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Just Add Alcohol Ch. 01

By: ISawYourMommy



Chapter 01: Tracy

Tracy was a slut. There was no other way to look at it. You could dress her up in conservative attire. You could install her in a mansion in Kenilworth. You could put her behind the wheel of a Mercedes G-class. You could even slip an obscenely large rock on her finger. But no matter what you did, Tracy was a slut.

Tracy's current position was proof-positive of that one unassailable fact. From the SkyBridge condominium tower, Tracy faced the floor-to-ceiling window, beyond which sat the Chicago skyline, sparkling in all its mid-evening glory. Twenty-four floors below her, cars raced along the Kennedy Expressway, engines unheard, muffled by thick glass and distance.

Behind her in the condominium's living area, two matching barrel chairs braced a sleek leather couch. A steel-and-glass coffee table had been centered among them, resting on three legs atop a cream area rug. Deep brown planks of Brazilian hardwood ran from beneath the carpet, stretching through a dining area to a closed kitchen in one direction, towards three bedrooms in the other. An air-conditioner hummed faintly in the background.

Tracy stood with her cute feet spread approximately two feet apart, crimson toes gleaming in the soft light cast by recessed ceiling lights. A pair of Roberto Cavelli embellished jeans had been haphazardly tossed atop one of the barrel chairs. They were turned inside-out, having been removed in a rush. A Jean Paul Gaultier Paris top, also inside-out, lay on the Brazilian hardwood floor between the couch and the entryway.

A Manolo Blahnik zebra-print slingback rested on its side beneath the coffee table; the other was nowhere to be found. A silk black thong, barely recognizable as such, was twisted around the heel of the Blahnik under the coffee table. There was no bra; there never had been.

While Tracy's classically beautiful face pointed toward Chicago's Loop, the view was not registering in her corneas. Her emerald eyes were hidden behind lightly made-up lids screwed tightly shut. Her left cheek was pressed against the cool safety glass. Perspiration and blush and crimson lip gloss smeared the glass; her labored breathing further fogged the view outside. Her dark brown hair – so dark as to be almost black – bobbed in a now-loose ponytail, tickling the damp flesh between her shoulder blades.

Lithe arms stretched above her head, bracing her. Long manicured nails – painted to match her toes and lush lips – clicked against the glass wall. The backs of her wedding band and engagement ring clinked at the glass. A gold Cartier watch and a diamond-encrusted tennis bracelet had slipped down the bronzed skin of her right forearm, almost to her elbow. They clattered against each other, completing the musical symphony.

Tracy's knees were locked and her back – muscles undulating over barely discernible ribs – was arched forward, causing her tanned and taut bottom to angle upward. The arch of her back forced her bare breasts against the glass wall, flattening them and spreading them outward despite the firm molds of saline that resided just beneath the flesh. Nipples thickened and elongated by the cool glass were pushed inward on the breast flesh.

Sweat dripped from her forehead, down her elegant nose and high cheekbones, and off her soft chin. It ran in rivulets between her widespread breasts and across her firm, tanned stomach. It slicked her sensually arched back.

A pair of large hands gripped her trim hips from behind, the fingers sinking into the soft, damp flesh. The lower portion of a ripped stomach banged into the cheeks of her bottom, causing them to ripple and undulate. And a thick pulsating cock stretched Tracy's bare vaginal lips wide, exposing her tender clitoris to slaps from the scrotum sac that swung beneath.

On each inward thrust, the pistoning shaft loosened Tracy's vaginal lips further, renewed the rippling of her tight ass. The force of the man behind her squished her augmented breasts harder against the cool glass, and elicited a groan from her shiny, full lips.

When one of the hands left Tracy's sweaty hip, it grabbed her ponytail and levered her gorgeous face off the glass. Hot, alcohol-tinged breath caressed her inner ear. "Not too worried about your vows now, huh, you fuckin' whore?"

The story of how Tracy managed to find herself in this position comes in two parts, the first historical and the second contemporary.

* * *

Someone had tried to dress Tracy conservatively. She had at her disposal almost unlimited funds. There was always several thousand dollars in cash in a safe at the house. She had an American Express Centurion card, and accounts at Neiman-Marcus, Chanel, Gucci and other mainstays of Chicago's Michigan Avenue and Oak Street. She leaned hard on these privileges and often dressed in a sexy-but-conservative manner.

Someone had also installed Tracy in a Kenilworth mansion. This small North Shore suburb, nestled between Winnetka and Wilmette, boasts one of the highest per capita incomes in the country. The mansion in which Tracy lived did not, unfortunately, sit on Lake Michigan, but was a fairly easy stroll to Gilson Park. She never cooked and never cleaned; a full-time staff tended to those duties.

Aside from boasting in excess of twenty rooms, the mansion also had a coach house. Known as a garage to most of the citizenry, this coach house contained berths for six cars. A 1959 Ferrari 250 California Spyder rested in one. An F360 occupied another. Tracy rarely drove these; she couldn't figure out the F1 paddle shifters on the F360 and the convertible took too much effort. The Bentley Continental and the 911 GT3 were off-limits to her. Instead, she typically grabbed the keys for the Porsche 911 Carrera or the Mercedes G55. 

The person that had provided all of this to Tracy was Bill Donovan, her husband. Bill was, to put it politely, nouveau riche. Having been raised in the south-side Irish enclave of Beverly by middle-class parents, he made his first millions in the bull markets of the mid-1980s, long before he reached his fortieth birthday. He continued to succeed in the markets through the harder times that followed and eventually found his way to private equity finance. His fortune now reportedly exceeded $50 million.

Bill Donovan had spent his twenties, thirties and most of his forties living what he believed to be the playboy lifestyle: weekends in South Beach, renting bungalows at the Delano; vacations in Monte Carlo, Marrakesh, the Swiss Alps. New cars. Bigger and better houses.

It wasn't until his mid- to late-forties that he decided to settle down. Bill had been spending very little time in Chicago at that time. When he was in town, he spent his weekends in the VIP room at the Cro-Bar on Kingsbury. After devouring a bottle of Krug and an eight-ball of cocaine with his friends, he'd step outside and wander over to Thee Crazy Horse, where he was also a regular. That is where he met Tracy.

She had been a feature dancer at the gentlemen's club, but was nearing the end of her usefulness. That's not to say that she was over-the-hill. No heterosexual male would hesitate if offered an evening with her. And many patrons of the club had received her offers and accepted them. Though it was strictly against house rules for the dancers to maintain relationships with the guests, Tracy often broke this rule.

She and some of the other dancers would have a few drinks while they worked. For Tracy, this meant one thing: she would become intensely aroused and her vagina would lubricate, for alcohol was an aphrodisiac to the aging stripper. Once in the Champagne Room, questions were asked, offers were made and, a few times a week, in the wee hours of the morning, Tracy found herself in a strange apartment or hotel room, sometimes on her back, other times on her hands and knees, or bent over the side of a couch.

But dancing is largely a young girls' game, and Tracy was thirty-three at the time. Despite her athletic body – lithe legs and firm butt; rippled stomach and enhanced breasts – Tracy felt herself being pushed aside by younger upstarts. Over the course of six or eight months, her schedule had been reduced from five nights to three. Whereas she had previously been working Friday and Saturday nights – the big dollar nights – her new schedule left her free on Saturday.

To supplement her reduced income, Tracy's Champagne Room dates moved from casual exchanges of bodily fluids to business propositions. Though this went against her better judgment, she had become too accustomed to the lifestyle that dancing had afforded her. She rationalized her conduct by acknowledging that she had one-night-stands three or four nights a week as it was, so there was little harm in earning income from this conduct. Not much for rationalization, but not much was needed, either.

However, Tracy soon realized that as her value as a dancer waned, so too did her value as a prostitute. She needed long-term security. A few of her co-workers had managed to latch on to wealthy patrons of the gentlemen's club, so she set out to emulate them.

When Bill Donovan walked into Thee Crazy Horse one night, she punched his ticket. Within six months, a four-and-a-half carat princess-cut stone was perched on her left ring finger. She quit dancing and moved up to Kenilworth. A year later, over the objections of his family and friends – some of whom knew she was a stripper, some who simply saw her as a gold-digging tramp – Bill and Tracy married.

Thereafter, Tracy tried valiantly to remain faithful to her husband. She shed some of her sleazier friends and stopped patronizing the night clubs. She cut back on the amount and frequency of her alcohol intake, knowing full well that two Cosmopolitans equaled slutty behavior. But though she always lamented her regressions, they still occurred on occasion. Last weekend was one of those occasions.

* * *

Bill was traveling again. Martha's Vineyard. Tracy couldn't imagine what business her husband had in Martha's Vineyard, but then again she did not really understand his business in the first place. She only knew that it permitted her to spend money gratuitously.

It irked her that his business had him away on a weekend. She couldn't begin to count the number of weekends Bill had spent away from home during the four years of their marriage. Sometimes he was in Thailand, other times Paris or Cairo or New York. It didn't matter to her where he was. It simply pissed her off that he was jet-setting around the world without her, leaving her all alone.

When she awoke Saturday morning, it was eighty degrees beneath a cloudless sky. With nothing to look forward to, she ate a light breakfast and planned to lounge by the mansion's pool all day. As the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, Tracy stretched her luscious body along the chaise lounge, readjusting her bikini top. 'This is fucking bullshit,' she thought, rolling onto her back, her 38DD breasts wobbling. 'I'm not going to sit around here all weekend and do nothing, bored out of my fucking mind.'

By 6:00 that afternoon, Tracy and Sarah were sitting street-side at Tavern-on-Rush. Empty salad plates sat before them, as did two empty drinks. The pair was striking. Tracy's lustrous dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, revealing high cheek bones and a sensuous jaw line. Her inflated breasts nearly popped from the Gaultier top. Worn jeans hugged her slim hips and athletic legs, one of which crossed over the other, a Blahnik heel hanging from her manicured toes.

Sarah garnered as many sideways glances and outright stares as Tracy. Sarah was one of Tracy's best friends. Still a dancer, she was in fine shape. Tracy was a slut, but Sarah was little more than a receptacle for sperm. She was completely devoid of morality, and her depravity and body made her a playground for some very sick individuals.

Still in her early thirties, she was on her second breast enlargement. She had graduated from high school with a small C-cup. When she began dancing, she soon upgraded to a D-cup. A few more years on the circuit encouraged her to pump up again, this time to an obscene and ridiculous E-cup.

That she stood only five feet tall made her breasts all the more apparent. Open-toed sandals, a short, black skirt wrapped around a waist in the low-twenties, absurdly inflated breasts bobbing inside a Baby Gap tee shirt, and long, wavy platinum hair rendered Sarah a walking and talking Barbie doll. The women enjoyed plenty of attention from passersby.

Though the maitre d' had attempted to shoo the women along several times, Sarah and Tracy remained at the coveted spot for a few hours, eating a light meal and downing more than a few drinks.

"Wanna get out of here?" Sarah asked when she finished her fifth Grey Goose-and-tonic.

"Sure. Where you wanna go?" Tracy had matched Sarah's consumption and, despite being well-rested, was feeling the effects of the vodka as it coursed through her veins.

With a blasé flick of her wrist, Sarah signaled the waiter for their tab. "How 'bout Reserve?"

Tracy looked at her quizzically. "Never heard of it. Don't forget, I haven't been partying downtown much in the last few years."

"Kind of a new place. Over in the meatpacking district on Lake Street. It'll be fun. I know the bouncers and the VIP host, so we should have no problem." When the bill arrived, Sarah paid in cash.

"Sounds good to me. What's the crowd like?" Tracy asked, pulling her napkin from her lap and placing it on the table.

"You'll love it," Sarah responded, rising from the table. "Lotta fuckin' guys in that place."

"Oohh, I like the sound of that."

"Not for you, missy. You've got the husband at home," Sarah taunted, moving toward the sidewalk.

"Not this weekend, I don't," Tracy responded, following her friend.

The two women climbed into a taxi and directed the driver to Reserve, on Lake Street a few blocks west of Halsted. The bouncer saw Sarah as soon as she exited the taxi and, with a smile and a hug, waved her past the growing line and into the crowded lounge.

"Come on, honey," Sarah said over her shoulder, yelling to be heard above the pounding beat. Sarah took off through the crowd, and Tracy lost her as she looked around to get her bearings. She thought she caught a glimpse of her friend near the stairs by the bathrooms, but by the time she had weaved through the crowd, Sarah was gone.

