Ron Taylor: Teacher_s naughty wife

She hadn't been a virgin when she married. Of course not. Neither had Tom. She'd been a drama student at the university, and she'd been around. Not too many times, but enough to know the score. Enough to be a hot fuck once she decided that Tom Hickman was a man worth fucking. She'd opened her legs willingly, taken him into her hot pulsating cunt, and he'd fucked her for what seemed like hours at the time but wasn't nearly long enough to drench the fires that burned inside her. Clasping him with her legs, milking him of his juicy cum with her twitchy pussy muscles, she had known, from their first fuck, that here was a man she could learn to love, a man she could willingly spend the rest of her life with.

So what had happened?

"Tell me," Joanne asked the woman in the mirror, but neither of them knew the answer.

She turned away, reaching into the tower, adjusting the water to the proper degree of warmth. She turned the nozzle, too, allowing the spray to fall like tiny tingling needles of wet stimulation. Joanne liked that. And it was one thing that she both enjoyed and could get. Unlike her husband's love.

She stepped into the hot spray, and her lips puckered in a surge of delight. She turned round and round, letting the water play across her skin, and it was lovely. She cupped her tits, lifting them so they, too, could feel the stinging spray of the water, and her nipples puckered in joyous arousal. Joanne purred, a bubbly gurgling sound, and her fingers flitted back and forth across her brown paps, tickling them until they stiffened and thrust in the glory of full erection. She closed her fists over the ends of her boobs and squeezed hard, moaning as she began to feel better and better and better.

"Do it, baby, oh, really do it," Joanne moaned from deep in her throat. She got her hands sudsy on a bar of soap, and then she came back in full force, massaging the suds into her body. She was massaging long after her body was frothy with soap. Massaging until her heart swelled inside her and her head began to throb.

"There," she told herself as her fingers once more seized her nips and wrenched them almost viciously, but lovingly. It was the dichotomy that she liked most, the way it could feel so good one moment and hurt so much the next, and then feel good all over again. God, it was what she needed, what she really needed!

They'd been here for three pears, Tom a lowly instructor at the college, teaching grammar and lit surveys and, once in a while, his specialty, 19th Century poetry. Most of the three years had been good, even better than good. He wasn't making a fortune at the college, but he made enough to keep them comfortable, and if he got tenure at the end of the term, they were going to buy a house. They had a few friends, other faculty members and their husbands and wives, but they didn't socialize much and Joanne hadn't really minded. It had been really good and, even after ten years of marriage, they had still been discovering new, delightful things about one another, things that made each day a bright, happy adventure.

Until it all changed.

She supposed it had something to do with the pressures of his job. The 1960's had produced a glut of liberal arts graduates, overeducated people who found that the market for jobs narrowed almost daily. He'd been lucky to find this job, teaching college English, and if he lost it, it might be a long time before he found another. He spoke sometimes of classmates from grad schools, Ph.D.s who were digging ditches and running jack hammers. Maybe tenure was an important thing preying on his mind. But did he have to make her suffer?

It had been months since the last sweet time they'd enjoyed a good fuck. Her pussy ached with the memory of his cock, rampant, fierce, thrusting hard, hard, hard! His juices exploding deep inside her, her own pussy milk flowing to mingle with his cum and bathe her twat in a flood of sweet ecstasy. Her toes twitching and curling as the fires of orgasm sped through her entire body, exploding from head to toe, transforming her into a living fuck-circuit.

Now when he fucked her, it was just that. He crawled on top, complaining and bitching, rammed his cock into her, and two minutes later it was over. He'd squirt a dribble of semen up her tubes and she'd lay beneath him, biting her lips, unsatisfied as any half-fucked woman could ever be. Was the pressure making him impotent? Was that it? And was her own pressure on him only making it worse? She didn't know. But he wouldn't discuss it, right or wrong. He'd only make excuses and go out the door without a backward glance while she watched, wondering where the happiness had all gone. She could bring herself to a kind of release, but one that was so inadequate compared to what she used to share with her husband, humping deliriously on a creaking bed, their bodies full of love and excitement, his cock stiff and sweet and ferocious inside her gulping cunt…

Her cunt. It ached now, really ached. It needed to be loved and fucked. The old way. The sweet way. The best way. Needed it more than ever. Yes, Joanne decided, sliding a hand down her belly, it really was true. Women didn't get older. They got better.

She soaped her bush and her pussy, working the suds into her cuntal gap, her finger rubbing in and out, back and forth, until it brushed the risen nub of her clitoris. She was in a constant state of horniness, made all the worse by the inadequate love she got from her man. "Whew!" She gasped in a breathless voice, fingering her love button. "Do it again!" And she did, gleefully, swaying on her feet as she stroked and fondled herself.

She was comparing herself now, at age thirty-one, to the Joanne who had accepted her first fuck at sixteen, in the backseat of a car. Where else? Wasn't that the traditional American defloration spot? She hadn't even guessed how typical it all was as she allowed her formal to be lifted, her panties, to be dropped by her date, the foxiest guy in the whole school. She'd never forget how it felt then, holding his cock in her trembling hands. Not the first cock she'd ever gotten a feel of, but the first time she had ever made up her mind that this would be it, that this cock would be the first one to plunge its way into her molten cherry center and break the seal of her virginity. Excited? God, yes! Turned-on? Wow! She was sure, at the time, that she'd climaxed almost at the moment that pecker rammed up her pussy.

But what did she know about coming then? Only what she'd learned from her finger, or a date's finger, playing with her pussy. No. Nooo! She had only been starting to become a woman, and something told Joanne that it wasn't finished, not even now. She still had so much to learn.

Something new every day. Or so it used to be. Before Tom cooled off.

She couldn't put her finger on just when it had started. She could, however, put one finger on her left nipple and another finger on her clitoris, and she could nib them in unison while the spraying water cascaded over her body in refreshing tingly needles, and that's what Joanne was doing. Sometime around the first of the term now in session. After New Year's, certainly. New Year's had been great. They'd gone to a party hosted by one of Tom's colleagues in the English department, but they'd sneaked away, into one of the bedrooms, and had a crazy passionate fuck under a pile of coats, excitedly conscious that at any moment someone might walk into the room and discover them. God, how she'd come that evening, full of his driving dick!

The change had been subtle, so subtle she didn't know it was happening until it was almost an established fact. As the semester drew on and signs of spring began to appear over the mountains, she found that her husband was growing colder almost with each breath that left his mouth. He was busy when she wanted to make love. He didn't have time for the little fondness she liked to bestow on him. He seemed to have less and less time for small talk, for just being with her. He didn't even eat breakfast with her any more, and it couldn't be merely because of his 8 a.m. class in English grammar. Half the time he didn't get home until dinner was cold. Something was happening and Joanne couldn't understand it. And she didn't want to understand it. She wanted life to be the way it had always been, her and Tom, happy together, making love at the drop of a hat. Being happy. That was what she missed.