"Oooooooh, shit, love it!" Sally groaned, as Al plunged his colossal rod into her hotly eager cunt for the third time in less than thirty minutes. He was fucking her dog-style this time and each lime he slammed forward, his big hairy balls slapped loudly against her thighs.
"Every – aaaaaaaaaaaagh! – inch, hot and heavy!" the redhead gasped, wiggling her fleshy ass with lewd delight. She could feel his boiling knob battering her to the hilt, but she was so juicy and slippery from lust it was all sexy heaven to her clasping pussy.
"Come now, now!" she begged, pumping her slit fiercely on his driving meat. Al squeezed her big ass-cheeks harshly in his fingers and reared back his head as his third load of come shot out of his bursting prick. Terrific cunt! After his fat, nagging wife Sally seemed like a Goddess with her tight, searing crack and luscious ass.
"Fraid I'm a little pooped," he confessed with a flushed face afterward. "Hard day on the girders. My wife'll be waiting for me too…"
"You don't hear me complaining," Sally told him with a wide, glowing smile. "And just in case you need another, urn, favor why don't you take my phone number, Al?"
He took it eagerly, dressed, kissed her daintily on the cheek and turned to leave, his balls tingling with happiness.
"You can send Mike up now," Sally told him.
He snapped his fingers, remembering. "Uh, thing is, Sally, I got this friend of mine down in the bar and, well, he's in worse shape than I am, you know? I mean, hornier than a bull on Spanish Fly. I was wondering…"
"Send him up," Sally said quickly, panting with new eagerness and excitement. It served that bastard Mike right anyway. He could damn well wait and sulk.
She shivered with hot anticipation as she lay back on the bed, waiting. She felt deliciously guilty, like a whore, she thought. But fucking strange men, like an obscene blind date, was tremendously exciting to her. After eight years of utterly boring sex with her indifferent husband, Sally felt intensely hot for sex, unable to get enough, not even with Mike. Her pussy was on fife, blazing away like a holocaust.
She gave her next visitor, a lean, muscles hardhat with a long thin rod, a super special blowjob the way Mike had taught her. From the wild whoops he was making, his mind was as blown as his cock.
Then he solemnly told her she had the most gorgeous tits he'd ever seen in his life, big and creamy and fantastically sexy. Would she mind very much if he fucked her in the tits?
The divorcee panted lasciviously as he mounted her breasts, and she massaged their satiny fat heat around his bristling prick until his knob spurted out with a great white flood. Moaning hungrily, the redhead grasped it in her mouth and greedily gulped it down.
When he started to get dressed, Sally said, "Mike isn't even down in that bar, is he?"
He blinked his eyes at her. Who in the hell was Mike? "Guess not," he said, shrugging. "But the fact is, ma'am, I've got this friend of mine, and he's…"
"He's about to cream in his pants," Sally said with sudden rage. That sonofabitch Mike! He'd set her up like a common whore! Of all the lowdown rotten tricks.
Seeing the look blazing in her eyes, the construction worker moved quickly toward the safety of the door.
"Wait," she said. She licked tier lips. "Send him up, but make sure he's got a bottle of gin."
"Right away," the hardhat said, and got out quickly. He tipped his hat to the desk-clerk as he passed, who eyed him suspiciously.
"Just a minute," the clerk said, a fat man with a sour expression. "What's going on up in three-oh-six?"
The hardhat came back to the desk and leaned close. "Dancin' lessons," he said gravely. "I just learned how to fox-trot myself. Friend of mine's gonna learn how to rhumba in a couple minutes."
The clerk looked indignant. "We don't allow that sort of thing in this establishment…"
"Is the room paid for?" the lean construction man said coldly. The clerk nodded, swallowing hard. They were a rough crew next door. One night they'd wrecked the bar, just for exercise.
"Then you got no complaints," the hardhat said. He looked contemptuously around the seedy lobby. "This place is a wreck already, but it could get worse. Know what I mean?"
"Dancing lessons," the clerk said quickly. "Fine with me."
"Send you over a couple shots," the hardhat said, clapping him so hard on the shoulder he almost fell down. "Too bad you can't get it up any more, buddy. She really knows how to dance."
Upstairs, Sally still seethed with rage over Mike, but she couldn't deny the throbbing glow of contentment in her pussy and mouth either. She told herself she might as well make a party out of it, get good and drunk and let her hair down completely for a change.
In three hours Sally took on seven more brawny men, the liquor firing up her passion to an insatiable fever. She fucked and heaved and thrashed beneath an assortment of hard pricks, until she lay back sweating with exhaustion, her strenuous screwing keeping her halfway sober in spite of the gin.
She didn't know if she'd ever make up for those eight lost, bleak years of a nearly sexless marriage, but she'd valiantly tried in one night. And instead of feeling ashamed, she felt exhilarated.
So Mike had jilted her. So what? She'd just discovered he didn't have the only huge cock in town, and in fact one of the studs had come four times in succession, sparking her to claw his back so deliriously it looked a road-map of lust.
And one of the men, a bachelor, had asked her out for dinner the next night, not the slightest bit fazed by the assembly line she'd taken on.
But even if he got serious about her, Sally had no intention of marrying again, not for a long time. She'd screwed nine men in the past few hours and that, the hot-blooded divorcee told herself, was just for starters.
Sally dressed slowly, doing some rapid mental calculations. She'd worked as a bookkeeper for five years, and by the time she was fully dressed, she had the fingers accurately compiled in her mind.
Her husband had fucked her an average of two and one-half times per week for eight years, which worked out to nine hundred, twelve and a half lays, or just a little over a hundred a year. With the same dreary prick and hasty selfishness.
If she'd gotten screwed every night during that eight-year period, she would have been fucked two thousand, nine hundred and twenty times.
The passionate divorcee therefore calculated she was owed two thousand, eight and one-half lays for lost time.
And she fiercely intended to collect every one of them as quickly as possible…
CHAPTER SIX
Linda knew.
Mike didn't know she knew and Terry, wasn't aware of anything except Mike at the dinner table, didn't know she knew, but the frantic blonde knew with devastating certainty that Mike was screwing her little sister.
From the way Mike avoided looking at sexy little Terry, and from the unashamed way Terry was eating him up with her eyes, giggling and gushing and practically coming all over herself at the table, Linda knew they'd made it, probably a hot lustful fury that went on for hours.
Linda grasped the fact with a rising fear and an eerie, obscene excitement. She couldn't compete with Terry's youth or eighteen-year-old budding sexiness and she knew it.
And she sensed that her husband wasn't just fucking Terry, but that he was obsessed with her. She could feel the smoldering sex-tension between them like an electric current.
Her own Goddamn greedy little sister was stealing her husband away from her, Linda realized with panic. He was drooling at her now from the corner of his eye, and probably had a gigantic hard-on beneath the table.
If she could get Terry alone in the house for a while she could get tough with her and force her to go back to San Francisco. But she didn't dare force the issue with Mike there. Suppose he preferred Terry's juicy little cunt to hers right now – and let her know it?