Wendy was playing with her pussy when the phone rang.
She had been stroking it for several minutes, not in any great hurry, enjoying the slow building of the warm tingling inside her tender cunt, feeling it spread.
She pouted when the phone rang, thought seriously about ignoring it, then shrugged. She was not far enough along in her self-stimulation that she could not resume later. If she had two fingers buried in her cunt, tickling her cunt, then she might have ignored the phone.
"Halliburton residence," she said, expecting it to be for her father or mother, and ready with her spiel about her weekend. She was surprised to hear Martin Wynn's voice.
"Wendy?"
"Why, Professor Wynn, what a pleasant surprise."
"I wasn't sure it was you. Your voice sounded so husky. I didn't interrupt anything important, did I?"
Well, fingering oneself was important for someone who was as horny as Wendy was, but she supposed she could tell one white lie to him.
"No. The reason I took so long was that my, uh, hands were dripping wet."
She still lay on her bed and continued to massage her pouting pussy.
"Doing a little housework, I suppose."
"Well, some things demand a lot of attention." He murmured agreement.
"What can I do for you?" she asked.
"Provide a little company. You mentioned that you'd like to see the house sometime. And well, my wife's gone to some silly lecture, and I find myself caught up with my work, and a bit lonely."
She caught the catch in his voice when he mentioned that his wife was gone for the evening. She lifted her pert little eyebrows. Was she getting a nibble from the professor? That would explain the nervous tension she detected in his voice.
"I could use a little company myself. But I don't have anything to wear."
"Oh, don't, uh, go to any trouble. That outfit you were wearing this afternoon will be fine. Let's keep it informal. It's so much more, uh, intimate."
She parted her cuntlips with one insinuating finger and began to pummel her clit.
"Yes, I like cozy little gatherings. Will there be just the two of us?"
Her clit was beginning to demand attention. It had risen to a fierce erectness.
"Just the two of us." He seemed to sigh as he spoke.
"I'll be over in a few… oh, minutes. There's something I've got to finish."
"Certainly. Come when you can."
"I'll come. It won't be long now."
And it wouldn't. The heat in her pussy had grown greater, licking her insides as she stroked.
"Good-bye, Wendy."
"Good… bye, Professor… Wynn."
She heard the click as he replaced the phone on the hook. Then there was something snapping in her, and she hunched furiously against her finger.
"Coming, I'm coming, Professor Wynn. Oh, how I'm coming!"
The house was white sandstone. The Wynns had taken excellent care of the house, and much of their summers were spent in loving care of it.
Wendy parked her car behind Professor Wynn's station wagon. His wife would be using the El Dorado.
When she rang the doorbell, it was answered immediately, as though Professor Wynn had been poised just on the other side of the door, waiting expectantly for the first tinge of the bell so that he could jerk open the door and usher her quickly inside before the neighbors saw.
"Come in," he said.
She stepped through into a small alcove ringed with mirrors. Just the thing for prim and proper Mrs. Wynn to be sure her makeup was on straight, her hat was not awry, or heaven forbid a hint of lace did not show beneath the hem of her skirt.
"I'd have you take my wrap, but I'm afraid I'd be quite bare without it," Wendy said teasingly, touching the knot of her blouse gathered just above her navel.
"Yes," said Professor, no, Martin Wynn. She would call him Martin. He cleared his throat. "I see your point."
"Oh, you do. I didn't think they showed." Wendy looked down at her blouse where her nipples were soft inside her blouse. She felt a slight twinge of tightening.
"If they showed any more, my dear, then you and I would be bosom companions."
She laughed and watched the leer gather in the corners of his mouth.
"Touch, Martin."
"Don't give me ideas, Wendy."
Right, dear Martin, she thought that's exactly my purpose. Giving you ideas, and perhaps a few other things.
"Would you like a drink?" he offered, as they walked past the living room and into the lounge where the bar was situated.
"Why, Martin may I call you by your first name?" He nodded, "You know I'm only seventeen."
"Sorry, I…"
"Tom Collins, please."
He stopped, seemed to be reassessing her.
