Cheating Wife Jim sighed and flicked off the television set. He knew that Dawn wasn't primarily concerned with sleep. She probably wanted to fuck tonight and he just wasn't in the mood for it. He hadn't been in the mood for it ever since he'd gotten laid off a week ago. He went into the bathroom and washed his face. He knew what was wrong with him. He just didn't feel like a man anymore. A man ought to be able to support his wife and he didn't even have a prospect for a new job. He rubbed his limp cock with his fingers and tried to get it hard. He knew that if he didn't fuck Dawn tonight, she'd really be upset. It had been a whole week since he touched her. Jim jerked his uncooperative cock up and down fiercely. He tried to think of something sexy. He touched his balls with his other hand and concentrated on thinking about Dawn's nice pink pussy. That was better. His cock was beginning to come to life again. Dawn had a nice hot pussy and he used to love to fuck it. She wasn't as wild as the girls in the sexy stories he read, but she was sweet enough for a wife.
Dealing In Adultery Her mouth opened wide to admit my searching tongue. It found her own tongue and began licking it. I reached for the roof of her mouth, then ran my tongue along her gums, and she shivered and shook, and clung to me all the more tenaciously. We walked across the room still kissing, and sat together on my wide couch. My entire frame thrilled to the warm touch of her skin on mine. Her breasts under her blouse, small as they were, pressed themselves against me, and I could feel her vibrant warmth. Between kisses I felt her soft breath caress my face, and knew I hadn't been wrong in the way I'd sized her up. She whispered sweet nothings softly into my ear as I pulled her blouse loose from inside her slacks. I could feel her naked belly now, and its touch electrified me. There was something extremely sensuous about her entire body. She twisted her legs around one of mine, rubbing her groin against my thigh. She began getting me all fired up. "All right," she whispered. "I accept your terms. Make love to me."
Degraded Husband The tall, statuesque creature unhooked one garter and let the strap fly free. Then, she did the same with the other so that both stockings rested against her upper thigh free of constraints. Then, with one deft hand, she began unrolling one down, down, down. Then, she reached up and did the same with the other. Slowly, tauntingly. As her luscious white thighs came into view, her bare smooth flanks, Ned had to get a grip on himself. This was the real thing. The blonde must have been putting him on. This couldn't possibly be her husband. Or any man. It had to be a girlfriend, a sister, maybe a lesbian lover. But no man. No man could possibly have such sensual, electric thighs. Such endless, curving legs. He wanted to wrap them around him like two pythons and die in crushing ecstasy. But his attention was diverted by the little blonde slut. She had found his bulge and she was pressing her hand hard into it. The tall black-haired Amazon continued her little strip-tease. Ned watched. Watched and salivated.
Driving Daisy Crazy Three large female figures, black leather hoods covering the upper part of their faces, leaving only chins and mouths exposed, their breasts enormous, menacing warheads, pushed up and out by their tight leather corsets which exaggerate their hourglass figures, the dark triangles of their bushes framed by the black garterbelts, their straps, and the tops of the black mesh stockings that encase their long, shapely legs, from broad thigh to slender ankles, their lower legs encased in spike-heeled, black leather boots. And there in the dimness of the master bedroom of Cynthia's penthouse, lamp bulbs turned to the dimmest setting, the moonlight streaming in through the skylight the major source of illumination, yes, yes indeed it is possible to believe in that dark nether world, so terrifying and yet, at the same time, so voluptuous, so enticing. They strut around, three awesome female presences, exotically clothed, erotically exposed. Because, from the rear, the twin roundnesses of their buttocks, their flared hips seem to invite, seem to say, "Approach if you dare!"
Eat Out With His Wife Misty Morgan rolled a golden curl of her blonde hair around a finger and sighed. She stared blankly at the television and crossed her long, sexy legs. The twenty-six-year-old curvaceous blonde was bored, and she was damn tired of it! "Charlie!" she yelled. "You gonna be in there eating all night?" Charlie Morgan, her husband of eight years, poked his head into the den while reaching back to turn off the kitchen light. His mouth was full and working to chew the last of the sandwich he'd just stuffed into his mouth. "Haven't eaten all day," he murmured, gulping his food and strolling into the den. "Give me a break!" Misty glanced up at him and managed a sexy, pouty smirk. She let the folds of her robe part to reveal her luscious, naked legs as she winked. "I've got something nice and sweet you can eat," she purred. "Remember how you used to stuff yourself with my pussy?" The dark-haired, thirty-year-old man beamed a patient smile. He reached down and lazily fingered one of his wife's large tits through her robe. He wiggled his finger and parted the top fold of the robe, exposing her lush tit-melons.
