"Blow me a little," he said, squeezing her tit until he could feel the salmon-colored nipple grow hard in his fingers.
"Don't talk so dirty," she said. She ran her fingers skitteringly over his freckled shoulders.
"I want to fuck you. I'm hurting. Aren't you even a little hot?"
"If you can't make love," she said, lowering her voice and feigning a movement away from him, "without coming up with some perverted idea, how do you expect me to feel anything?"
"There's nothing perverted about it," he urged. "Don't you think Val and Jim do it?" He kissed her on the nape of the neck and squeezed her hand once beneath the pillow, which was their old sign for telling each other that they wanted to fuck.
"You're getting to be a regular dirty old man," she said to him, a smile creeping through her frown. "If that's the kind of thing you men spend your time thinking up, it's no wonder Val and Jim have split up. And, no, I don't think Val ever gave Jim a blowjob, if that's what you're thinking." She wriggled a little beneath him, as if to force him away from her body… "I don't know where you get such ideas about your own son and daughter-in-law," she said. "You've been reading too many dirty books."
"Getting hot?" he asked her.
She looked up at him, her eyes opening in mock surprise. "Get off me," she said, shoving him away. "You're not even hard!"
He nuzzled the lobe of her ear and whispered, "I'd get hard if you'd blow me a little."
"Better get a splint for it then," she groaned, trying to shove him away. It irritated her that he was wrinkling her nightgown. "If that's what it takes to excite you, you can damn well do without." But already she could feel the rubbery tube of his penis growing hard along her thigh. "Go to sleep," she coaxed him. "We're too old to be doing this."
"I want a piece of ass," he answered.
"God," she said, moving a little so that he would understand she had given in. "There are more romantic ways to ask for it!"
But she let him draw back a little and center his mushroom-shaped glans on the opening of her labia. Even through the coarse brown mat of her pubic hair, she could feel the heat of his erection. She wished her fluids had lubricated her passage better, that he had taken more time with her.
"Well?" she said. "What are you waiting for?"
He stared down at his erection where it was about to enter her slit. Then he looked up at her and grinned. "You been dyeing the hair on your pussy?" he asked.
"Jesus, you're romantic!" she said, gasping a little as his hot shaft slithered into her.
The last time Richard Davis had made love to his wife had been the night of their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, three weeks before. Since then Frances had repeatedly put him off. Though she was undergoing an early menopause, she would not admit it; but she had used her abnormally long menstrual cycle as an excuse to keep from having sex with him. After this time, he was not sure when he would be able to persuade her to fuck again.
Richard Davis was a forty-five-year-old garage mechanic. Though he and Frances were buying their own home – they had lost two others in succession when Richard had been twice laid off from different jobs – his life had been neither a failure not a success. He worked hard. When Frances didn't tease him about being "a drunken old man", he enjoyed drinking two or three beers when he came home from the garage at night. He took a certain pride in his youngest son, Rich Junior, who was now living with them again after having served four years with the Marines in Vietnam. His oldest son, Jim, he did not understand; after having managed to live with Frances for twenty-five years, he could not fathom how Jim could let Valerie walk out on him after only a little more than a year of marriage. Sometimes – less and less regularly over the past few years – Richard made love to Frances; but it had been a long time since they had both enjoyed the excitement of their earlier lovemaking.
At forty-four, Frances was no longer as pretty as she had been when she had mothered the two boys, but neither was she unattractive. Her body had lapsed into an odd combination of thinness and overweight so that, although her breasts were still firm and her arms delicate, she had lately begun to wear a girdle for the first time in her life to conceal her growing belly. Her thighs were very nearly as white as the sheets, and they were as smooth and unwrinkled as they had been when she first gave up her virginity to Richard at the close of World War II. But, although neither her buttocks nor her thighs had grown fat, they had lost their tone, and it made her feel old to see the way they jiggled when she walked. Her hair had once been jet black, but now, though she had dyed it several times, it was a very premature salt-and-pepper gray. She knew it made her look older than she really was, older than Richard even, but she could see no reason to vainly pursue her fading youth. She was the mother of two full-grown sons and had long ago decided to act the part.
