Jennifer pulled all the shades, drew all the drapes, and walked about the house nude. The sexual excitement in her body would not go down. Her pussylips remained swollen and throbbing. Her turn stood up firm and tight, her nipples tilted slightly upward, her cherries, hot and swollen, the bumps on her cherries erect and tingling.
Her pussy-lips rubbed together with each step she took, the burning, well-lubricated cunt meat between them prickling and itching with fuck sensation. The paperboy's cum oozed out of her and trickled down the insides of her thighs. She felt drugged, as if she were floating on air.
She could still feel the paperboy's cock sliding inside her, could feel its steely hardness, could feel it flexing and pulsing and spurting. It was a living animal, a fat, wild snake. She wished she could have detached it from the boy and kept it inside her. She needed it to keep her happy, to keep her satisfied. She found it fantastically unbelievable that she'd lived six whole months without coupling with a hard cock. Now that she'd had a taste of cock again, she didn't know how she would manage to keep from going insane without a daily fuck.
I'll offer to pay him, she thought. She'd pay the paperboy for coming over every day and fucking her. She had enough money to do it, the money George had left her by way of his life insurance. It was a wicked idea – using the money her dead husband had left her to pay a paperboy to fuck her – but George had abandoned her after all, had left her sexually as well as emotionally bereft. Was she supposed to go hungry sexually the rest of her life?
She went to the bathroom to look at the place where the paperboy had fucked her. Some moisture glistened on the terrazzo floor, fuckjuices that had dribbled out of her as the lusting young boy had fucked her. She tried to visualize how it must have looked, she was on her back, the rutting teenager on top of her, lacked in the embrace of her arms and legs. She could still smell his sweat in the air, could still hear his grunts and growls of sexual delirium.
He'd really worked her over – right there on the bathroom floor. They'd been like a pair of animals, as shameless and wild as the two dogs that had fucked out in front of the house. It was too bad she couldn't have gotten a picture of the scene. There was something so filthy and perverse about fucking on the bathroom floor that Jennifer's excitement remained at a fever pitch.
I'm free, she realized. Free to fuck whomever she wanted to. Free to do anything she wanted to. She had money. She no longer had to worry about being faithful to a husband, or about doing what he said. George was gone, after all. There was nothing she could do to bring him back. Was she supposed to spend the rest of her life in mourning, a widow in a black veil, her pussy drying up between her legs?
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her bare toes rubbing in the fuck juices on the floor. Her tits looked good enough to eat. George had always gone crazy over her tits, and now she could see why. When they got fat and tight with lust, they looked sexier than the tits of the women in George's girlie magazines.
Jennifer went to the bedroom, to George's closet, and she pulled out the cardboard boxes he'd kept his girlie magazines in. His closet was just as he'd left it. Until now, Jennifer hadn't touched it. Until now, Jennifer hadn't accepted the idea that George was never coming back.
It's time I faced up to things, she thought, time I put things in order and went back to living.
Until this moment, she'd never looked that closely at George's magazines, had never seen the more shameless poses the women in them took, the more shameless ways the magazine models displayed their nude female bodies. For a few moments, Jennifer gaped in disgust, but as she continued to turn the pages, her face took on a horny smile.
These women were having fun. These women were hot. They loved showing themselves off and enticing the men who would look at their pictures. They showed the camera the insides of their pussies, showed off their assholes and nipples and toes.
Jennifer sat on the carpet, George's girlie magazines spread put all around her, the middle finger of her right hand up her pussy as she rapidly paged through one magazine after another. These women were so hot they were actually turning her on. She couldn't believe she was getting turned on by the sight of other naked women, but she couldn't deny that she was. She came upon two naked women making it with each other, their tits pressed together, their tongues in each other's mouth, their fingers up each other's pussy.
"Look at that!" Jennifer muttered, her eyes bugging out. She pumped her finger in and out of her pussy, not caring that Gary's cum was leaking out of her and soiling the carpet between her legs. "Lesbo bitches! Look at 'em!"
She kept turning pages. The women displaying their tits and asses weren't any sexier than she was. She could be a model too, if she wanted to. She wondered how many of these women had ever fucked their paperboy. Not many, probably. Probably none of them. She was just as hot as they were, and she'd done things they hadn't.
She found a magazine that actually showed men and women fucking. Pictures showed cocks actually inside cunts. She found women sucking on men's cocks, and she salivated, remembered the taste of George's cock.
