David Martin: Loaned wife

But knowing Allison, he should never have wondered. It didn't.

Instead, she stood beside him, looking down and said, softly. "Anything else… Mr. Jamison."

"Yes." He put one hand about her waist, savoring the incredible slimness. He knew that her waist was the same as his wife's, but somehow, that did nothing to temper his admiration. His other hand began to slide up her thigh, pulling the hemline up with it.

"Please, Mr. Jamison," she whispered, in just the light tone of huskiness to make him certain he had to have her. She pulled away and began striding towards the door, her hips moving liquidly beneath the dress, pressing those sponge rubber firm ass cheeks back against the dress, making the fabric twitch.

He was out of his chair and across the room within seconds, standing between her and the door. This was the way it had been the first time. This was the way it had been every time, even after he figured out the way she was using it.

"Mr. Jamison, what are you doing?" she asked disdainfully.

That cinched it. He took a step towards her. She backed, up a step. He took another step. She turned, ready to run.

Then he grabbed her arms, high up above the elbows. And this too was like the other times, except for one thing. This time he grabbed her arms in such a way that she was faced any from him.

And instead of pawing and grappling her until she met his tongue kiss momentarily before letting herself slip slowly to the thick carpet at his feet, this time he pushed her ahead of him towards the desk – quickly.

She automatically put her hands up in front of her to brace her impact against the desk, but that wasn't what he had in mind. He suddenly stopped, put one arm about her slim waist, the other hand high up on her back at the base of her neck, and pushed her so that she leaned forward.

She tried to struggle, this time in earnest, but Tom knew what he wanted, and he was going after it.

He grabbed a handful of the dress at the small of her back, a large enough handful so that the garment was tight about her, then kicked her legs father apart until she looked like a disproportionate tripod – two legs spread at a forty-five degree angle, arms stuck close together on the desk.

He gathered and bunched the material till it was high up on her thighs, then revealing the smooth, flawless, curve of her buttocks encased in the shimmering silk of her panties and garter.

Then with a single movement, he brought his other hand up under her dress to the waistband of the panties and ripped them off her – not pulled them down or tore them off, but ripped them with a powerful stroke.

She sucked in her breath and he saw her ass cheeks tighten involuntarily.

Without further preliminaries, he unzipped his pants and fished out his dick.

Tom was not especially large as these things go, but his hard-on was throbbing and pulsating, all eight inches of it.

And as he looked at her cunt. As he eyed her compact little pubic, bush, so pale and silvery blonde and tightly curled, he knew exactly where he wanted to put his pecker.

He stepped forward and the knob of his cock bumped into her bare, quivering ass cheeks.

She started to twist her upper body around towards him, her face just beginning to betray an uncertainty. "Now Tom, don't be too – OW!"

She bit the sound back quickly. She jerked her head and neck back straight ahead, then dropped her head so that she stared right down at the desk top between her anus.

Tom had suddenly taken her hips in both hands, tilted them at the juncture of the small of her back and her little ass so that the gathered material of her dress stayed up there, bent his knees for the proper alignment and then jabbed forward so that the broad glans of his dick mashed her pussy lips flat against the pubic bone for an excruciating second before finally giving way before the force of his superior object and caving in ahead of the onrushing prick tip.

The head of his dick was lodged inside her, and he couldn't help noticing, with some satisfaction, that she was already well-lubricated. Did she enjoy these little office romps and use them as a stepping stone later only for self-justification? Or was it that this was the way she wanted it to be – her haughty bluff called, her clothes torn any, and some man shoving eight inches of hard shaft right up her cunt whether she liked it or not?

Either way, it a what he wanted, and on that particular morning. Tom Jamison was going to do what he wanted.

"Easy-ea-sy-easy," she sobbed. But he could feel her vaginal muscles contracting on him, see the glistening droplets of her own aroused secretion rolling down the insides of her sleek, limber thighs.

He dug his fingers into her hips and pushed forward, leaning back so he could watch as inch by inch, the entire length of his angry cock was absorbed into the tight channel of her twat.

He loved to watch the sight of her little pussy lips stretched about his cock, loved it almost as he loved the feel of it. And he enjoyed it the more for the way she squirmed and wriggled her hips as if trying to escape for a moment, only to jerk her as back at him to hasten the insertion of another inch.

With a sudden lurch, he buried the last two inches inside of her, and noted with satisfaction the way her knees momentarily buckled as she felt his prick ram hard up against the cervical opening at the end of her cunt tunnel.

Already she was beginning to rotate her hips. The small spasms were getting to her and he could actually see her tight little cunt lips tightening about him in time with her inner contractions.

He pulled his cock back halfway and then drove it into her quim with all his strength, as if he were trying to batter and bruise her. Tom wanted to fuck her harder and more thoroughly than she'd ever had it before in her life, to fuck her right out of her haughtiness and aloofness and disdainfulness, to fuck her right off her high horse and make her beg for more.

He slammed his hips hard against her, reveling in the feel of her cool ass against his abdomen. Already, he could feel his balls tightening as the juice swirled inside him, the long tube on the underside of his prick tightening in dry-run preparation for the ejaculations to come.

She was responding to him, responding in a way she had never let herself go before. She was arching her ass high up towards him, sobbing almost gratefully with each brutal thrust of his dick into her. Ref hips were moving up and down, side to side, pushing back to meet his attack, then sliding forward with the impact of his ramming.

And with every penetration of his prick into her tunnel, with every surge of his loins up to her receptive tint, another minor explosion of breath, so basic, so emotion-filled that he couldn't be sure if it expressed pain, pleasure or both, escaped her pale, cool lips.

He stopped, suddenly, and kicked her legs still wider apart. Now his prick was jammed into her at an awkward angle. Now, when he pressed into her, the top of his dick rubbed up against the upper limits of her pussy, where it folded into the short, sensitive stretch of skin between her cunt and ass.

His eyes fixed on her ass, on the tiny, button-sized opening. He pictured what it would look like to have his cock crammed into that unstretched little aperture. And from the way she was moving her ass up at him, wiggling her fanny, he had the distinct feeling that she would love it – that she would get off on that sexual submission even more than she was getting off on having his rock hard dick plowed into her without regard to her feelings.

He put his hand high up on her back and pushed her upper torso down. Her arms folded up and she had her face pressed down close to his desk top – then her forehead actually rested on it. He could see her breasts, nipples swollen, stretching downward, in the reflection off the glossy rosewood surface. He could see the muscles of her stomach, tensed and easily visible, rippling and contracting across her belly with each thrust of his penis.