So, to her husband, she was not so much unattractive as she was contrary. He wanted a wife, not just a housekeeper and cook. And, in return, he was not so much disinterested in her more and more prudish ways as he was bored. If he seemed constantly to pester her about sex, it wasn't because he was forever horny, but merely that he wanted to be ready when his wife finally felt like screwing him.
"You're hurting me," Frances said, pushing on his shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he said. He shifted his weight a little against her until it seemed as if his cock were sliding in and out of her at a more comfortable angle. Her cunt was as hot as it had ever been and he knew that what it had lost in tightness, she would more than make up for in experience if he could ever get her going.
"Unnghh," Frances groaned beneath him.
"Still hurts?" he asked her, lifting his lips from her neck.
"No," she sighed. "No, it doesn't hurt."
"Getting there?"
She shook her head, but didn't open her eyes. Her knuckles were white where she gripped his freckled shoulders. She could feel the walls of her cunt slipping slickly around his sloshing erection, and she wondered how she could be any good for him any more.
Richard pulled himself up on her body until the hard rod of his shaft was lodged almost perpendicularly in her cunt.
Frances moaned a little at the new pain, but then she could feel the hard, slightly abrasive, hot skin of his hard-on stropped against the tingling stamen of her clitoris. A shudder of pleasure jolted her and she felt almost young again as she humped her pussy up at him.
"Oh, that's good, honey," he said. "That's really good."
"You're hurting me," she lied. She didn't understand why she said such things. She seemed to feel an incredible guilt each time he aroused this sensual feeling of pleasure within her. I'm no good for him any more, she thought. Then she groaned, "Get off me," her fear transforming itself to anger in her voice.
Richard kept shafting his hard cock into her resistant cunt. It was only when she fought him like this that her cunt really tightened up on him more. But he didn't know whether he was being cruel to her, or merely asserting his husbandly rights.
"Just relax," he said. "Relax and enjoy it," he urged her.
"Oooff!" she moaned. "How can I enjoy it! Think of someone else besides yourself!"
"If you'll just relax you'll start feeling it," he said reasonably, pounding his cock ever faster into her clutching channel. He knew if he could hang on for a few moments more his orgasm would catch him. She would accuse him of leaving her hanging, but he couldn't stop now.
"I feel it now," she protested, "and it hurts!" Cruel little tingles of pleasure had begun to shimmer all around the congested knot of her clitoris. She had almost begun to convince herself that if she were racked by a real orgasm, the shock of his cock plunging into her clenching flesh would actually injure her. She was afraid her uterus was tilted abnormally from the birth of her last son.
"Oh, Jesus!" Richard gasped, his head thrown back so that when she looked up at him she could see the tense cords of his neck above the darkly tanned "V" made by his undershirt.
"No!" she cried. "Wait! Wait for me!" But she could feel the sudden ballooning of his erection within her, pulsing hotly in her gripping channel.
"Oh, Jesus!" he cried, grinding down on her so hard that his pubic hair grated harshly across her pubic bone.
The molten cream of his sperm splashed into her suddenly. She humped wildly up at him, vainly trying to establish contact with her clitoris against his shaft.
"No! No, no, no," she whimpered, unsure whether the tears forming in her eyes were from pain or disappointment.
And then he quieted above her. She could feel the shriveling flesh of his penis slowly withdrawing from her warmly slick tissues.
"Just get off me!" she said, pushing him away. She turned her head away from him so that he wouldn't see that she was crying, even before she felt the weak suction and heard the obscene slurp of his penis plopping free of her labia.
"You don't care anything about my feelings," she whispered tearfully, pulling her nightgown down around her hips. "You're only interested in using me as a toilet. That's what I am to you – a toilet!"
