Robert Taylor - Bored wife

Betsy knew it would not work. She knew the minute Jim dropped his undershorts and climbed onto the bed with his long cock so stiff that it curved upward.

She drew her nightie back to her waist and finger-tested her pussy slit. Soft and drooling, but this would not work, she would not cum no matter how hard Jim fucked her. Her nerves would burn and knot up agonizingly. Long after Jim slept she would pace the house. Even worse, she would go at the gin bottle.

Jim said, "You have a ready cunt if I ever saw one!"

"You better believe it," Betsy said, forcing a show of eagerness. "I'm wet to the knees!"

"Raise your legs, baby," he said.

She obliged, yanking them back, wide apart, exposing her hairy twat and watching him scrabble to her, bend his cock down and slipping the knob into her hole. Grinning, he wrenched it around to coat it with cuntal dew, then put on pressure and she felt the fat knob squirm into her.

Quite easily it wedged up her cunt, filling her with steamy, hard cock.

So far so good. No wife could ask for a husband with a hornier prong than her Jim had. Nor could Jim expect to come home to a cunt more slippery, and without artificial lubricant. As to her appearance, Betsy knew she was a very good-looking girl of twenty-three, with a cute ass, and breasts that made men gasp. She was blonde, with wide brown eyes, a velvety complexion and a pleasant smile. She was even a good cook. But

"How does it feel, baby?" Jim asked.

"Glorious. You're an absolute horse, Jim."

Nor did she lie. Jim was more than well hung; he did indeed have a cock like a horse and the muscle to power it. A large, strong, hairy body. But

She crossed her legs on his back and linked her ankles, thinking, I'll just lie back and close my eyes, loaf while he fucks me, forget everything, and maybe I'll just all of a sudden find my cunt exploding. But it won't.

She would try. She willed herself to go loose except for the ankles linked on his back. She would become a whore, just a broad whose mission in life was to lie on her back and let her husband pump in and out of her cunt.

It doesn't matter that he fucks his secretary, she told herself. So what? I'm the wife, half-owner of this pleasant ranch house, and half of his options for company stock are in my name. I have my own car. I have the bucks, more than Jim thinks I have. All June Haley has is a mediocre job as secretary to Jim, a third-string executive, and she has to flop on the couch with her legs apart to keep the job. She's pretty, but I'm not jealous. Hell, I'm Mrs. Jim Walters, and Jim's boss is a severe type. If I whisper in his ear that Jim fucks June on company time, darling hubby's ass is in a sling.

So June doesn't matter, really.

Then why am I uptight? Why can't I cum? Am I bored with Jim?

Her heels rested on his buttocks, which were in humping action, and his cock was sliding hard up her cunt, which did not mind it no, her cunt did not resent the intrusion. She disliked more what he was doing now, pulling the ribbon that held the bodice of her nightie together and scooping out her titties, massaging them in his rough hands. Why did his hands feel callused when the hardest work he did was lifting a pencil and undressing his secretary?

She bit her lip, wishing he would quit it.

How she used to love having her breasts fondled, and sucked!

Her pussy, too. But Jim would, never go down on her. He thought it unmanly.

Oh, the lack of oral sex was a small price to pay for the good things she had; money, the house, her snappy little car. Maybe she had it too easy. No children to care for. Jim's life plan delayed that. Stock options came first. She knew that only because of a tax advantage were some options in her name; Jim thought women did not know how to handle money. Okay, so I'm Mrs. Lazy Ass on Easy Street but I wish I had a job. But Jim would blow a fuse at the notion of his wife working.

Sex used to be fun. That time in high school, Joey fucking her in the back seat of Bill's car, Bill and Irene in front, one of Irene's legs on the dashboard, the other hung over the seat, and Bill tangled up in the steering wheel. They had screamed with laughter.

Marriage sure was different.

"Baby, you getting your gun?" Jim panted.

"Oh, yes!" Betsy cried, busying herself with humping her husband. He was about to shoot his load, she realized. The easy part of the fuck was ending. Because the big cock sludging in her wet cunt with increasing vigor and hardness now brought waves of excitement rolling in her belly, sizzling toward a peak of orgasm she would not achieve. No way to make it. No way. Just hotter and hotter. She no longer had to pretend that she was going to cum. Her hips pitched through the motions of their own accord and her heels dug at his back, and her pulling brought cunt sucks stripping his cock.

He howled. She felt the spurt of jism flying up her hole and her writhing cunt began to knot up and burn.

God, is there something wrong with me? a voice within her screamed.

His balls were slapping in her ass cleft. She concentrated her thoughts on that.

He fired three times, then collapsed on her.

"Baby, did you get a good cum?" he panted.

"Terrific," she lied, trying to hide her tears.

And now, Jim asleep, she paced the house occasionally rubbing her pussy, otherwise knotting her fists and fighting the burning knots that filled her belly. For a while she resisted gin, then in the kitchen poured a shot with a shaking hand and gulped down the harsh stuff. Eyes watering, she stared through the side window at the house next door lighted up. The new neighbors, Tom and Laura Graham, were party types. Jim had muttered, "They laugh like jackasses."

Betsy had met Laura only briefly. She seemed forever on the fly. She had a part-time job selling real estate but that was only part of her rushing about; she had to hurry to meet Tom somewhere for cocktails, or had to have her fucking hair done. What she called her "fucking hair" was glossy, very dark and short, which should require minimal care, but Laura had the manner of having to snatch the time to even rake a comb through the shiny black stuff, and often forgot to put on a bra. Being a big-breasted girl, she had titties flopping all over the place, which amused Betsy.

And now, gazing out the kitchen window at their lighted house, Betsy rubbed her own breasts, a pair as large as Laura's, and smiled at the thought of herself dashing about town without a bra. But her smile faded. Her breasts hurt, sharing the cuntal knots that how made her go pour another shot of gin.

I envy you, Laura! she thought.

Maybe tomorrow I'll go over make friends with her learn how she gets so much out of life. Yes! I'll do that.

She left the shot of gin sitting there, went off to bed and curled up as far from the snoring Jim as possible.

Jim had called the couple next door a pair of butterflies. "They'll never get anywhere in life," he'd said.

Betsy fell into a troubled sleep.

In the morning, hot June sunshine made Betsy's back yard a blaze of color. Gazing out the window at it while Jim ate breakfast she looked forward to working among her flowers, maybe driving to the roadside market to buy dwarf marigolds to set out.

"Tonight I have that meeting," Jim said. "Officials from the home office."

Betsy wondered if tonight he would need the help of his secretary, June. Not that she cared, let him work off his lust on the little bitch I am Mrs. Jim Walters, who owns half of everything. Why be jealous? Just the same, she instantly dropped her gardening plans. She saw Laura Graham passing her kitchen window. She would go over maybe take Laura shopping?

Jim, wearing a sober gray suit and matching necktie, carrying his gray briefcase, not a hair out of place on the man, went out to his car and drove off at a sedate pace.