Wilma Crane - Family bride

"Oh, Jesus!" Richard gasped, his head thrown back so that when she looked up at him she could see the tense cords of his neck above the darkly tanned "V" made by his undershirt.

"No!" she cried. "Wait! Wait for me!" But she could feel the sudden ballooning of his erection within her, pulsing hotly in her gripping channel.

"Oh, Jesus!" he cried, grinding down on her so hard that his pubic hair grated harshly across her pubic bone.

The molten cream of his sperm splashed into her suddenly. She humped wildly up at him, vainly trying to establish contact with her clitoris against his shaft.

"No! No, no, no," she whimpered, unsure whether the tears forming in her eyes were from pain or disappointment.

And then he quieted above her. She could feel the shriveling flesh of his penis slowly withdrawing from her warmly slick tissues.

"Just get off me!" she said, pushing him away. She turned her head away from him so that he wouldn't see that she was crying, even before she felt the weak suction and heard the obscene slurp of his penis plopping free of her labia.

"You don't care anything about my feelings," she whispered tearfully, pulling her nightgown down around her hips. "You're only interested in using me as a toilet. That's what I am to you – a toilet!"

Richard rolled onto his back. He was disappointed that she had not tried to enjoy it. And he felt guilty because he didn't know if it was his fault, or hers. She made him feel old and worthless. After all, he thought, maybe I am only an animal like she says. He didn't know how to handle her tears, because he didn't know if they were genuine. He felt weak in the presence of her quiet sobbing. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, or to help her somehow.

He reached over her hip and slid his hand under the hem of her nightgown to massage her clit with his fingers, but she slapped at his hand and pulled away from him.

"Haven't you hurt me enough?" she coughed.

Richard turned away from her in shame and disgust. "Fucking you," he said, "is like fucking my own fist. I'd sooner masturbate than touch you again." He didn't know why he had said it, and he lay in the darkness for a long time until he wasn't sure whether she was awake or not. He tried not to think of anything, but ho remembered a Volkswagen engine he had to work on the next day. And then he went to sleep.

His cock is longer and harder than he can remember it being before. When he looks down at it thrusting out of the dense tangle of his sandy pubic hair, he can feel it throb with hot blood, but it is a pleasant sensation and not at all painful, as though the girl standing before him has already taken it into the firm grip of her mouth. He has all the time in the world, and all the control. Once again, he is twenty-one years old, but wiser, too.

The girl in front of him, wearing the opaque black dressing gown – she is nude beneath it and he can see the dark wedge of her glistening pubic hair – is his daughter-in-law, Valerie. As she comes forward, her lips parted moistly to reveal the barest trace of her tongue, she seems not quite sure who he is, but the desire sparkling in her liquid green eyes is unmistakable. In a moment she will touch him lightly, the cool tips of her delicate fingers sliding along his hips as she kneels to accept the pulsing warm rod of his cock into the clasping red oral of her embracing lips.

Although he cannot see them, somewhere behind him he senses the watchful, horrified eyes of his wife and oldest son. Neither of them, he knows, is quite sure that this is only a demonstration – a kind of school for them both – of how to make love. He senses his son's envy of him as Valerie glides slowly forward, the mist around her like an extension of her dressing gown, filling the room with her womanly aroma. Frances, he realizes, is afraid, as well as shocked.

Valerie pauses before him, a kind of mocking light in her eyes as she cocks her head to one side and coquettishly pulls a strand of her long brown hair away from her eyes. For a moment she attempts to tease him with her stare, but his eyes are icy, and she knows what is expected of her.

In a fluid movement, she, kneels, her long hair grazing his powerful thighs. The plated striations of muscle along his abdomen tense as he feels the warmth of her breath stirring ticklishly through his fragrant pubic hair. He puts both hands on either side of her head, and with his coarse fingers pulls back the cascade of her smoky hair so that his wife and son can see her as she moistens her lips with her tongue. The heat of her breath grows more and more intense on his rigid rod as her opening mouth nears the purple sheen of his swollen cockhead.

And then the buttery warmth of her young lips closes over his cock and her lacing tongue feels like hot satin as she pushes forward until her nose is nestled in the tangle of his hair. The glans of his cock has nudged through the velvet restriction at the opening of her throat, and her mouth is so warm it feels as if his cock is slowly melting as she embraces it with her tongue and palate.

An insistent, gentle vacuum is formed by her tongue and lips as he tenses his buttocks and slowly withdraws partway from her mouth. Her tongue-tip flickers excitingly at the tip of his glans so that he feels an electric puckering run along the length of his shaft, through his heavy nuts, and into the hairy whorl of his asshole.

Instinctively, Valerie senses his increasing sensation. She lifts one hand and cups the tensing cheek of his hairy buttocks; and with the other hand, she gently squeezes his churning balls, rolling them softly, warmly in the slightly moist palm of her hand, as though she were toying with gigantic pearls in a velvet bag. The delicate fingers of her hand are extended upward, gently massaging his perineum through to coarse thicket of hair leading to his anus. He can feel the thickening heat of her saliva churning around his pulsing shaft. He pistons it back and forth in the clutch of her glistening lips until he can see pearls of silvery saliva drooling from the corners of her lips. He cannot thrust into her too deeply; he feels that, if she could, she would fit his balls too into her mouth, swallowing forever.

Beneath his swaying nuts, her breasts bob with the sucking motions of her head and shoulders. A glistening snail track of her saliva snakes down over the mound of her white flesh, coiling in wetly at the outer edge of her cunt-colored nipple. Both tips of her breasts are puckered like raspberries and sometimes he can feel her deliberately rubbing them against his upper thighs. Somehow he can see, as through the eyes of the watchers, the honey-colored trickle of her fluids seeping slowly between the succulent folds of her labia.

Her tongue curls and caresses the bottom side of his long prick. For a moment she holds the root of his cock in her fingers as she pulls back, her mouth open, her eyes closed in ecstasy, to rub the head of his cock over her face. She guides the smooth glans over her chin, flicking at the shaft with the red tip of her tongue, then rubs it against her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose, over her eyes, across her upper lip. Wherever his dock touches her it leaves a glistening track. She loves it. She sucks it back into her heated mouth as though mad for the taste of it. She cannot get enough of it.

With several long strokes, he shafts it into her throat, the undulating motion of his pelvis grinding his pubic hair against her upper lip and nose. She cannot breathe, but he knows she will keep on sucking him until she passes out. But he isn't cruel, though he remains dominant.

Little by little, his thrusts into her clutching, hot mouth force her over backward. Her hair falls over her white shoulders like a smoky train, and he supports her neck with his hands as he kneels, following her down, his cock still lodged hotly in her clasping lips.