Richard rolled onto his back. He was disappointed that she had not tried to enjoy it. And he felt guilty because he didn't know if it was his fault, or hers. She made him feel old and worthless. After all, he thought, maybe I am only an animal like she says. He didn't know how to handle her tears, because he didn't know if they were genuine. He felt weak in the presence of her quiet sobbing. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, or to help her somehow.
He reached over her hip and slid his hand under the hem of her nightgown to massage her clit with his fingers, but she slapped at his hand and pulled away from him.
"Haven't you hurt me enough?" she coughed.
Richard turned away from her in shame and disgust. "Fucking you," he said, "is like fucking my own fist. I'd sooner masturbate than touch you again." He didn't know why he had said it, and he lay in the darkness for a long time until he wasn't sure whether she was awake or not. He tried not to think of anything, but ho remembered a Volkswagen engine he had to work on the next day. And then he went to sleep.
His cock is longer and harder than he can remember it being before. When he looks down at it thrusting out of the dense tangle of his sandy pubic hair, he can feel it throb with hot blood, but it is a pleasant sensation and not at all painful, as though the girl standing before him has already taken it into the firm grip of her mouth. He has all the time in the world, and all the control. Once again, he is twenty-one years old, but wiser, too.
The girl in front of him, wearing the opaque black dressing gown – she is nude beneath it and he can see the dark wedge of her glistening pubic hair – is his daughter-in-law, Valerie. As she comes forward, her lips parted moistly to reveal the barest trace of her tongue, she seems not quite sure who he is, but the desire sparkling in her liquid green eyes is unmistakable. In a moment she will touch him lightly, the cool tips of her delicate fingers sliding along his hips as she kneels to accept the pulsing warm rod of his cock into the clasping red oral of her embracing lips.
Although he cannot see them, somewhere behind him he senses the watchful, horrified eyes of his wife and oldest son. Neither of them, he knows, is quite sure that this is only a demonstration – a kind of school for them both – of how to make love. He senses his son's envy of him as Valerie glides slowly forward, the mist around her like an extension of her dressing gown, filling the room with her womanly aroma. Frances, he realizes, is afraid, as well as shocked.
Valerie pauses before him, a kind of mocking light in her eyes as she cocks her head to one side and coquettishly pulls a strand of her long brown hair away from her eyes. For a moment she attempts to tease him with her stare, but his eyes are icy, and she knows what is expected of her.
In a fluid movement, she, kneels, her long hair grazing his powerful thighs. The plated striations of muscle along his abdomen tense as he feels the warmth of her breath stirring ticklishly through his fragrant pubic hair. He puts both hands on either side of her head, and with his coarse fingers pulls back the cascade of her smoky hair so that his wife and son can see her as she moistens her lips with her tongue. The heat of her breath grows more and more intense on his rigid rod as her opening mouth nears the purple sheen of his swollen cockhead.
And then the buttery warmth of her young lips closes over his cock and her lacing tongue feels like hot satin as she pushes forward until her nose is nestled in the tangle of his hair. The glans of his cock has nudged through the velvet restriction at the opening of her throat, and her mouth is so warm it feels as if his cock is slowly melting as she embraces it with her tongue and palate.
An insistent, gentle vacuum is formed by her tongue and lips as he tenses his buttocks and slowly withdraws partway from her mouth. Her tongue-tip flickers excitingly at the tip of his glans so that he feels an electric puckering run along the length of his shaft, through his heavy nuts, and into the hairy whorl of his asshole.
Instinctively, Valerie senses his increasing sensation. She lifts one hand and cups the tensing cheek of his hairy buttocks; and with the other hand, she gently squeezes his churning balls, rolling them softly, warmly in the slightly moist palm of her hand, as though she were toying with gigantic pearls in a velvet bag. The delicate fingers of her hand are extended upward, gently massaging his perineum through to coarse thicket of hair leading to his anus. He can feel the thickening heat of her saliva churning around his pulsing shaft. He pistons it back and forth in the clutch of her glistening lips until he can see pearls of silvery saliva drooling from the corners of her lips. He cannot thrust into her too deeply; he feels that, if she could, she would fit his balls too into her mouth, swallowing forever.