"Did my friend come through here?" she yelled into the VIP host's ear. "Little blonde girl, big tits?"

"Yeah."

"I'm with her. Can you let me up?"

"Can't do it, honey," he responded resolutely, shaking his bald head from side to side. "You're either on the list or your not."

"Come on," the stripper-wife pleaded, rubbing her firm body against the hulking man, pressing her ballooned breasts into his crossed arms. "She'll vouch for me. Just let me find her."

"You need to move away, miss."

Tracy dropped her shoulders in defeat and turned away from the stairs, back toward the bar area.

"You look a little out of sorts. Can I get you a drink?" she heard from beside her. Tracy turned toward the voice, her ponytail swinging with the movement. A young man – no older than his early twenties – had just exited the bathroom. A blue silk shirt was tucked into black pants that fit him snugly. Light brown hair trimmed short topped his head, and blue eyes and a handsome but fresh face stared back at her.

"Uh, sure," she responded, reaching for her purse. "Cosmo, please."

"What are you doing? Put that away. I'll get it for you."

Tracy paused. Her shiny crimson lips parted into a smile and she placed a manicured hand on his arm, his hair tickling her palm. "I know you will, sweetie. I was reaching for my cell phone."

The young man smiled at his own stupidity, then turned and walked toward the bar. Tracy found Sarah's cell phone number and dialed it. It went to voicemail as the young man returned with Tracy's Cosmopolitan. "Hey, I lost you," she yelled into the phone while accepting the drink from her new companion with a bright smile. "I'm downstairs still. Come down and get me," she finished, hitting the "end" button.

Tracy tucked her cell phone back in her Gucci handbag and turned back to the young man. "Thanks for the drink. I'm Tracy," she introduced herself, extending her right hand.

"Andrew," he said. "Pleasure to meet you."

Tracy tilted the glass toward her full lips, savoring the taste of the cool liquid as it flowed over her tongue and down her throat. "Mmmm. Tastes good."

"First drink of the night is always good. But now you'll have to catch up." Andrew clinked glasses with her, and took a pull from his own drink. "So, did you lose your husband or something?"

Tracy's emerald eyes stared back at him vacantly. He nodded toward the rings on her left hand.

"Oh!" Tracy laughed. "No. I lost my friend. We came here together and I lost her on the way to the VIP room."

"So, what? You're here alone now?"

"Mm-hm." Tracy nodded her head as she brought the red liquid to her lips again. "My husband's out of town so I went out with Sarah – my friend Sarah – but now that she ditched me, I'm alone." She paused to glance at her watch. "I should probably get going, actually."

"Don't leave already," the young man implored. "You just got here, it's early. You've only had one drink. Come on, stay awhile. I'll keep you company."

Tracy looked into his begging eyes and lost her resolve to leave. "And this is NOT my first drink of the night. I've had quite a few."

"Really? I couldn't tell."

"Well, I can," she responded, taking his hand as he led her to the corner table, the pads of her fingers caressing his palm. She downed the rest of her Cosmopolitan, the vodka chilling the blood in her veins.

Two young men – presumably Andrew's friends – were sitting on the couches talking to a pair of bimbos dressed in hip-hugger jeans and belly shirts. None of them paid any attention when Andrew and Tracy sat down.

"Yeah? How? You don't look drunk. You're not slurring your words." Andrew poured the contents of a chilled bottle of Ketel One into a glass with ice, and offered it to Tracy. She nodded her head and accepted the cocktail, her ponytail bobbing behind her.

"Yeah, but I can feel it," Tracy responded, her bright green eyes sparkling in the dim light. She leaned into the young man, her pumped-up breasts molding to the contours of his muscular arm. "When I get drunk, I get really fuckin' horny."

One of Andrew's eyebrows arched as Tracy slid a manicured hand across his thigh, rubbing it lightly. "Really?" he inquired rhetorically. "So, are you drunk now?"

Tracy took a sip of her refreshed drink, her emerald eyes locked on his. She simply nodded her head as the liquid slid down her throat.

"Does that mean you're horny, too?"

Setting her drink on the table, Tracy twisted a little to her right and brought her left leg to his lap. Her left hand smoothed across his muscled chest and up to his thick neck, pulling him toward her, her nails digging into this flesh. She whispered in his ear, "I'm so fuckin' horny I'd ride you right here," before lightly nibbling his ear lobe, her left knee grinding into his crotch.

Andrew grabbed Tracy's ponytail in his left fist and pulled her head back, eliciting a moan from her slender throat. "I'll do you one better. I've got a place right down the street. I'll fuck you there instead."

When he released Tracy's hair from his grip, her eyes gleamed in anticipation. She retrieved her drink from the table, downed it in one gulp, and rose to her feet. "Let's go," she said, her crimson lips parting in a smile to reveal sparkling white teeth.

Andrew jumped to his feet and, without saying good-bye to his friends, followed the woman out of the bar and into the street. He hailed a taxi and held the door for Tracy, climbing in after her. "Halsted and Washington," he ordered.


Just Add Alcohol Ch. 01



Three minutes later, the ride having passed in silence, the Wolley taxi pulled up in front of the SkyBridge condominium tower. Andrew slid out and offered a hand to Tracy. He grasped her manicured fingers, staring at the preposterously large diamond of her engagement ring as he pulled her from the cab.

Tracy followed the young man through the doors and across the lobby to a waiting elevator. Once inside, Andrew pushed the button for the 24th floor and the doors swooshed shut. The cab ride and the harsh lights of the lobby and the elevator had served to sober her up a little.

"You live here?"

"Nah. My parents bought it for when they want to come into the city for the weekend. I use it on the weekends, too," he explained, moving closer to the married woman, his muscular body brushing up against hers. Her chest heaved and her massive breasts squished into his arm.

"Your parents aren't here this weekend, are they?" she whispered as his arms encircled her waist, pulling her into him.

"No way. It's just you and me." Andrew leaned into woman and their lips met. The overwhelming smell of alcohol was apparent to each of them. He pushed her against the wall of the elevator and slid his leg between hers, grinding his knee against her crotch, his tongue sinking into her hot mouth.

She moaned at this forceful display, but pushed him away. "Not here," she panted. "Wait until we get inside." The elevator dinged as the last word escaped her throat.

Andrew led her down the hallway and into the 2,500-square-foot pied-a-terre. He held the door for her and followed her in, the heels of her Blahnik's cracking on the hardwood floors. Before she was five feet into the apartment, Andrew caught up with her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. His mouth quickly found her ear and he nibbled lightly at her lobe, sucking the flesh and the diamond stud mounted in it into his mouth.

Tracy melted into the young man's arm, leaning back against him. She raised her tanned arms above and behind her, capturing his head and pulling herself closer to him. Stretched this way, her Gaultier top lifted and exposed her taut stomach to Andrew's roaming hands. With no hesitation, the large hands slid slowly up her flesh beneath her top, stopping only when they were filled – overfilled – with Tracy's warm, saline-injected breasts.

Andrew marveled at the way the flesh filled his palms. He squeezed the massive breasts, feeling them squish between his fingers. The conditioned air of the apartment combined with the young man's manipulation of her breasts caused her nipples to stiffen. "Always go braless?" he inquired into the married woman's ear.

"Don't need 'em," she panted. Still behind her, Andrew released the heavy orbs and lifted Tracy's top upward, pulling it over her head. Her ponytail caught on the fabric and he had to pull it free, dropping the top to the floor. With his left hand in the small of her now-exposed back, he prodded the woman toward the living room. He followed her as she paused before the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Kennedy Expressway and the Chicago skyline.

"Great view," she muttered, feeling the presence of the young man behind her.

"I got a better one from here," he said, again encircling her waist from behind. He nuzzled into her neck, sending chills down her spine. A moan reverberated from her throat as Andrew pushed her closer to the glass wall, his large hands cupping her massive breasts, thumbs and forefingers tweaking her nipples further into erection.

Tracy braced herself against the window, sliding her hands up the glass. The back of her engagement ring clinked against the glass as Andrew twisted her left nipple ninety degrees and held it there. "Oohh, gawd," she groaned.

"You like having your nipples teased?" Andrew was whispering in her ear, his hot breath tickling her.

"Nooo," she whimpered.

"Feels like you do," he taunted the married woman, twisting her right nipple. The heat from her nipple flesh seemed to sear into his fingertips.

"I shouldn't be here," she whispered, barely audible.

Andrew thrust his hips against Tracy's bottom. "Where should you be?" She grunted at the forceful contact.

"Not here," she managed, pushing back at him, trying to get him to move away from her. "I'm married, Andrew. I shouldn't have come here with you."

Andrew released the woman and stepped back. As much as he wanted to fuck this big-titted slut, he wasn't about to rape her. He decided to try a different tack. "Sorry. Maybe I moved too fast." Tracy turned around to face him, her gargantuan breasts still on display, the creamy white flesh set off by the bronzed skin beyond the crisp tan line. "Have a seat. I'll get you a drink."

When Andrew disappeared into the kitchen, Tracy looked at the Cartier watch encircling her wrist. It was only 11:00. She debated walking out the door while he was occupied in the kitchen.

But she didn't do that. Instead, she sat down on the couch, her breasts still hanging free, and took in the skyline, waiting for him to return. She heard a refrigerator door slam shut and then the clinking of ice cubes. A moment later, Andrew returned to the living room with two drinks. He offered her one before sitting next to her on the couch. He kicked his Gucci-clad feet atop the coffee table and leaned back, putting his left arm behind her on the back of the couch. Tracy snuggled into his open arm.

"You want your shirt?"

"I'm fine," she responded, taking a sip of the vodka, swallowing. Thick nipples protruded from her breasts, beacons on the irregular triangle of white flesh.

"You ready to stay?" Tracy just looked up at him, her green eyes sparkling in the faint glow cast from the recessed lighting. She brought the tumbler to her lips again, nodding.

Andrew set his glass on a side table and leaned toward her, kissing her lightly on her shiny lips. Her perfume wafted up to his nose, but was quickly overpowered by the smell of alcohol. When she didn't pull back, he kissed her harder, mashing her full lips and smearing her lip gloss. Her wet, pink tongue darted out and danced across his lips, and Andrew responded in kind, sinking his tongue deep into Tracy's mouth. He crossed his right arm across her body and cupped a heaving breast, his fingers brushing against the thick nipple.

Encouraged, Andrew scooted away but then leaned back toward her, resting his head almost in her lap. He ran a tongue over the soft yet firm flesh of her right breast, licking at her pink areola. Her distended nipple pulsed as his tongue washed over it. "Amazing tits," he muttered before sucking the nipple between his lips, nibbling at it with his teeth.

"They should be," Tracy responded, taking a drink from her tumbler. "I paid enough for them." Her drink still in her left hand, Tracy leaned to her right. She brushed her fingers across the front of Andrew's pants, feeling for his thickening cock. It wasn't hard to find, and she used her long, manicured nails to exert pressure on his flesh. Dragging her nails up the length of his shaft, she paused at his belt buckle, pulling it and the button beneath it free. With Tracy tugging at the fabric, his zipper fell with an audible sound.

Andrew trapped an inflamed nipple between his teeth. "Mmmm," she moaned, savoring the pressure on the distended bud. Tracy's hand wormed into his pants and through the hole at the front of his boxers. Her long cool fingers closed around the aching shaft, pulling it from the confines of his underwear.

Andrew moaned at the contact, lifting his ass from the cushion as if to push more of himself into her fist. Taking another sip of pure vodka, Tracy's eyes were locked on the thick shaft, pre-cum leaking from the slit. Her small fist engulfed only half of the twitching rod.

Andrew kept his head buried in her bloated chest, licking around her nipple, teasing it with his tongue. Sucking it back into his mouth, he pulled the distended flesh between his teeth, biting lightly.

"Mmmmm," Tracy moaned, increasing the speed of her hand as it shucked up and down the swollen shaft. "Feels sooo goooood." Andrew bucked his hips into her tightly gripping fist, increasing the pressure around the base of his cock.

Without warning, Tracy released him and brought her open palm to her mouth. She coated her tongue in saliva, and ran it across her palm. Before Andrew could protest the absence of her palm, her warm and now lubricated fist was back around his shaft, stroking him. He sucked harder on her nipple, scraping his teeth against the sensitive flesh.

The air conditioning kicked on with a low hum. The only other sound in the apartment came from Tracy's watch band and bracelet jangling against each other. She increased the speed of her hand shucking up and down on his cock, and the back of her engagement ring caught on the thick, pulsing veins that crossed the pink flesh of Andrew's swollen cock. His hips bucked uncontrollably and his teeth bit harder on her nipples.