Faculty Free For All Alicia Gray threw her horn-rimmed glasses on the table and shrugged out of the modest, one piece gray dress she was wearing. She stood in front of the mirror and took the pins out of her long, red hair which was tightly pulled into a bun on top of her head, and let it fail in a cascading copper ripple. "What a fucking bore!" she groaned, unclasping the tight bra she was wearing and letting her luscious tits swing free the way they used to do when she and Pete were living in Los Angeles. Having disposed of her straight, school-marm disguise, Alicia looked just like the kind of girl she really was, wild and uninhibited. The disguise was a necessary part of her life though, since she and Pete had been hired to teach at Peaceful Valley, the private boarding school for young ladies and gentlemen of distinction. Alicia didn't bother to slip into a robe. She walked naked to the broom closet and took out a fifth of gin, carefully hidden under a bucket of cleaning supplies. Vermouth was next and then a tall shaker, designed expressly for mixing the martinis she and Pete loved so well. In less than a minute, Alicia was spread out on the couch sipping her first martini of the day. She finished it quickly, poured another and then rubbed her tits to try to take away some of the soreness the tight bra had caused.
Four To A Bed Harry Pitt stared at the large color print in his hand, unable to take his eyes off the coolly smiling face of the beautiful woman depicted in it. It was an exceptionally good photograph, perfectly in focus, and Harry felt a tremor of thrilling excitement shoot unwillingly through him as his avid gaze continued to devour the sultry lines of the woman's exquisitely sculpted body. She was wearing a plain woolen dress, which at first glance seemed. somewhat prim, but as Harry continued to stare, the molded curve of her voluptuous breasts was revealed by the tight fit of her garment which also swept snugly along the arc of her hips, displaying to undoubted advantage the enticing flare of her thighs. Her glossy black hair was piled high on her head and her lips were slightly parted in a provocative smile. "She's really something isn't she?" Jeff's voice broke in on Harry's reverie, and he turned to look at his companion, feeling a stab of envy tugging at his stomach at the recollection that the glorious creature in the photograph was the other man's wife. "Y-yes, she is," he mumbled, reluctantly handing back the alluring snapshot. "Yes," Jeff went on, replacing the print in his large wallet. "My Ann's quite a girl. Six years of Wedded Bliss, as they call it, and I'm still as crazy about her as ever! And let me tell you," he added, wheeling around to face the younger man again, "it's not an easy job keeping Jeff Green interested!
Getting Hubby Promoted Tom Parker sighed with impatience, looked around the luxuriously decorated living room of the small resort cottage, and then lowered his tall, muscular frame into an armchair in the corner of the room, watching as his wife opened their suitcases and began to unpack. Tom's throat was parched after their long drive to Hidden Valley Resort, and he was really looking forward to that drink. His wife had been frustratingly disagreeable the whole trip, and this last bit of petulance only served to increase Tom's own irritation. He would have much preferred to leave his young wife at home for this week's trip, after all, it was supposed to be a business conference but Harry Sommers, Tom's boss, had insisted that he bring Jill along and there had been nothing he could do. It was going to be a terrible week, Tom decided, and that unpleasant thought made him get up from the armchair and begin to pace the room impatiently. "Look, Jill, it's hot as hell in here. We'll turn on the air conditioning, and by the time we get back, this place will be bearable." "I'd rather get it done now, Tom," said Jill, in a tone that clearly showed her own impatience. "But we agreed that before we did any unpacking, we'd go down to the bar. . ." Tom began with overbearing exaggeration.