Beneath his swaying nuts, her breasts bob with the sucking motions of her head and shoulders. A glistening snail track of her saliva snakes down over the mound of her white flesh, coiling in wetly at the outer edge of her cunt-colored nipple. Both tips of her breasts are puckered like raspberries and sometimes he can feel her deliberately rubbing them against his upper thighs. Somehow he can see, as through the eyes of the watchers, the honey-colored trickle of her fluids seeping slowly between the succulent folds of her labia.
Her tongue curls and caresses the bottom side of his long prick. For a moment she holds the root of his cock in her fingers as she pulls back, her mouth open, her eyes closed in ecstasy, to rub the head of his cock over her face. She guides the smooth glans over her chin, flicking at the shaft with the red tip of her tongue, then rubs it against her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose, over her eyes, across her upper lip. Wherever his dock touches her it leaves a glistening track. She loves it. She sucks it back into her heated mouth as though mad for the taste of it. She cannot get enough of it.
With several long strokes, he shafts it into her throat, the undulating motion of his pelvis grinding his pubic hair against her upper lip and nose. She cannot breathe, but he knows she will keep on sucking him until she passes out. But he isn't cruel, though he remains dominant.
Little by little, his thrusts into her clutching, hot mouth force her over backward. Her hair falls over her white shoulders like a smoky train, and he supports her neck with his hands as he kneels, following her down, his cock still lodged hotly in her clasping lips.
When she's lying on her back, he has straddled her shoulders. Less of his long prick is thrust into her mouth, but she flutters her tongue thrillingly against the burning dome of his glans. He sits back and fingers the pulse of her throat beneath the silky skin. Beneath his hairy buttocks, her white breasts thrust the red points of her nipples against his ass. He combs his fingers through her long hair, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs. He can feel the slick ball of his glans through the flesh of her cheek.
She moans a little around his cock, and the vibration of her moan runs along his shaft like an ignited fuse. A floodgate opens within him. His cum burns and foams along the length of his shaft, pouring unendingly into her greedy mouth. He can see her throat working to swallow his load, but there is too much of it and it backs up along the throbbing piston of his shaft, drooling from her slippery lips like thick white gravy. He doesn't think his orgasm will end. One of her nipples has become lodged in the crack of his ass, and he can feel his bristly buttocks squeezing down on it like a vise. She moans beneath him, but her mouth keeps milking at him as though she is dying of thirst. He is a burning fountain.
The pleasure is almost paralyzing, but his limbs are supple. He leans forward, cradling her head in his hands, until he can feel the clotted stream of his cum foaming directly against her palate, spraying out on either side. He can feel her thrashing her legs back and forth on the thick carpet beneath them. The scent of her cunt hangs heavy in the air. When his cock stops spouting and he pulls it from the suction of her lips, he does not grow soft.
Deftly he slides back along her panting body. His slick cock and balls part the cleavage of her tits, leaning a trail of moisture as he works back along her abdomen. The luxuriant mat of her pubic hair feels like glowing, fine wire against his drawn-up nuts. But as he plunges the lance of his cock through the open curtains of her labia, he knows that her inner channel is like hot mercury. He is almost blinded by the scalding pleasure. And she is not quite tight enough to keep the burning head of his cock from forging its passage into her palpitating depths.
The wedge of his cockhead parts the clenched inner folds of her cunt so that he can feel her channel opening just ahead of his thrust. When he begins to withdraw, he seems to lift her pelvis by the sheer force of the suction of his retreating prick.
