Chapter 2

"My face is up here, my friend."

He blushed; it would be the first of many blushes. Rough, tough, worldly, he was still a gentleman, and when circumstances required it, the blood would rush to his face, telling the world that he wished for the moment that he could find a hole somewhere and crawl into it.

"I'm sorry, Adrian, it's just that..."

His voice trailed off. He couldn't think of the right words to use to tell me that he was enjoying himself staring at my tits. I chose not to tell him how much I enjoyed that myself, the idea that my body would excite almost every man who looked at it. Except, I guess, for fucking Richie, who preferred the cunt next door.

Brad had just described himself as an orphan. In reality, he had told me only minutes earlier that his parents had lived to see him married off and having children, so I knew that he wasn't claiming to be a waif from an orphanage. What he was saying that he felt sad and lonely, and at that moment I started to fall in love with him, even though he had not yet even propositioned me. I wanted to lean across the table and pull his head to my welcoming breasts.

But it wasn't until a half hour later, after what I suspected were several false starts, that he got to the point.

"I'd like to make love to you."

I faked it, making believe that the comment had caught me by surprise. Then,

"That would be nice."

Having an affair with a married man was something new to me. I did the usual fucking in college, even a little bit in high school, but they were all spur of the moment bone-jumping. I never cheated on Richie, unless you consider an occasional date after I threw him out to be cheating; I think not. But even those were 'let's do it' things, without planning.

Only with Brad, it took three days before our schedules lined up for a quickie. I had to pick him up after lunch and drive him to a motel alongside the parkway. As we drove in, my heart sank. It was tired looking, clearly a welfare motel, earning a living from the county by housing the homeless. As he walked into the office to rent a room, I briefly fought, and overcame, my desire to just drive away.

The room was sparse but definitely clean. Too clean almost, with that sanitary odor, but we were there to... what? Were we going to fuck, or were we planning to make love? I didn't know the answer for him, nor even for me. Single myself, I didn't care if he had a wife, but a girl needs to get laid every so often. Yet something inside me told me to hope that we would be actually making love even as we fucked.

As we kissed softly, his hands began to pull my sweater off over my head. He bent to kiss my cleavage while his hands kneaded my 38s. My hand held his head to me as I twisted my other hand back to unhook my bra.

"Shit!"

"I'll do that for you, Adrian."

And he did, helping my bra fall to the floor while his lips stayed between the two orbs. And when he moved them, all they did was kiss my nips, without sucking. He held my ass with one hand while with the other he fumbled with the side zipper of my skirt, finally getting it open and letting gravity take it to the well worn carpeting.

For my part, I began to open his belt, but he didn't seem to want my help. He led me gently backwards toward the bed and guided me down onto it, not even bothering to pull down the covers. As I lay there, spread-eagled for his inspection, covered only with damp-spotted lavender panties, he stepped back and began to remove his own clothing, all the way staring at my face. Not at my tits, not at my panties, just at my face.

His jacket, tie, shirt, hit the thread-bare couch, then he leaned against the wall to remove his shoes and socks. I jumped off the bed to remove the covers while he folded his slacks neatly. My eyes caught the black bikini briefs he had on, and my fingers reached into the waistband to begin to shed my own.

"Don't, Adrian; I'll do that."

Sure, why not? Its always more exciting for someone else to remove my panties, to expose my swollen labia to his eyes.

But first he got onto the bed next to me. We kissed, softly; tongues flicked, but without battle. Our groins rubbed, silk against smooth silk, smooth except for that extraordinary bump in his shorts. His hand slid into my panties, his fingers entwining among the blonde cunt hairs. I had spent three days trying to decide whether or not to shave my pussy, ala Nancy; I never did decide, which meant that I didn't. One solitary finger reached through the dampness toward my clit as his lips fastened on alternating nipples.

Oh, Brad, Brad, how I wish I had milk to give you.

I began to roll his shorts down, without opposition. When they got to that barricade, that stick of meat protruding toward me, I reached in and, sight unseen, took and lifted that cock out of his shorts. Comparing it to the useless piece of meat hanging between Richie's legs, Brad's felt longer, fatter, but when I looked, it was the same.

They're all the same; it's just how he uses it that counts.