"You are toying with me, Wendy. That's not showing the proper respect to your elders."
He slipped behind the bar and began mixing two drinks.
"And how would you have me show respect, Martin?"
He passed her the Tom Collins. His hand shook and he spilled some on the bar counter. He quickly wiped it up.
"There are ways."
"This is very good." He acknowledged her compliment with thanks. "You wouldn't be trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me, now would you?"
"Perhaps. Though I'm beginning to wonder just how innocent you really are, Wendy."
Slow down, girl. You're coming on strong. Let him take a little of the play. Don't make it too easy far him.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound so sluttish."
"I didn't take it that way. I find it refreshing in a woman, and despite your age, you are assuredly a woman."
He was sitting on the stool next to her, admiring her cleavage.
"This is a beautiful place," she said, changing the subject. She would play it a little more coyly for a while. Make him wonder just where she stood.
"Beauty is so relative. This place pales in comparison to you." He stood and took her empty glass from her hand and placed it on the bar. He took her hand. "Come with me, and we'll have a look around."
He did not let go of her hand. His fingers were warm, and his hand clutched her fiercely, as though afraid that at any moment she would turn and bolt out the door.
She noticed that his free hand was held tightly to the front of his pants. He must be keeping his hard-on from poking out the front of his pants.
"This is the library."
It was a massive room the walls lined with books, almost taking up the whole world with their multi-covered bindings. Against the far wall stood a desk, and in the middle of the room a large couch.
"I've got a number of first editions. Let me show them to you."
Perhaps she misread his direction, or he hers, but they collided as they made the turn to head for the shelves where the valuable books were kept.
She stumbled, and he caught her, pressing her to him to keep her from falling to the floor.
She could feel his breathing change, grow more rapid. And his prick, insistent and ready, poked into her belly. He held her tightly, and she buried her face in his chest as she clung to him.
"You are the softest, most sensuous creature I have ever met," he whispered in her ear. "More valuable than all the first editions in the world."
His hands were rubbing her back, and his loins were locked to her.
"Oh, Martin, I can feel your… er… your strength."
"Call it by its name," he urged.
She pressed her cunt mound to him.
"I can feel your prick, your cock. It's so hard!"
"You've known all along that I wanted you, haven't you?" His face was buried in her hair, and he was inhaling the fragrant softness of her blondeness.
"Yes, but I'm afraid." She was lying. She wanted him to fuck her, to force her to submit to his hard prick.
"You needn't be. I won't hurt you."
She clutched herself to him. She felt dizzy, and wondered if the booze might have anything to do with it. She had strange desires clouding her mind. She wanted Martin to rape her. She wanted him to fuck her against her will, even as she admitted that she wanted him now. He must completely dominate her.
"I'm afraid that you'll get me pregnant, Martin."
That was the least of her worries. She took her birth-control pills regularly. But he didn't know that.
"I won't get you pregnant. I'll pull out before I come. But I've got to fuck you."
His hand climbed up to her hair, and he pulled her face from his chest and mashed his mouth to hers. She did not open for him at first, but waited for the touch of his tongue at her lips. Then she accepted his kiss, as though he had forced her to.
She felt his other hand slipping inside her blouse, cupping her tit, squeezing it. The nipple jumped into the palm of his hand.
She broke away from his kiss then and twisted out of his embrace. He was wild-eyed, his chest heaving, gulping air.
The breast he had been massaging was still free the blouse pushed to the side.
He was driven by his lust. She would make him take her. Her protests would be just enough to arouse the beast in him, to bring out the animal that was a part of every man. She wanted him to hurt her when he fucked her, to be fuck crazy as he mounted her.
"Please, Martin, please," she begged.
"I want you," he panted. "I'm going to fuck you. You are beautiful, and wanton, flaunting your body in that outfit. I'm going to strip it from you, and fuck your naked cunt, and suck your wonderful tits! And you won't stop me."
She backed up, until her thighs bumped the front edge of the couch. He stood between her and the door, as though he expected her to make a mad dash for it at any moment.