Beneath him, his daughter-in-law rotates the bowl of her pelvis like a belly dancer, the hot mouth of her runt feeding on his plunging spear. Beneath his callused fingers, her shoulders are like warm, polished ivory, and the taste of her mouth against his mouth is like sweet wine. Her pale breasts, where they rub against the dense hair of his sweat-filmed chest, are like pliable, opaque wax, glowing from an inner flame. Wherever he has touched her body, her flesh magnifies his heat and gives it back to him. Little by little the lubricated walls of her cunt loosen, as though she were melting around the soldering iron of his cock.
And the more her inner channel weakens under his thrusts, the more deeply, the more barbarically he plunges himself into her. Her pussy glides around the spoke of his rod, as smooth and well-greased as a newly packed wheel bearing. When he feels the head of his cock nudge through the resistant opening of her womb, she moans a little beneath him; but it's a moan like the purr of a well-tuned engine, and she bucks her pussy up at him, wanting him deeper, longing for a harder stroke, silently begging him to buck her like this forever.
As if prolonged by slow motion, each tingling, electric lunge he makes into her molten cunt is drawn out like a lust-filled eternity. With infinitely small motions his woolly nuts draw themselves up against the root of his sawing cock. With each slow stroke he makes into her sucking cunt, he feels his hard-on bloating by degrees, stretching the walls of her pussy to an elastic, clutching thinness. His blood rushes to the swollen crown of his cock. His mouth hungers over her blood-red lips. Beads of sweat appear on her forehead and upper lip, glistening like hot dew. The tendrils of their pubic hair mingle and steam together. His pounding hips tense like a coiled spring.
While he freezes above her, she impales herself madly on the burning pole of his cock. Flecks of spittle form at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes roll white in her head. Her white fingers clutch desperately at his tense shoulders. Abandonedly she flings the gulping mouth of her snatch at the thick root of his flaming stake. Her voice rattles in her strained throat like the wail of metal grinding against metal.
"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" she begs him, clawing at his shoulders. "Oh, Jesus Christ in heaven, screw me like I've never been screwed before!"
His entire weight is centered on the head of his throbbing cock as he drops himself against her.
Valerie flange her legs over his thighs, her heels digging into the hollows of his knees as she arches her back, grinding her juicy cunt against him as never before. Her clitoris seems to sting at the shaft of his cock as it vibrates in its thick pool of fluid.
"Aaiieee!" Valerie shrieks. "I'm coming! Oh, God, I'm coming! Fuck me, stud, fuck me! Kill me!"
Twisting his shuddering cock within her like a torque wrench, he plunges ever deeper without withdrawing. As she bucks beneath him he can feel the head of his cock shoved against the far wall of her womb. She fits him like a burning glove.
With the suddenness of a car backfire, the first explosion of his sperm bursts against the burning wall of her womb.
"Glahhhhhbiieee!" she cries, her arms thrown around his neck, her clutching thighs pulling him ever deeper into her white-hot depths.
The belches of his blasting sperm tear themselves loose from his pulsing cock like the phosphorescent clots of fire from a Roman candle. Along the entire shaft of his embedded prong a million pinpricks of electricity nip at his sliding cock.
For a second she goes limp beneath him, her eyes rolling deliriously. But another basting of his jetted sperm flashes into her, and she tightens the muscles of her cunt around him as though she had been struck with lightning.
With each hosing of his foaming sperm into her womb he can feel his glans swelling like a molly-bolt in the cylinder of her snatch. His asshole puckers until he can feel each hair between his buttocks. Each time she bucks up at him another volley of cream gushes into her like the thick lubrication fired from a grease gun. He can feel it pushed back around the nozzle of his cock to flow around his nuts.
Only when her lithe body jells beneath him and the moans from her vibrating throat become the long purr of sure satisfaction does he cease spurting his thick cream into her womb.
Teasingly, he strokes the velvet shaft of his cock over her sensitized clitoris, delighting in the shuddering response elicited in her exhausted body. Her fingers delicately caress his shoulders as he nuzzles the hot flesh of her throat. When he slides the slick probe of his tongue into her mouth, she sucks it deeply toward her throat, at the same moment running her fiery fingers through his hair, playing at the back of his neck.