I bent to kiss it, not thinking that it might inspire him to want a blowjob, as his finger slipped inside me, bringing up visions of how the entire cock would feel in there. But it was not to be, at least not yet. His finger left me, only to be replaced by his tongue, probing, searching, pressing my labia apart, seeking my nectar of lubrication.

Oh, Mrs. Brad, you are one lucky cunt, having a husband who likes to eat pussy, who knows how to do it. Shit, Adrian, why are you calling that poor woman a cunt? Are you jealous? Are you starting to fall in love with her husband? He hasn't even finished fucking you for the first time yet. Oh yes, I forgot what the textbook says: we're only supposed to fuck if we fall in love first. Bullshit!

I could count on the fingers on one hand the number of times Richie had eaten me. And then I catch the fucker eating my next door neighbor, on my bed sheets to boot. Which by the way they didn't bother to change after I caught them. What did I do wrong? Don't tell me it's the smell; just ask Nancy about that.

His tongue didn't stop, he was the Energizer cunnilinguist. As I pulled his head into me, trying to force it up my vagina, I was afraid that I might stop his breathing, but he was dedicated, attempting, though without success, to make me cum. He didn't know that I didn't care, that I got wonderful pleasure without that elusive orgasm. All he knew, and this is what he told me later, that it was his duty to make me cum before he himself did so.

Without warning, I felt his finger intrude into my ass, up to the first knuckle. I jumped and grabbed his hand in a death grip.

"Please don't, Brad." I had never had anything up there and knew nothing except stories of pain.

"What's the matter, Adrian?"

"It does nothing for me." What the hell else could I tell him?

"OK."

He went back to work, sucking on my clit, but I had to clear his mind of the rejection so I pushed his head off me and rolled him onto his back. I knelt between his legs and took his cock into my hand, bending to engulf it in my open mouth.

"Maybe you'd like this, Brad."

"Mmmmm."

"But please don't cum in my mouth, Brad."

"OK."

That's what he said, but I could hear him wondering just how much he was going to enjoy a woman who wouldn't let him do anything that he liked to do. Still, I had my hang-ups and there was little I could do about them. Given a choice though, I figured that if he had to have something, I could handle it better in my mouth than in my ass. So I sucked away, knowing that he might let loose down my gullet. But he surprised me, pulling out without warning.

"I'm getting close, Adrian." With that, he bent to kiss me, his lips and tongue following where his cock had just been.

I rolled over, raising my knees and spreading them in welcome. He hovered over me and much to my surprise, I saw doubt in his eyes.

"Oh, shit!"

"What's the matter, Brad?"

"Shit, I lost it."

With that, he gently lay down next to me, his lips against my tit. I grasped his head tightly; I had never had a cock go limp on me in my whole life. My hand reached for the flaccid member and I began to stroke it slowly, trying to bring it back to the stiffness needed to give me a good fuck. He began to kiss me as I ministered to his needs.

But try as I might, including playing with his balls as I masturbated him, Brad's cock would not accept the blood that his brain was trying to force in there. I jerked him off slowly, then rapidly, alternating with the sucking which had brought him so close, all to no avail. His breathing bespoke frustration, I guess even more than my own, but that was little consolation. It was during one of the slow strokings that I felt his fingers softly on mine, going for the ride on my work as it were, until he gently slid my hand off his cock and substituted his own.

I looked down in amazement.

Watching a man, or boy, masturbate was no novelty for me. My first view was that of my brother, three years younger than me, determinedly jerking away when I walked into the unlocked bathroom. His face turned up to me in shock, and then became bright crimson when I kissed his cheek and walked out of the room. Billy is a shy man, a stutterer, the remnant of our overbearing father. Two days later it happened again, this time clearly deliberately; I could tell that easily from the shit-eating grin on his face. It struck me that the best way to diminish his need to masturbate was to give him a better alternative: my hand instead of his own. Suffice it to say that it also abated his stuttering; when we snuggled in bed whispering sweet nothings to each other, the words flowed from him without impediment, spewing forth from his mouth as relentlessly as his semen spewed from his third eye onto my hand or tits. I never took him into my mouth, nor my pussy. We still get together whenever possible, but alas not as often as we would like.