"Oh, shit," he mumbled through the titflesh that was molded to the contours of his face.

Tracy's stroking turned brutal as the pressure on her nipples increased. The ice cubes in her drink, still in her left hand, clinked against the glass walls as her entire body shook. Andrew's movements became erratic and the nipple slipped from his mouth as he panted, "Oh, fuck, oh, fuck," begging for release.

But Tracy slowed her hand and her long, manicured fingers relaxed, loosening her grip on his shaft. "I don't want you to come yet," she whispered.

Andrew lifted his head from her lap and sat upright, resting against the back of the couch as he caught his breath. "Get on your knees . . . and suck me."

As crude as he was, Tracy merely smiled and slid from the couch to the floor. She placed her tumbler on the coffee table and crawled between Andrew's legs. Grabbing at the waist of his pants, she pulled them and his boxers over his hips, her engagement and wedding rings sparkling in the soft light shining from above.

"Nice rock," Andrew commented. "Your husband know what you're like?"

"Shut up about my husband," Tracy warned, her sparkling green eyes still fixed on his waving cock. She managed to maneuver his pants around his ankles, and then pulled his shoes and pants off, tossing them to her side. She leaned closer to the burgeoning shaft, glowing almost red from the brutal handjob. She wrapped her left hand around him and brought her lightly made-up face closer to the shiny head. Extending her wet pink tongue, Tracy slid the purple head over its surface.

Andrew watched her wanton display from his reclined position. 'What a nasty fuckin' whore,' he thought to himself. Out loud, he commanded, "Suck it, bitch."

Tracy pursed her full crimson lips around the tip of his cock, her tongue flickering at the shiny purple head. With her right hand, she cupped his hanging balls, rolling them back and forth between her long fingers. Her manicured nails tickled his nutsack and, occasionally, his perineum.

Andrew arched his hips, thrusting toward her beautiful face. His aching shaft slipped between Tracy's tightly pursed lips, rolling the foreskin back and stretching it taut. She dropped her face toward his crinkly pubic hair, taking the engorged shaft into her throat with nary a gag.

Keeping her slutty lips tightly closed around the trembling shaft, she bobbed her head up and down. It pulsed in her mouth, blood coursing through the thick veins criss-crossing the stretched flesh. Saliva collected in her mouth, coating the thick shaft, and dripped from the seal formed by her full lips.

"Oohh, fuck," Andrew muttered. "If I were your husband . . . I'd be home . . . every weekend . . . fucking your . . . pretty little face."

Tracy popped the swollen rod from her mouth but maintained her grip at its base, squeezing hard as she stroked up and down. Her emerald eyes flared with anger as they bore into him. She lowered her face and her tongue slithered out against Andrew's balls. "I told you," she began, her face partially obscured by her fist sliding up and down the shiny shaft, "to shut the fuck up about my husband."

Andrew scooted his hips forward, stopping as his ass cheeks came to rest at the front edge of the couch. Tracy, her face still buried below the root of his cock, sucked a ball into his mouth, rolling it around her soft tongue. Her right hand pushed his left leg away, giving her room, and her left hand viciously stroked the upright shaft.

Releasing the ball from her wet mouth, Tracy moved to the next, offering it the same treatment. Saliva dripped from Andrew's scrotum as she let the second ball fall from her painted lips. Pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cock head, aiding her brutal tugging. Tracy bent again and took both balls into her mouth at the same time. Her crimson nails were a blur on the blood-engorged shaft as she rolled the balls around her mouth, her wet, pink tongue laving over the loose flesh.

Andrew's hips bucked faster, slicking his shaft deeper into Tracy's fist. Feeling that he was on the verge of dumping his cum over her tightly gripping fingers, she slackened her grip on him and spit his balls from her sucking mouth. She released his shaft and watched as it sprung back against his stomach before returning upright.

Tracy wiped saliva and pre-cum from her full lips with the back of her left hand, coating the diamond of her engagement ring. The feel of the diamond across her lip reminded her briefly of her husband. She knew what she would feel in the morning: regret; guilt; remorse. Nonetheless, any thought of fidelity was long gone. A liter of Vodka has washed it away.

Tracy rose from her haunches and twisted behind her to retrieve her drink. Swallowing, she turned back to Andrew and lifted first one over-inflated breast and then the other, resting them on his thighs, distended nipples throbbing.

"Wanna titty-fuck me?" she asked with a sly smile. Without waiting for an answer, her manicured hands came up to cover her monstrous tits, pushing them around the thick cock.

Andrew watched as his pinkish cock was swallowed in a sea of creamy flesh, Tracy's manicured nails holding him in tightly. She dipped her head and allowed saliva to dribble from her crimson lips into the bulging cleavage. Looking up, she smiled at Andrew and lifted her bulbous mounds up the sides of his shaft, sliding them back down.

She leaned into him further, her tits packed tightly around the twitching cock. Her thick nipples pulled along his muscular thighs. The wet heat and pliant flesh of Tracy's store-bought tits had Andrew bucking into her again in no time, his eyes screwed shut. Teasing the young man, she released her mounds and stood.

Andrew's hooded eyes eased open to Tracy's diminutive frame standing before him. Her crimson nails grasped at her Chanel belt and released it, then pulled the buttons of her jeans free. She leaned forward to shimmy the form-fitting jeans down her athletic thighs. Her pendulous tits swung to and fro, the flesh on their sides rippling.

As her jeans fell, Tracy kicked her Blahnik pumps from her little feet. The first clattered along the hardwood floor, coming to rest near the kitchen. The second merely fell behind her, underneath the coffee table. Hurriedly, she kicked off her jeans, tossing them to her left where they landed on one of the side chairs.

With deliberate slowness, the adulterous wife hooked her manicured fingers in the sides of her black silk thong, the four-and-a-half carat diamond mounted on her left hand glittering in Andrew's eyes. "Ready to fuck me?" she whispered, easing the thong over her hips, exposing a vagina lasered to remove all vestige of hair. A light coating of dew shone on her distended lips. The silk hissed as it slid down her thighs on its way to the carpeting beneath her feet.

"If your husband won't, I will."

Tracy almost jumped on Andrew's lap, knees to either side of his hips. His cock slid along the slick channel formed by her lubricated vaginal lips, brushing against her clit. Her manicured fingers grabbed the back of his head, the nails scraping along his scalp. She pulled his head back and hissed at him, "Shut . . . the . . . fuck . . . up . . . or . . . I . . . leave!"

Andrew quickly adjusted himself beneath her and felt his thick cock brush against her soaking vaginal lips. When the head slipped between her damp folds, he arched his hips violently upward, spearing the married woman with his pulsing shaft, causing her to yelp in surprise.

He rolled to his right, carrying her with him, planting her on her back in the corner of the couch. Andrew's forceful response to her threat caused Tracy to lose her grip on the back of his head and she sank into the deep cushions of the couch.

Andrew withdrew the length of his cock from the now-prone and certainly surprised woman. Grabbing again at the ponytail at the back of her head, he pulled her completely sideways on the couch as he slammed his full length back into her.

"Oohh, fuck!" she nearly screamed.

"You're not going to leave, are you, slut? You want this as bad as I do," he hissed, thrusting his hips into the fake-titted slut again, pushing her lightly muscled back up the low-slung arm of the couch. Tracy moaned at his aggression, her head hanging off the side of the couch, exposing her elegant neck.

Andrew pulled all the way out of Tracy's sopping hole and his cock sprang up toward his stomach before falling against her exposed clit, causing a gasp to escape her crimson lips. "You wanna leave, Tracy?" he whispered, more gentle now.

The fat, overheated cock head rubbing against her clit left Tracy momentarily speechless as she tried to regain her breath. She shook her head and muttered, "No."

"What? I couldn't hear you," Andrew taunted the unfaithful wife. He took his slick shaft in his hand, increasing the pressure of the head against her throbbing clit.

"No." Louder this time.

Andrew released his cock and let the head fall between Tracy's slippery folds, pushing the thick shaft back into her slowly. When he felt his pubic hair crush against her bald lips, he ground his pelvic bone against her inflamed clit. Tracy's hands found his muscular arms and sought to pull him closer to her, but he resisted.

"What do you want? What do you want me to do?"

Tracy lifted her head and her eyes bore into his; lust danced over an emerald background. Her lips snarled at him. "I want you to fuck me," she grunted. "I want you . . . to pound the shit . . . out of me!"

Andrew pulled back and savagely drove the length of his cock back into the married slut's hole, driving her further up the arm of the couch until the middle of her back was centered on it. Her back arched and her head hung over the edge, her ponytail brushing against the grooved planks of the hardwood floor.

Tracy's massive tits reached for the ceiling, the thick nipples at the center of the triangled tan lines offered to Andrew's mouth. Thrusting his aching cock in and out of her distended cunt, he leaned forward and captured the elongated bud of her left tit in his mouth, sucking it lewdly between his lips and teeth. Tracy's tanned arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, trying to suffocate the young man in her over-inflated titflesh.

Releasing the engorged nipple, Andrew pushed himself off Tracy's prone and vulnerable body and braced himself on his hands, jackhammering into her yielding pussy. Syrupy juices flowed from her cunt around his swollen shaft, coating his sweaty balls in the viscous fluid. "How's this . . . Tracy?" he breathed. "Like my cock . . . pounding your . . . married cunt?"

"Ooohhh, ffuucckk," she moaned, her head lolling from side to side, her dangling ponytail sweeping the floor. The force of Andrew's repeated penetrations of Tracy's unfaithful cunt had her store-bought tits wobbling atop her small torso. Perspiration shone across her stomach and beaded in her cleavage.




Just Add Alcohol Ch. 01



"Good . . . huh?" Andrew managed, sweat poring off his brow and dripping down his nose.

"Oohh, fuck, yeah," he heard her grunt. "Punish my cunt, Andrew!"

Andrew increased the pace at which he was battering his cock into the adulterous hole. Tracy's monstrous tits ceased wobbling and began dancing. Not just back and forth. Not just up and down. Instead, they rolled around her tight torso, slapping against each other. Sweat poured off the woman's body, slicking the leather couch beneath her.

Andrew leaned back, maintaining the brutal pounding he was levying upon the cheating slut. He slipped a hand between their sweat-soaked bodies and found her inflamed clit. The scent of her cunt mixed with her sweat and invaded his nostrils, almost overpowering him. His fingers danced across the exposed bud. "Oohh, fuck!" she screamed. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Tracy's lithe body shook beneath him. She writhed along the leather-covered arm of the couch, sliding on her own sweat, as an orgasm overtook her. She managed to throw a hand between them, shoving Andrew's out of the way. He grabbed her trim hips and kept fucking into the sopping hole, watching as Tracy's crimson nails blurred atop her burning clit. The diamond on her engagement ring gave off a constant stream of glittering light.

As Tracy's orgasm began to subside and her fingers slowed, a guttural moan tumbled across her lips, and her fingers again sped up, coaxing another fluid-releasing orgasm from her stretched cunt walls. As the mini-orgasm was upon her, her legs lifted from the couch, upsetting her balance, and the depraved wife slipped off the low-slung couch arm and onto the floor, leaving Andrew's trembling cock bobbing before him.

But Tracy barely seemed to notice. Her fingers remained a crimson smudge at the top of her bald cunt as her body continued to quake. As her fingers slowed, her emerald eyes slid open, looking up at Andrew, still on his knees on the couch. She smiled through hooded eyes and her body relaxed. Her fingers left her sopping hole and fell to the floor beside her. She lay there a moment, her massive chest heaving, while she caught her breath.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," she intoned, rolling over to push herself up. "That was fucking incredible."

On her feet now, standing before Andrew with her saline-injected tits heaving inches from his chest, Tracy took his throbbing cock in the palm of her hand, gently stroking it. She leaned into him and brushed her wet, red lips against his, her pink tongue slipping into his mouth. "And you didn't cum, did you?" she asked, the sound of her voice muffled as she spoke into his mouth.

"Unh-uh."

Tracy pulled back, releasing Andrew's cock from her sweaty hand. "Poor boy," she said, stepping away from him. She retrieved her drink from the coffee table and finished it off before sauntering over to the floor-to-ceiling window. Andrew collapsed to his haunches as he watched her walk away, her tight ass swaying as she moved. Even from behind he could see her enormous tits bounce.