"I don't want you to… rape me. I-I can't let you." She whimpered, as though she were fighting to protect a cherry long since ruptured by a hard cock. She loosened the other tit from her blouse. "Won't you be satisfied to feel my tits? You can even suck them, too. But please, don't fuck me…"
"Gonna eat your tits, and gonna fuck you too."
He tore off his shirt, popping the buttons as he did so. Then he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his pants to reveal his stiff cock shaft.
He did not realize that her best opportunity to escape was when he was pulling off his pants. But, of course, she did not intend to escape.
She stared at his twitching prick. It was only average in length and girth, but it was rigid and stone hard. She watched it advance swaying menacingly, as though it were a policeman's nightstick brandished angrily in her face.
Martin wrapped one hand about the stout cock, and began jacking himself.
"You see this, baby. I'm going to stab it all the way into your pretty white tummy."
He grabbed her then, and crushed her to him, his mouth seeking hers. She clung to him, moaning softly, her hands tugging at his shoulders as though she wanted to push him away from her. His cock had slipped between her legs, and she clamped her thighs, warm and slick with cuntjuice about its torrid thickness.
I'm doing it! He's acting like an animal, not caring whether I want him to fuck me or not. He's dominating me, just like I want him to!
They toppled on the couch. Wendy felt the breath being forced out of her as Martin landed on top of her. By the time she caught it again, he was at her tits, lapping them, taking each nipple deep in his mouth and sucking furiously.
Then his hand was at her knees, prying her legs apart. She did not yield to him instantly, though she wanted to. She would make him struggle for every inch of her flesh.
He continued to gobble her succulent tits, his mouth working over them continuously. His hand slipped between her thighs and worked their way up toward her moist cunt. She felt the juices dribbling out of her cunt, soaking her jeans. She wore no panties, and the rough fabric of the denim was pleasantly irritating to her swollen pussy mouth.
The closer he came to final and complete domination of her, the higher her desire mounted. His hand found her crotch and palmed it vigorously. It wouldn't be long before he would be forcing her bare legs apart, sticking his prick into her steaming slit.
She closed her eyes and savored every moment of conquest. He pulled her cutoffs down her thighs and off her legs. Then, holding her legs apart with his knees, he ran his hand back up the lovely channel and into her pussy.
He stroked the greasy slick cunt, letting his middle finger trace the length of her split. He caressed the tingling cuntlips, fingered the straining clit, plunged into the burning canyon of her pussy.
Wendy writhed and moaned, then pushed at his chest and shoulders, though she made no move to remove his hand from her blazing pussy.
"Oh, don't. You've got your finger in me. Don't stick your prick in me! Please don't!"
Reverse psychology, she figured, for she wanted his prick to be fucking her very soon. Already she was having difficulty keeping from hunching madly against his exciting finger.
It worked, Martin shifted himself then, placing both knees between hers, lying flat against her. With one hand he placed his cockhead against her tight cuntlips. Her inner muscles, over which she generally had such good control, had begun to open her cunt.
He vibrated the sleek head against the mouth of her dripping cunt, letting it slicken from her juices, then parted the clinging cuntlips as he edged his butt forward.
"Oh, Martin," she murmured, unable any longer to control herself. The pretense could last no longer, now that she had a bone-hard cock being forced into her bushy cunt.
She flung her arms about his neck, kissing his face, his mouth, his eyes, nibbling at his ears. She moaned in his ear.
"Your cock makes me glad you forced me to fuck you. Please… make me the happiest girl in the whole world."
She pressed her hands into his shoulders as he eased his quivering cock all the way into her burning snatch. The walls of her pussy sucked at his prick, as the inner muscles made her cunt milk his prick.
He was breathless as he paused when he had fully entered her.
"Got to catch my breath. Got to get control of myself. Your cunt is so hot and tight. Margaret was never like this."
"But I'm not Margaret. And you never raped Margaret. But you raped me, didn't you?"
"I'm not sure. You didn't fight too much." She was angered by that.
"Didn't fight? I'll show you. I'll fight, by God!"
With twin rakes, she dug her fingernails into his back. He yelped, in shock and pain.
