David Martin: Loaned wife

But, of courser there was no lover with her, except in the lust-hazed swirlings of her mind, and when her orgasm began to drain away, she lay there still throbbing and wet, still denied that final peak she sought and could never find with her fingers alone.

She groaned in frustration, tossing on the bed. She had to make it, had to reach the release she was seeking, had to have, something long and thick and hard and warm and wet driven to the hilt in her cunt.

She whirled over on the bed, her ass still half on the pillow, tilting her body so that all the warm, curving excitement of her was emphasized delightfully by the tilt of her voluptuous form. Her breasts, turgid-tipped with her throbbing nipples, thrust upwards. Her hips, hungry for the weight of a male pelvis on them seemed to thrust outward. Her legs were spread and the hiking of her ass by the pillow beneath only highlighted the inviting dark mass of pubic thatch between her wide-spread thighs, and the glistening pink slit peaking out from between.

Her eyes swept the room as over and over again the words went through her mind – long and thick and hard and warm…

And then her gaze swept over the dresser. There stood the scented candle Penny had given them a few weeks before for her and Tom's anniversary. Tom had said then that he would light it when they made love, and indeed, that very night he had, the romantic glow flickering through the room as the soft scent of pine needles filled the air.

It had hardly lost any of its ten-inch length since it was given them; Tom had not been attending to her as he should.

Her eyes caressed the smoky, deep green length of it and again the words went through her mind – long and thick and hard and warm…

It wasn't warm, but three out of four would do, especially in Janet Jamison's state.

She crawled off the bed with the lithe ease of a big, tawny skinned cat, just reaching the candle from the end of the bed, then lay back with the phallic length of soft wax in her hand.

She couldn't close her fingers about it, falling short by perhaps an inch. It was thicker than her husband – at least as thick any man she'd ever known. As she lay back on the pillow legs spread, lowering the base of the candle, smooth and rounded with the contours of the holder in which it had lain on the dresser, she was momentarily uncertain about what she was doing.

She put one hand down to her cunt, slipping one finger inside. She was fearfully tight there and found herself unsure of whether or not she could take it without pain or injury.

But then she felt the tension, the need to come beginning to knot inside her all the more, and she threw caution to the winds.

The base of the candle touched between the folds of her cunt flesh, pushed up against it. It wouldn't go in at first and she wondered if it was too much for her.

But then she remembered the wonderful elasticity of her cunt, stretching to accommodate men, no matter how large, contracting to grip their penises, no matter how diminutive, and she felt the lubricating secretions dripping from her quim and she knew that not only could she take it – she had to have it!

Janet put her other hand down between spreading the lips of her pussy. The first time, it had pushed them inward, instead of slipping between. This time, though, she held them splayed widely apart as she fitted the blunt, gently rounded end of the candle between, then let them snap back tightly into place around the shaft.

She rotated the dildo between her thighs, grinding the end into her cunt.

"Uummmmm!" The sound slipped from behind her lips as she felt the sides of the cool length of false prick moving in the place where she wanted a hard cock.

She gripped the end of the candle in one hand, holding it in place with the other. Janet tilted her hips upward, her legs held far apart, and pushed.

She felt the muscles at the entrance of her cunt grudgingly giving way, spreading, being driven apart by the invader. Slowly, bit by bit, the dildo pressed into her, separating the walls of her cuntal tunnel despite their vain struggles to stay pressed closely together inside her.

Inch by inch, the candle was dipping into her.

She could feel the slick sides of the cylinder slipping between her fingers as it probed deeper and deeper into her. She wanted it to reach the itch, the place that needed the touch of hard dick, the pressure of stiff cock, deep inside her.

It was halfway in. She paused, gasping fer breath. Each intake of air made her hands move the end of the candle an inch or two upwards, away from the bed, causing the entire slick length to shift within the clutches of her wonderfully stretched cunt. It was so thick that as it drove between her pussy lips, it pulled the soft skin downward, caving it inward, so that her clitoris was pressing tautly against the top of the candle.

Each shift of it within her only increased the pressure on her clit, and that, in turn, only made her breath the more rapidly, deeply. And then she moved it even more.

The sensations were all churning together inside her, and they were intensified both by the decadence of what she was doing and the chance that her husband might walk in at any moment and see her laying there on the bed with the thick candle jammed halfway into the very slot he'd been neglecting.

She began pushing the candle inward again, and with each fraction of an inch that slipped into her, she felt new pleasure zones being touched, being ignited. Little explosions of ecstasy were taking place between her hips, within the length of her vaginal sheath, and each only made her want more. Inch by inch, the dildo bored into her throbbing cunt. Janet could feel the very end of it beneath her fingers even as she felt the rounded base driving up towards her cervix and womb. She wanted it deeper.

With a last groan of lust, she pushed it deep into her cunt. Within seconds, she was overwhelmed by her orgasm, her cunt coating the wax dildo with rich juices. Then she pulled the candle from her pussy.

And she knew herself well enough to realize, even as she roused herself sufficiently to replace the candle on the dresser top, that if she didn't get some more attention from her husband down in that inferno between her legs soon, she might still want his cock.

But no more than she wanted any cock.

Janet pulled the sheets back up over her, tossing the pillow over onto her husband's side of the bed, taking his for herself. Let him smell my pussy juice on it, she thought drowsily. Maybe it give him an idea.

Tom Jamison sat on the big couch in the living room, staring at the blank space in the center of the floor where the poker table had stood. As always, the guys had stayed after to help him straighten up some. They always had. And they seemed eager to do a little more than usual on this night.

For on this night, for the fifth straight week, he'd lost more than a hundred dollars to them.

He held the beer can in his hand, sipping from it vacantly from time to time. None of the boys ever discussed losses, with each other or outside of their circle. Janet would never need to know how muck he'd been losing.

But he knew damn good and well that if he didn't do something, and quickly, he was going to have them on the rocks financially.

He finished the beer and got another from the refrigerator, then resumed his post in the chair beside the sofa. This was his chair, and he alone ever sat in it. That was another of the little traditions he and Janet had. It was the master's throne. He remembered, the Christmas she'd given it to him. She'd somehow managed to scrimp the money together for it out of her clothing money.

"Shit," he murmured in disgust. He was upset with himself. As good as Janet and Penny were to him, then he went and squandered the money gambling.