Her one bare breast, with its jutting cone of nipple and engorged areola, needed attention. She plucked at Phil's free hand and brought it to the hot cap. The warmth of his palm made the livid swelling pulse excitedly.
They had done their sex backwards, she thought, first her clit, then her tittie. And now a kiss?
Yes. She nuzzled down to Phil's mouth and licked it open. She felt the strong meatiness of his tongue respond, and she sucked it to her throat.
The kiss did not last long. She was too short of breath.
He whispered, "Susie, we're going to fuck, huh?"
She, squeezing his horny prick, responded on impulse.
"Yes, Phil! Of course we will!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Susie was blushing furiously, hiding from his gaze in another deep tongue kiss.
That quickly she had agreed to take his organ up her love hole! Wow! Susie, Susie! Unfaithful wife? But be sensible, Susie, it's no more an infidelity than what you're doing, massaging his horny organ while he twiddles your clit.
Having put that from her mind, the question remaining was her own body's state of receptivity. The wet pulls of her vagina did feel eager, and she wondered how long that had been going on.
She kissed her way to Phil's ear and whispered, "When you were kissing my behind you said my love hole was blinking at you."
"Like a fish mouth gulping and blowing."
She giggled, picturing that pink ring sucking in and pushing out, but her giggle broke off when she felt it actually happen, quite hard pulls and squirty pushes.
Goodness!
She looked down at her hand in his panties and knew how it had to be. She brought in the other hand and pushed the panties down his hips, stretching them out over the rigid prong, revealing it as red as fire, awesomely naked, an upcurved stalk bearing that splendid big purple-red swollen fruit.
Like this. Rising off her stool she grasped his shoulders, levered up, climbed one leg at a time over his thighs, and when her hairy pussy was poised over the fat, turgid plum of a cockhead, she began lowering onto it.
She could see her livid clit standing up out of its red notch.
Hands still on his shoulders, she maneuvered her middle body toward the cap of his penis. Her gulping hole felt so huge that she thought anywhere they met she would simply swallow him. But inexperience caused her anus to bump the spongy head, which gave a rather nice little thrill, but she moved, pressured here and there until, wow, her inner lips squished on the fat knob, and by lowering an inch she had the pulsing thing squeezed into the mouth of her love hole.
"Baby!" Phil gasped. "Like honey melting all over my cockhead!"
Crouched over him, she stilled, studying the slow, suck-like workings of her vaginal mouth, gulps, which were erratically punctuated by the throbs of the plushy knob to which her vulval lips clung so squashily.
"Like a fish mouth!" he exclaimed.
She realized that many men would not let a woman mount them in this fashion, Brian for sure, but Phil seemed to love it. They had been, she thought, like small children exploring a world reborn, in which neither sex had a role to play. Certainly she had no feeling of dominating Phil, was sitting on his cockhead simply because their position on facing stools had made this the quickest way of filling her hole.
She sank down, gasping at each hard pulsing of his prick, feeling her sphincter clutch and suck his rigid stem instead of the compressible head.
With several inches of it up her vagina she paused and screwed about, stirring her insides on soft-capped rigid prick. Luscious! She looked down and saw how near her clit was to his loins. The thorny growth felt unbearably hot. When it pressed him and she moved about, her cum would surely be triggered. She wanted to delay that, take her time evaluating the fit of his cock to her sucking sheath.
But now she felt his hands behind, clenching her cheeks and drawing her to him.
He choked, "Susie, we've played too long, my load is about to shoot."
And liquid flows were racing up and down her vagina, hotter and hotter, audibly sucking the stiff phallus.
So she sank downward, hipping about, rotating herself on the burning staff until her clit pressed his hairy pubes and like a tiny firecracker bursting she got a preliminary cum, a spasm that fluttered her belly.
She was seated on his thighs squeezing to him, absolutely full of throbbing cock.
"Oh-hh, Phil!" she moaned.
"Baby, you're an oven burning my prick!"
She grasped his arms, tugged them around, his hands on her swollen tits.
He gave a squeeze and her cum started, a swirling flow of heat from each breast meeting halfway down and boiling through her vagina.
He humped, raising her, driving the big cockhead to the very limits of her cuntal pocket.
She heard herself shriek louder than his groan of release.
She rose on the fountain spurting inside her, the creamy milks squirting her full. Then she went wild, hammering on him, hip-jerking up and down, bouncing like a pogo stick, lifting until the spitting cock almost escaped her cunt, but capturing it as it shot his charge up her hole.
Her cum was like great fists clenching together, gripping so hard that they shrank to one, fingers merging, all of it smaller, down to the size of a knuckle that then exploded.
She saw stars flame and she was a tunnel housing a racing locomotive, though its plunge was no less fierce than her sucking of it.
She had fallen, her arms hung over Phil's shoulders, limp, arms like emptied sacks.
She was crying and smiling and gooshing all over Phil's loins, each cuntal spasm releasing more of her juices mixed with his cockspew.
Her cum ebbed but she did not move for his cock remained a stiff pillar on which she was impaled, which her vagina still hugged and laved with its juices and sucked with shameful eagerness.
In a daze she let Phil take her to a john where she squatted and let their sex gook spill into the bowl.
She was still cumming, she knew, blushing and smiling rapturously each time Phil caressed her cheek or kissed her forehead or she squeezed his hand.
Then she watched Phil standing on tiptoe at the sink, washing his cock and balls. She, squatting on the john, was so reduced to mere flesh that when the urge to pee came over her she just let go.
As her urine spattered in the bowl, Phil said, "That Kashmir Karma is diuretic, makes you piss."
"Apparently," she murmured, elbows on knees now, chin in hands, listening to the sizzling spatter of pee and the splashes as Phil washed his genitals. She felt a terrible, aching contentment, a well-being so profound that she was afraid to move a muscle for fear of flipping the coin to what had to be an ugly side. Tears were running down her cheeks, a happy weeping. Here she squatted, down in the toilet bowl her cunt winged wide open, pee-hole spitting and vagina dripping, loose and slobbery and so happy she was crying.
She knew she had to leave to present her new being, this reborn Susie, to the acid test of reality in her house.
Phil did not ask about her tears. He kissed them, said, "I'll be in the library if you want me."
She nodded, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand, and then was alone.
Who was alone? Susie the wood nymph who had drunk Kashmir Karma and had swung on jiji and then fucked with Phil, or Susie the doormat of husband Brian?
When she had recovered her strength she went silently to the wardrobe, hung up her tunic, put on her clothes except for panties – she had to douche out, no use spilling muck in the panty crotch – and went silently out of the house.
At home, in her kitchen, she heard the phone ringing.