Then he grabbed her arms and finally pinned her hands above her head.
"Yes, I raped you. And I'm going to fuck you now! Hard!"
He began to fuck his thrusts fierce and angry. He did not begin slowly and work up to a rapid hard fucking but began immediately to slam his cock into her. She felt as if he were driving her into the couch.
She writhed beneath the incredible pounding her pussy was taking. Martin was insatiable in his fucking, not giving her any leeway in his powerful thrusts. She could only wait for him to slam his cock into her, her quivering ass taking the slap of his balls as he drove his prick into her yielding flesh.
"Oh, yes," she panted. "Shove the meat to me, Martin. I love it! Hurt my pussy! Hurt me if you have to, but do it, do it! Ah, fuck meeee!"
He released her hands as he continued to fuck her cunt with his prick. She held him, their sweat-soaked bodies melding into one unit. Her toes curled under as she began to press her feet into the cushions of the couch, driving her eager pussy up to meet his driving prick.
She caught his rhythm then, and began to fuck back in perfect unison. He felt her rise to catch the full stroke of his cock, and he groaned.
"God, I never realized that a woman could be this good. You're the best piece of ass I ever had!" He moaned again to punctuate his remarks, and continued his fucking.
The friction between cock and cunt was both frightening and wonderful. His cock seemed to be straining to completely fill her cunt, as if his proclamation that he would be rubbing the head of it against her belly were coming true. As he rose from her each time, her cuntlips clung to his prick as though reluctant to let even once inch leave her pussy.
She could hear the slurping of their fuck as he rammed his cock into her, feel his balls nestle for a brief moment in the cradle of her ass, bear his erratic breathing in her ear.
Her cunt began to quiver. A climax was building, and she knew it was because of the ferocity of Martin's fucking. She was fucking an insane sex-driven beast, a demon giving her a supernatural fuck, and she felt the first stab of orgasmic intensity in her pussy, her belly, her whole body, as though his rutting in her cunt had let loose an inferno of lust.
"Now, now, now," she intoned feeling it hit her with a strength-sapping intensity. "Nooowww!"
She went limp expecting at any moment that Martin would spurt the scalding sperm from his balls.
But he did not come, to her amazement. He continued to fuck her hole with his relentless cock, never quitting his stunning screwing. She felt a second climax begin in her cunt, and she was bucking, clutching, moaning, yelling, begging him to fuck her forever, twisting her ass, driving up to catch his cock, sinking back as he plunged forward. She was caught in a whirlpool of lust. Her head spun, she lost track of who and where she was, and knew only that she was being ridden by a wild stallion, whose cock shuddered into her, fucking her as she had never been fucked before.
She came a second time, then a third, and still he fucked her. She was unconscious for a time, oblivious to all but the male meat fucking her with supreme power.
Neither of them heard the front door open, locked in the mortal agony of their fuck. Neither heard the footsteps, the rattling of things in the outer rooms.
The first hint that either had that there was someone in the house was when Margaret Wynn shrilled her husband's name, transfixed by the scene she had stumbled on, horrified by the wheezing, moaning, grunting beast with two backs writhing on her library couch.
"Martin, Martin, what is the meaning of this!"
The words were a low-pitched wail, an infuriated shriek. Wendy twisted her head to catch sight of the Medusa-like creature who had stumbled into the garden of paradise.
Margaret's head did not look like the serpent, but surely she was Lucifer, set to despoil the beauty of their fucking.
She turned back to see what effect the unexpected appearance of his wife had on Martin. His eyes were glazed, he seemed caught up in rapture, as though any moment his soul would leave his body, and he would be taken to paradise.
"Your wife," she whispered in his ear, trying to get him to stop, to face this wild creature, who, she saw, was advancing on them.
Margaret sped across the room, her hands thrown high, a malevolent gleam in her eyes. Wendy was suddenly very afraid. She had heard of people killing their spouses over adulterous happenings like this, killing the lover too who had defiled the marriage bed. She had no desire to be killed, and she fought with her demon lover to break his spell and get away from this enraged harpy descending on them.
