Paul Gable: Mom_s twin sins

Sheila Kane walked briskly into the tiny bedroom on the second floor of her home. Moving quickly across the thickly carpeted floor, she threw open the heavy blue drapes. Sheila turned around and nervously brushed back her long blonde hair, smiling at the tall, black-haired man who had followed her up the stairs. She could sense that he was becoming more interested in her big tits and firm ass than he was in the room.

"It's not exactly the White House, but it is cheap," Sheila said, feeling torrents of hot blood fill, her spongy cuntlips in spite of every attempt to calm her snatch down. She almost groaned with delight as she felt her pussy membranes slowly stretch and throb.

Stop it! Sheila screamed to herself as she curled her fingers into her palms and dug her fingernails into her sweaty skin.

"Like I said, I don't need a palace – just some place where I can get away for a few hours a day," the stranger remarked offhandedly as he continued to stare at her swelling tits.

"Mister – ah," Sheila began, moving away from the bed and toward the doorway. She was fighting an almost overpowering urge to roll over on the mattress and toss her feet high in the air. Sheila could feel torrents of hot twat juice oozing through her bristling cunthairs as she tried to keep her legs from trembling so uncontrollably. But her body seemed to be spiraling out of control. Sheila felt her pussylips springing widely open then slamming shut as she pictured this man's cock growing and stiffening against his hot, hairy, powerful belly. These were thoughts she knew were improper for a woman with two teenaged sons to have.

"Anthony. Frank Anthony," he said warmly, flashing a broad smile at Sheila.

"Yes, Mr. Anthony. You know, I've got two sons living here," she started. Sheila wanted to let him know that she wasn't taking him in just because she wanted stud service. She was a respectable woman whose ex-husband refused to make alimony payments and who had to take in boarders to keep the bill collectors from beating down her door.

"Really? Maybe my daughter can meet them sometime," Frank said, still grinning at her. Sheila felt her nipples scratching angrily against the stiffened cotton material of her bra. They seemed to be broiling in those big cups, and Sheila would have given anything to unbutton her sheer white blouse and unsnap that uncomfortable halter.

"Oh, then you're married?" Sheila said uncomfortably, wondering just what he needed the room for. She hoped he wasn't some kind of freako who was into whips and dead bodies or something.

"Widowed – for about three years. Marianne's been living with me since then. It hasn't been easy being father and mother to a eighteen-year-old," Frank said as his smile faded slowly.

"I'm-I'm sorry," Sheila said, a little ashamed of herself for prying.

"Don't worry about it," Frank said, brightening, obviously pleased with Sheila's concern. "I don't groan about it any more. All I want is some place where I can do my writing. You know, Marianne and her friends turn the house into an asylum sometimes. Even the basement sounds like a bomb-testing site when those kids are over," Frank said, laughing loudly.

"I know what you mean. It isn't much easier with two sons that same age," Sheila agreed. She felt herself relaxing now. Any worry that Frank might be a weirdo was gone now. That meant all he had to do was make the first move and she'd be shoving her burning pussy into his face.

"You're widowed too?" Frank said, slowly moving his right hand across his leg toward his bulging crotch.

"No, divorced," Sheila said, opening her mouth slightly and wetting her lower lip in excitement as she watched the muscular man begin to squeeze the rock-hard protrusion between his powerful legs. "Then you're alone too?" Frank said as he began to play with himself openly.

"Oh, I date occasionally," Sheila said breezily as she hid her cold, trembling fingers behind her back. It was the last attempt at trying to keep her pussy respectable. Since the divorce five months ago, Sheila hadn't had a cock in her twat. She was trying to live down the scandal that had thrown her boring marriage of eighteen years into the realm of public outrage. If she hadn't changed her name, and if it hadn't been for the surprising support she'd received from her two sons, Sheila knew she'd have plunged into a nervous breakdown.

"I wish I could be that outgoing, but I've got trouble communicating with women," Frank said, running his fingers up and down the clear outline of his now fully extended prick.

Not with that dick you don't, Sheila thought to herself as she felt her snatch blow apart like an overheated blast furnace. What did this man need to get into action – neon lights that blinked "FUCK ME"? To hell with the scandal and respectability. Sheila felt five months of carefully cultivated chastity fall into ruin as she watched Frank's prick throb against his tight-fitting Levi's. All the blonde could think about was how deliciously stretched her pussy membranes would feel as Frank's meaty prickhead pushed them slowly apart and sank down deep into her sucking snatch.

"Uh, what do you write?" Sheila asked, feeling her brain spinning with passion. She didn't know how long she could keep up with this kind of small talk. Her breathing was becoming more shallow and rapid as her heart pounded like a triphammer, threatening to rip through her rib cage. Sweat poured out from under her arms and down her forehead as she felt her pink silk panties clinging wetly to her stiff, sparking pussy hairs.

"Well, I hope you don't mind, but I write porno," Frank said hotly.

"Oh God!" Sheila said, feeling her knees finally buckling from under her. That last bit of information sent an explosion of mind-ripping contractions through her smoldering snatch. She reached out and grabbed the bedpost for support as she stared lustfully into Frank's glowing blue eyes.

Sheila couldn't hide her passion from him any more. She felt like a bitch dog in heat. She wanted to get fucked. She wanted to feel inch after hot meaty inch of stiff prick meat driving deeper and deeper into her heaving gut. It had been pricks that had gotten her into trouble and the divorce courts in the first place, and Sheila had tried to get off them the way a junkie tries to kick heroin. She had about the same kind of success. After a few months, she was readier than ever to get back into the habit.

"Something wrong?" Frank asked curiously as he walked over to her.

"I, uh, uh," Sheila stammered. She wanted him to fuck her right there, but didn't have the courage to come right out and tell him what she thought.

"Do you have a fever? Christ, your skin's about as hot as a stove," Frank said, pretending to be naive at first. Then Sheila looked closely and saw that he was grinning slyly at her.

"I've got a fever, all fight. But it's not the flu," she said huskily, surprised at her sudden forward attitude. It was her cunt speaking. Just like some people claim to be possessed by the devil and act completely different afterward, Sheila was possessed at times by her snatch. One part of her body occasionally took over every other part, making her act like one giant sex organ until her cunt was completely satisfied.

"Well, the old doctor here can fix that up," Frank said, running his hands slowly up her heaving belly to her huge tits. "You know, I may write porno, but don't, get the idea that I live in a paper world. I live that shit too," Frank almost moaned as he leaned forward and clamped his thick, sensuous lips tightly to Sheila's.