Her Velvet Throat 'My name is Gloria Saunders and you are ... ' 'Bob.' 'You could help me a lot,' she smiled. 'With all these places and the lawns ... I just can't do it all by myself.' 'I'd like that. See, I'm saving money for college.' "Studying her was turning me on again. Her beautiful, round breasts pushed the white material in her blouse while her micro-miniskirt showed off her legs to full advantage. 'I can teach you a lot of things ... ' 'Yes,' I chuckled. 'About the apartment house business,' she said sternly. 'And the massage business? You gonna' give treatments like old Doc did?'
Horny To Bed Wife Jim would be home soon, but meanwhile she could fantasize about him. She rubbed her palms over her large cone-shaped red nipples and felt them go stiff and throbbing. When her nipples were fully erect, she ran her hands down to her dark triangular bush and pressed the pouting mound beneath. Hot cream leaked from the mouth of her hungry twat. She'd been feeling so horny lately, but never more horny than tonight. She and Jim just hadn't found much time for fucking the last couple of months. Sally was a registered nurse, Jim was a doctor, and often their heavy schedules interfered with their sex life. Tonight Sally hoped they could make up for lost time. She was way overdue for a long hard fuck. She slid off the bed and strolled over to the full-length bedroom mirror. It reflected a lovely young woman of twenty-six, tall, with shining brown hair that fell below her shoulders. She had a slender but curvy body, great long legs, and large tits that thrust out firmly. Sally knew she was a very sexy lady. She just wished Jim appreciated that fact a little more. Maybe after seven years the magic was going out of their marriage.
Hot & Horny Weekend Laura Wilson sat low in the steaming tub, letting the hot water whirlpool in the hidden crevices of her voluptuous young body. She blew playfully at the mounds of bubbles and scooped them up in her cupped hands, building small twin peaks on the dark brown areolas of her breasts, and then blowing them into hundreds of small translucent balls that crackled and popped furiously around her. Stretching her smooth arms up above her head and stiffening her long, well-formed legs against the front of the tub, she raised her slim body halfway out of the water, and allowed it to run in small rivers down along the enticing lines of her soft young body. Her skin stretched tautly against her rib cage, further accentuating the curves that ran from her proud shoulders down to the slight jut of her pelvis that pointed out softly near the crest of her slender hips. At twenty seven, Laura had lost none of the youthful and desirable form she had acquired as a teenager. Her body had kept its shape with exercise on the tennis courts or in swimming pools, and her face was still brightened by the same innocent excitement and exuberance that provided the cornerstone to her beauty. She had much to be proud of, and she was aware of that fact with an unpretentious satisfaction that showed in the way she moved and carried herself.
Hot Bed Brides Ken Tate pushed himself away from his typewriter and went to the front window. He had had enough of writing for one day. His latest spy thriller was going well. He was pleased. With any luck, he'd have it off to the publishers in another couple of weeks. Right now, Tate had no heart left for spy plots and secret weapons and bodies in alleys. His thoughts were turning to fair damsels, and the building distress in his aching balls. His wife Annie would be home soon. Tate had plans for her. Just the thought of her lush young body jerked his cock up to half-mast inside his pants. Tate would be forty-five next birthday. He was in the midst of respectable middle-age. The big muscular writer congratulated himself on the zest for life that had kept him free of the chains that usually went with his age... a nagging, middle-aged wife, screaming kids; a mortgaged house; headaches and more headaches. Instead of wallowing in misery, Tate was looking forward to the return home of his beautiful nineteen-year-old wife. Annie was in college, and she was always bursting with energy and ideas when she got home from school. He enjoyed listening to her. She was so lovely, with her flushed pink cheeks, her sparkling eyes, her bubbly personality that kept Tate thinking young. Tate considered himself a very lucky man.
