cleo had kept licking Momma's melting slit for another minute or so. Then she backed her tongue out of the puffy gash and lifted her head. She smacked her lips and said, "You certainly are a juicy doll!"

Momma smiled contentedly and said nothing.

"So am I," Cleo said as she stretched out beside Momma, on her back. "Jam that long tongue of yours in my cunt and find out for yourself."

"Now?"

"Yes, darling, now."

And now it was lesbian, Kitten thought as she returned from her mental trip into the past. My mother, the lesbian. My mother, the man-hater. My mother, the cunt-eating woman who took a ride in a hearse and left me a legacy of frustration and fear.

Kitten wasn't afraid of marriage. Only afraid of the marriage bed, and the sexual obligations that came with it. Getting stabbed in the cunt with a big cock wasn't her idea of fun, but in the same breath of thought she realized that she would have to overcome her aversion to it. She didn't want to lose her husband. She loved Dan. She needed him, and she wanted to keep him… in every way. If only his cock didn't hurt so much! The pain. God!

Kitten frowned thoughtfully. This fear of cocks – did it have something to do with her mother being a lesbian, or was it a subconscious way of trying to castrate Dan, and striking back at the father she had never known? Perhaps a doctor would be able to provide the answer to her problem. Yes, that would be the thing to do. She nodded. Tomorrow she would drive into the village and have a talk with Dr. Dubois.

Her mind made up, Kitten decided to get comfortable while she waited for Dan to return from wherever he had taken his injured male ego. She brought the television to life. Then she went into the bedroom to find a cover for her nakedness. She was removing a robe from its hanger when the phone rang. It was Steve Trent, night bartender at Cleo Brill's Old Bottle Inn. Dan's friend. And hers. He had been the best man at their wedding. Steve told her that Dan was working at getting bombed out of his skull, and then asked for instructions.

"Do me a favor, Steve," Kitten said. "Let him get as sloshed as he wants, but for God's sake don't let him drive home."

"Right on. Want me to ask Cleo to flop him for the night?"

"No."

"All right. I'll keep your boy on ice until closing time, and then I'll deliver the body in person."

"Thanks, Steve."

"What are friends for?" He broke the connection.

Restlessness eating at her, Kitten took a quick shower, dried herself, and then paused to study her reflection in the full-length door mirror. There was nothing narcissistic about the way she examined herself. She knew she was beautiful. She had known this for a long time. She was small, with shoulder-length hair the color of deep midnight. Her eyes were black, too. Once, during their dating days, Dan had described her figure as that of a carved statue he had seen in a Miami museum. She had slender legs that tapered upward into full thighs, hips as smooth as marble, with a gently rounded stomach enhanced by a triangular mop of pussy fur. Her full tits completed the picture and verified what Dan had said – that she was a lot of woman.

A hint of sadness clouded Kitten's beautiful face as she donned a halter and covered her boobs. A lot of woman? She was a lot of woman, to be sure, but why so cold? What had Dan called her? Oh, yes, a bum fuck. She shook her head. It didn't make sense. At nineteen she should have been passionate, a real whore in the bedroom. She wanted to be, but something kept holding her back from complete surrender.

What?

She knew the answer.

A cold cunt kept holding her back from complete surrender. Today she had discovered that she couldn't stand to be touched in the tush with a cock. Not even her husband's cock.

Misery ate at her guts. She didn't want to continue to be a bum fuck. Not with Dan. Being terrified of taking his whang in her pussy wasn't normal. She would have to find out the reason for this quirk in her make-up… from Dr. Dubois, tomorrow.

It was crowding two o'clock in the morning when Dan Hunter slid his pickup to a stop in front of the cabana. He was alone. Steve Trent hadn't been able to leave the village after closing the Old Bottle Inn. Something had come up. Something pleasant, for Steve. Monique Dubois, the village doctor's wife, had tied one on, and Steve had volunteered to drive her home. Dan grinned at the moon overhead and made a mental bet with himself that somewhere between the tavern and her home, Monique Dubois would be relieved of her panties. It wouldn't be difficult for Steve to score. Dan knew Monique. She was a hot piece. Always eager to take a cock in her box. His grin sagged. He wished he could say the same about Kitten.