Jerry Milner - Vacation swap

Howard eased his thick, hard cock in the tight, slick cunt of the barmaid at the Iron Door, with a sigh that rumbled up from his guts. It was a hot, clasping cunt, just as one might expect to find between the long legs of the sultry-eyed redhead. She had leered at him so lasciviously each time she had brought him beer the night before. Spiked heel shoes on her feet, mesh hose on her legs, a little doily of a skirt on her powerful hips, and a pair of tits that jutted out like a pair of artillery shells inside her blouse he could see all of her clearly, as long as he kept his eyes closed. He drew back his hard cock and shoved it into the statuesque barmaid again, expecting to hear her say, "Oh, Howard, I knew you'd be wonderful in bed, but I never expected this! Don't ever stop fucking me! Howard, give me everything you've got, forever!"

Beneath him, his wife, Marge, gasped, "Howard, let me breathe!"

They were having a morning fuck in the bed that belonged to Howard's sister, Jayne. Jayne Bowers lived in Carlton, Oregon, where she raised roses for sale to nurseries. Howard and Marge Denton lived in Plymouth, New Jersey, where they raised carnations for sale to wholesale florists. The two families had exchanged houses for two weeks during the slack time of the year, as a kind of a working vacation for both of them. The widowed Jayne, childless herself, had graciously consented to take care of the Dentons' teenaged son and daughter. Howard and Marge were taking care of Jayne's dog, Trigger Scruggs. And at the moment, Howard was taking care of his wife, something he did very rarely of late, and then only when he had recently seen some sexpot woman he could fantasize about while fucking his wife.

In Howard's imagination, the barmaid said, "Yeah, gimme all you got! Nobody ever made me cum this hard before!"

Very real, Marge exclaimed, "Howard, you're suffocating me!"

"Okay, then you do the work," Howard said, and rolled his big, portly body over, easily taking his diminutively slim wife along with him. There he settled down, eyes closed, lips smiling, dreaming about the spectacular broad who was wasting her time in an Oregon beer bar, when she could have been knocking them dead as a Las Vegas showgirl.

Marge was used to being on top when they fucked. It was always the position they wound up in when Howard was able to perform his husbandly duties. It was more work than pleasure for her, but the work wasn't hard. She had strong hips and thighs, as was indicated by the size and the firmness of her smooth, round buttocks, so she could fuck in this position for a good long time. It probably wouldn't be long, however, before Howard's cock went soft, or until he came. Marge didn't care which of these things happened, just as long as one of them happened soon. This was her vacation, and after taking care of her chores, she had things to do, like walking in the woods, and breathing the scent of the pines and the cedars. She fucked Howard a little faster, adding some twists to her humpings and watching his face for any reaction. Her cunt was nice and wet. It usually was. She might be able to cum if she concentrated on it, but she'd been disappointed by Howard's abrupt finishes too often before to even try for an orgasm now. She kept up a fast, steady pace, buttocks bouncing, pendant tits doing a dance between them. Howard grinned and licked his lips.

He was pretending the barmaid was under a table and sucking him off, working her rich red lips over the bulbous big knob of his cock while she lovingly played with his loaded balls. He imagined kidnapping her, tying her up and taking her to a mountain cabin, cutting off her clothes and then fucking her for days until she was hopelessly in love with him. He saw her fucking him in exactly this position, with her big, heavy tits bouncing wildly, and with her cumming and screaming with ecstasy, and dragging torrents of jism out of him. He imagined marrying her. He was thinking of that when he came in the cunt of his dreary wife.

"Are you finished?" Marge asked, for he was going soft in a hurry.

"Uh-huh. Hey, bring me a cold can of beer on your way back from the can."

"At this time of day?"

"I asked for a beer, not a ration of bullshit from you. I'm on vacation. If I want to lay back and snooze all day, I'll do it. Get me a beer," he said, looking forward to a lazy day. After the stars came out, he would take a brisk drive to the Iron Door where he could find a way to get in the pants of the barmaid there.

Cunt wet and dripping, nerves badly on edge, Marge stalked out of their borrowed bedroom and into the den. The toilet had broken in Jayne's bathroom, and she'd be damned if she'd fix that as well as do all the work on the rose farm. The bathroom off the den was adequate. All her toilet articles were in it. She snatched at a washcloth and dropped it. Greatly irritated, got down on her hands and knees to reach behind the bowl for it. The wonderfully warm, wet caress that swept through her crotch and the crack of her ass was so explosive that she could do nothing more than gasp.

She couldn't move. It came once again, up over the still swollen lips of her cunt and on up to her suddenly throbbing asshole. She couldn't believe it was happening. Panting, hotly shivering, she was getting a tongue bath from Howard, who hadn't kissed her below the belt since they'd been engaged. Or it might be Jayne's boy friend, or some delivery man who was washing her cunt and her asshole in a manner she couldn't believe. Marge scarcely cared who it was. The nipples of her trembling tits were all stiff and hard, the cheeks of her ass were hot, and both her cunt and her asshole were alive with wonderful liquid fire.

Her middle finger curled up and stabbed deep in her cunt. Suddenly panting, suddenly too weak to do anything but jab her finger in and out of her cunt with frantic speed, Marge collapsed with her tits on the bathroom carpet and her ass lifted high in the air.

It was three hours earlier in Plymouth, New Jersey, and Jayne Bowers had already taken care of the chores at her brother's carnation farm and was looking forward to a day of vacation good times. Her niece, Barbara Jean, had grudgingly helped her tend to the plants in the hot-houses. Her nephew, Jim, had stayed in the house with his nose in a book, declaring he felt too sick to his stomach to join in the morning's work that day. Barbara Jean, her hair in braids, her eighteen-year-old body clad in sweat shirt and jeans, rode off to help out at the YWCA camp.

Jayne was a good-looking woman who like to have fun when her workload permitted. Her very stunningly curvaceous body was below average height, her buttocks were very saucily rounded, and her tits were set high on her chest and stuck out in a very forthright fashion. She had an uptilted nose and very wide, sensual lips which were usually smiling. Her skin was alabaster white, and this made her wavy black hair look even more glossy. At thirty-five years of age, she was in terrific shape, and itching for East Coast action. She didn't much like the red-neck Oregonian men, and so almost all the considerable sex she got back home was with the promiscuously bisexual Dottie. Now, with some time on her hands, she was sure she could find something more interesting than either of those around Plymouth, New Jersey.

She showered and perfumed and primped, gave her cunt a good massaging, and put on a flashy little red dress over a garter belt, black hose, and high heels. She had her brother's station wagon to use, a step up from the pickup truck she drove in Oregon. Humming a happy tune, she went in to say goodbye to her nephew.