"Martin, get your… thing out of that girl this instant! Do you hear me? Stop right now!"
If Martin heard her, he ignored her. Wendy was not sure he could hear anything. He was on another plane of reality, another realm of existence, and the only connection he had with this scene was the joyful cock buried in her cunt.
"Professor Martin," she pleaded. "Get up! It's your wife."
"You had better listen to her, Martin."
Then, realizing that mere words were insufficient, she began to swing her purse, a huge bulbous leather sack, as big as a small suitcase, it seemed to Wendy. The purse thudded into Martin's back, again and again and again.
Wendy was not sure he felt it. But it broke his rhythm, knocked him sideways on the couch, and gave Wendy just enough leeway to writhe out from under him and tumble to the floor. She landed on her bare ass, and without him as a shield, she was certain that the huge purse would come thundering into her naked flesh at any moment.
But the enraged wife paid her no mind. Her attention was on her husband, whose cock glistened slickly with the fuck juices front Wendy's cunt. Margaret stared at his throbbing prick, still driving forward as he continued to hunch even though his cuntal receptacle had escaped his prodding.
Wendy snatched up her jeans and retreated to the far side of the room.
Martin Wynn seemed to still be dazed. His hand wrapped about his cock, and he stared up at his wife, who had quit swinging her purse.
"Gotta get my rocks off," he said, in an eerie monotone. "Gotta get my rocks off in a cunt. Your cunt, Margaret."
Margaret gasped at the words as he spoke.
"Now, Martin, you get control of yourself. You know I disapprove of this. You get control of yourself this instant. Martin! Martin, do you hear me?"
She was backing away, fright and disbelief in her eyes.
She turned then as he advanced, started to run, but her high heels twisted and she tumbled to the floor. He was upon her, like a leopard on a helpless antelope.
"Going to fuck you."
"Nooo!" she screamed. "Don't you put that nasty thing in me. Not after you've had it in that… hussy over there. You can't… do it… to me in front of her."
He had her dress hiked up above her ass, bunched at her waist, and was tugging her pantyhose and panties down her legs.
Wendy stared in fascination at the heavy brown tangle of pubic hair just below Margaret's belly and saw that her cunt had begun to swell. She might be protesting with her mouth, but her pussy was preparing for the invasion of Martin's thick cock.
Martin forced her thighs open with his powerful hands, and thumbed apart her cuntlips.
"You never want to fuck even in private. Gonna fuck you here and now! But I'm going to eat you first. I've wanted to taste your twat since we've been married."
She clutched her cunt with both hands when he said that.
"Don't. It's a dirty thing. It's evil to talk about putting your mouth down there."
He held her legs apart with his elbows and shoulders, and pulled her hands away from her cunt. It lay open and inviting to him.
"It's not evil. It's beautiful. You've been acting like a little girl for the twenty-five years we've been married. Today, I'm going to make you a woman. Why, you know less about sex than this child here."
And without further ado, he latched his mouth onto her cunt. He licked her pussy thoroughly, savoring the cunt juices he had never tasted. He smacked his lips appreciatively, then burrowed his tongue into the steaming snatch.
Margaret, who had fought him at first, suddenly found herself feeling sensations she had never known existed. All her life she had thought cunnilingus a filthy, shameful thing, and now she was enjoying it. How could she reconcile the two conflicting conceptions?
Enjoyment finally won out. She relaxed the tautness in her muscles, and allowed the sweet sensations spreading from her cunt to seep over her. She began to lift her ass to meet the furious probing that Martin's tongue was giving her pussy, letting the hot tip of his oral instrument tickle her erect clit.
Wendy was spellbound by the slurping and sucking that Martin Wynn was giving his wife's cunt. Her own thighs were still damp with sweat and her pussy was drenched with her pussyjuice. The stimulated young girl had already cupped her pussy and now she inched a finger into the beckoning hole, found her clit which stood at attention.
She spread her legs even further apart and took a second finger and crammed it into her clasping cunt. Her fingers parted the slippery curtains of her swollen entrance and threaded theft way into the wet, pink slit.
