and boiled. The eruption was imminent. Low guttural noises of delight came rumbling out of his throat. He was cumming…cumming… almost there. Almost. Now…now! Now! The first hot spurts of cum boiled out of his balls and screamed along the duct leading to the head of his cock. 'Aaaaahhhh…hahhhhhh.' His cry was meant to give her some warning, but the sound merely increased her hungrily sucking frenzy. The hot cum soared out of his cock in great gushing quantities, and she went on sucking furiously as he shot everything he had into her wonderfully hot, greedy mouth. And still he came, as weeks, years, of pent-up frustration of wanting, yearning for his wife to make him cum with her mouth manifested themselves in almost half a cup of the elixir of love.
She used her tongue to tease, her mouth and lips to suck, until his prick slowly began to deflate. It was as though she felt it necessary to suck every last drop of whitely scalding cum from his balls. She continued to work until he was sure he was getting ready for another erection, then she suddenly stopped.
Stephan gave a mumbled sigh of happy release, and abruptly became aware that his car-light on, motor running-was standing motionless right in the middle of the street. Kitty withdrew her cum-dripping lips from his cock, then kissed its head which was inflamed from her nibbling and smeared with her lipstick. She slithered up until she was enclosed in his arms. Then she kissed him wetly; her tongue darted and licked around his mouth. He could taste the alien taste of his own cum in her mouth. Kitty's face was slippery-glistening from the cum juices and streaked with her lipstick. She scooted back over to her own side of the car, opened her purse, and carefully began to wipe her mouth with a kleenex as he began driving again.
'Just around the corner-to the right.'
He turned onto the street where she lived as she glanced over toward him, 'Do I look presentable? I mean you can't tell that I've been sucking you off?'
He inspected her face, and nodded.
She smiled as he stopped in front of her house and started to get out of the car to open the door for her. 'Don't bother,' she said quickly and slid out. 'I'll be back in a flash.' As her skirt flared up, he realized he had been right; she wasn't wearing panties, after all. The crevice of her smooth young asscheeks was a dark inviting line at the top of her white thighs.
Stephan saw her father part the curtains of their ranch-style home and stare into the dusk.
'That's my dad,' she called over her shoulder. 'He's a real groovy dude-just like you.' She waved over her shoulder at him.
Stephan got back in the car. He could hear her laughter until the front door closed behind her excessively wiggling little ass. He leaned forward, resting his head on the steering wheel while his sweating palms gripped it hard until his knuckles turned white.
He could only sigh in contentment. Stephan had never felt so relaxed and peaceful in his life, except for those little twinges of guilt that kept clouding his ecstasy. He knew that he should feel guilty now, but the stirrings of remorse and shame were not forthcoming. He only felt like a satisfied, virile male, one who had been satisfied by a woman.
He felt a certain power, a certain pride in the fact that there, now, he had proven that his desire for oral fucking had been right, and not something darkly evil as his wife seemed to think.
His wife. The thought of Gillian echoed in his mind, and a small part of his brain tried to make the self- deprecation come; but he fought the thoughts away and he simply sat there, taking in the musk smell and the permeating odor of their consummated lust.
His head was still resting on the steering wheel when Kitty emerged from the house, a grin on her youthful face.
'Look what I got!' she beamed, sliding into the car seat. 'There's gonna be a party tonight!' She held up a baggie full of dark brown organic matter. 'There's enough here for everybody to get loaded. It's the only way to film a fuck movie.'
She put the bag in her purse and sat back in the seat as if it were the most natural thing in the world that she was on her way to be fucked and sucked while a movie camera whirled away in the background.
Gillian Edwards, smiling happily and with a warm glow spreading through her from the Martinis, sat back on the divan in the living room and sipped the remaining liquid from her glass. She stretched languidly, thinking, I feel so good tonight, so warm, loved and happy. I'm lucky, a very lucky woman, to have a wonderful husband-good provider and a very, very, very good cocksman.
She giggled softly, and a warm, pleasant ache began between her tender young thighs. She sighed then, squeezing her legs tightly together, wishing Stephan hadn't gone over to his brother's studio tonight. They could have had another drink together, and then gone to bed, as they did on Sunday nights, and fuck for hours and hours, slow and sweet and good. That was the kind of mood she was in tonight, the mood to be screwed very, very slowly for a long, long time.
Well, Stephan would be home at ten or so and they could fuck then. She would have to content herself with a book-and, yes why not, having another drink. She was feeling a little audacious tonight, and even though she knew her absolute limit without getting drunk was three drinks in one evening, she decided that, by golly, she was going to make herself a third!
She mixed the drink in the kitchen; so as not to mess up the bar that the cleaning lady had scrubbed that week, humming softly and a little intoxicatedly.
Well, I think I'll see if there is any good reading material around here for me to pass away the evening until Stephan gets home. Guess I'll check out that Book of the Month Club selection they sent me-the one I wrote and told them to please not send. Just as well, she sighed, if Stephan is going to take up photography. I don't want to be the stupid housewife stuck at home. It'll do me good to read some best sellers-give me something to talk to other people about.
She slipped into her slippers and padded her way down the hallway to Stephan's study-secluded at the end of the house. He often kept his documents and research materials in that room, just in case weekend decisions on a business deal had to be made. Let's see, she put her long finger to her lips, where did I put…oh, of course! Right where I put all my mail-on top of the bookshelf. Standing on her tiptoes, the petite housewife reached overhead to the top shelf, her fingers touching a packet of something, too bulky to be a book. Four fingers edged along the length of the shelf and then she drew them away, a cloud of dust filming the air. 'Oh God!' she said, aloud. 'I'm going to have to talk to the cleaning lady about this!' She reached up once more for the thick brown envelope now visible at the end of the shelf. Her fingers could touch it, her eyes could see it, but her legs wouldn't stretch that far, so she pulled her husband's swivel chair over a few feet and climbed atop it.
Ah! Finally. She removed an envelope from on top of the book packet and set it aside, thoughtlessly. The staples flew as Gillian ripped open the package, reassuring herself that reading would be a good time passer till Stephan finally came home. 'Oh, no!' she frowned. 'I didn't want that!' She threw the book on the floor in disgust. Stupid people, she thought, can't even keep orders straight. Well, I'm sure there's something else of interest up here-this is where everything gets tossed.
Gillian's eyes scanned the length of the shelf. Hmmmmm, wonder what this is, she thought, staring at the envelope. Some mail I didn't see?
Looks interesting. She flipped it over to see 'Fragile' stamped in official black ink. Must be business cassettes she reasoned. Probably old letters he'd dictated to his secretary for the past six months.
It was tempting. Gillian always stayed clear of her husband's work, never wanting to involve herself to the degree where she had to take many phone messages or get in that abominable rut of typing letters.
But with all this talk of film-making lately, so what? She stepped down off the chair, envelope in hand, and brushed the footprints from the royal blue weave.
She sipped again from her martini. The liquor was beginning to affect her now, in several different ways. Giddy and careless, she sat down at her husband's desk and opened the unsealed envelope. It always gave her a little thrill to see or hear about bits or evidence of his business success-like a peek into his brain, a part she never witnessed otherwise. Her ardor of a few minutes earlier, instead of waning, seemed to have gained intensity, so that she felt a moistening down in her pussy, flowing out to dampen her thighs; and she felt too, a boldness that she had never expected before, an irrational desire to do something she had never done before-involve herself in her husband's business.
