Ron Taylor - Teacher_s naughty wife

The way she was going to come again. Now. Now. Nowwwww!

"Ohmygoddddd!" she screamed, and she was hugging Fred tightly while he kept his cock busy in her snatch, and Ted was biting her shoulder and his cock thrust hard into her asshole and it was over. All over. She couldn't even scream. The last barrier of her decency had broken and she was a total come, a piece of moaning, creaming orgasmic tissue, her component parts breaking down and re-forming, second by second, like some kind of chemical reaction. She felt her identity shattering, her mind melting, and she knew that she was no more than a toy to them, a plaything to work off their slightly warped desires and lusts. But her own desires had been fulfilled as well and the proof of it was streaming between her legs, hot cuntal juices leaking from her slice, drenching the base of Fred's pecker, flowing like piss from her pussy. And she could only shake and tremble and twitch like a marionette with a broken string, a puppet out of control.

She was hardly aware when the two of them fired, almost at the same second. She felt the jerking stabs up her pussy and ass, but they could have been a million miles away for all Joanne knew. She was floating high above it all, soaring with the magnificent come that rocked and rolled through her stunned body.

Rape or not, she thought, this may have been just what I needed. They pulled their cocks from her wet, sticky holes, and they piled her onto the couch and she lay there moaning, trembling, reaching down to finger herself again and again. She had no shame, no self-consciousness. And, she told herself, I will never be afraid again. I've taken it all and I've made it mine. Tom Hickman, you had better watch your ass, because you are next!

Ronnie Spencer was standing near the couch when she opened her eyes. There was no sign of the twins, Ted and Fred. Maybe it was just as well. "That was cute," Ronnie mid. "Really cute, Marie."

"Joanne, not Marie," Like said. "Unless you want to be Donny instead of Ronnie." She sat up, stretching, yawning. Her pussy and asshole felt as if they'd been reamed out with fire, but there was the strangest, weirdest sense of satisfaction bubbling inside Joanne. I was frightened, she thought, frightened of what I found out when I went to see my husband. But I'm not frightened any more. I can handle anything, the way I handled those two cocks.

"I mean it," he said. "What the fuck got into you?" He colored. "I mean, what were you thinking about, damnit? Do you know what you looked like? You looked like some kind of a slut. It made me sick."

"Did you stop watching?" Joanne yawned. She stood up, caught him by the chin. "Don't frown. It makes your facial muscles weak. Smile. Unless you want to have a permanent scowl, that is." She stood up on tiptoes, kissed him lightly on the lips. His mouth was cold, unresponsive. He caught her hand as she started to go past him.

"I mean it," he said, "I mean, I thought maybe you and I – you know, could get somewhere. I never had a girl quite like you before, one that was so cool and sharp and knew her way around. But…"

"Don't even say it," she told him, turning. "Listen, Ronnie, I am a lot older than you are, for one thing, and I have commitments. If I still have them, that is. When we got together, it was just something I wanted to do at that particular moment. And when your friends came along, well, that was something I wanted to do, too. I'm sorry you didn't join us. I think I could have handled all three of you, but now I guess I'll never know, will I?"

He made a face. She shook her head. "Listen," he said, "I could swear I've seen you before. Did you ever…"

"No questions asked, none answered." She shrugged.

"Maybe I'll see you again sometime. And maybe we can pick up where we left off. But right now I have to be on my way. Like I said, I have commitments. Sort of. I still have them, it's just that the person I have them to…"

She didn't feel like saying anything else. It was late in the afternoon and she had to get home. She still had to figure out what she was going to say to Tom when they had their big discussion. For Chrissake, she couldn't let it go on, could she, this double life of his? But how to talk about it, how to keep herself from taking him apart with the carving knife? She limped into Ronnie's bedroom, feeling the most delicious soreness and stiffness between her legs with every step, and she began to dress. Her mind was doing sixty but getting nowhere.

In the end, of course, she held her tongue. Tom came in about six, and though he mentioned the library, she knew damned well where he'd really been. She could smell it on him, now that she knew what to smell for, and there it was, strong as shit, the fragrance of another woman's arms. She watched him shovel away his supper. Would the college be interested in giving him tenure if they knew that he was fucking one of his students? She supposed it was only one, but of course she couldn't be sure. She couldn't even be sure that this Alice bitch was the only one. Oh, damn, she thought, picking languidly at her food, I still don't have enough information!

After supper he disappeared into his den to work on some essays his students had turned in that day. Hmmmm, she thought, I seduced poor Ronnie out of class and he missed an assignment. Maybe I should put in a good word, tell Tom that his student was doing a good deed for an old lady. Or did she care at all? She wasn't sure, especially when she happened to pass the door and stopped a moment to listen, the walls were pretty thick, but it sounded as if Tom were talking to someone. There was a private line telephone in the den. Was he calling his little twinkle? She couldn't tell for sure and she didn't want to make a scene at the wrong time. Best to save her cards for the big hind.

When he came up to bed that night, she was wearing her naughtiest nightie, a frilly pink nothing that was scooped out low al the tits and rode high at the thighs. It had a matching panty, but she didn't feel the need to wear it tonight. She lay on the bed, sheet tossed down to her feet, and the nightie's hem was pulled up. When Tom closed the bedroom door behind him, she was busy stroking herself with a shiny pink vibrator, shaped rather like a stiff pink cock. She'd bought it that afternoon on her way home from Ronnie's, at a drugstore. Surprising, really, how easy they were to get. A whole display case of them at the back of the store. She had only to make her choice and pay the druggist.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tom asked, taking off his shirt. His body was smooth and firm, and she felt the gnaw of regret as she watched him undress. Wait a fucking minute! Was that a scratch on his shoulder? Goddamned right it was! And she knew she hadn't put it there. Angrily, she flipped the vibrator back on and began to slide it up and down the bun of her pussy.

"What does it look like?" she asked. "I'm masturbating." He stood by the bed in his shorts. Was there a tiny telltale stain on the crotch? A pecker track? She thought so. Joanne set her lips firmly and kept tickling her pussy. It really felt good, once she got the hang of it. A constant stimulating buzz along the crack and down into the anal cleavage. Oohhhh! Jesus Christ! She was still very tender there, and it might be days before she was even comfortable taking a slit. Damn, she hadn't really wanted to be cornholed today, but she'd been dry so long that anything was an improvement.

"That's obscene," he told her. "For Chrissake, Joanne, do you have to do that while I'm watching?"

"I'm sorry if it offends you," she said evenly. "But you're under such tremendous strain that you haven't had time to ball for – well, God, how long has it been now? Ooooohhhhh! Kinda got me that time, you know? It takes time getting used to one of these." She slid it up and down her cracked opening, buzzing the puffy labes of her pussy while he watched. She let the pink tip of the vibrator ease gently into her slightly splayed slit, just enough to give him the message, but not enough to irritate the tenderness of her twat. After all, the poor little rosebud had gotten a hell of a working over today. She'd tested it with her finger, moaned in a mixture of agony and sweet sweet joy.