When Tracy reached the window, she raised her arms above and then behind her head, tightening the ponytail that kept her lustrous hair from her beautiful face. Releasing it, she placed her palms flat on the glass above her head, and spread her legs a few feet apart. Her long nails gleamed in the light, as did the obscene rock that adorned her ring finger. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at Andrew, who was still leaning against the back of the couch.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, a sultry tone to her voice. Her emerald green eyes smoldered. "Get over here and fuck my married cunt!"

Andrew scrambled from the couch, navigating around the coffee table, his cock bouncing in front of him, leading the way. Coming up on Tracy from behind, his large hands gripped her by her trim waist, his cock brushing up and down the crack of her ass. "I thought you wanted me to shut up about your husband," he whispered into her ear. His hot breath caused her to shiver.

"I did," she breathed into the glass as Andrew's hands scaled her torso and found her generous tits, gripping her swollen nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. "But you fucked me—." Tracy paused to gasp as he pinched her nipples savagely. "You fucked me . . . so fucking hard . . . I'll give you . . . what you want."

"I want your married cunt," Andrew hissed into her ear, buckling his knees bring his cock in line with her dripping hole.

"I know . . . you do." Tracy grunted as Andrew pushed forward, the hot tip of his cock shoving her loose cunt lips aside. "It's yours," she whispered.

Andrew pushed again and half the length of his cock slid into her steamy depths. His fingers tightened their grip on Tracy's inflamed nipples, and she panted at the pressure. He pulled back, leaving just the head of his cock ensconced in her unfaithful cunt.

"What's your last name?" he asked, twisting her raw nipples. Her fluids dripped from between her stretched lips and ran down the length of his shaft.

"Huh?" she grunted, wincing into the glass.

"What's your last name?" he repeated, slicing his cock back into her, feeling his pubic hair mat against her taut ass.

"Donovan," she grunted. "Tracy . . . Donovan."

"Well, Mrs. Donovan," Andrew began, pulling out and brutally jamming his cock back into Tracy's pliant cunt, holding it there. "Are you ready to get your slutty, married hole stretched again?"

"Fuck, yeah," she breathed as Andrew again removed almost the entirety of his glistening shaft from her. This time, when he pushed back in, he didn't stop. Andrew jackhammered his hips against her undulating ass, shoving the married woman harder against the glass wall. To gain leverage, he released his grip on her abused nipples, placing them on her hips.

The glass shuddered as Tracy's forehead bumped against it. She turned her face to the side, her lips leaving crimson streaks on the glass. Sweat mixed with her blush to add to the blur forming on the window. "Fuck my married cunt," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"What about . . . your husband . . . Mrs. Donovan?" Andrew managed, the underside of his cock coursing along the cheating whore's pelvic bone, causing cum to boil in his balls.

"Fuck . . . him," she grunted, her cheek compressed against the cool glass. Tracy's thick nipples pushed inward on her fake tits as they were squashed against the window. "I'll worry . . . about my vows . . . later."

Cum churned in Andrew's nutsack. The depravity of this plastic-titted married slut, her filthy mouth and immorality, set him on edge as she jammed her tight ass back against his thrusting pelvis, exerting increased pressure along the sensitive underside of his swollen cock. With one hand he released his grip on her trim, sweat-soaked hip, and reached for her bouncing ponytail. Using it like the reins on a horse, he pulled her beautiful but make-up-smeared face from the window and breathed heavily in her ear, sending shivers down her arched spine.

"Not too worried about your vows now, huh, you fuckin' whore?"

"Fuck no," Tracy groaned. "I wanna feel you cum in my cheating cunt! Cum for me, Andrew! Cum in my nasty . . . slutty . . . hole."

"You on . . . the pill . . . Mrs. Donovan?" he inquired, grinding his teeth.

"Nooo . . . Cum in me . . . anyway. . . . Shoot your cum . . . in my cunt!" Andrew's thrusts into the married slut became erratic. He maintained his grip on her ponytail, pulling her now-sloppy cunt along the length of his thick shaft. "Impregnate me . . . you motherfucker!"

Andrew lost control of his cock and balls as the wicked words spilled from Tracy's shiny crimson lips. With a final thrust into her loose hole, he held her fast with one hand wrapped around the front of her sweaty, writhing body and the other pulling her ponytail. "Now the . . . whole world . . . can see . . . what a nasty . . . filthy . . . cheating . . . cunt . . . you are," he grunted in her ear as cum coursed through his shaft and splashed against the walls of Tracy's unprotected cunt.

"Open your eyes," he commanded through gritted teeth. "Look . . . at all those . . . lights . . . They can all . . . see you, Mrs. Donovan," he continued as sperm continued to shoot from the slit of his cock head, saturating Tracy's stretched-out cuntal walls.

"The entire . . . Kennedy can see . . . what a slut . . . Mrs. Donovan is," he finished, cum now dribbling from his cock, dripping around his shaft from between her elastic cunt lips, sliding down the married woman's lithe legs.

* * *

Tracy was a slut. There was no other way to look at it.

You could dress her up in conservative attire, but that Burberry skirt was bound to be bunched around her waist as a thick cock pounded into her stretched hairless cunt from behind.

You could install her in a mansion in Kenilworth, but the team of Mexicans you hired to mow your lawn would take turns fucking her well-oiled porn star tits poolside, ropes of sperm coating her chin and lips when they were done.

You could put her behind the wheel of a Mercedes G-class, but she'd soon find herself in its back seat, bouncing up and down on the lap of the college kid next door, his trembling cock releasing unthinkable amounts of cum deep into her unprotected cunt.

You could even slip an obscenely large rock on her finger, but in the end it would be but a blur as her manicured fingers danced across her burning clit as your best man's cock violated her well-used asshole.

No matter what you did, Tracy was a slut.

*

Author's Note: As the title suggests, this is the first in a series of stories about women and alcohol. I have already conceived of ideas for a few of the chapters to follow but I am open to suggestions. If you have any ideas, I would be more than happy to entertain them, as long as they involve (a) married women (b) consuming too much alcohol for their own good (c) with possibly some reluctance or coercion thrown in. 



Just Add Alcohol Ch. 02



Chapter 02: Marie

You know that kid from the Dell commercials a few years back? "Dude, you're getting' a Dell!" Remember him?

Marie fucked him.

Well, not him exactly. But his twin. Urban myth holds that everyone has a twin somewhere in the world. Well, this kid was a dead ringer for the Dell spokeskid. Standing a notch below six feet, his spiking blond-and-brown hair cropped short, Brad was muscular but lanky at the same time, in that way that only boys in their late teens can be. His face appeared perpetually scrubbed fresh, light blue eyes always alert.

Marie fucked him.

She shouldn't have done it. She regretted it even as he pulled his dripping cock from her ravaged cunt.

But Marie Carpelli was a lush. Not a drunk, not by any means, but a lush. She loved wine. Though she could afford it, she didn't drink expensive wine. She was perfectly content with a fifteen-dollar bottle of chilled chardonnay. A few days a week, she and her friends would gather at one of their homes and knock down a few bottles before dispersing to cook dinner for their families. But sometimes the wine got the best of her. Sometimes it caused her to engage in conduct unbecoming a wife and mother.

Marie was a striking woman. One would never guess that she was weeks away from her fortieth birthday. Lustrous black hair flowed over her shoulders when it wasn't pulled back to reveal the high cheekbones and brown eyes that her Italian ancestry had bestowed upon her. Perfect white teeth peeked from between full lips, usually turned up into a smile and dabbed lightly with pink lip gloss, and provided a sweet contrast to her deep olive skin.

Barefoot, as she often was during the summer months, she stood a mere four inches above five feet. Soaking wet, as she often was around the family pool, she weighed a notch under 110 pounds. And, boy, could she fill a bathing suit! Not the one-piece ensembles that most of her friends wore, either.

Bikinis. Nothing so daring as string bikinis, but they still came in two pieces. The bottom piece fully covered her cunt, giving no hint of the landing strip that blazed up from the bare lips. The top hid the wide areolas that capped her 34D breasts, which sat high on her chest, natural but lifted after her last child. Only when wet did Marie's bikini tops reveal the short but thick nipples that provided the bull's-eye on her areolas.

Brad Jackson fucked this woman, twenty years his senior.

He never saw it coming. He had dreamt of her. He had eyed her through the years that he had known Marie's daughter. He had lubricated his thick cock in his private bathroom at home, spilling his seed into a wad of toilet paper, visions of Mrs. Carpelli wrapped in a stark white bikini clouding his senses. Still, he never saw it coming.

When the day finally arrived, Marie was not wearing such a bikini when Brad presented himself at the Carpelli home. Had he shown his rather innocent face an hour earlier, perhaps. After a few games of tennis at the club that morning, Marie had spent much of the remainder of the day in the sun, ensuring that her olive skin deepened even further. Her bronzed flesh had glimmered in the blistering heat, slicked with tanning oil, beads of perspiration bubbling between her soft tits and collecting in the small of her back.

But when her seventeen-year-old daughter Elizabeth returned from a day at the country club with her friends, she announced that some of her friends were coming over to hang around the pool for a few hours before they went out for the night.

Prudently, Marie elected to end her sunning for the day. By the time Elizabeth's friends had arrived, Marie was showered and dressed modestly in a white golf shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. As usual, she was barefoot, her tan skin highlighting her freshly painted pink toes.

She padded through the large home in suburban Northbrook and into the kitchen. Through windows sealed tight to ward off the sweltering August heat, Marie heard the "clunk" of the diving board followed by peels of laughter. She peeked out the kitchen window toward the pool. 

Elizabeth and four or five of her female friends lounged on chaises or swam around the edges of the pool, their swim suits so daring for teenage girls. An equal number of boys, in baggy swimsuits hanging almost to their knees, were present as well, though most of them were either in the pool or flying through the air toward it, having catapulted themselves off the diving board.

Marie turned away from the window and padded across the kitchen toward the wine refrigerator. 'What a waste,' she thought. 'We've got a Viking wine cooler, and it's loaded with Kendall Jackson.' She pulled a chilled bottle from the box and popped the cork. After grabbing a wineglass from one of the cabinets, Marie stepped through the French doors that gave onto the raised wood deck. She sat at a wrought iron table in the shade of the house and poured a glass of the amber liquid, enjoying the last vestiges of the sunny afternoon.

Marie was barely through her glass of wine when Heather Bannister turned the corner of the house into the backyard.

"Hey, Marie," her best friend waved, climbing a few steps from the lawn up to the deck.

"And to what do I owe this surprise?"

"I was just out running some errands. Thought I'd stop by and say hello."

"Well, I'm glad you did. Have a seat. Care to join me?" Marie asked, nodding at the perspiring wine bottle.

"You know I do," Heather responded with a smile, falling into one of the chairs that surrounded the table.

Marie went into the house but returned just a moment later with an empty glass. After filling it (and giving herself a topper), the two suburban housewives clinked glasses, almost smacking their lips as the cool liquid slid down their throats.

"I see you got company today."

"Yeah. Elizabeth came home from the club. Said she invited all her friends over to go swimming." Marie shrugged, and took a sip of her wine.

"Where's Tony?" Heather asked, referring to Marie's husband.

"Working. Of course. He's doing some audit or something. I think its due in a few days, so he's been at the office late every day this week. The boys went to a Cubs game with Olivia and her son."

"Mmm," Heather hummed, taking a drink. Over the next hour or so, the two women sat in the shade of Marie's deck, trading gossip about neighbors, common friends, and certain members of the country club to which they both belonged. Two empty bottles sat on the table when Marie returned with a third, her gate unsteady as she passed through the French doors.

"How do you stand it?" Heather asked as Marie refilled both their glasses.

"Whaddya mean?"

Heather nodded at the kids still horseplaying around the pool. "Look at those boys. They're not boys at all. They're men. Young men, but men all the same." Heather lit a cigarette while Marie responded.

"Yeah, but they're teenagers. And they're also Elizabeth's friends."

"Who cares whose friends they are? I don't. I can't keep my eyes off 'em."

"Heather!" Marie cried with a laugh. "I never knew you were such a tramp."

"Oh, Marie. Don't be such a fuckin' prude. I'm not a tramp. Not by any stretch. But I can look. I can fantasize. There's no harm in that, is there?"

"I guess not." Marie paused to take a sip at her wine glass. "But really, you don't want anyone of the prissy bitches in this neighborhood hearing you say things like that. They'll report you to the police. Call in the DCFS."