Hot Wives "So I said, 'Sure, stud, let's fuck.' I'd had all sorts of men before but never a black." "Is . . . is it true?" asked Cassie, from across the bridge table, putting her cards down in front of her. "I mean, about how black guys are really well hung?" Her voice was scarcely a whisper but it sounded like cannon-fire to the aroused Eleanor. Her fingers slipped under the table, her cards forgotten. She had to get to the source of her discomfort. She lifted the hem of her skirt and rapidly sought out the juicy quagmire of her cunt. The fingers slid in easily, the frothy pussy fluids already doing their job of lubrication. She shuddered hard as she heard more of Vicki's provocative words. "Not really. I mean, God, he had a dork on him that was a good nine inches long." She held up her hands to indicate exactly how long the man's cock had been. "But he didn't know how to use his cock. He was about average, even with that lovely tasty prick of his." "Tasty?" asked the fourth at the bridge game. Jet-haired Mara was visibly sweating. The others didn't notice that her hand had vanished under the table, too, and that a rhythmic squishing noise emerged from the area of her crotch. They were too engrossed in Vicki's tale.
Housewife Hooker "I've finally figured out what's wrong with you," her husband leered, his handsome face set in a grim look of cold contempt. "You're frigid!" Claire gasped as the ugly accusation penetrated her consciousness: he might as well have struck her! Then her shocked sense of bewilderment and hurt changed to anger. How dare he! she thought indignantly. Frigid! For an instant, the possibility that it might be true nagged at the back of her mind like an unpleasant, half-forgotten memory. In simple self-defense, her ego thrust the horrible thought aside by giving her sudden surge of resentment full play. She hated Donald and felt extremely sorry for herself. Her husband was so insensitive—so cold and unfeeling. And he had the nerve to call her frigid! What a nasty, cruel thing to say at any time—let alone right after they'd made love (if you could call it that!), when she could still feel his warm, sticky semen in her cunt! It was disgusting, really, and all his fault—she'd planned this little seduction so carefully all day, and now he'd ruined it for her with his coarse selfishness. Well, what else was new? It wasn't the first time he'd made it only too clear to her that he wished he'd never married her, that he thought of their marriage as a mistake, a mere convenience and one that was getting less valuable all the time. Their sex life was a disaster and it deteriorated even further every time they went through the empty motions of lovemaking, which wasn't often lately. She'd been a fool to hope that tonight could be any different.
Katie's Pain Lesson Jason came breezing into my life exactly two months into my freshman year at State. When John, my date for the evening, introduced me to Jason I all but drooled. I was really quite pathetic. My mouth dropped open and I'm sure my tongue was hanging out during the introduction. Not quite an auspicious beginning. But if you saw Jason (and if you were female, too, or even a segment of the male population too) I'm sure you would understand. Jason stands six-five. Has light brown hair with golden streaks from the sun. Wide, and I mean, wide shoulders, rippled chest and stomach, narrow hips and legs that look like Gothic columns. Eyes a shade of blue that anyone would kill for. A firm, square face complete with a dented chin and dimples. God, what a hunk and a half.
Leather Slut Jordan Richardson had been the envy of every class she'd been in practically since kindergarten. She was always the most beautiful, the most popular, the most fashionable and, of course, the richest. She'd learned to exploit that beauty long before she hit puberty. When she did begin to develop, she found she could use and manipulate people in even more interesting ways, especially men. Of course, it helped that nature was so generous with her, turning her from a beautiful child, to a beautiful, and well-built young woman with hardly a twinge along the way. She had luxuriously long, golden blonde hair that framed a child-like, wide-eyed, innocent little round face. Her eyes were big and blue and as deep as the ocean. Her nose was a tiny button, her mouth small, her lips full, her teeth perfect. She was not tall, the only thing she could have wished for that nature hadn't granted her. Still, at five feet six she wasn't really short either. And the rest of her body was perfection. From the tips of her pretty little toes, up her long, smoothly tapered, perfectly contoured legs, along her hourglass body to her soft round shoulders, she was a walking wet dream. Her backside was round and firm. In that way it was much like her full, firm breasts, which sat high atop her chest like two ivory melons. Some had accused her of plastic surgery, not believing that real breasts could be so utterly perfect in size and shape and firmness.
