Ann Crouse - Runaround Stews

"Your husband," Mike whispered in her ear. "Better than your husband?"

A sob bubbled in her throat and tears smarted in her eyes. She shook her head quickly. For an answer, Mike increased the rhythm of the cock, sending her higher, spinning her into space where she was fucked beyond belief. "Agggghhhhhaaaaa."

"Better than your husband?" he shouted over her scream and Ann heard herself say, "Yes! Goddamn it, you!" And she felt herself slip into a mindless animal lewdness. Yes! Nothing had ever fucked her like this before and the humiliation and debasement she was going through was beautiful! Lewd and beautiful as her whole body tensed and trembled as the tempo increased even more and she was past caring or knowing anything other than the compelling desire to cum.

"Say it!" Mike shouted, up by her head now, the dildo fucking furiously into her hungrily devouring cant.

"Yes!" she moaned as she felt her head being tilted back again. "Better than my dead husband! Much better than anybody! Oh God!"

Her cries were stifled as her head was tilted far back and she saw his cock, hard and erect in his hand. Yes, she wanted his cock! Opening her mouth, she closed her lips over the swollen tip, feeling it hot and hard in her mouth, and she sucked while her tongue twirled over the rubbery head. Holding her head in his hands, Mike looked down at her lovely twisting and writhing form with delight. She was his, helplessly hot now, and he could do anything he wanted with her.

His lips twitched back and forth as he panted, and with a sharp high yell, he pumped his hot thick cum into her mouth as he came again and again.

His body shuddered and he slumped against her, his eyes half closed, watching with pleasure as she sucked him dry and strained on to her own orgasm…

"Whew!" Ann leaned against the high wooden table in the library now, chewing on the pencil end. That was so long ago, she sighed with deep relief. She winced then as she recalled how her strange and evil relationship with Mike Boston had not ended, but only begun with strange exciting tricks hidden in every corner of his Pacific Heights Victorian mansion. Party after lewd party was followed with strange lovemaking, wicked and evil. She had become his property, his private entertainment to be shared with his friends and his body guards at the flick of a finger. So convincing and diabolical was he, that he had even rented her an apartment in San Francisco as well as maintaining her residence in Boston, and even changed her flight schedule to coincide with his wishes and demands. But she had loved it, difficult to admit though it was. It filled that vacuum in her life adequately, and, at that time, that was all she wanted out of life.

A list of call numbers scribbled down, she picked up her load of books and tucked them into her straw bag and headed for the stacks, reminding herself that it was all past history, never to be repeated.

"Your stack permit, miss!" The blonde librarian looked up at the luscious looking woman fumbling through her straw bag, madly searching for her wallet. Christ! he thought, look at those breasts! His heart pounded and he straightened his posture, breathing deeply.

"Okay, go ahead," he motioned for her to pass through the wooden gate, turning his head to see her disappear into the narrow passageway of the stacks, a privileged area of the library reserved for students with a B average.

Ann pulled back her blonde hair to free her vision for the task of searching row after countless row of volumes for the sociology section. "Ah ha!" she said aloud, checking the numbers on her list against those crudely scrawled in white ink on the spines of the books.

"Find what you want?" a voice said from behind her.

Go away and leave me alone, she thought. It was nothing new or exciting for her anymore to have male students, even professors, come up behind her and offer assistance to open doors, reach books on the higher shelves, or pick up papers scattered by the wind. But that voice, that voice sounded strangely familiar. No, impossible, and she continued checking the call numbers.

"Aren't you even going to turn around to look at me, Ann?" a deep husky voice pronounced each syllable with utmost distinction.

No, it couldn't be, she reassured herself. But that… that voice. Her hand shook as she reached for SOC 121 MB3.

"Ann, rise to your feet!" It was like the voice of God, not to be denounced.

Then she knew, the horrible reality loomed before her, and taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet her pounding heart, she rose to her feet, her back still to her aggressor. She slowly turned then, pencil and paper in hand, and greeted the sardonically smiling face of Mike Boston!

"What… what are you doing here?" she whispered, feeling herself pale beneath the deep golden tan. "How, how did you know…" her voice trailed off into inaudible syllables that made no sense to her or to the grinning devilish face staring at her unblinking.

"Have you forgotten, Ann, who you're dealing with?" His voice rose a decibel.

"Shhh!" Ann put her trembling finger to her mouth to silence him mockingly. "Be quiet or I'll lose my stack permit. Christ, it's the only place on this campus to study without being ogled at."

"If you want," he chuckled loudly, "I'll buy this damned library. I'll buy this whole damned campus if necessary."

It was as if her thoughts had made the past present… but hopefully; she gasped, not the future! She'd heard of such occurrences, but never dreamed it would happen to her, that her power of thought could bring those thoughts into human form, like Mike Boston standing inches away.

"I want to talk to you, Ann."

I'll bet you do, she thought fearfully. After she met John, her present husband, she left her life with Mike Boston behind… but without his permission.

"No, I have nothing to discuss with you," she almost snarled through tightly clenched teeth. "It's all over. I never want to see you again:"

He grabbed her forearm, hard. "You have no control over me. I'm married and I love my husband."

His grip tightened in response. "If you want to stay married, you'll listen to me."

He had her then, and she knew it. All too well. John was the understanding sort, she reassured herself silently, but Mike possessed that typical macho attitude that made his ego snap in half at any refusal or lack of respect. "Why… why don't we step into one of these cubicles." She pointed to the small cage-like metal holes in the walls intended for studying. Bending over too quickly to retrieve her pencil and paper that had flown out of her hand at the shock of his grip, she saw tiny spots of light flickering in every corner of her vision and for a second she thought she might pass out. She hesitated a moment to regain her failing strength.

Together they huddled into the small confines of the cubicle and, whispering, he related the purpose of his mission.

"I understand your husband is flying internationally, is that correct?" He grinned at her with eyes of steel. She nodded her head in affirmation, never daring to look him in the eye for fear he would cast another of his spells on her helpless body. After all, wasn't that what got her into this mess in the first place?… his overpowering gaze, like knives stabbing you in the back with each unapproved move.

"Well, I have a mission for him…" He was interrupted by Ann's head flailing back and forth in disbelief, knowing what would come next.

"No, I won't let him get involved in any of your illegal activities. He's waited so long and done such politicking to get his new assignment. I won't let him. No!" she announced affirmatively hoping to God her obdurate behavior would stifle his plans.

"Listen to me, you bitch!" Mike snarled impatiently and then regaining his composure continued in his softly convincing manner, "You remember Trudy and all the beautiful times we had together?"