"Whatever. They're all of age aren't they?" Heather reached across the table and stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, her eyes never leaving the general area of the Carpelli's pool. "Like that one. What's his name?"

"Which one?"

"The one on the diving board. In the yellow trunks. What's his name?"

"That's Brad. He's the Jackson's boy. You've met Wendy Jackson before, haven't you?"

"I think so," Heather mumbled, the wine glass blurring her words. "She's that bitch who supposedly had an affair with the old tennis pro at the club."

"Mm-hm. That's her oldest. He's a year ahead of Elizabeth. He'll be a sophomore at Arizona State this fall."

"Mmm. What I could do to a boy like that." The two suburban housewives giggled wildly at Heather's lascivious behavior.

"Heather! Keep it clean, would you?"

Thirty minutes later, Heather begged off, having to get home and cook dinner for her family. After she left, Marie settled back to finish her glass of wine before going inside herself. The kids were still lounging around the pool with the sun setting behind them.

She was thinking about what to make herself for dinner, a rare night with no husband and no children to feed, when Brad Jackson bounded up the steps to the deck, water dripping down his hairless chest.

"Hi, Mrs. Carpelli," he greeted her without stopping on his way to the French doors. "Just need to use the bathroom."

"No problem, Brad," she responded, though by that time the door had already swung shut behind the young man.

Taking a final gulp of her wine, Marie rose on wobbly legs and collected the empty bottles, the glasses and the ash tray, taking them inside and setting them on the kitchen counter. The air in the house was cool and felt good against her hot skin. She put the bottles in a recycling bin and the glasses in the dishwasher and poured a glass of ice water.

Having played two games of tennis that morning, laid out by the pool all day, and then consumed close to a bottle-and-a-half of wine through the early hours of the evening, Marie was feeling somewhat light-headed. With the water glass gripped in her tanned fingers, she left the kitchen and padded into the family room, dropping her small frame onto the leather couch. She found the remote to the plasma television mounted on the opposite wall and turned it on. The opening song for CSI: New York blared in her ears as she repeated punched the volume button on the remote.

A moment later, Brad sauntered into the family room, his pace much slower after having relieved himself. He stopped short and Marie looked up to see a startled look on his face.

"Sorry, Brad. I didn't mean to scare you."

"No problem, Mrs. Carpelli. It's just that a minute ago you were outside, and now you're here. That's all." A quirky smile crossed his face, as though it were a revelation that a person could move from one place to the next in a matter of minutes.

'Not the brightest kid on the block,' Marie thought to herself.

"I had to get out the heat. I can't take it like you young kids can. Gets me dehydrated," she said, finishing her water.

"I bet the wine doesn't help, either, huh?"

"Wine is fine, Brad," she dryly responded. "But yeah, that dehydrates me, too."

"Here," he said, moving toward the married woman, his hand out. "Let me get you a refill."

"That's okay. I'll get it myself." She unfolded her legs as if to get up.

"Nonsense. I'm already up. I'll get it for you." Brad retrieved the glass from Marie's hand and she relaxed against the back of the couch. She heard ice clatter into a glass and then the tap on the front of her refrigerator click open.

In the kitchen, while the glass filled with water, Brad glanced through the French doors toward the pool. Elizabeth and his friends were still hanging around the edges of the pool. His eyes glazed over as images of Mrs. Carpelli stripped naked performing filthy acts with his cock flashed through his mind. With his free hand, he readjusted his aching cock. Ice-cold water pouring over his hand pulled him from his reverie, and he hurriedly found a towel to clean up the overflow.

When he returned to the family room, Brad handed the glass to Marie over her shoulder. Taking it, she turned her head up and around, facing him, her soft brown eyes looking so innocent and pure. "Thanks, Brad. You're a sweetheart."

"My pleasure, Mrs. Carpelli." He paused a moment. "You look exhausted."

"Just a little sore and a little thirsty, that's all. I played tennis for a while this morning and my muscles are a little tight."

Brad remained standing behind the housewife as she took a drink from the water glass. Placing his large fingers at the base of her neck, he said, "Put your head forward. This'll make you feel better." The warmth of her taut skin radiated through his fingertips and caused his cock to thicken and lengthen within his bathing suit.

Marie was startled at the contact. "Really, Brad. That isn't necessary."

"Of course it isn't. But I'll do it anyway. It'll rejuvenate you." Rather than protest the inappropriate contact between nineteen-year-old student and thirty-nine-year-old housewife, Marie allowed her head to slump forward, her lustrous black hair falling forward and hiding her olive-skinned beauty.

Brad's fingers dug into her tight neck muscles, kneading the flesh, and a small moan escaped Marie's full lips. When his massaging fingers strayed off her neck muscles to her shoulders, Marie's head flopped back, bumping against the young man's pelvis.

'Oh!' she thought, feeling a thick protrusion running diagonally across the back of her scalp. She leaned her head forward a few inches, terminating the contact. 'What that his cock?' she wondered, her sun-drenched head swimming in fermented Napa Valley grapes.

Brad continued to massage the housewife's shoulders and upper back. Intrigued at what had poked her in the back of the head, Marie gradually let her head fall back again against the young man. When it settled against his crotch, she knew she was right. Her head was resting against a thick but pliant ridge in Brad Jackson's bathing suit. She slowly moved her head from left to right, rubbing the rubbery protrusion. 'Ohmigod,' she thought, her eyes unseen to the young man but opening wide. 'It twitched.'

Brad took a step backward, breaking their contact, but his strong hands continued to massage Marie's shoulders. When he stepped back, she allowed her head to follow. She found herself looking back at him, her head upside-down, her world inverted.

Inches from her brown eyes, the rubbery ridge that had pressed into her skull squirmed beneath the yellow fabric of the young man's bathing suit. When it twitched again, Marie's glossy brown eyes drifted up to meet his.

He was watching her. He saw her glassy, wine-hazed eyes lock on his growing shaft, then go wide as it twitched.

Slowly, Marie raised her left hand from her lap, bringing it up behind her. With her head still hanging off the back of the couch, she reached toward Brad until her elegant hand found his hip. Her pink nails search for and found the edge of the pocket of his bathing suit and closed around the fabric. She pulled the young man closer to her inverted face.

Or, more accurately, she pulled the young man's cock closer to her inverted lips.

She kept pulling until the front of his bathing suit brushed against her high forehead. Until the fabric grazed over her elegant nose. Marie turned her head slightly to the side, her manicured fingers still gripping the damp fabric, still pulling him until she felt the stiff shaft press against her soft, tan cheek, confirming what she already knew: Brad Jackson wanted to fuck her right in her own house, while her daughter and her friends were in the backyard splashing away in the pool.

Marie released her grip on Brad's pocket. Her long fingers sought and found the drawstring to his bathing suit. As a two pink nails pulled the string, her eyes floated again to his. There was no discomfort in his deep blue eyes. There was no fear there. Only confidence.

The drawstring gave way to her tugs.

"Pull it down," she whispered, the provocative words tumbling across her lips without having been checked first by her brain.

"Pull it down yourself, Mrs. Carpelli," the confident young man commanded.

Still prone and upside-down, her radiant hair cascading over the back of the couch, Marie arched her muscular back and raised her other hand behind her. The long, elegant fingers of each tanned hand closed around the damp fabric of the young man's swimming trunks. She tugged, trying to coax the material over his trim but muscular hips. As the bathing suit slid slowly down, Brad's blonde pubic hair came into her view. The smell of chlorine and suntan lotion mixed with sweat and permeated her flaring nostrils.

Marie pulled more, harder, revealing the pinkish root to his shaft. She was straining, her back arched off the couch, her large tits wobbling in their bra, her arms barely able to extend any further. With a final downward tug, Brad's bathing suit let go, sliding down his thighs and falling to the floor, a puddle around his hairless calves and ankles.

Marie's tugging had forced Brad's young cock to a downward angle, but when the bathing suit fell, releasing it, the shaft sprung back up, whisking through her silky hair, right by her ear. The thick tube of pink flesh bobbed before her upside-down face, just inches from her soft, full lips. Her wet, pink tongue darted out, glossing over her lips.

"Give me that," she whispered in her own command.

Brad stepped forward. His overheated cockhead brushed against Marie's full lips. Her silky tongue snaked out again, but Brad tilted his pelvis, removing his cock from the path of the searching organ.

Marie's eyes shot from his cock to his smirking face. "I said give me that," she hissed.

"Give you what?" Brad taunted, his voice matter-of-fact.

"Give me that cock," the intoxicated married woman pleaded.

"Give it to you where?" Brad enjoyed this game of cat-and-mouse, swinging his heavy cock close to her yearning lips.

"In my mouth," she breathed. "I want it in my mouth!"

"You mean you want me to put my cock in your mouth, Mrs. Carpelli?" the young man teased, his voice feigning innocence as the hot flesh of his cockhead swiped across her shiny lips.

"Yyyeeesss," came the responsive hiss.

"You want me to fuck your pretty little face," he began, his rubbery cockhead tickling the tip of Marie's nose, "just like I fuck your daughter's pretty little face?"

Marie opened her mouth to respond, but Brad didn't give her the opportunity. As her full lips parted, Brad dropped the head of his cock against them and slid the length of his shaft into her warm, wet mouth. Her lips closed instantly around the invading shaft, pulling his foreskin back, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat.

He withdrew, Marie's lip gloss smearing along the length of his fat shaft. When he pushed back in, his cockhead bumped against the back of her throat, causing her to gag. Saliva ran from the corner of her mouth, leaving a glimmering streak along her cheek.

Withdrawing again from the welcoming mouth, Brad leaned forward, his hands searching out Marie's large tits. Squeezing the supple flesh in his fingers, feeling it squish between them, Brad pushed his pelvis forward again. Marie's soft lips clamped tightly around the assaulting rod and her nipples stiffened and swelled against the young man's palms.

When Brad pulled his pelvis back, his cock plopped from her mouth. A ropy string of saliva mixed with pre-cum connected the tip of his cock to her upper lip before it snapped, falling to the unfaithful mother's tanned nose and forehead. The same concoction of spit and pre-cum dripped from both sides of her mouth, streaking her checks and sliding down to her neck.

Marie's chest heaved and her thick nipples pulsed in Brad's palms. Taking her distended buds between his thumbs and forefingers, Brad shoved his cock back into the married woman's mouth. He manipulated her nipples, fucking her angelic face simultaneously. Moans emanated from her slender throat, reverberating through his slicing shaft, causing his swinging balls to tingle.

Marie's hands rose again and sought out Brad's ass cheeks. She pulled him into her sucking face, her manicured nails digging into the pale flesh of his ass. His cock banged against the back of her throat, causing her to gag again, her soft brown eyes tearing.




Just Add Alcohol Ch. 02



He pulled out, leaving just the tip of his cock between the gorgeous married woman's soft, pink-smudged lips. "You want me to fuck your face, Mrs. Carpelli?" She could only nod, and only slightly at that.

The young man savagely thrust his hips forward, sending his thick shaft coursing through Marie's smeared lips, his cockhead crashing against the back of her throat. She gagged hard, panicking, almost struggling against her daughter's friend, but he held her tight, his fingers twisting and pulling at her throbbing nipples.

Brad's pubic hair was crushed against Marie's chin, his balls against her nose and tightly squeezed eyelids. Saliva poured from the sides of her mouth, coating her suctioned cheeks and soaking his balls. He leaned further against the older woman, driving his cock further into her sopping mouth. He leaned all the way over to pull the hem of her golf shirt from her loose-fitting shorts, and the head of his cock passed into her throat.

Marie continued to struggle against him as he stood upright again, pulling the light cotton shirt with him. Moans or groans or whimpers attempted to escape her but the thick young cock pressed her tongue against the base of her jaw; she couldn't get it out of the way.

When Brad stood up his cock slipped from her throat, allowing her to breath again, if only barely. The insolent young man pulled her shirt up over enormous, soft tits, revealing a white cotton bra. His fingers expertly flicked the clasp between the two overworked cups and pushed them aside, taking the warm flesh in his large hands.

Still slicing his cock between the adulterous woman's yielding lips, Brad kneaded the soft olive-hewed flesh of her tits, her nipples thick beneath his palms. Marie moaned as he manipulated her, her manicured nails digging into the cheeks of his ass, the cheeks of her face glistening in spit and pre-cum. Above her, she could hear her young aggressor groan as the pace of his face-fucking increased, became erratic.