Skin-Flick Slut I looked down sheepishly; Phil kept leering at me from behind the desk. He was making me really nervous; I was quite used to being leered at, but this time it was a guy offering me a job. Not that he was bad looking - on the contrary, he was pretty gorgeous and had a nice body, and looked great in that casual suit, I'd been attracted to him from the second I walked into the room. But he was being really obvious about it; I could tell he wanted me to know that he approved of me. He let his eyes slide over my body from top to bottom, starting at my ankles and running slowly up my bare legs - I usually don't wear pantyhose to interviews. Then, he'd slowly stroke my upper thighs with his gaze, making sure I was watching as he examined my pale, bare flesh. I crossed and uncrossed my legs nervously, feeling my thighs rub sensuously together; every time I did, I could see him trying in vain to get a glimpse of my skirt. I was wearing the shortest decent skirt I owned; I always wore it to interviews because I knew what kind of effect it had on the interviewers. It was made out of thin, clingy silky material so that it showed a lot of the outline of my upper thighs - and occasionally when I walked it would sway up dangerously close to my buttocks. But for now I was sitting down, and Phil couldn't see a thing. I had to admit, though, it sort of turned me on to have this good-looking guy trying to get a glance up my skirt. After stroking my pretty ass as it pressed against the seat, Phil would look slowly over my midriff and my breasts, which stretched out through this tight Oxford shirt. He'd examine them closely, making my nipples feel all tingly as he looked; I could feel them getting hard after a while and knew that he had noticed from the tiny smile he gave me. My erect nipples stretched through the Oxford shirt and my thin, lacy bra underneath; Phil leered at them and I didn't doubt he was wondering what they felt like. Then, he looked over the slope of my cleavage, which bulged out from the shirt which I always left open as far as I could.
The Next Door Couple Medoc Circle is a street like many others in the better class suburbs of Southern California, and, if any street could be called typical of the affluent middle class America, the little cul-de-sac would qualify. The clean split-level homes and their well-manicured lawns reflected the personality of the clean and well-manicured people who lived within them. The Stanleys, Joan and John, lived at 1503 Medoc Circle. Next door at 1505 were Bill and Laurie Kent. Like the furnishings in their houses, the two couples differed. At twenty-seven, Joan Stanley was a breathtakingly sensual platinum blonde whose tall svelte figure turned the heads of men and woman alike. John, her ruggedly handsome husband had a wild thatch of straw-colored hair and a dark tan which reflected his days spent at the harbor as a yacht broker. They were, as practically everyone would testify, happily married and well adjusted emotionally, sexually and all other ways of importance. In contrast to Joan's stunning blondness, Laurie Kent was a petite twenty two year old redhead with green eyes, a pert turned-up nose that was bridged by a rainbow of freckles and a sweetheart face. The vivacious little redhead, in turn, presented a wild contrast to her staid twenty-five year old husband Bill who was -much to her dismay - almost the perfect specimen of the no-nonsense public accountant.
The Swappers Next Door Liv Adams mixed herself a stiff drink. She flopped down in the new living room chair and propped her long, tanned legs up on a stool. Then she looked down at her full, curvy figure and sighed. Liv had on a new, sexy nightgown. It barely covered the rosy hard nipples of her thrusting titties. Liv knew that she looked good enough to eat. It hadn't made any difference though. Jim had passed out right after he came home from the office, three hours late again, as usual. It didn't do any good to get dressed up for Jim. He was more interested in the bottom of a bottle of scotch than he was in her lush curves. Liv sighed angrily. She heard her husband's snores coming from the bedroom. She had been hot all day. She thought that Jim would fuck her for sure when she planned their evening. She had the drinks mixed on time and she waited in her sexy nightgown. Nothing had worked out the way she had planned it though. Jim had come straight home and flopped on the bed. Liv tasted her drink and shivered slightly. Her pussy rubbed against the silky material of the gown and she shivered again. She was burning up with lust. She just had to do something to get Jim to fuck her. It had been two weeks since he had touched her. A smile flashed across Liv's face. There was only one thing she hadn't tried. She had nothing to lose.