Richie used to masturbate whenever I had my period, a result of my refusal to let him cum in my mouth. Well, he wouldn't have had to if he had been willing to fuck — or even eat - a bloody pussy. I had no problem with that, but he was fussy in his own way, so fuck him. He liked to shoot his cum all over my face, and he would stay hard as I rubbed it in like face cream. That was OK when I still loved him.

I've also seen Donny jerk himself off when he was younger, but he never knew it, and never will unless he reads this website. The frame on his bedroom door was a little askew, and since he kept his light on most of the time, I could peek in. Richie was gone by then, so it gave me inspiration to go take care of myself.

The amazement was not because Brad was masturbating in front of me; it was because of the way he was doing it. The other three, plus the studs of an occasional porn video, all masturbated by putting their hands under the cock, wrapping the fingers around and pulling. Brad on the other hand put his hand on top, wrapped his fingers on top and jerked off, I guess the word would be backhand.

As a result, all I could see was the back of his hand, plus the purple crown sticking out. After a while, I went back to jiggling his balls and then ran my fingers along the thin space between his fingers and the heel of his hand, underneath his cock.

Son of a bitch, it was getting harder. I looked at his face; half the time he looked back at me normally, albeit shyly, and the other half of the time, his eyes glazed over as he concentrated on achieving his orgasm. I bent to suck on one of his nipples as I watched his hand rapidly moving up and down his shaft, faster, faster, faster, faster, until suddenly he gasped, raised up on one elbow and began to shoot his cream all over my stomach. He was no longer looking at me, concentrating instead on the pearly goo coating my body, oozing down toward my pussy.

He didn't move as I rubbed his cum into my body like it was lotion. Then he snuggled down and began to suckle on a nipple. He released it only to ask me to join him for three days at a conference in Atlanta.

Later that afternoon, I called the office and spoke to Lilly, telling her that I needed those three days off. It was after dinner, as I stretched out in front of the TV and watched a porn DVD, (the kids were spending the week with their father) that the shit hit the fan. Nancy called.

"You stupid cunt! You're going away with Brad, aren't you?"

I wasn't sure whether to deny it or not, so I hesitated.

"Just as I thought. Don't you know that he's married?"

I picked up her gauntlet and threw it back at her.

"Of course I do. So what?"

"Married men are useless to you, that's what."

"Nancy, are you saying that all men are useless?"

"To me they are, but that's not the point. I don't give a shit who you want to fuck. If you like cock, great, go both ways for all I care, but not with that one."

"I don't go both ways, Nancy; I'm straight."

"You didn't seem that way when I had my tongue inside you."

She had me there, so I didn't reply.

"Brad will fuck anything with a hole in it. He probably has a blow-up doll. Last week I saw him holding hands and playing kneesies with some slut in the Italian restaurant; she looked like a professional whore."

"So what? I'm not looking to get married."

"And three weeks ago, he invited me, me of all people, to go to Savannah with him for the weekend. That stupid fuck couldn't even figure out that I go for women."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Fuck no, I just said I wasn't interested. Why make it easy on him?"

I was laughing by then, and she had started to cool down, but she was still pissed off. In fact, she was at the conference with us, and she didn't say a word to either one of us the entire time we were there, and she didn't speak to Brad for a year, until the following conference, when she consented to go out to dinner with us.

But Nancy wasn't the only one to give me trouble. My kids started on me.

"Is he married?... Why won't he come it to the house to pick you up?... Are you ashamed of him?... Wouldn't you kill us if we did what you're doing?"

Charlotte eventually loosened up, but Donny, while being younger, still understood that all Brad wanted to do was to fuck me, not to be part of my family. And Donny really wanted, needed another father figure.

So we went, and spent three days fucking our brains out. Brad wasn't tense, and so he had little trouble staying hard and cumming inside me. Truth be told, I was a little hesitant about taking him in bareback, especially after Nancy's remark about the slut who looked like a professional whore. And even after her remark about him trying to get into her pants. What the fuck, if he's too dumb to recognize a lesbian who's quite out of the closet, does he have enough sense not to catch something on his cock? Or in his blood stream?

But he's a generally intelligent guy, and I really wanted the sensation of wet cum soaking inside my pussy, pooling up for some guy's tongue to lick clean, having it ooze down through the crack of my ass. Yes, you can call me a dumb cunt, but a lucky one, too; I never caught anything.