Not wanting him to cum in her mouth, Marie relaxed her back and fell to the couch, Brad's cock slipping from between her lips, another ropy string of saliva and pre-cum snapping as it stretched taut, falling against her forehead. She turned to face him, lust burning in her soft eyes as she quickly got up from the couch.

"Wait here," she panted in whisper. Pulling the cotton shirt over her heaving tits, Marie padded barefoot into the kitchen and peeked out the window into the backyard. Elizabeth and all her friends – well, almost all her friends – were still down at the pool. She bounded back into the family room, grabbing Brad by the hand, her nails digging into his wrist. She pulled him from the family room, Brad struggling to get his bathing suit back up.

The cheating mother led the young man through the marble foyer and upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her husband. Brad shut the door behind him, twisting the lock. Marie turned and threw her arms around the kid's muscular neck with such force that he fell back against the door. She slid her wet tongue into his mouth as his hands reached for her massive but soft tits, now unencumbered by the bra. He pulled her shirt over her head, his lips finding hers as it fluttered to the carpeting beneath their feet.

Marie pulled her young lover close, the hot, sensitive flesh of their heaving chests melding together, her large tits squashed between them. With one hand, she shoved Brad's bathing suit down, his thick, bobbing cock coming to a rest in her palm. Stroking it a few times, blood coursing back into the shaft, Marie's pink nails pulled her belt loose and she kicked off her shorts.

Facing Brad, she relaxed her knees. Her body began to slide down his, her elegant fingernails dragging along his hairless, muscular chest. Before her face came level with his jutting shaft, the telephone rang behind her.

Startled, Marie almost fell on her haunches, but recovered and in a few quick strides was beside her marital bed, cordless phone in hand. Putting a shushing finger to her shiny lips, she hit the "talk" button.

"Hello?" she answered, lowering her firm ass to the edge of the bed. Her liquid brown eyes darted in Brad's direction.

"Hi, sweetie. Where are you? . . . Oh, how awful . . . Sounds like you had a pretty rough day." Casting a glance at her daughter's well-hung friend, Marie beckoned him near with a manicured nail.

"The boys are with the Freemans, remember? . . . No, she's here." Brad stepped between Marie's widespread legs, his thick cock bobbing only inches from her wet, pink lips and the phone she was talking into.

"She has a bunch of her friends over. They're out by the pool." With her free hand, Marie guided the nineteen-year-old cock to her married lips, her tongue flitting out to swipe a bead of pre-cum that was about to drop to the floor.

Wrapping her fist around the thick shaft, fingertips not quite touching, Marie stroked the young man's bloated cock, staring into his hooded eyes as she responded to something her husband had said. "They should be back around eleven or so." She paused to catch her breath. "I think they took the Metra into the city."

Marie dropped her wet lips over Brad's blood-engorged shaft as her husband prattled on. When his cockhead hit the back of her throat – the mouthpiece of the phone less than an inch from the joinder of married lips and teenaged flesh – she suppressed her gag reflex, instead forcing the shaft further into her mouth, down into her throat, her eyes tearing once again. But almost in a panic, she tore her head from the invading rod.

"You're where?" she managed to spit out, a gob of saliva sliding over her lower lip and down her chin, dropping to splatter against one of her jutting tits. Listening, her expressive eyes locked on the bobbing cock, she extended her tongue beneath it to catch a globule of pre-cum. "How's traffic?" Marie asked before sucking the rod back between her adulterous lips, just as quickly releasing it.

"Okay, sweetie," she said, sliding the spit-soaked shaft along her warm cheek, inhaling deeply as the scent of Brad's secretions wafted into her nose. "I'll see you in a little bit."

The phone still at her ear, Marie pulled her head back before taking the thick shaft of Wendy Jackson's son back into her throat. Her manicured fingers tightly gripping the root of Brad's cock, putting pressure on that sensitive spot just beneath the intersection of his balls and shaft, she pulled back momentarily. "I love you, too."

With the index finger that was not caressing the slick cock, she hung up the phone and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. She wrapped an arm around Brad's trim waist and, falling back, pulled him on top of her. "Let's hurry," she grunted as his muscular frame fell atop her. "He'll be home soon."

Brad pulled back and, kneeling between her legs, pulled Marie's cotton panties aside, revealing her trimmed cunt, the lips flowered outward and slicked with her internal fluids. He knee-walked closer to her and let his cock fall in the channel formed by her sopping cunt lips. Bracing himself on his hands, the young man ran the length of his cock up Marie's splayed lips, pausing at the top to tease her inflamed clit.

He pulled his pelvis back, his shaft dragging along her clit, until the head of his cock nestled at her slippery hole. With brutal force, Brad pushed forward, spearing the housewife's unfaithful cunt on the full length of his cock. Marie yelped in surprise, her elegant hands flying to his braced arms, her pink nails biting into his skin.

Brad pulled back but gave the stunned woman no time to recover. He crashed back into her, his pelvic bone crushing her throbbing clit between them. He ground his hips in a circular motion once, twice, almost pulverizing the sensitive little bud, before withdrawing again.

Marie's head lolled back and forth as the young man repeatedly violated her trembling cunt, stretching her tender walls. "Oh, god," she moaned, her eyes screwed shut, her knees raised and little pink-painted feet bobbing behind Brad's ass, the heels bumping against his pistoning ass cheeks. "Fuck me, you little bastard. Keep fucking me." Her voice was faint, able (barely) to keep quiet for fear of anyone outside hearing her wails.

Brad slowed his assault on Marie's spoken-for cunt to bend his head toward her rolling tits. He captured a swollen nipple between his lips and drew it between his teeth, roughly scraping the inflamed flesh, sucking the entire areola into his hot mouth. Marie released her grip on his arms, her nails leaving marks on his skin.

She cupped her undulating tits from the sides, pushing them up and into the young man's face, offering her reddened nipples to him. His cock slicing cleaning into the older woman, Brad moved from one nipple to the next and back again, licking and sucking and biting. Every four or five strokes, he buried himself in her quaking cunt, grinding his pubic hair against her agitated clit, taking the married woman to the edge of orgasm, before releasing her.

"Oh, gawd," she moaned, dropping her lithe legs and pushing her daughter's friend off her naked, quivering body. "I love . . . your thick . . . young cock."

Marie pushed herself off the bed and took the two steps toward the bedroom window that overlooked the backyard. From an angle, she peered through the glass to see her daughter and her friends still splashing around the pool, soaking up the last warmth of the evening.

Marie's teenaged aggressor approached her from behind, rubbing his thick cock against her tight ass, running the leaking head between her clenched cheeks, leaving trails of pre-cum and Marie's own cunt juice along her olive-tinged skin. She braced herself against the wall with one hand and reached between her legs with the other. Her pink-manicured fingers scraping along his shaft, causing the young man to shudder, Marie guided the thick cock back into her dripping cunt.

Brad slid in easily and felt his pubic hair crush against her upturned ass cheeks. Marie's long nails tickled his balls momentarily before she removed her hand, placing it on the window sill. Brad grabbed her pliant but trim hips in his hands, banging into the housewife and mother-of-three from behind, his balls slapping against her exposed clit.

Through the blinds, Marie watched her daughter climb from the pool, chlorinated water dripping of her young, well-endowed body. She was the last one out of the pool and joined the rest of her friends around a table. 'I'm getting fucked like a dog by one of them, and the others have no idea.' Marie's eyes fluttered closed at the depravity of what she was doing, and she slammed her ass back against the invading cock.

"How long . . . have you . . . been fucking . . . my daughter," she grunted, her eyes locked on the teenagers sitting around the pool, one of the boys lightly stroking Elizabeth's pristine thigh.

"Since I . . . got home . . . from college," Brad managed, his breath ragged as Marie's pelvic bone grazed the sensitive underside of his shaft.

"I didn't know . . . she was . . . like that." Marie's voice was barely a whisper.

"Like what?" Brad's breath was coming in fits now, his cockhead tingling inside Marie's stretched cunt.

"A whore," Marie cried out, her massive tits swaying beneath her.

"Barely," Brad grunted. "She's nothing . . . like her . . . nasty mom." He planted his cock in Marie to the root, holding it there, letting the orgasmic sensation subside.

Before Marie could respond, a voice called out from below them, out of sight.

"Hey, Elizabeth." Marie's cunt tightened around the invading shaft at the sound of the voice.

"Hey, Dad. What's up?"

"I just got home. Do you know where your mother is?" Marie heard her husband's voice, not ten feet below where she was bent over, tits swinging from her narrow torso, a teenager – almost out of his teens but a teen nonetheless – fucking his marvelously thick cock into her sopping cunt.

"I don't know, Dad," Elizabeth called out. "She was out on the porch with Mrs. Bannister drinking wine again. She may have gone upstairs to take a nap."

"Heather was here?"

"Yeah. She left a little bit ago. I think Mom may have had a little too much to drink, if you know what I mean."

"Fuck me, Brad," she hissed. "Quick! Cum in my cunt."

His hands still holding tight to the little housewife's soft hips, Brad pounded his overheated cock into her forgiving cunt in staccato bursts, his balls slapping against agitated clit.

"Come on, Brad. Cum in me. Cum in my unprotected cunt, Brad!" Marie's little body convulsed in the teenager's hands.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, shit," he groaned. Cum churned in his balls, the thought of fucking this married tramp in her own bedroom, with her husband in the house looking for her, overloading his brain.

Still leaning on the windowsill, Marie turned her head to face him over her shoulder, her eyes on fire. "Who's the better fuck, Brad?" she snarled, her upper lip curling in animal lust. "Me or my prissy little daughter? Huh, Brad?"

Marie jammed her tight ass back against him, tilting her hips and changing the pressure on his trembling shaft. Brad moaned, his eyes screwed shut. "You are . . . Mrs. Carpelli!" He took a shallow breath. "You are!"

"Then cum . . . in my cunt . . . you little bastard."

Brad pulled the writhing housewife hard against his thrusting groin, his cock burying itself somewhere deep in her stretched cunt. Marie's pelvic bone crushed up against the bottom of his shaft, triggering the release of boiling cum from his balls.

Behind her, Marie felt the young man jerk and, a second later, his scalding hot cum splashed against the inner walls of her cunt. Her own orgasm upon her, she bit her lower lip, drawing blood, in an effort to stem her cries of relief. Brad's body convulsed in time with hers, his hands never leaving her hips, holding her upright on quaking, rubbery legs. Three or four thrusts and his jerking slowed, cum leaking from her cunt around the teenager's thick shaft.

Nervous now, Brad withdrew the length of his dripping cock from Marie's ravaged cunt. A wad, then another, of thick cum followed his cockhead, falling to the thick carpeting beneath them.

Her legs still shaking beneath her, Marie heard her husband's footfalls in the marble foyer at the foot of the stairs. Brad scrambled for his clothes and Marie for hers, the leather soles of Tony's wingtips slapping against the wood-planked stairs as he made his way up. She pushed the teenager into the master bathroom and shut the door on him, trying as fast as she could to jump into her shorts and pull her shirt back on. When she could no longer hear her husband's footsteps, she knew he was close, that he was in the carpeted hallway that led to their bedroom.

Slipping the tongue of her belt through the clasp, Marie flicked the lock on the bedroom door and opened it. Her husband stood there, his hand poised to grasp the doorknob.

"Hi, sweetie," she cooed, giving him a hug and a chaste peck on the lips. "I thought I heard you downstairs."

"I just got home," he said lovingly, unsuspectingly, moving past her and into the bedroom. She feared he would smell her cunt juice, the scent so overwhelmingly obvious to her.

"I was just about to take a shower," she announced to her husband's back.

Tony walked toward the window – the window in front of which his unfaithful wife had been getting fucked doggy-style not two minutes ago – and paused, his wingtip inches away from a small puddle of Brad's sperm.

"Go ahead, honey," he said over his shoulder, watching the kids come in from the pool. "I'll pour you another glass of wine. The kids are coming in anyway. I'll keep them entertained while you get cleaned up."

Tony turned away from the window and walked back toward the door, passing his adulterous wife on the way, pausing to give her a kiss. This time, he slipped his tongue in her smoldering mouth and brushed a beefy hand across a hardened nipple. He left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Marie's heart started beating again as she heard her husband descend the stairs and cross the foyer.

While his wife remained upstairs and showered, Tony poured himself a drink and met Elizabeth and her friends in the family room. He entertained all of them but one.

"Hey," Elizabeth said after a few minutes, looking around. "Where's Brad?"



Just Add Alcohol Ch. 03



"Come on, Matt," Marni whined. "You still have an hour left before you're done. Just go in back and get a stack of each and put 'em on the floor. By the time that's done, your shift will be almost over."

