Donna Allen - Wide-open wife

Joanna went home. Her husband was out of town again. She was thankful he wasn't there to see the guilty look in her eyes. She still had the taste of Finch's jism on her tongue. Mouthwash took care of that. The ache in her pussy was something else. She needed relief. Sucking Finch's cock and swallowing his jism had been terribly exciting. She knew that sooner or later she'd have to give in to the urge to masturbate. She had no qualms about it – it was something she did almost every day. It was healthy. It kept her relaxed and in control, but of course it wasn't enough. She'd always been a woman who liked sex with a partner. She liked the feel of a man's cock in her cunt. She liked a cock in her mouth. She liked sucking. There was something lewd and animal-like about moving her mouth up and down on a throbbing cock. The memory of Finch's prick in her mouth brought a quiver to her pussy. She was still highly stimulated by what she'd done with him.

She went to the bedroom and pulled the shades. It was past three o'clock and there were children playing in the street. Kicking off her shoes, she sank down on the bed. She stared vacantly at the ceiling. It was nice to have a day off from her secretarial job at the bank. She hated banks. She hated bankers. They were all so stuffy. They all seemed constipated. She giggled at the vulgar thought. She laid a hand across her tit. It felt warm and soft. She casually massaged the full mound of her tit. Her husband liked her tits, or so he said. You could never tell with Michael. Sometimes she wasn't certain whether she still turned him on. She liked it when he touched her tits. She liked touching them herself. They were nice to touch. The nipples always grew up long and hard, like tiny cocks demanding attention.

Her legs were spread apart. Moving her hand down, she cupped her palm over the furnace of her cunt.

Take it easy, she thought. Don't rush it. It's better if you don't rush it.

The touch of her hand on her cunt was delicious. She could masturbate without removing her panties. She'd always done it that way when she was a young girl. She was certain she'd had the wettest crotch of any girl in high school. Her clit was so sensitive it could respond to the slightest touch of her finger through the fabric of her panties. But of course it was always better when she was naked, when she could get her fingers inside her wet pussy.

She finally peeled her panties down to her knees. She remembered the way Finch had explored her cunt. He'd examined her the way you look at a horse's teeth. She shivered at the memory of it. She wondered if he'd want to see her again, if he'd want to fuck her. He was the first strange man she'd touched in ten years. She slipped her hand down across her clit and into the steaming heat of her cunt.

Her fingers probed into the folds. She slid one finger into the deep, clutching canal. The sensation was exquisite. Her pelvis began to rock back and forth with a fucking motion. One hand rubbing her tits and nipples, she used the other hand to massage her wet, overheated cunt.

She imagined herself with Finch. She imagined the hands on her body were his. She imagined he was getting ready to fill her quivering pussy with his strong cock. Her fingers fluttered over her cunt, spreading her juices between her cuntlips.

"Fuck me!" she moaned. "Please, fuck me!"

The words escaped out of her throat. Her fingers made a sucking sound as they massaged the heated tissues of her drenched pussy. Her breath came in a rasping wheeze. Her body quaked. She drummed her fingers across the stiff bud of her clit. She wanted a man. She wanted the feel of a hard cock inside her cunt. She wanted the feel of a man's meat churning her juices into a froth.

She felt her fluids gushing up with the first devastating contraction of her inner muscles. She spasmed and jackknifed her legs. The features of her face distorted in the throes of her climax. She pushed two fingers into the hot grip of her cunt-hole, fucking herself with a rapid, piston-like motion. As she mewled and groaned, her cuntjuice spurted out with each contraction of her belly. Gobs of juice trickled down the crack of her ass.

Later, when she had her breath back again, she stripped off her clothes and lay naked on the bed. She could feel the sweat under her arms and between her tits. The insides of her thighs were damp. Her cunt was hot and wet. One orgasm was never enough, and she knew that soon she'd need more.

She'd always found it hard to believe that no more than two men had ever had their cocks inside her pussy. One of the men had really been a young boy. The other man was the guy she'd married. She was one of those quiet types, one of those women who seethed with sexuality but never did much about it. All that would change now. After the session with Gilbert Finch, her life could never be the same again. She had too much sexual hunger to be content any more with an occasional bout with her husband.

The urge to masturbate was as strong as ever. She decided that this time she'd have more control. She left the bed and stood in front of the long closet mirror. She studied her body. She squeezed her tits together, flattening the firm globes one against the other. She had large, heavy tits. They were full, but not overdeveloped. When she released the pointed mounds, they sprang erect and resilient, their conical tips quivering. Whenever she handled her tits, the dark nipples always responded, hardening and becoming elongated, thickening like ripe buds. She turned her body to look at her ass. Her husband always insisted she had a luscious ass. She cupped her hands over the cheeks of her ass and squeezed. She pulled the cheeks apart. She massaged them with a rotating motion. Her most secret fantasy was to be fucked in the ass by a dominant man. No man, dominant or otherwise, had ever done it to her. She was too shy to ask her husband to do it – she was afraid she'd lose his respect. Maybe some man would soon do it to heir. Maybe when it happened she'd be too afraid to go through with it. Just thinking about it made her shiver.

She turned back to face the mirror. She stood with her legs apart and separated the pink lips of her cunt. She stared at the gaping hole. She thought of Finch's probing fingers. She pushed her own finger inside her cunt, but it wasn't enough. She desperately looked around for something. She finally grabbed a hairbrush off the dresser and pushed the handle up her cunt with a deep groan.

She fucked herself with the handle, pistoning it in and out, churning her cunt until her body at last convulsed in shattering orgasm.

Her husband telephoned the next day to let her know he'd be down in the southern part of the state at least another week. She went shopping. She bought a cute little dress in Harwood's Department Store. Returning to the car, she found herself being stared at by a tall, blond, sleepy-eyed young man wearing a pair of faded blue jeans which had been sheared off midway up his muscular thighs.

She climbed into the car, conscious of his eyes watching her body. She rolled down the window and stared back. He looked powerfully masculine. He had enormously broad shoulders and a deep golden tan. Shivering at the wild pounding of her heart, she called out to him.

"Can I give you a lift somewhere?"

He gazed at her with squinting eyes and walked over to the car. "Sure," he said. Opening the door, he climbed in beside her. They looked at each other a long moment. Once more, Joanna was conscious of his staring eyes.

"Where can I take you?" she said.

He smiled. He shrugged. "Wherever you're going," he said.

It was that easy. She'd never realized it could be that easy. She took him home. His name was Carl. Twenty minutes after meeting him, she found herself in her bedroom watching him drop his pants. She stared at the long, thick cock dangling between his legs.