Watching the action at Margaret's pussy had aroused her own emotions. She watched Martin lick and suck, then let her eyes trail down his body until she saw that his erection was still firm. It was a pity to let it stand so proud, begging for attention. Wendy decided that perhaps she could offer some assistance to the straining member.
She moved across the room until she stood behind Martin.
Then she eased herself to the carpet, and slid her head under his spread thighs. His prick waved above her face, and she could see the swollen line of the channel which carried his cum from his balls to be squirted out the tiny slit in the head. Also she could trace the thick blue vein which coursed blood throughout the entire length of it. She licked along that vein before she captured the bobbing prick head with her lips.
Martin, realizing that she was there, lifted his mouth from his wife's pussy and cautioned her, "Don't suck me all the way off I want to get my nuts in Margaret's pussy."
Wendy continued her cocksucking, spending more time licking than sucking to keep him from coming.
Margaret was perched on the edge of an orgasm at that moment and was not aware that her husband was getting a blow job at the same time he was chewing her pussylips and nibbling her cunt. She clutched his head to her cunt, teetering on that blissful precipice just prior to a climax. Her ass began to quiver, while Martin probed the inner walls of her velvety, spittle-slickened cunt.
"I can't stand it!" she screamed. "It's wonderful, but I can't take it! Oh, my. I never knew it could be like this! Oh, suck me, Martin! Eat my cunt! Yes, my Cunt! My beautiful cunt.Eat me, baby. I'm comiiinnng! Arrgh."
She bucked up to him, and he held her ass so that she did not lose the wonderful suction he had built up, and sucked on her juicing cunt with all his might. Her cuntlips were inside his mouth, and she felt that her pussy would collapse from the vacuum he seemed to be creating as he sucked her cunt. He felt the shudder of her orgasm, but continued sucking for several moments afterwards.
"Okay, Wendy. Now I'm going to fuck her. Thank you. For everything."
She was a bit disappointed that she could not taste the pungent liquid of his cum, but he had given her a thrilling fuck earlier, and she supposed that she had no real complaints. She patted him on the ass.
"Thank you."
He crawled forward on his knees until his thick cock contacted Margaret's pussy. She lay still on the carpet still weary from the exciting climax she had had from his tongue. But as his cock speared into her pink pussy flesh, she jerked as though an electric shock had coursed through her. She flopped under the inexorable drive of his prick, like a fish out of water. He seesawed his ass back and forth stroking her clinging flesh, bringing her more and more to life until she threw her arms about his neck and screamed out her pleasure. Each plunge brought another scream, and it wasn't long before his incessant fucking forced her to give vent to the loudest scream of all.
Wendy knew that she had gotten her rocks off then.
She got up, found her jeans and slipped them on.
Professor Wynn was still fucking his wife when Wendy eased out of the library and headed for the front door. She heard the orgasmic bellow of Margaret Wynn once more and then Martin Wynn's voice above everything.
"Shoot your jism! Ahhhhhh!"
How did the line of poetry go? No, it was better if she turned it around.
"Fuck her, Martin, not with a whimper, but with a bang."
She was asleep that night when the telephone rang.
She shook her head to clear it of cobwebs, and then answered it. It was Margaret Wynn.
"Wendy, I called to tell you something."
"Oh, what's that?"
"I want to thank you. I'm stealing a moment right now while Martin is in the bathroom cleaning his cock."
Her voice was low and conspiratorial.
"He's been fucking and sucking me all evening. I'm so glad that the speaker didn't show up. And I want to thank you. Fucking you has made a new man out of him. And most importantly a new woman out of me."
"That's great."
"Damn right it is. And in just a few minutes I'm going to go down on him."
"You'll enjoy cocksucking. Be sure and take the cum in your mouth. It's got a pleasant taste."
"I intend to. But I just wanted to tell you that I hold no ill feelings about this afternoon."
"Great."
"Just one thing."
"What's that?"
"I'd rather you weren't alone with my husband any more. I want him to save all his cum for me. He's quite a fucker."
"You can say that again," she said, remembering her many orgasms under the tutelage of his masterful prick. "He is quite a fucker."