Jackie Reedly: Sex and the Boss Wife

Monica threw her head back and rested it on the door of the refrigerator, soft mewling cries escaping her half open lips. It was easy to imagine that it was a real cock and that it really was being destroyed inch by inch, mutilating her superb boy's body for life. She loved it, and the extreme lewdness of the symbolism made it overwhelming exciting to her.

Grunting like a starving dog, he pulled the last of the banana out with his teeth. He could taste her cunt juice on its surface, and he chewed it up, savoring the flavor of woman and banana combined.

"Now," Monica announced, "You can have what I promised. Take it. Take as much as you want." With her long fingers, she pulled open the hair studded lips of her cunt. Scott saw that they were reddened and swollen with fresh blood, pumped into them by her excited, totally aroused body. Taking a deep breath and opening his mouth wide to create immense suction, he shot his head forward, closing his lips over the moist, leaking halves of her hotly alive pussy.

"Fuck me! Fuck Meeeeeeee!" Monica James shouted, her voice blurring with passion. Bracing her feet and lower back against the mattress; she shoved her pelvis into Scott Forsmo's groin, grinding her hips and forcing his burgeoning cock as far up into her vagina as it would go.

They had been at it for hours now, and Scott was beginning to feel as though she were burning out. Still, the woman's complete, rabid sexual hunger inspired him to new, ball-blowing efforts. Monica was insatiable. It seemed to Scott that no matter how violently he rammed his rigid penis into her soft, wet vagina she did not get enough of

"Harder. Fuck me harder! Screw me to deeee eeath!" She orgasmed again. Scott had lost track of how many times it had been. His prick was suddenly bathed in a fresh supply of Monica's syrupy, thick woman's juice. He wondered if it still smelled of banana. "Oh, Scotty,-Scotty, you do it so good. What, a man you are! Better than all the others."

"Better than your husband, the cop?" he asked, gasping for breath as he speeded up the action of his hips, his slim buttocks dimpling and flexing as he shoved his penis into her again.

"A hundred times, a thousand times. You're even harder than his nightstick." She broke off into soft, urgent mewling cries, her hot, perspiring body undulating beneath him on the narrow bed.

"You've tried his nightstick?" Scott asked jokingly.

"Yes, oh, yes. He used it on me once when he couldn't get hard. It was wonnnnnderful, but not as wonderful as you are. I can feel your heartbeat throbbing inside me. You're so huge and strong and thick. I love it! Love it. I want it in me forever."

"Oh, yesssss," she hissed, tossing her blonde head from side to side. "Hurt me., Make my titties ache with your big, hard hands. Ohhhhhhhhhhh!"

Suddenly the tingling sensations in his nuts intensified again, and his belly swirled with warmness. He was going to come. He did not believe it was possible to come this much or this often. He was killing himself, turning himself into a drained, sexual cripple, but he loved every second of it. It was all worth whatever price it cost him. Monica twisted about, writhing like a wild animal, as she felt his cock swell larger than before. He was coming together again, uniting all his forces for her to spew a fresh, hot load of his steamy semen far up into her needing body. "Give it to me," she shouted, "give me all of it. I want your manjuice, Nooooooow!"

Scott climaxed. With a wild cry of startled pleasure, he came, twisting on top of her as he poured a gallon of white hot sperm rammingly up into her vaginal opening. It came in waves from his testicles, up his swelling urethra, out through the deep slit in his glans, and into her body. He choked and gulped for breath, explosions of violet light going off behind his eyes. He might have been suspended in midair, unable to tell up from down, spinning in a sexual void. He might be dying, completely cut off from living reality, but he did not care. If this death, he had gone to heaven. He lay across the woman's body, gasping and trying to force his being to return to something near normal.

Slowly and carefully he drew his deflating phallus from her body, groaning with exhaustion as he fell beside her.

"What time is it?" Monica asked after a long moment.

"About ten-thirty," he answered, looking at the clock radio.

"Jesus Christ, I gotta get home," Monica cried, jumping up. "He'll be home from his shift in less than an hour." She hurried to the bathroom.

"I'll get you some fresh towels," Scott called after her, resentfully rousing himself to sit groggily at the edge of the mattress.

"No time for a shower. I'll just comb my hair."

"But what about…?"

"How I smell? Never mind that. He won't come close enough to notice." She began pulling on her clothing.

Scott came to stand in the bathroom doorway, watching her dress. "Can I call you?"

She shook her head resolutely. "It's best if I call you. He works different shifts. I can always reach you at the station, can't I?"

"At night, yes."

"You don't mind if I call, do you? At the station, I mean?"

"Christ, no. I wish you would. I wish a lot of people would."

The telephone rang, waking Scott out of a deep, exhausted sleep. As soon as Monica left his apartment, he fell back in bed, this time to get some rest. Goddamn, he thought, let it ring. He covered his head with a pillow and tried to blot out the jangling sound. It continued.

Finally he had no choice but to get up and answer it. He padded to the kitchen and picked up the receiver of the wall phone. "Hello?" he said, mumbling.

"Oh, dear. I didn't wake you up, did I?" asked a female voice.

"Yeah. It's okay," he answered, rubbing his head, trying to make the ache go away.

"This is Rona Barnes, the receptionist at KSZX."

"Oh, yeah?" He wanted to add, so what? but decided he had better not. It never paid to get on the wrong side of a secretary.

"We've never met, because I work days and you don't."

"I know that," Scott said, trying to maintain his patience. "Is that what you called to tell me?"

"No, not really. I called to say Mr. Ransberg wants to see you."

"The manager? What for?" Scott asked, afraid he already knew.

"I'm sorry. I don't know that. I'm only the receptionist, after all. He wants to see you right away."

"Why doesn't he come in to see me on my shift?"

"Mr. Ransberg is not on duty from midnight to eight in the morning," the receptionist answered flatly.

"And I'm not on duty from nine, or ten, or whenever he does get there to whenever it is he cuts out for his afternoon golf game."

There, was a silence at the other end of the line. Finally the receptionist said, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault. I'll get dressed and be right down."

Scott walked into the outer office. Behind the desk sat a very young redhead, her hair arranged casually around a girlish, good looking face.

"Hi," Scott said. "You the receptionist who called me?"

"Yes. I'm Rona Barnes. You must be Mr. Forsmo." She smiled warmly.

"It's Scott, Rona. I don't remember seeing you when I came in the first day, or when I came for my interview."

"I'm new, just started this week."

"Nice to see somebody's newer than I am around this place. Is the boss ready for me?"

"Just have a seat, Scott, and I'll buzz his office." She gestured toward the couch, her eyes flickering up and down the length of his body.

Scott wondered briefly whether her look meant what he thought it did, but he was so tired out from his marathon session with Monica that he did not want to think about if. Besides, she was young, hardly more than eighteen. Even though the girl was intriguing, he was not sure he wanted to take a chance with a kid. It was too bad, though, that they worked at different times from one another. If anything were to pappen under normal circumstances, it never would the way things were now.