J Watson - The unfaithful wife

"Oh my God," she said. "Why am I thinking like this?"

She made herself a drink. It didn't help and she made herself another. By the third drink she was starting to feel it, and she was beginning to get brave. It wouldn't hurt to take a swim. It was hot. And Alan was always after her to get to know the people in the area better. There was that tiny swimsuit that Alan had bought her last year. She'd never had the courage to wear it before. It was one of those string bikinis and it barely covered the vital parts. Cynthia didn't think that her husband had ever intended her to wear the suit. He'd bought it as a joke.

"But I will," Cynthia said.

She was floating high when she went upstairs and picked out the tiny bikini. Hurriedly she stripped off all her clothes and slipped into the bathing suit. She took a look at herself in her bedroom mirror.

"Oh my God," Cynthia said. "I look obscene."

She knew she was feeling drunk or she would have never dared put it on. It was a yellow flimsy thing that showed some of her pubic hairs curling out of the sides. She could see her small, firm breasts pouring out of the top almost to her big nipples. As she watched she could see her nipples getting hard. Even thinking about Greg seeing her in something like this was enough to turn her on.

She realized why she'd worn the swimsuit as soon as she walked out into the back yard. She'd wanted to compete with Greg's vulgar looking wife. She didn't have the pair of tits that Mary had, but she knew she looked enticing in the swimsuit.

Greg was swimming in the pool. He grinned at her as she walked out near the diving board.

"That's nice," he said, whistling. "You look good enough to eat."

"You sure do," Mary, his dark haired wife said. "I wish I had your legs."

Cynthia felt a little funny about the way Mary was admiring her long, slender legs. Almost like a man would admire them. Cynthia told herself she was being silly, but there was something about the way Mary was looking at her.

"Why don't you take a swim?" Mary suggested. Cynthia was thankful to be diving off the board and into the fresh water. She came up gasping for breath and loving the feel of the cool water around her. She hadn't realized how very hot it was.

"You dive pretty good," Greg said. He was swimming toward her in a lazy kind of way. But she saw the look that was in his eyes and it made her afraid.

What was she doing here after what he had done to her only the evening before?

She had heard of other women not calling the police but she had never heard of a raped woman going swimming the day after it happened with the man who had raped her. And with his wife looking on?

Getting away from him would be no problem. She could swim for the side and head for home. He wouldn't dare bother her with his wife looking on. She didn't move. Greg swam up beside her and gently paddled to keep himself afloat.

"You should have worn something like that a long time ago, honey," Greg said.

"I'm not your honey," she said.

"Sure you are, honey," he said. "That's why you came over. To be my honey again."

She gave a startled gasp as he lowered one hand underneath her.

His hand slid into the wetness of her bathing suit and roughly cupped her asscheek. Cynthia looked over at his wife in horror. Mary was looking at them. She was leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed.

"Stop," Cynthia said weakly.

"You don't want me to stop," he said. "You know you'll like me to touch you. Why don't you touch me?"

"No," she said.

"Let me have your hand," he demanded.

She let him have her hand. She didn't know why. Nor did she know why she was breathing so hard and making no attempt to escape from him.

"Let's move a little closer to the edge," Greg said. "Where we can stand up."

"I don't want to," she said, but he was already pulling her close to the shallow area where they could both stand.

"This is better," Greg said. "Now you can play with my cock all you want. That's what you came for, wasn't it? To play with my pecker?"

"No," she insisted, "no."

But she wasn't fighting him as he brought her hand close to his cock. She felt the wetness of his bathing suit. He didn't force her hand inside his suit. He only pressed her hand against the outside. She could feel his huge bulge throbbing hotly.

"There," he said. "Is that what you wanted to feel?"

"Why ire you doing this to me?" she asked, almost sobbing.

"I'm only doing what you want me to do," he said. "I'm only making you feel my pecker. You want to feel my pecker. It's what you came over to do."

It was true. She had to admit it to herself. It was what she had been thinking of all night long. It was the reason she had drunk so much. To forget. To forget how big and thick his prick had felt as it entered her. To forget the strange feelings that had gone through her when he made her suck it.

"Oh God, yes it is," she said.

And she moved her hand down the front of his suit to feel his hot meat. Her fingers wrapped around the thick staff and she found that she hadn't been dreaming. It was just as big as she remembered it. It was so damned long and thick and had such a huge cock-head.

"You want to fuck," he said.

She wanted to fuck. She wanted to more than anything she'd wanted to do in her life. But her upbringing made her look at him in horror. It was wrong. It was in broad daylight and it was right in front of his wife. It was sickening.

"You want to," he said.

"No, yes, no," she stammered. "Oh, I can't. Let's go someplace. Not here."

"We'll do it here," he said. "It'll be a new experience for you."

"No," she said, but he was already pulling her wet bottom down her legs. He left them at her knees and he bent her backward in the water. He was puffing his own trunks down. Down to his knees. She felt his thick cock jump out to touch her creamy thighs.

"No, not here," she pleaded, but she knew that she didn't want him to stop. He couldn't stop. At that moment she needed his big prick more than she had ever wanted anything.

"Not here," she said again.

"Hell, sweet," he said. "Who are you trying to fool? You're hotter than a cunt who hasn't had it for a year. Don't try to fool me, bitch."

He pushed his hand between her legs. His fingers probed at her hot cunt opening. She groaned and her head fell back. She couldn't control the hot feelings that went through her body. God, she wanted his cock. She wanted his big prick slamming into her pussy, stretching her cunt with his steaming cock-meat. She needed to be fucked. "All right, Goddamn you," she moaned. "Give it to me. I want it."

"That's better, you little bitch," he said. "You're nothing but a cunt. Now you're telling the truth. You want my meat and you're going to get it."

Somehow he bent her back so that his cock was wedged between her thighs. It might have been uncomfortable if she weren't so damned hot. He moved and his prickhead pushed apart the plump pink petals of her pussy. He went inside – just barely. His big cockhead felt like it was pumping blood through her body. She had never felt anything that made her feel so strange and good. If only her husband had a cock like this, or if only he knew how to be the type of man Greg was.

"Little fucking cunt housewife," he said. "You sweet hot bitch!"

This was what she'd needed for a long time. He wasn't treating her as if she'd break. He was treating her like she was a cunt, a whore, someone to be fucked. This was making her feel more like a woman than she'd ever felt.

"Call me names," she whispered, her voice hot with hunger. "Call me names. Treat me rough. It's what I need. It's what I want so bad."

"You fucking cunt!" he yelled.

"Yessss," she sobbed.

He stabbed with his massive prick until it was partially into her. She didn't even think he was ready for the hunger in her. She lifted her legs and locked them around his as she sat down hard on his cock. They were both still standing and she gave a loud moan as his cock went deep in her pussy.