When he withdraws from her cunt, he is still hard. In a few moments he will fuck her again. He looks down at the liver-colored gash of her snatch, the outer labia still swollen open. When he sucks on the nipples of her heaving breasts, the taste is like fresh raspberries.
Richard awoke feeling hungry. He glanced at his watch on the night stand and smiled at himself at the memory of the dream. He had a hard-on.
He lay in bed for several minutes, wondering if Frances were asleep, or only pretending. Sometimes, he knew, she spent the whole night pretending to be asleep, questioning him crossly if he got up in the middle of the night. She'd kill me if she knew what I'd been dreaming, he thought. But then he smiled in the darkness, for she could not know. And in a few moments, from the sound of her regular breathing, he knew that she was asleep.
When he heard the front door open and close quietly, he knew that Rich Junior had come in from his cruising of the streets. He looked again at his watch and saw that it was four-thirty. Then, when he heard the squeak of the refrigerator door opening, he knew Rich was looking for something to eat, and he got quietly out of bed, put on his boxer shorts, and sneaked out of the bedroom.
"Out sort of late, weren't you?" he asked Rich, who had sat down at the cigarette-burned kitchen table and was just taking off his shoes.
His son took a swig of beer from the bottle beside him and grinned up at Richard. "Up sort of early, aren't you?" he replied, kicking off his shoe.
Richard opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of beer.
As he walked over to the kitchen table with it, his son looked up at him and said, "Your legs are as white as a frog's belly. You ought to come surfing with me sometime. The sun would tan you up good."
Richard sat down and opened his beer. "Get any tail?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.
Rich Junior made a grunting sound and screwed up his face. "These American cunts are all cock-teases," he said. "It's hardly worth the effort. I think maybe I'll hop down to T.J. and try a little spic nookie."
"Don't let your mother find out," Richard warned him, gulping his beer.
"Hmmph!" Rich Junior said. He belched a little, then took another swig of beer. "Jim come over today?" he asked casually.
"No," Richard said, contemplating the label on his beer bottle. He tore off a little corner of the label and looked at the underside.
"Can't hardly blame him," Rich Junior observed. "Mom is just busting to tell him what a dope he's being about Val."
"What do you think about it?"
Rich Junior leaned back in his chair and hesitated for a moment before answering his father. "I think it's probably both their faults," he said. "Of course, Jim is so full of novels and shit that he probably doesn't even screw her. I can't blame her for moving out on him in that respect."
"Did he tell you they didn't screw?" Richard asked.
"Nope. But it's easy to see when you look at her that she'd not getting enough cock. Last time she was over here I caught her sneakin' a look at my crotch."
Richard shook his head in bewildered amusement. "Maybe you ought to pick up where your brother left off," he joked.
Rich Junior laughed lowly. He hooked a finger into the leg of his undershorts and scratched at his balls. "She's probably so hard up she'd even fuck you!" he chuckled. "No shit, though," he said soberly. "We oughtn't to talk about her like this."
Richard had been about to mention his dream, but now he thought better of it. He shivered a little because the beer had made him cold and because the oilcloth of the chair was icy.
They sat in silence for a while, each of them pulling at their beer bottles and trying to avoid the other's eyes.
Then Richard stood up and shoved his beer across the table to his son. "You finish it off," he said. "Your mother will smell it on my breath even while she's sawing logs," he added.
Rich Junior looked up at him, his beer poised in the air over the table. "All the same," he said, "I bet Val would be a hot piece in the sheets."
Richard snorted. "Maybe," he said. And then he added, as he started for the bedroom, "If she had the light person pouring the cock to her."
When he got to the bedroom he could see that Frances had changed positions in bed. She had pulled the covers up around her face and only her eyes and nose peeked out from the blankets as he eased himself quietly into the cold sheets beside her.