Gale Roman - Swinging wife

Tom spread his legs as far apart as he could and stood gently rocking back and forth on his heels, holding Sally's head between his hands. He had his cock sucked off by the best, but Sally's hungry mouth working out on his cock made all the previous attempts seem like the effort of amateurs.

He could feel his cock slipping easily in and out of her mouth, the tightness he desired created by the sucking motions she was making with her prick-stuffed cheeks. Her eyes were closed now, and her head was tilted back to allow easy entrance for his cock to slip down her throat. He could feel his cum begin to boil in his balls and he hated to shoot his load down her eager throat without fucking her first.

Jerking his cock unceremoniously out of her mouth, he began to force her back on her back, her lop high over her head, her cunt gaping and eager for his hot prick.

Squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure, Tom seized his cock and began nosing about the hairy pathway to Sally's hole.

He had wanted to eat her, too, but maybe later. How could he do everything at once when he needed to get his rocks off now? He wanted his cock buried inside her twat, clamped tightly by her cunt muscles, squeezing and milking his cock until he had shot all his hot jizz into her horny cunt.

As for Sally, she, too, would have enjoyed feeling his tongue slopping around her clit and juicy cunt. Getting eaten out was one of Sally's favorite things and foregoing it now only made her more determined to get it taken care of later.

Now, she could lose, herself in the wonderful feeling that swept her entire being as she felt the thickness of Tom's cock wedging more and more firmly up into her twat.

Her hips began bucking automatically, rising higher and higher off the floor, snapping back and forth like a crazed horse.

Tom rasped her around her plump buttocks, squeezing tighter and tighter, hanging on for all he was worth, a pleased smile on his face. Her fuck-rhythm seemed to meld with his. A primitive and pure kind of motion that cared nothing for what men would call it. They were fucking and enjoying themselves.

"Fuck me!" Sally suddenly yelled, loving the sound of the word.

Her hips rose and thrashed more urgently than before and Tom, who was doing everything in his power to satisfy this woman, wondered about her briefly for a moment. What the hell was the matter with her husband? he wondered. Couldn't he satisfy a hot-blooded cunt like her? Was she truly so insatiable that she had to fuck strangers to quench her endless lust? If so, he was glad she had chosen him. Try as he could to remember the last time he had enjoyed himself so much, it was difficult. The only experience that even came close to what he was enjoying right now was the time his mother sent him to Mrs. Martin's house to collect her dues for the Grange.

Tom had hated those errands. He always felt that he was doing his mother's dirty work, and he was. But Mrs. Martin had turned out totally unlike the other women he normally encountered. To begin with, he couldn't believe a woman like Mrs. Martin was even living in their hick farm community. Much less that she would be interested in joining a dumb outfit like their Grange. Tom himself hated the Grange. But Tom forgot how much he had hated the Grange when Mrs. Martin had let him in the house.

"I don't have the money right now," Mrs. Martin had said.

Tom lowered his eyes. He had heard that bullshit so much, it was getting to be boring to him.

"Yeah," he said listlessly.

"But I will have it tomorrow," Mrs. Martin had gone on rapidly. "You see, George, my husband, is off on the Alaskan pipeline, looking for work. So far he hasn't been able to get any, but he sends me what he can, when he can."

Tom had risen at this point. He didn't want to hear any more tales of grief.

"Wait!" Mrs. Martin had blurted. "Don't go yet. Won't you stay and have some cookies?"

Tom tried not to laugh aloud at this awkward gesture to treat him like a child. He was not a child any longer. He took satisfaction and secret pride in the fact that when he jacked off, he was able to hit the light bulb in his bedroom with his sperm; as far as Tom was concerned, he was a man.

"No," he said, rudely, "I'm not interested in cookies."

His abruptness startled both of them. "I… I mean," Tom stammered, "I'd rather have a beer."

Mrs. Martin laughed aloud at this and Tom noticed for the first time how white her teeth were and how pretty she was when she smiled.

"I have plenty of beer!" she said cheerfully. "In fact, I wouldn't mind having one myself!"

Tom was quick to follow Mrs. Martin into the kitchen, in an effort to help, but she didn't need his help. She cracked two beers open with all the flourish of a professional barmaid and handed him a very cold one.

Tom had taken the beer, feeling the coolness of the frost-covered aluminum melt underneath his already sweaty palms. Raising it towards her in a mock toast, he said aloud: "To your husband finding work in Alaska!"

"I'll drink to that!" Mrs. Martin agreed loudly. "Shit! It's hell not having any money," she added, looking out the window.

Tom realized suddenly that Mrs. Martin also didn't have any children. This was odd in their farming community, and he wondered if she used birth-control devices. He hoped so. Suddenly, more than anything else in the world, Tom wanted to fuck Mrs. Martin.

"Let's go back and sit in the living room," Mrs. Martin said, scooping up the rest of the six-pack. "I hate the kitchen!"

"Why?" Tom asked, when they were seated once again in the living room.

"Oh, it's always so hot and boring out there. No relief at all," Mrs. Martin said. She glanced meaningfully at Tom, but it went right over his head.

Mrs. Martin sighed. "Actually, I wouldn't mind cooking if it was for someone other than myself."

Tom thought to himself how his own mother never let him snack on anything when he came home from school, often ravenously hungry. "If you get bared," he offered, "you could cook something for me after school. I'll eat it!"

Mrs. Martin seemed to flush at the term, "eat it". She lowered her eyes before facing him directly after a big swill on her beer can.

"Do you like to eat?" she asked.

Tom laughed self-consciously. "I don't think I got to be this size by starving myself to death!"

Mrs. Martin looked at him long and lingeringly. "Yes," she mused. "I see what you mean."

Then she abruptly stood up and yawned. Tom stared at the way her dress hugged her shape, biding nothing of her beautiful form, her high big tits jutting into the front of her dress deliciously.

"Well," he said anxiously, "I guess I'll be off." She had turned then. "No," she said quickly, "don't go. Let's have another beer."

Tom looked at his watch. He had several other calls to make. If he ran through the other calls, he might be able to make it home in time for dinner.

"Well, maybe I have time for another beer," he said.

"Good," Mrs. Martin had said. "And call me Vickey, please."

"Okay, Vickey!" Tom had said loudly, emboldened by the beer and her closeness.

She had turned towards him then, touching him lightly on his biceps and the contact had sent a thrill right to his cock. "That's much better, isn't it?"

Then she was gone and Tom was left standing there, feeling the way her touch had seared into his arm and made his cock get larger and larger in his pants. He hoped that his hard-on wouldn't show when she came back, but a peculiar thing was happening in his brain. Somewhere, slowly it was dawning on him that should he get a hard-on that was visible to Vickey, she wouldn't mind at all.

With his second beer coursing into his blood stream, Tom began to perceive his whole situation as remarkably different from when he had first entered Mrs. Martin's house.