Ann Crouse - Runaround Stews

"How about a drink?" Ann rushed toward the refrigerator of her rustic kitchen that she had so proudly decorated herself. On one shelf of the kitchen butch she displayed her collection of cook books – a collection accumulated from years of John's and her flying. Ann fancied herself a gourmet cook and, so far, no one had disputed her domestic claim to fame. Against the other wall was a walnut stained cabinet filled with copper pots and pans, measuring cups, spoons and bowls. These, too, were gifts from John. Everything in the house echoed John, his generosity, his kindness, his concern for his lovely wife of whom he was so rightly proud. Her heart sank as she poured him a glass of fine French wine, specially purchased for the spell she was about to cast over him. Like a witch, she thought, disgusted with herself as she set the cork down, allowing the wine to `breathe' before his second glass. I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself: the words were carved in bold letters in her mind; she felt like Hawthorne's doomed female in The Scarlet Letter.

"Here you are, darling," she whirled toward the living room with a large crystal wine glass in her graceful hand.

"Thanks, honey," he pulled his wife to his knee and set his glass down on the end table with a crackle as it slapped the marble.

"Tell me about school, little woman of mine. How's it going? That fool professor… what's his name? Still following you around?" He laughed amusedly at the thought of all those professors and pubescent fraternity boys running after his wife with their tongues hanging out of their thirsty mouths and cocks growing inch by surprising inch at the sight of his voluptuously breasted wife, who, knowing her sexual appeal, flaunted her stuff just to get a reaction. He'd seen that in stewardesses before. Christi He'd seen enough of them, probably more than his faithful wife would like to know about.

"Only once. Saw him just once today." Ann reached for her near empty glass and, finding it empty, settled for the cherry at the bottom which she teasingly sucked into her mouth and, kissing her husband wetly, slipped it between his teeth.

"Jesus! You're in a reckless mood tonight."

Now was her chance. "I'm just thinking about all the money you could make if you would take just one flight."

"Yeah," he sighed boringly, "I've heard about these flights. You fly low under the radar so they can't get you and you end up dead from air currents pulling you down. Most end up in flames."

Ann jumped as if a million watts of electricity had zapped her slender torso. It was too real, too agonizingly real! Her first husband, Paul's twinkling blue eyes flashed before her like a bolt of lightning. His perky red hair and that silly cowlick and his broad, toothy grin. No, she shuddered, she couldn't let that happen again, no matter what Mike Boston did to her. Ann took the cue, the ominous reality, and dropped the subject. There was time.

"Have you eaten?"

"No. Not hungry yet. Except…" he drew her down close to him, her breasts crushing against his muscular chest. "Come here, you little school girl, you sexy thing! Tell your husband what you learned in anatomy. Show me!" he teased. He reached for his wine goblet and tilted it in the way of a salute and tossed the drink off and leaped to his feet with surprising quickness and ease, Ann's arms still clasped around his thick muscular neck. In a few strides, he was at their bedroom door and he snapped it shut. "That's so Dante doesn't come nosing around like usual." He set Ann back on her feet as he slipped off his shirt. Ann stood up leaning against the bedpost, disappointed with her unconvincing argument that would free her, free them both from her ugly disgusting past. He came back to her then and took her in his arms with such a force and strength that she gasped for breath. He kissed her hard on the mouth, running his tongue in between her teeth as she fought to get her breath.

He let her go and she staggered back, losing her balance and sprawling on the bed. He was on top of her in an instant, his strong body crushing hers as he kissed her mouth, face and neck and his hand massaged her breasts. He jumped up and seemed, suddenly, inexplicably, casual as he started to undress. He looked down at her with a little grin on one corner of his mouth. "Better get that dress off."

Ann stood up and, looking at her husband, pulled her strapless dress down over her well tanned body, and stood before him in her white lace bikini panties. John's eyes glimmered as he took in his wife's voluptuous form, her panties barely covering her swollen pussy mound. She turned slowly, exposing her bare buttocks with the flimsy panties biting deep into the crack between her cheeks.

"You're one hell of a woman," he purred salaciously. "And you know it too, you little bitch!" He stared at her full, round breasts. "Bet you could get a man to do anything you damned well pleased with that body of yours:" He ran his tongue over his lips in anxious anticipation.

Ann sighed, her melon-like breasts growing inches as she held her breath for a brief moment. Just about anything, she thought mournfully, except coerce you into making that one flight.

She watched her shirtless husband placing his hands on her breasts. "Not bad," he murmured, "not bad at all for a married woman:" Playfully, his hands pinched at her cripples and she felt them leap into life, sending a bolt of warmth and wetness down into her vagina.

"You love to show off your body, don't you?" he whispered wetly into her small ear, brushing against her gold loop earring.

With a grin, she unzipped his pants and undid his belt and watched as his pants fell to the floor with a clink of change and keys. John stood in his underwear, his penis growing underneath, and looked down. His easy laughter filled the room. "Ever notice how ridiculous a man looks with his pants down around his ankles!" he quipped.

Ann put her hand to her mouth and giggled. It was true, there was something absurd about it. He stepped out of his pants and pulled off his underwear and stood before her naked, his cock swelling as she watched it. It was a huge cock. Her husband had the biggest cock she had ever seen! It was almost as big as Mike's infamous dildo he had used on her that first night. She cringed at the thought. But this was real! With a little pleased sound she took it in her hands and lovingly caressed it and stroked the skin back so that the red mushroom head bulged out.

With a happy cry, she sank to her knees fn front of him, the cock still in her hands, and rubbed it all over her naked breasts and neck and face. Then, settling into position, she held it straight out in front of her and let the tip of her tongue slide slowly out and lick the head of his cock. She closed her eyes and tasted the cum – one little drop – that was glistening in the tiny end-slit. It tasted so good. Her lips formed a perfect oval and she pushed her head forward, feeling his desire-swollen rod pushing against her lips, feeling him pump his hips slowly forward as his hands tangled his fingers in her hair. With a rush, her lips gave and she opened her mouth wide and took all the thick hot cock she could. It filled her mouth and slid easily back into her throat, and she fought against choking as she began to gently suck, her lips stroking the tender flesh slowly back and forth. John didn't have to move as she worked her lips, tongue and jaw to slip his foreskin back and forth in her-mouth, his blood filled cock-head popping in and out. Above her, she heard him catch his breath and mutter, "Jesus, woman, you're one hell of a wife!"

Freeing her hands, she cradled his balls with one hand while the other slowly reached behind him, felt his hard-muscled thigh, and slowly started up until she found his buttocks clenched tight together. Slowly, with one finger extended, she began boring in, trying to find and touch his anus while she increased the rhythm and intensity of her sucking. She felt his cock swelling even bigger in her mouth, forcing her jaw open wider and her lips clamped around the shaft like two taut rubber bands.