The Wife Next Door The effect of his fantasy on his penis was impressive. It began to grow and throb under his bathrobe. Part of a day off for Sam was to sit around in his old robe, all day if he felt like it. It felt sexy to have his prick so close at hand. All he had to do was reach inside the fold of his robe While he caressed his cock gently, he watched Helen reach up to scrub the cupboards over the counter. The effort made her full breasts stand out invitingly and emphasized the long graceful sweep of her shapely legs. Helen was a tall woman, almost six feet. She was a good two inches taller than Sam. That was the way he liked his women-a good, substantial handful. Besides, he always joked with his friends, it made it a lot easier to fuck standing up when the woman was taller than the guy. Sam began to fantasize pushing Helen against the fridge, pulling down her shorts and screwing her with her sponge still in her hand. His cock was feeling better and better. It had reached its full length and girth. It was getting impatient for some warm, wet action. "What's going on in that mischievous head of yours?" Helen called back over her shoulder. "I don't trust you when you it so quiet." Her long thick red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. It bobbed saucily as she scrubbed.
Two Wives Want It Samantha Rainey whipped open her house dress and held it open for Vanessa Francis to see her new string bikini. It was yellow, consisting of triangular patches that were close to being overwhelmed by Samantha's hefty tits, and she had to have a dainty cunt indeed to keep it hidden behind what passed for panties. Vanessa's jaw dropped and her eyes widened, and she fairly gasped, "Samantha, you shameless thing." Samantha smiled brightly. "Impressed, huh?" The two women were in Vanessa's living room. She had invited Samantha over for some sun, some wine and some conversation. It was something they had done before -- leave it to Samantha to lift it out of the ordinary. Vanessa watched as Samantha shrugged the dress from her square shoulders and posed to offer a rear and side view. Mother of two teenagers be damned, she was one fine-looking woman. She could have passed for a lush, ripe thirty, if not better.
Up & Cocky I hadn't even finished my morning coffee-hadn't even gotten the sleepy seeds out of my tired eyes-when Eunice bent over. My lids shot straight up, my cock shot straight up and my brain went to Jell-O. 9:15 at the advertising agent and I, Harold Cranshaw, Creative Supervisor of the Nugget Cereals account, was quivering with horniness. I suppose there's a special way a gal is supposed to bend down when eyes are present. Usually on one knee, so whatever material is on the backside stays on the backside. But with my half finished coffee in hand, I had just groggily rounded the corner of the hallway, so she didn't see me. She had dropped a piece of paper and bent over to get it. The vision was unfairly quick. But it was glorious. Her short, brown leather skirt rose up above her panty line. The frilled panties were tight and white and instead of covering the moons of her cheeks, the nylon was stretched in the crack between them. From five feet away I made out a hint of dark hair from the center of her ass. Her double globes were pure white, perfectly round. Just enough jiggle in them to insure me of their soft, cushiony, squeezability. And tapering down from her ass, a pair of long, curvy, statuesque legs that I could already feel entwined around my sweaty body as I did the daylights out of her. If Eunice was just any girl, a skipped heartbeat and a little cock twinge would have sufficed. But Eunice was special. She was one of the agency "untouchables."
Wealthy Depraved Bitch Joanna Grant gazed at the reflection of her breasts in the stateroom mirror. They were full, firm and high-set. Standing naked as she was in front of the make-up shelf, the thin strip of glass screwed to the paneled wall showed her only the image of her body from shoulder to waist. But the close-up view served to emphasize the taut, voluptuous outlines of her most photogenic feature and the wide separation between them. She stared a few seconds more at the twin mounds of ripely swelling flesh and the rose-pink nipples at their tips, and then she stepped across the cabin and opened the closet door beyond the bed. In the full-length minor fixed to its inner side, she could see the whole of herself: the slender, tapering legs, the flat curve of her belly with its triangle of fair pubic hair, the soft hollow of her waist, her head with the blonde hair tumbling about her shoulders . . . and of course those breasts. Her face wasn't bad, she supposed, with its wide blue eyes, straight nose and generous mouth. But it wasn't for that that she was so much in demand by the advertising agencies in Southern California: it was the contours she gave to sweaters and shirts and swimsuits that made her one of the most popular photographic models in the state. Joanna cupped her hands under her breasts and scrutinized them again. She was lucky --- no matter what she did, they never lost their firmness or their shape. People had tried to persuade her to pose for different kinds of pictures, of course. Girlie magazines and calendars for tired businessmen. But she wasn't going to allow her body to be lusted over by every lecher on the coast. Bob would never stand for it anyway.
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