Ron Taylor - Teacher_s naughty wife

"I don't see where there's any problem," Alice Custer said, puffing lazily on a fat joint of sweet-burning grass. She washed it down her throat with a swallow of cool red wine, and handed the joint to Joanne, who took a demure inhalation. Joanne didn't smoke but it seemed impolite to refuse. The smoke hovered around her head, and if she weren't already stoned from the sex they had shared, she could have gotten high merely from breathing.

"I mean," Alice went on between tokes, "it seems to me that, with everything out in the open, it's cool all around you know? Like, Tom is coming over to see me after finishes his last class. I guess it'll be the usual thing – we'll have dinner and get a little fucked up, then hit the sack and ball for a couple of hours. So why not, when he comes in the door, why can't the first thing he sees be you? And you can tell him you're in on the secret and we can all sit down and talk it over, and three to one we'll come to a settlement that satisfies everybody. Doesn't that sound civilized and really modern?"

"Yes, it does," Joanne said, "but you're forgetting something. You're forgetting the agony I've gone through for the last few months. My husband turned off completely in the bedroom, me not knowing the reason, whether it was just him, or whether I'd done something wrong, and if that wasn't bad enough, the way I had to find out! Like, I mean, everybody, in the English department knows about you and Tom, and here I am, hearing it on the intercom. It was really, you know – my God, I'm starting to sound just like you! Anyway, I feel that I'm entitled to something more than the chance to tell Tom, it's okay, we can all be cool about this. What I want, specifically, are his balls. I'll give them back, of course, but I want them. Listen, what time is it? Going on two? Good God! It seems like I only just came in the front door with my satchel and fake questionnaire. I really wasn't that corny, was I? If you hadn't known who I was, you'd have bought it, right? I mean, I'm – I was – an actress, and a pretty good one, I like to think. Oh, damn it, I don't want to be here when Tom arrives. I'm not ready to face him and be all sweetness and light. Not just yet. I need some time to think. Maybe I'll go home and mull it over."

"Whatever you want," Alice said, crushing the joint in an ashtray, "but I still think I had a good idea. Listen, there's no use holding grudges. It won't give you back one drop of the cum he squirted into me. Why don't you just…"

Joanne was already on her feet, reaching for her panties. "Not yet," she repeated. "First I have to think. And then – well, I don't know what will happen then. First I have to think."

It was astonishing how good she felt, walking from the car to the house. Her step was light and airy, and she was whistling and humming a Broadway show tune. She couldn't remember what it was but it sounded good and it was really a gorgeous day, too, springtime in all its glory. If she could only figure out how to pay Tom back, perhaps it would be the nicest day of her whole life.

She was in the kitchen looking for a snack about five minutes later when she heard the doorbell ring. A traveling salesman? Probably. Shit! She closed the refrigerator door and went out to get the door, mentally rehearsing her stock of snappy putdowns that would get rid of whoever was come to bother her this busy afternoon. She opened the door and couldn't think of anything to say. Except maybe, "Ronnie?"

It was. Ronnie Spencer, the boy from yesterday. Joanne blushed scarlet as she stared at him, and she reached up to fiddle with her hair. She was at a loss for words, and she kept seeing flashes of that cruddy trailer and herself going from one to another of those three boys, not stopping until she'd fucked or sucked them all.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Joanne nodded. Maybe she should have slammed the door in his face? God, she thought as he stepped past her into the house, how in the bloody hell had he figured out where to find her? She had not been that drunk the day before. She hadn't told him her last name or anything about her identity.

"How…"

"Did I find you? Well, I told you that I knew I had seen you somewhere, right? And, in case you forgot, I cut your husband's class yesterday. There was a writing assignment in class, and I went in this morning to see about making it up, and as soon as I knocked on his door I remembered. Your picture. It was on his bookcase. Funny, I didn't see it today, but I remembered it as clear as day. And I didn't forget what you'd said about him, either, about how you used to fuck him. Remember? That's what you were talking about when they threw us out of the Blue Ball? So I put two and three together and came up with five. Your number's in the phone book, and your address, and I just walked over from campus. I-I wanted to see you again, and tell you I was sorry…"

"Sorry for what? Maybe I should apologize to you. I must have been a real spectacle yesterday, Ronnie. And I did leave you in the lurch. But I was drunk, and I was pissed off, really, and, well, I just wanted to do things I'd never done before, all kinds of things. I thought maybe it would make me feel better."

"I guess I blew it, huh, when I told you about your husband and Alice Custer?"

"No, of course not, oh, sit down, will you? I can't talk standing up. It's not civilized. Better." They were both on the couch, perhaps a foot apart, and he kept looking down at the floor, a little sheepishly. Poor thing, Joanne thought. He's really rather shy, isn't he? She reached over, took his hand. He looked up. "I'd really found put," she said. "All you told me was her name. And, thinking clearly, I should be a little grateful." She smiled, then, impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him on the mouth.

His lips were warm against hers, warm and slightly moist, and she thought they tasted rather sweet. The slightest tang of beer on his breath, and he'd eaten something with anion, too. She put her hand on his shoulder and her tits touched his body. She was wearing a pullover she'd borrowed from Alice to replace her torn blouse, but her boobs were bare underneath and, as she pressed against his chest, she felt her nipples engorging. "Ohhhh," she hummed into Ronnie's mouth, and she felt his tongue flick against her lips.

His hand came up, and he was touching her stomach. Why not? Joanne sighed, and she reached down, guided his hand up to her breast. He cupped her, gently at first, and then he began to squeeze, feeling her taut hard nipple. She could feel it, too. Her tongue stabbed into Ronnie's mouth and he began to suck it vigorously. Oh, hell, why not? she thought then, and her hand dropped into his lap.

Didn't she really owe him one? He hadn't gotten the chance to do her yesterday, not all the way. They'd been rocking and rolling in mid-fuck when his roommates barged in, and after that – well, she didn't want to think too long about after that. It was all in the past. Yesterday she was a woman scorned, a woman out to get sexual revenge. A little dank, too, and beyond the paint of caring. Now, she was kissing Ronnie, feeling him and being felt in return, knowing that her body was responding to him, that she was responding to him as well.

What could it hurt? After all, wouldn't Tom Hickman be pumping his dick into Alice Custer's sweet tasty crack in another two or three hours? God, she thought, amused, he gotten more fucking in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last three months! And she was on the verge of getting some more, if that bulge in Ronnie's pants meant what it seemed to mean.

"Well," she said, "what would you say to picking up where we left off yesterday? Before your friends came along?"

"They're not my friends," he said stoutly. "We had a fight. I moved out of the trailer this morning. Later this afternoon I'm supposed to see a couple of people who have places for rent."