Matt turned and walked away from her without saying a word. He hated this fucking job. He was home from his freshman year in college and his parents made him get a job for the summer. Abercrombie & Fitch was it. It was ridiculous. He barely made any money, and he had to wear the store's clothes to boot. His parents paid for some of his clothes but it was still a wash as far as he was concerned. At the end of the day, he probably spent more on clothes than he actually made.

And Marni, the bubble-headed assistant store manager, was always riding his ass. 'Do this.' 'Don't do that.' How about this, Marni? Shut the fuck up!

Matt shuffled into the storage room to grab a few stacks of what the company's designers called "College Tee Shirts." Yeah, right. Who the fuck would wear this crap, anyway? He piled two stacks of the shirts onto his arms and carried them out to the sales floor, arranging them according to the almighty chart that Marni toted around all day, and returned to the storage room for a few more stacks.

* * *

Northbrook Court was tired and starting to look run down, but Olivia Freeman found it convenient, much more so than Old Orchard. Shoot down Green Bay Road to Lake-Cook, then west a few miles, over the Edens Expressway, and there you were. Ten minutes, at the most.

Last Tuesday, however, Olivia gave herself more than ten minutes; more like two hours. That gave her enough time to pick up a new hand bag from Louis Vuitton, a golf shirt for her husband, and a wrap top at Bebe. She liked the way the Bebe tops accentuated her 36C bust line.

She also poked her head into Victoria Secret and purchased a little baby doll; her anniversary was in two weeks and Bob was taking her to Miami for the weekend. He'd get his reward for a long weekend at the Shore Club.

That gave her just enough time to get to the Palm, the legendary steak house with a branch at the mall, where she met Rebecca Sussman and Wendy Jackson, two of her best childhood friends, for a late lunch. Lobster bisque, a salmon fillet and two-and-a-half bottles of a 2001 Cakebread chardonnay later, she was loading her arms up with bags, wishing her friends well, and walking back through Northbrook Court toward Neiman's, where she had parked her car.

The thought of her car made her frown. It wasn't a car anymore. The thought of driving the monstrosity killed her inside. With three kids in junior high and early high school, Olivia and Bob finally succumbed to the pull of the minivan. She had lobbied hard for an SUV, an X5 or a Mercedes M-Class. In the end, though, those SUVs didn't fit the Freeman's practicalities. Still, she wasn't happy and her intoxicated state caused her to brood.

Music floated into Olivia's ear, pulling her from her self-pity party. She looked towards its source, the Abercrombie & Fitch store her two eldest kids – boys both of them – spent so much money at. Thinking she'd stop in and see if any sales were on, she veered from her intended path and entered the store.

"How are you today?" a little bimbo inquired, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A tee shirt two sizes too small hugged modest breasts and a pony-tail bobbing behind her.

"I'm fine, thank you," Olivia responded, barely paying attention to the little girl.

"Can I help you find anything, ma'am?"

Olivia almost stopped and informed the girl that women who haven't started to go gray yet do not appreciated being called "ma'am." Instead, she said over her shoulder, "No, thanks. I'll just look around for a while."

* * *

Matt was leaning over a display table folding tee shirts when the cracking of Olivia's Jimmy Choo heels caught his attention. He glanced at her, intending to do so quickly, but his eyes locked on her beauty. She was walking among the various display tables, a long cherry red nail occasionally brushing her lustrous blond hair behind an ear. High, aristocratic cheekbones, slightly flushed from her intake of chardonnay, bookended a thin, elegant nose. With her tanned flesh, she made quite a glamorous sight.

Matt returned to his duties, stacking the remaining tee shirts on the display table. Finished, he looked around and found her standing before a table covered with stacks of chinos in various shades. She held a pair unfolded before her as if judging whether they would fit her curvy frame. They clearly wouldn't.

"Not for you, I'm guessing?"

Olivia lowered the pants from in front of her face. She gave the young man a wry smile accompanied by a shake of the head. "Not exactly."

"Anything I can help you with?"

"Not just yet, thank you."

"Well, just holler if you need me."

Matt sauntered off, slowing making his way toward the storeroom for another stack of tee shirts, Olivia admiring his tight butt as he went.

He was back at the tee shirt table arranging his latest load when, over his shoulder, he heard, "'I Mow Your Mom's Lawn'?"

He turned to see her standing over his shoulder, her perfume wafting through his nostrils. A look of inquiry dominated Olivia's luminous emerald eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno. It's just a tee shirt. They call it a College Tee Shirt."

"Who does?" she asked, moving to his side and lifting another shirt from the table. 'I Support The Performing Arts,' it read.

"The store."

"Hmph. I've never seen any college kids with tee shirts like these."

"Me neither." Matt leaned closer to her and, in a stage whisper, continued. "Personally, I think they're ridiculous. You wouldn't catch me dead in something like that."

Olivia's glossy red lips formed a conspiratorial smirk. She leaned closer to him, her full breasts pressing against his bare arm, the cashmere of her turtleneck so soft against his bare flesh. She reached across his chest and picked another tee shirt from the table, holding it before them. "'Your Mom Never Gets Old.' I'm sensing a theme here."

Below a lightly plucked and knowingly arched eyebrow, her gleaming eyes locked on Matt's before she dropped the shirt unceremoniously to the table, turned on her heel and wandered off. Matt stared after her as she did, his cock stirring at the site of her sweet little bottom encased in camel hair pants.

Shaking the image from his mind, he returned to his duties, re-folding the tee shirts that Olivia had held up for inspection.

"Jesus, Matt," came an exasperated whine. "What are you doing? You're just screwing around."

He turned to see Marni approaching.

"Come on, Matt," she pleaded. "You only have forty-five minutes before you have to clock out." She had had enough. "Just go work the cash register for the rest of your shift."

Fifteen minutes later, Matt was behind the counter straightening the supplies and waiting for the next customer when Olivia approached. She dropped two pairs of pants and one of the College Tee-Shirts on the counter and leaned against it on her elbows, her breasts pushing together and swelling beneath her turtleneck. A flirtatious smile formed across her shiny lips as Matt rung up the first pair of pants.

"You know you have two different size pants, ma'am?" he inquired when ringing the second pair.

Olivia sighed, her breath rustling her glimmering blond locks. "First of all, I'm not a 'ma'am.' Try 'miss,' young man. You'll find it works much better with women who haven't hit menopause yet."

"Sorry," he mumbled, reaching for the tee shirt.

"And second, yes, I know I'm buying pants of different sizes. That's because I'm buying one pair for my oldest son," she intoned, holding up one pair, "and another for my other son," she finished, holding up the other.

"Of course . . . miss. I'm sorry." Matt rang the tee shirt as Olivia rummaged through the Chanel flap bag looking for her credit card. The bag's strap draped across her torso, running between her breasts, emphasizing what needn't be emphasized. When she found her card, she handed it to Matt, dragging her cherry red nails across the innocent flesh of his palm as she withdrew her hand.

With a shiver, Matt read the name on the card before sliding it through the machine. He began folding the tee shirt. His composure somewhat regained, he shook his head when he read the message emblazoned across the front of it: 'I Mow Your Mom's Lawn.'


"What?" Olivia asked.

"I told you," he began in light tone, "your son's gonna to hate this thing. No self-respecting kid would wear it."

"Really?" she said, confident that the young man was wrong. Matt nodded his head. "Well, let me tell you, then. It's not for one of my sons."

He merely rolled his eyes as he slipped the pants into an A&F bag. "Right. Who's it for, then? Your daughter?" he scoffed.

Olivia leaned closer to the young man, her long blond locks sweeping across the counter. Silently, she mouthed, "It's for you."

Matt furrowed his brow, not reading her glossy lips much less understanding the import of her message.

"It's for you," she whispered, smiling brazenly at the young man who, three months hence, would leave his teens behind.

He was taken aback. His mind raced to form some sort of retort but ultimately failed.

"How late do you work?" she asked, her chin resting in the palm of her left hand. Her cherry red nails gleamed and the diamond of her engagement ring sparkled in the store's indirect lighting.

"Um," he stumbled.

Olivia sensed his anxiety and rephrased the question. "What . . . time . . . do . . . you . . . get . . . off?" She almost giggled at the double entendre.

He looked around the store, then back at gorgeous women standing before him, then at his watch. "Uh. I get . . . . Uh, half-an-hour." Nervously, Matt pulled the credit card receipt from the machine and slid it, the card and a pen toward her.

The pen gripped lightly between her manicured nails, her attention focused on the receipt, she said, "Fine. I'll be in the bar at the Palm." Looking up, she slid the store copy back to Matt with a bright smile on her tanned face before putting her copy and the card in the flap bag. "That is, if you want to mow my lawn."

With a smirk, Olivia turned on her heel and walked off, her hips swaying provocatively.

Matt stood there speechless for a moment, his cock twitching in his pants. Then he tried to make himself look busy straightening up the area around the cash register, but he was really just moving things around, his mind racing. Butterflies fluttered around his stomach as he rang up a few customers during his remaining time on the clock.

* * *

Outside Abercrombie & Fitch, Olivia turned and slowly made her way back to the Palm. Ensuring that her friends had left – she had no desire, of course, to explain to them why a young man was meeting her in the bar – she took a seat on one of the stools and ordered a bourbon-on-the-rocks.

When the bartender set it before her, she quickly downed it and glanced at her watch. 'Five minutes,' she thought to herself, signaling the bartender for another.

Olivia's nipples tingled beneath the cashmere weave of her turtleneck. Random, mid-day assignations were not foreign to her. She had married young, right out of college, and was pregnant, she often joked, before she and Bob had even left for their honeymoon. Though prone to fucking strange men behind Bob's back when they were dating in college, she had remained faithful to him during the first decade of their marriage.

The second decade, thus far, was a different story altogether. There was nothing unique about her motivations – limited sexual experiences before marriage; validation of her ability to attract men as she reached into her thirties; the general boredom of the stay-at-home mom.

Nonetheless, the incidence of her infidelity was fairly low – once or twice a year – but her daydreaming and fantasizing were much more frequent. And lately, her imaginations had been leading her to younger and younger men. The messages plastered across the front of Abercrombie & Fitch's College Tee Shirts had engaged her "cougar" instinct. Matt – if for no reason other than that he was simply there – was to be her prey.

* * *

At the top of the hour, Marni relieved Matt at the cash registered and he went to the storeroom to clock out for the day. He left the store and paused just outside it. If he went in one direction, he could be in his car and on Lake-Cook Road in a matter of minutes. In the other was Olivia Freeman.

A few minutes later, he found himself approaching the Palm, his stomach churning, his knees weak, palms sweaty.

* * *

Olivia glanced at her watch again. 'Should be here any minute.'

She dropped a twenty on the bar and collected her bags. She got herself balanced and was moving toward the door when Matt walked in. The nervousness was apparent in his demeanor. She smiled inwardly: he knew he was being hunted.

As the two approached each other, Olivia pretended not to notice him and breezed right on by, her shimmering flaxen hair flowing behind her

"Follow me," she said from the side of her sensuous mouth as she passed.

Matt stopped in his tracks, momentarily confused, but turned and followed her. He caught up to her about twenty yards outside the Palm.

"Walk behind me," she ordered, as though she were Queen Nefertiti. "We can't be seen together."

Matt dropped back a few paces and, through his anxiety, admired her swinging bottom. He followed her through the mall, the rhythmic clacking of her heels nearly mesmerizing him, and into Neiman's and out a side door. Olivia crossed the inner access road and stopped ten cars in at the rear of a silverish minivan. She set her bags on the ground, fumbled around her flap bag and extracted a set of keys, all the while remaining silent.

She pressed a button on the key fob and the rear hatch opened on its own. Matt helped her place the bags in the rear of the minivan, stacking them atop a lacrosse stick and a partially deflated soccer ball.

Olivia closed the hatch and moved to the driver's door, throwing a "Get in" over her shoulder to the confused teen.

As she settled herself in the driver's seat, the passenger door opened. She hit a button on the dashboard and the sliding door to the rear of the minivan slid open. She leaned over and caught Matt's eye. "In back."

Matt paused for a moment, his confusion continuing, but he shrugged his shoulders, shut the front door and climbed in back, sitting in the middle of the bench seat. Another press of the dashboard button closed the door, sealing the van's cabin in silence.

