Wilma Crane - Family bride

"Blow me a little," he said, squeezing her tit until he could feel the salmon-colored nipple grow hard in his fingers.

"Don't talk so dirty," she said. She ran her fingers skitteringly over his freckled shoulders.

"I want to fuck you. I'm hurting. Aren't you even a little hot?"

"If you can't make love," she said, lowering her voice and feigning a movement away from him, "without coming up with some perverted idea, how do you expect me to feel anything?"

"There's nothing perverted about it," he urged. "Don't you think Val and Jim do it?" He kissed her on the nape of the neck and squeezed her hand once beneath the pillow, which was their old sign for telling each other that they wanted to fuck.

"You're getting to be a regular dirty old man," she said to him, a smile creeping through her frown. "If that's the kind of thing you men spend your time thinking up, it's no wonder Val and Jim have split up. And, no, I don't think Val ever gave Jim a blowjob, if that's what you're thinking." She wriggled a little beneath him, as if to force him away from her body… "I don't know where you get such ideas about your own son and daughter-in-law," she said. "You've been reading too many dirty books."

"Getting hot?" he asked her.

She looked up at him, her eyes opening in mock surprise. "Get off me," she said, shoving him away. "You're not even hard!"

He nuzzled the lobe of her ear and whispered, "I'd get hard if you'd blow me a little."

"Better get a splint for it then," she groaned, trying to shove him away. It irritated her that he was wrinkling her nightgown. "If that's what it takes to excite you, you can damn well do without." But already she could feel the rubbery tube of his penis growing hard along her thigh. "Go to sleep," she coaxed him. "We're too old to be doing this."

"I want a piece of ass," he answered.

"God," she said, moving a little so that he would understand she had given in. "There are more romantic ways to ask for it!"

But she let him draw back a little and center his mushroom-shaped glans on the opening of her labia. Even through the coarse brown mat of her pubic hair, she could feel the heat of his erection. She wished her fluids had lubricated her passage better, that he had taken more time with her.

"Well?" she said. "What are you waiting for?"

He stared down at his erection where it was about to enter her slit. Then he looked up at her and grinned. "You been dyeing the hair on your pussy?" he asked.

"Jesus, you're romantic!" she said, gasping a little as his hot shaft slithered into her.

The last time Richard Davis had made love to his wife had been the night of their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, three weeks before. Since then Frances had repeatedly put him off. Though she was undergoing an early menopause, she would not admit it; but she had used her abnormally long menstrual cycle as an excuse to keep from having sex with him. After this time, he was not sure when he would be able to persuade her to fuck again.

Richard Davis was a forty-five-year-old garage mechanic. Though he and Frances were buying their own home – they had lost two others in succession when Richard had been twice laid off from different jobs – his life had been neither a failure not a success. He worked hard. When Frances didn't tease him about being "a drunken old man", he enjoyed drinking two or three beers when he came home from the garage at night. He took a certain pride in his youngest son, Rich Junior, who was now living with them again after having served four years with the Marines in Vietnam. His oldest son, Jim, he did not understand; after having managed to live with Frances for twenty-five years, he could not fathom how Jim could let Valerie walk out on him after only a little more than a year of marriage. Sometimes – less and less regularly over the past few years – Richard made love to Frances; but it had been a long time since they had both enjoyed the excitement of their earlier lovemaking.

At forty-four, Frances was no longer as pretty as she had been when she had mothered the two boys, but neither was she unattractive. Her body had lapsed into an odd combination of thinness and overweight so that, although her breasts were still firm and her arms delicate, she had lately begun to wear a girdle for the first time in her life to conceal her growing belly. Her thighs were very nearly as white as the sheets, and they were as smooth and unwrinkled as they had been when she first gave up her virginity to Richard at the close of World War II. But, although neither her buttocks nor her thighs had grown fat, they had lost their tone, and it made her feel old to see the way they jiggled when she walked. Her hair had once been jet black, but now, though she had dyed it several times, it was a very premature salt-and-pepper gray. She knew it made her look older than she really was, older than Richard even, but she could see no reason to vainly pursue her fading youth. She was the mother of two full-grown sons and had long ago decided to act the part.

So, to her husband, she was not so much unattractive as she was contrary. He wanted a wife, not just a housekeeper and cook. And, in return, he was not so much disinterested in her more and more prudish ways as he was bored. If he seemed constantly to pester her about sex, it wasn't because he was forever horny, but merely that he wanted to be ready when his wife finally felt like screwing him.

"You're hurting me," Frances said, pushing on his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said. He shifted his weight a little against her until it seemed as if his cock were sliding in and out of her at a more comfortable angle. Her cunt was as hot as it had ever been and he knew that what it had lost in tightness, she would more than make up for in experience if he could ever get her going.

"Unnghh," Frances groaned beneath him.

"Still hurts?" he asked her, lifting his lips from her neck.

"No," she sighed. "No, it doesn't hurt."

"Getting there?"

She shook her head, but didn't open her eyes. Her knuckles were white where she gripped his freckled shoulders. She could feel the walls of her cunt slipping slickly around his sloshing erection, and she wondered how she could be any good for him any more.

Richard pulled himself up on her body until the hard rod of his shaft was lodged almost perpendicularly in her cunt.

Frances moaned a little at the new pain, but then she could feel the hard, slightly abrasive, hot skin of his hard-on stropped against the tingling stamen of her clitoris. A shudder of pleasure jolted her and she felt almost young again as she humped her pussy up at him.

"Oh, that's good, honey," he said. "That's really good."

"You're hurting me," she lied. She didn't understand why she said such things. She seemed to feel an incredible guilt each time he aroused this sensual feeling of pleasure within her. I'm no good for him any more, she thought. Then she groaned, "Get off me," her fear transforming itself to anger in her voice.

Richard kept shafting his hard cock into her resistant cunt. It was only when she fought him like this that her cunt really tightened up on him more. But he didn't know whether he was being cruel to her, or merely asserting his husbandly rights.

"Just relax," he said. "Relax and enjoy it," he urged her.

"Oooff!" she moaned. "How can I enjoy it! Think of someone else besides yourself!"

"If you'll just relax you'll start feeling it," he said reasonably, pounding his cock ever faster into her clutching channel. He knew if he could hang on for a few moments more his orgasm would catch him. She would accuse him of leaving her hanging, but he couldn't stop now.

"I feel it now," she protested, "and it hurts!" Cruel little tingles of pleasure had begun to shimmer all around the congested knot of her clitoris. She had almost begun to convince herself that if she were racked by a real orgasm, the shock of his cock plunging into her clenching flesh would actually injure her. She was afraid her uterus was tilted abnormally from the birth of her last son.