So that's where George got the idea, she thought. The first time he'd asked her to suck his cock, she'd thought he must be sick or crazy. How had he come up with such an idea? Now, as she studied pictures of women's lips wrapped around cocks, of cum leaking from women's mouths, of cocks shooting off on women's faces, she realized that her sucking George's cock hadn't been that far out after all.
Her finger slipped in and out of her pussy, making squishing noises as the paperboy's sticky jizz frothed out around it. The alkaline scent of the boy's cum got her a little dizzy. She lifted her jizz-dripping finger to her mouth and sucked it clean. The taste of cum got her drunk. She dipped her finger back in her cunt, then shoved it in her mouth and sucked it clean again. She did this several times, until she burped up the taste of pussy juice and cum.
What would Gary say if she offered to suck his cock? she wondered. What did his cock taste like? Like sweat, she was sure. She tried to imagine his cock quivering and bucking in her mouth as it spurted jizz fresh from his balls against her tonsils. She stuck her finger back in her cunt, jerking herself off as she imagined her lips smacking around the paperboy's big horny prick and his hot jizz sliding down her throat.
"Oh Gary, I want you!" she moaned. "I wanna suck you! I wanna fuck you again!"
She dumped out one of the cardboard boxes in front of her, searching for hotter and more lurid pictures to turn her on as she masturbated. What had been buried at the bottom of the box and now fell out with the remaining magazines made Jennifer look twice to make sure she wasn't imagining things.
There was a huge, flesh-colored cock of solid rubber, with veins and even pisshole slit. When Jennifer lifted it, inspected it closely, she found that it smelled like cunt. Like whose cunt? It had never been up her own cunt!
She dropped the rubber cock and inspected a solid-rubber cunt. It looked just like a woman's crotch, with black pussyhairs and inner and outer cuntlips. A long rubber tube formed the cuntal canal and could accommodate a man's cock. The contraption had straps for fastening it between a woman's legs – as if a women needed a second cunt! Jennifer discovered grease inside the rubber cunt, Vaseline or something.
What was this? What had George been doing behind her back? Hadn't her own cunt been enough for him? Apparently not.
In addition to the imitation male and female sex organs, Jennifer found a box of condoms – George had never fucked her while wearing a condom – and three pairs of smelly, cunt-soiled women's panties. They weren't Jennifer's panties.
That man! Jennifer thought. What had he been doing behind her back all these years? She'd never dreamed he'd been unfaithful to her, or that he'd done anything sexual with anybody but her in the sanctity of their marriage bed.
Jennifer lay back, rolling on the pile of spread-out, spread-open magazines, her legs wide-apart, her finger pumping fiercely in and out of her pussy. Her blood was boiling. If George hadn't been dead already, she would have killed him now for deceiving her, for making her think she was his one and only.
If George could fuck God-knows-who, then I can fuck the paperboy, she thought. Whatever sense of guilt had been nagging at the back of her mind, her boiling blood now destroyed, now burned up and vaporized. If George could do it, she could do it, too. And who was going to stop her? Not George. George was gone.
It was fun while it lasted, George, she thought. But now it's over. You're dead, and my life is my own again.
She shoved the cunt-flavored dildo in her mouth, sucking on it as if it were a real cock. As her finger plunged in her pussy, as it rubbed her squirming clit, her nipples swelled even more and her toes curled sensuously. The rubber cock was bigger than George's cock, and was probably as big as the paperboy's cock. As she sucked the rubber cock, she imagined it to be Gary's cock, and she sucked it as if she expected jism to spurt out of it at any moment.
Her finger twisted in her pussy. Her lips smacked around the rubber cock. She rocked her loins, undulated her body, thrust her tits high. As she sucked, she groaned. The fuck sensation streamed through her body, getting her turgid and hot. She had masturbated several times since George's death, but this was the first time she'd had any fun doing it, the first time the pleasure had been worth the effort. She was hot now, as hot as if she were with a man.
The gassy flesh-magazines lay under her and all around her. She was rolling on naked woman and men. She saw tits and cocks, cunts and assholes, the ecstatic faces of women in the throes of orgasm. She was feeling just as good as these women with the cocks up their pussies and in their mouths. She spotted a picture of a woman on her hands and knees with a man's cock up her hole. She had to stare at the picture to make sure that it was for real, not trick photography.
Up her asshole! Jennifer thought. It can't be! That woman's getting fucked up her asshole!
