Ron Taylor - Teacher_s naughty wife

"Are you some kind of sex maniac? Is that it? Christ, Joanne, all you ever think about is fucking. It seems to me that it's unhealthy to have it on your mind all the time."

"I don't have it on my mind all the time," she answered, pushing the button to the higher speed. "I just have it on my mind when I can't get it. Which is all the time. But don't be concerned. This is just to tide me over until you get your own, problems resolved and we're a happy couple again, the way we used to be. I know that as soon as you find out about your tenure everything will be comfy-cozy for us, and in the meantime – oh, Jesusssss!"

She had it in herself now, the tip – maybe an inch of it in all – shoved boldly into her pussy, and her toes were twitching where they stretched down the bed, at the end of her long naked legs. She could smell the hat arousal of her twat now, and she knew that what had begun as a calculated effort to piss off her husband would have to be carried all the way through. She was worked up again, and she needed it. If he didn't want to watch, he could sleep on the couch this evening. She worked it free of her clinging labes, moaned, began to stroke herself again, sliding deeper and deeper into the crack of her ass no matter how much it ached and tingled when she touched herself there.

"See?" she panted, turning to face him. "It's the housewife's friend, and the husband's helper too. When in need, put in some batteries and just go to town – wow! You don't have to worry about me running around with other guys, either. Not as long as I have this. And when you have time for me again, well, I'll just throw it in the trashcan and replace it with the real thing. What could be more convenient. Oh, God, this thing feels incredible! Would you like me to tickle your dick with it? I bet it would put some lead in your pistol, tenure or no tenure, darling. Oh, roll over, let me stroke you. You'll love it!"

He resisted strongly as she tried to flip him over and get the buzzing vibrator into his shorts. Probably wouldn't help, she told herself. "You know," she said, abandoning the attempt and returning the vibrator to where it could do the most good, "this thing makes me feel like Alice in Wonderland. It's just like magic on my little honeybun."

Tom sat up. "What did you say?"

She could hardly keep from laughing. Determinedly, she worked the vibrator harder and harder across her pussy bulge. It slipped into her crack again, just the tip of it, but because he was watching, she flipped her wrist and drove another inch or two of buzzing pink plastic up her fucked-out hole. It whirred through the reaches of her twat that had been most heavily exercised this afternoon, and she moaned and groaned and kicked out wildly on the bed. She wasn't faking, not all of it. The vibrator couldn't begin to compete with a real, flesh-and-blood dick, a cock that could fuck her hard and fast and fill her aching pussy with the healing milk of cum, but it was okay when you didn't have anything else, and she was a little sorry that she'd never gotten around to buying one of the clever devices a long time ago. Still, though, if she'd had one to fall back on, she might have never discovered her husband's sordid secret life. This is for Honeybun and Professor Big Cock, she thought, humping it home as he watched with slack-jawed disbelief, and then she was thumping up to meet the invader and her pussy was full of juice. If it had been an electric vibrator she'd have short-circuited herself, but it worked on battery power and she could hump it till the cows came home. Not that she had to. The thrill of fucking herself with a piece of plastic, right in front of the cheating eyes of her husband, was too much.

"God, fuck meeeee!" she wailed, wrapping her legs around the buzzing tool that protruded from her wet snatch, and she grabbed at Tom, hugging him tightly as she rode through her come.

When it was over she sank back, reached down, flipped off the buzzing mechanism, and slowly extracted the vibrator from her snatch. "Thanks love," she murmured, and she kissed the thing where it was wet with her pussy juices. There was a sweet, piquant taste to the plastic, coated as it was with her own leakings, and she let her tongue glide up and down. "Oh, wow," she said finally, and she leaned over, put the vibrator back into its box, tucked it under her pillow. Tom was still propped on one arm, staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "G'night, now," she said, blowing him a kiss, and she turned out the light. She stayed awake in the dark long enough to be sure that he was having a hard time getting to deep.

Oh, too bad, she thought, maybe Miss Honeybun won't like Professor Big Cock with bags under his eyes in the morning. And with a grin of satisfaction, she closed her eyes and went to sleep. It had been one hell of a good day.

The next morning was delicious! Tom didn't have any classes till ten o'clock and he even decided to eat breakfast with Joanne before he left for school. All through the meal he stared at her across the table, and she knew he was seeing her as he'd seen her last night, stroking her curt with the buzzing vibrator while he'd looked on, unbelieving. Think about it! she had signaled to him. "Will you be home for supper?" she asked. "I was planning to cook."

"No," he replied, "I, uh, don't think so. Some work I need to take care of."

She knew what kind of work he had meant. There was a guilty look in his eyes, and she could see it so damned clearly now. Had it been there all along? Had she only overlooked it in the past? No matter. As soon as he was out the door and into his car, she was on the telephone. The school records office gave her an address and phone number for student body member Alice Custer and, inventing freely, playing her pan like the actress she'd always wanted to be, she called the number and – Lord God! – actually spoke to Alice herself.

She recognized the voice immediately. It came across the telephone wires slightly distorted, the way it had sounded on the intercom box the day before. There was no longer the slightest doubt that this Alice bitch was the same person she'd eavesdropped on. And now it was time to see the girl, face to face, and confront her with what she knew.

Mmmm, Joanne thought, yesterday I couldn't have handled it, but today I am on top of the world. I've been to the mountain and I've looked down the other, side. Representing herself as a survey researcher for a women's study group based in Cleveland, she made an appointment to visit Alice at her off-campus apartment promptly at noon that day. Alice didn't have any afternoon classes and was free to be interviewed as long as necessary. And Tom was safely in the English building, with a full schedule of classes from ten till four. Possibly, Joanne thought, I'm interrupting a nooner for them, but it doesn't really bother me.

She had been expecting some sort of femme fatale, some stacked, bleached blonde with great legs and a penchant for feathered boas. So far she'd only heard Alice Custer's voice, never actually seen the girl in the flesh, and on her drive across town she amused herself by conjuring up mental pictures of her rival.

As it turned out, all her guesses were a mile off the mark. She knocked on the door and it opened a moment later.

She stepped into the apartment, not quite believing her first sight of Alice.

The girl was about twenty or twenty-one, a little taller than Joanne's five-four, and built on the same slender frame. Her hair was rusty blonde, frizzy-curled, cropped close to her head. She had a small sharp-featured face with large eyes and a neat pointed chin. Her mouth was wide and narrow-lipped, her nose slightly snubbed, and she wore oversized glasses with tinted frames. It would be difficult to call her pretty, let alone beautiful, and Joanne took two or three sharp breaths before sitting down on the small easy chair.