Rex Taylor - Turned on family

He had a big cock. A younger Laurel had found his prick breathtakingly big, but after two children and seventeen years of married sex, her snatch had no trouble accommodating his tool. Still, Sam filled his wife's cunt with his dong, and she felt wonderfully stuffed as she writhed upon him. His hands clutched the flanks of her body, smoothing her smoothness, and Laurel went onto her side, lifting one leg high to give him better leeway into her cunt.

"This is crazy," she said. "It's an indecent hour to be making love. Why, it can't be seven yet."

"What's crazy?" he panted, screwing his meat into her eager cunt. Sam lunged with sure, loving strokes, burying his cock and jiggling his balls in the cleft of her ass. She moaned each time his prick rammed inside her hole, her fingers digging his shoulders. After a full night of their most uninhibited fucking in several years, Sam was still as ready to put the prick to Laurel as she was to take it. Last evening she'd come till her pussy ached, but this morning there was a hungry hole between her leg, one that needed a dripping breakfast of jizz to make the day worth living.

She worked her cunt muscles to make his ride worthwhile, massaging his dick as it fucked in and out. Now and then he thrust deeper than normal, bumping his cock against the end of her cunt, and Laurel wailed to feel the insistent pressure. They had a solid marriage, indeed. It was as good for them in bed as anywhere else, and she knew that she was a lucky woman. A quarter of modem marriages ended in divorce and there were reports that the institution itself was dying. Not for Laurel and Sam Willis, she thought smugly. Not for them. Sam gave a cry of passion and he rammed his spurting prick into her quivering snatch. Laurel's own cum boiled out to meet his and they shuddered together until the heat of the moment had left them glowing and embraced.

Later Sam lay on the bed, sheet tossed over his deflated prick, watching Laurel as she dressed. She pulled her panties into place, smoothed the nylon, then slid the sweater over her head. Last of all she donned her slacks, turning to her husband with a shake of the shoulders.

Laurel leaned close for a kiss and as she did, her nipples made provocative points in the clingy stretch of her sweater.

Sam covered one tit with his other hand, squeezing it through the fabric. "Honey," he said apologetically, "I wish you'd wear a bra more often."

"What's wrong?" Laurel asked. "Don't you like my breasts any more?"

"It's not that… it's… well, it's Sean." Sam appeared to be just a trifle embarrassed. "Haven't you ever noticed the way he stares at you sometimes? Like when you wear that white top the one that's so thin and tight. Hon, you can see pink through the material."

Laurel shook her head, making "tak-tak" noises at her husband. "You're nothing but a dirty old man, Sam Willis! I'm his mother! I nursed him from those very same nipples, and if you're trying to imply – oh, you're just making fun of me! I can tell! Besides, if you were a woman, you'd know just how confined a brassiere is. Thank God some girl finally had the courage to throw hers away!"

She waited a moment to see if he wanted to carry on the discussion, but he didn't. Triumphantly Laurel picked up the phone and called the desk. No, there had been no telephone messages for the Willises, and Laurel hoped that meant everything was under control at home.

The Hocking River used to flood parts of Reckardsville and Reckardsville University each spring until the Corps of Engineers stepped in and dredged a new channel for the Hocking. In the process a lot of private property was condemned and acquired by the state of Ohio, though not all this property was used. One house, for example, on what used to be Meigs Street was still standing, its windows long since broken out by vandals who had desecrated much of the building, but withal it was in good shape. Certainly good enough for the boys to make it their hangout.

There were mattresses in an upstairs room that they'd salvaged from the county dump, a cooler for their beer, a few centerfold pinups tacked to the wall. It was a good place to stay. Sometimes they even spent the night there, when they had nowhere else to go. But every time the boys looked around their decorated room, they felt a silent reproach gleaming at them from the walls, for it was here they'd planned to bring their dates and pickups for pleasant evenings of fucking, sucking, and drinking beer. So far, though, the only girl they'd managed to get inside was Timmy's cousin Marie, who would do anything but wasn't quite right in the head. And that cut into the fun a hell of a lot.

They were three, inseparable Punch Schroeder, his brother the Spider, and their friend Timmy Duff. They'd always run together, except for the two years Spider was in the Army, and they'd furnished this refuge with their own hands. And here they'd spent last night, brooding and drinking, tossing beer cans out the window to splash into the Hocking River. It was morning now, a chilly post-rain morning, though the sky was blue and bright to eastward where the sun rose out of the Ohio.

Punch's stomach was growling, so he opened a fresh beer to take the edge off his appetite. Timmy lay on a mattress, playing with his cock. He seemed to have a permanent hard-on and he was always jerking himself off. Fuckin' car smelled like a whore's panties from all Timmy's jism.

"Goddamn," Timmy muttered. "I'd been counting on sticking this up somebody's asshole, too. Guess it's goin' to waste."

"We tried," Punch commiserated, wiping beer from his lips. "Must've asked half a dozen bitches if they wanted to fuck, and not one of them said yes."

Not even Maxine, the fat waitress at the Blue Moon, out on Sugar Creek Road. She'd screw or blow any guy for a couple of bucks, but when they asked her, she only laughed and told them to get lost. Timmy bounced a beer can off her fat ass as she waddled away, but all that got them was thrown out on their own asses by a couple of husky construction worker types. Bad night anyway you looked at it.

"I need some nookie," Timmy chanted, jacking his prick harder. "Need some nookie real bad."

"Tell me if you find any," Punch said sarcastically. "I could use a little cunt myself."

The Spider sat on another mattress, his back against the wall, his Fidel Castro hat pulled down low and covering his face. Punch had supposed his brother was still asleep, but Spider flipped up the brim of his hat and his eyes were bright with nostalgia.

"When I was in Korea," he said, "we didn't fuck around with this nicey-nice shit. See a gook bitch with a wiggly ass, you just grab her by the cunt, drag her into the bushes, and get your rocks off." He smiled, remembering his Army days. Spider had only been a civilian for a few weeks and the old memories were strong and sweet.

Tim grunted as his cum squirted out to splash onto the dusty floor. He wiped his peter on the tail of his shirt, then zipped himself up. Spider crushed his beer can in a massive paw and flung it viciously through the window as Timmy panted in after-cum delight.

"The only way we're gonna get any pussy is to take it," he said, "Like men! You know what we ought to do? Same thing we always did over in gookville. Just go cruisin', and grab the best piece of pussy we can find. Like at the Pizza Shack or the Tasty Freeze. If she's good enough, we just [missing text]."

"Like that cunt we scouted last night?" Punch suggested. "Robin what's her name?"

"Fuckin' A!" Spider agreed. "That puss especially. Jeez, I can still remember the way those tits of hers swung around in that halter. Bet she's got more movin' parts than a wristwatch. Hot, too. Not like them gooks. You stick your cock in and they just lay there breathin' hard, like you're fuckin' a piece of dead wood."