She rolled on her side and studied the picture. As she sucked the rubber cock, as she pumped her right-hand middle finger in her pussy, she shoved her left hand between her legs and up high behind her. She slipped a finger between her asscheeks, probed her asspucker, worked her fingertip into the hot crevices. Slowly, her asshole opened up, and her finger slipped inside it.
This felt good. This felt great! Why had she never thought of doing this before? Even when she'd been a masturbating teenage virgin, she'd never thought of sticking a finger up her asshole. She was surprised George had never tried to tick a finger up her shitter. He'd apparently tried everything else. She wondered if he'd stuck his finger up the assholes of the other women he'd fucked.
She was sweating. Her skin stuck to the glossy pages of the magazines. Pussyjuice and jism dribbled out on pictures of naked women with wide-spread legs, on pictures of women getting fucked and spurted on. She growled like an animal as she pleasured herself, sucking the rubber cock, jerking off her pussy, finger-fucking her asshole. Never in her life had she let go of herself like this. Never in her life had she acted so shamelessly, so impulsively, nor had she ever felt so free.
"Mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmm!" she growled, gnawing the rubber cock.
The taste of cunt filled her mouth. This rubber cock had apparently seen a lot of action in women's pussies.
George, you dirty bastard! she thought. Can you see me, George? Can you see me now, wherever you are? I know about you now, George, I know about your dirty ways. Why didn't you ever tell me, you bastard? Why did I have to miss out on all the fun you were having behind my back?
She realized now that her anger at George stemmed not from a sense of betrayal, but from jealousy. She was angry not because he'd been unfaithful to her and had performed shameful sexual practices behind her back with other women, but because he hadn't told her about them, and hadn't let her join the fun.
I'm going to make up for it now, George, she thought as she writhed naked on the floor, as she rolled an George's flesh magazines and sucked the rubber cock that had been up who knew how many cunts. I'm going to have my fun now, Georgie boy, just you wait, just you watch me!
The hot fuckjuices bubbled out around her cunt-fucking finger. Her thighs slipped together, slick with them. Her asshole got wetter and wetter inside as she finger fucked it, as if it contained a fucklube like that her pussy-hole secreted. Her spit ran down the rubber cock, which still tasted of cunt. This cock had fucked a lot of women, and now she was sucking on it, now she was tasting all those juicy hot cunts.
Her body prickled with fuck-itch and excitement. Every inch of her naked skin glowed with an electric charge. Her loins pulsed and seethed inside. Her clit bent back and forth as her finger rubbed against it, as her finger pistoned between her pussylips and drilled her cunt-hole again and again.
The finger up her asshole stabbed at sensitive spots in her bowels. She'd never realized her asshole could be such a cauldron of seething pleasure. She wondered what a cock up her asshole would feel like, wondered what that woman in the picture with the cock up her asshole was feeling. She appeared to be enjoying it.
She forgot about George, forgot her anger and jealousy, forgot about everything but her pleasure. All that mattered now was the sensation shooting through her body.
She sucked the big rubber prick, pretending it was the paperboy's cock, pretending it was the cock of the man fucking the woman's asshole in the picture. Her sucking sent rhythmic thrills straight to her cunt. Her right hand twisted and jerked between her thighs. Her left hand fingerfucked her asshole. As her fingers squished inside her and her pussy-juices frothed out, as her lips smacked around the thick rubber cock, her fuck-pleasure whirled to a pulsating climax in her loins and exploded. Her body shook violently, as if she were having a seizure.
She writhed on the floor, out of her mind with organic sensation, her toes clawing air, her eyes rolling. The spasms shot through her like electric jolts. The intensity of the fuck-itch made her scream. Her asshole nearly chewed off her buggering finger just as her pussy nearly sucked off the middle finger of her other hand. The fuckjuices bubbled from her pussy, dribbling over her thighs like hot oil. Her tits swelled with each orgasmic wave, her nipples and cherry bumps nearly splitting open with tightness and sensation. As she wailed with ecstasy, the rubber cock fell out of her mouth.
When her orgasm was finally over, she lay a long while on the bed of flesh magazines, reveling in the waves of relaxation that swept gently through her. She couldn't believe that masturbation had brought her to such a shattering, ecstatic climax. If she'd known six months ago that masturbation was capable of producing such intense pleasure when she worked at it, when she put herself in the right frame of mind and let herself go, she would have ransacked George's boxes of flesh magazines the day after his funeral, would have spent the last six months enjoying herself instead of wasting them the way she had.