Olivia put the minivan in reverse, backed out of the stall, and drove slowly toward the outer access road. She stole a glance through the rearview mirror at Matt in the backseat. 'Oh, God,' she thought, rubbing her thighs together. 'I am going to rock this kid's world.' She paused at the outer access road and, after looking both ways, crossed it, rolling into a remote parking lot.

"What's your name?" she inquired, eyeing him again in the rearview mirror.

"Uh . . . Matt."

"Well, Matt," she began, "I think its time for you to leave the teenyboppers behind."

She brought the minivan to a stop and put the transmission in park. Leaving it running, she turned to face him; the twisting of her body accentuated her large breasts. "I've been dreaming about young cock pounding my filthy cunt into mush," she declared, her voice low and sultry and dripping with lust at the thought of having this young man at her beck and call. "How does that strike you?"

Olivia reveled at the sharp intake of his breath as the wicked words tumbled across her glossy lips. Without waiting for his response, she squeezed between the two front seats. She knelt on her camel hair covered knees, her long elegant fingers bracing herself against his muscular thighs. A soccer cleat dug into her left knee as she leaned into the wide-eyed young man.

As her pretty face fell toward his, Matt looked around, nervous that someone might see them. Olivia lifted a bright red nail to his cheek and guided his face back toward hers. "I'm right here, young man," she reminded him before brushing her soft full lips against his.

Matt quaked and inhaled deeply as Olivia's pink tongue flickered out and parted his lips, slipping into his mouth. He tasted the wine on her breath as he tried to catch his breath.

His eyes eased closed as her hot, wet tongue invaded his mouth, her perfume his olfactory senses. A manicured hand roamed down his chest, gently massaging his pectoral muscles, pausing momentarily to tweak his flat nipples.

Olivia's shiny lips and slithering tongue detached from the young man's mouth and she planted light kisses along his jaw line, crossing to his ear. She blew hot breath as her hand dropped to the waistband of his pants.

"Um," he began, his young body shuddering.

"Shut up," she whispered hotly into his ear, sending shivers up his spine. "You're not here to talk. You're here to FUCK." She bit hard on the last word before taking Matt's earlobe between her full lips and sucking it hard between her snow-white teeth.

Olivia pulled Matt's shirt from his pants and pushed it up and out of her way. With a thumb and forefinger, she roughly pulled his belt from its buckle, ripped the button from its hole, and tore open the zipper, careful not to chip her nails.

Matt groaned as her cool, soft fingers raided his boxers and pulled his thickening cock from the piss hole.

Olivia bent and licked around one of his nipples as her manicured hand encircled the thick, teenage cock, stroking it. She lifted her head to look around. There were no cars approaching, no people on foot.

"Mmm," she muttered, dipping her head again toward the erect shaft quivering in her left hand. She blew hot breath across the broad head before swiping her wet tongue across the spongy flesh, capturing a drop of pre-cum as it threatened to streak down the length of his shaft.

The cum sat on her tongue for a moment before she pressed it against the roof of her mouth, mixing it her own saliva, and swallowed. Her left hand remained firmly around Matt's cock, gently tugging, her eyes locked on the veiny, pulsing shaft and shiny head. Her focus was singular.

After a moment, she tore her sparkling emerald eyes from the trembling mass and found Matt staring back at her. A lascivious smile parted her full lips. "I cannot tell you," she began, "how long I've been waiting for this." Her fist still pulling gently at his shaft, she again swiped her tongue across the squishy cap.

"Hmm?" he moaned in response.

"Young cock," she answered. "Young . . . thick . . . fraternity-boy cock."

With her free hand, Olivia reached below her and pulled Matt's shoes from his feet. She tugged at his pants and, when he lifted his ass from the leather bench, pulled them down over his knees and off his feet.

Planting light kisses along the inner thigh of his left leg, she pushed his right leg up and to the side so that it hung over the arm of the bench seat.

"Oh, gawd," she muttered before burying her pretty face in the teenager's crotch, her flaxen hair whispering across his hairy thighs as her silky tongue found his hanging balls. She bathed them in sticky saliva while her left hand continued to jerk at Matt's stiff cock. The metal links of her watchband clinked together in time with her stroking, providing the only sound inside the cabin of the minivan.

Above her, Matt groaned with delight. His mouth was dry and he struggled to swallow when Olivia sucked one of his balls into her mouth. He clenched his fists beside him, his knuckles turning white.

Olivia spit the testicle from her mouth and released the teen's throbbing shaft. It fell to his thigh with an audible plop as she grabbed his trim waist in both hands, pulling his ass closer to the edge of the bench.




Just Add Alcohol Ch. 03



Scooting back on her knees so that her trim ass was wedged between the two front seats, she again took Matt's thick shaft in her fist and, with her right hand, gently lifted his balls. Olivia bent further, squeezing her tanned cheeks between the young man's thighs. Her tongue darted from between glossy lips and licked lightly at his perineum.

Above her, Matt inhaled sharply, never having felt the silky smoothness of a wet tongue beneath his balls. When Olivia's tongue strayed closer to his clenched asshole, he jerked at the sensation and his heavy, sperm-laden balls fell from her grasp, resting softly against the bridge of her nose and in the socket of her right eye.

Olivia increased the pace of her stroking, pulling roughly on the veiny rod that stood upright above her prone face. Matt's breathing became short then erratic and pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cock, slickening Olivia's clenching fingers and adding lubrication to her ministrations.

Sensing an impending orgasm, she pushed her angelic face deeper into the teenager's groin, her pink tongue licking at the base of his smooth nut sack. As her face pressed against his thighs, her flickering tongue slid across his perineum to his puckered asshole.

Matt jerked when he felt the wet tip of the older woman's tongue brush against his anal ring. At the same time, Olivia slammed her left fist to the base of his quivering shaft, squeezing tightly, her manicured thumb applying a steady pressure to the sensitive underside of his cock.

The shaft lurched in her elegant hand and she vigorously rubbed her thumb at its base, coaxing steamy cum from his heavy balls. "Cum for me, fraternity boy," she mumbled into musky void between her face and Matt's groin.

With her fist clenched around the teenager's cock, she felt the sperm course through the pulsing shaft as Matt arched his back, trying force his cock deeper into her fist.

She pulled her face from his asshole as the first jet of cum spurted from the tip two feet in the air before falling and splattering against his exposed stomach. The next two emissions ejected with much less force, thick, stringy ropes of fluid that coated her manicured fingers and wedding rings.

Her sparkling eyes fixated on the pulsating shaft, Olivia spread the cum sticking to her fingers around his overheated flesh. Stroking his now lubricated cock gently, she leaned forward, her face dropping toward Matt's ripped stomach. Her tongue slithered from between still-glossed lips and licked the sperm from the flesh of his stomach, her tongue dipping into his belly button to collect what had puddled there.

Matt's body settled back on the minivan's bench and his head rolled to the side as he tried to catch his breath, his cock still stiff in Olivia's tight fist.

"This is why . . . I've always . . . wanted . . . young cock," she announced, bringing her left hand to her lush mouth, her tongue licking the thick sperm from between her fingers. "You can cum . . . and cum . . . and cum . . . but this cock . . . will remain thick and stiff."

Her pretty hand clean, Olivia lifted herself from her haunches and leaned over Matt's prone body, brushing her soft lips against his nipples and then his chin. She turned over and slid onto the bench next to him, kicking the heels from her feet in the process. Pulling her trim legs in the air, the unbuttoned her pants and pushed them down her lithe thighs.

"Help me out here," she grunted from her folded position.

Matt turned on the seat and pulled first one and then the other pant leg off Olivia's dainty feet, dropping the pants to the floor of the minivan. She raised her tight ass off the leather seat and pushed her pink thong down as far as she could, pulling one foot from the stringy little nothing.

Olivia slouched into the corner formed by the seatback and the side wall of the minivan and spread her toned, trim legs wide. She ran a gleaming red fingernail over the crevice formed by her full cunt lips and a trace of cunt juice leaked from her, forming a shiny wet spot on the leather bench.

"Not much lawn to mow, huh, fraternity boy?" she asked, her lewdly spread legs revealing a thin stripe of pubic hair reaching from the apex of her cunt to her tan line. Her landing strip was somewhat darker than the hair atop her pretty little head.

Matt merely groaned from deep in his throat as he turned to face Olivia more directly.

"Now get down on your knees and lick my wet cunt," she ordered, prodding him with a manicured hand on his shoulder.

Matt slid off the bench and squeezed himself between Olivia's widespread legs and the back of the minivan's driver's seat. He dipped his right shoulder beneath her left knee, his left beneath her right, hooking her legs over his muscular shoulders.

Licking lightly up her inner thigh, he wrapped his sinewy arms around her such that they rested at the top of her landing strip. His licks brought him closer to her musky cunt, but he stopped just short. With his tongue protruding from his mouth, Matt gave Olivia a long, wet lick up the crease between her leg and groin and moved his head up and over her landing strip, tracing along its edges. The light sensation caused her to gasp.

"You have a beaut-," he began before she interrupted him.

"Just shut up . . . and eat. . . . You're not here . . . to make . . . conversation." As the words spilled from her full lips, Olivia gripped the back of his head in her open palms, pulling his mouth toward her sopping cunt. Her long, manicured nails scraped along Matt's scalp as she jammed his lips against her, smashing them together.

His nose almost buried against her clit, Matt's tongue snaked out and ran up the folds of Olivia's cunt and back down again. On its way back up, it penetrated her cunt lips, releasing a torrent of fluid that flowed into his mouth.

"Oh, gooood boooy," she cooed, her head lolling back and forth.

Olivia pulled him tighter against her, manipulating his skull from side to side, saturating his chin and cheeks in her cunt juice. When her grip slackened, Matt lifted his head slightly and swiped his tongue across her throbbing clit once and then again.


"Uunngghh," she moaned, lifting her lithe legs higher, tightening their grip around his neck. Olivia's nipples throbbed beneath her turtleneck as she squirmed across the back seat of her minivan.

Her movements, controlled just barely by Matt's strong hands wrapped around her waist, brought his tongue back across her clit again.

"Yyyeeesss," she hissed, grinding her trim hips against the teenager's face, her pelvic bone smashing against his chin.

Matt maintained his tongue's presence at Olivia's clit, manipulating it back and forth between licks. He suctioned his lips to the engorged bud and sucked into his mouth, tugging it gently back and forth.

Above him, Olivia bucked as the tingling sensation coursed from her distended clit and through her torso to her thick nipples. Matt trapped her clit between his lips and sucked hard at the engorged flesh. Her elegant fingers pulling roughly at Matt's hair, she bucked against his face harder and harder, threatening to bruise his youthful features.

Matt released her inflamed clit from his mouth and dipped his tongue between her folds, savoring the musky taste of her cunt juice. Two of his fingers found her clit and rubbed it vigorously as he tongue-fucked the older woman.

The double sensation of having her cunt penetrated and clit massaged caused Olivia to jerk her sweet bottom right off the bench seat, slamming her clit against Matt's manipulating fingers.

"Oohh, ggaawwdd! Yyeess!" she screamed, her cunt contracting around the teenager's tongue as an orgasm screamed through her athletic little body. Her head rolled from side to side, her long blond locks a tangled mess. "Ohmidgod . . . ohmigod . . . ohmigod!"

Matt slowed the pace of his tongue and his fingers as the trembling of Olivia's body subsided and her ass slowly descended to the bench seat again. Her elegant fingers found his clothed shoulders and her nails dug into his tender flesh as she pulled him closer to her quivering, dripping cunt, trying to coax a few more seconds of orgasmic bliss from her little body.

Her legs still locked tightly around his neck, her pink thong hanging from one of her dainty feet, Matt ran lazy circles around her burning clit with his tongue as she caught her breath, occasionally dipping his tongue between the saturated folds of her cunt.

"I want," she began, her breath labored, "that college cock . . . buried in me."

Olivia released the grip of her legs around Matt's neck and, still on his knees, he moved up closer to the bench. His thick cock bobbed before his muscular body and slapped against Olivia's exposed clit.

"Oohh, ggaawwdd," she shuddered, reaching between her obscenely spread legs with her left hand, guiding the thick mushroom head toward her sopping hole.

When he felt the spongy head press against Olivia's lips, Matt pushed forward, sinking the first few inches of his shaft into her wet cunt.

"Mmmm," she moaned, relishing the sensation of the thick head shoving her tender flesh aside.

He pulled back slightly and then forward again. Beneath him, Olivia wiggled her hips slowly, seeking a better angle for the penetration. Matt's third push found his pubic hair flattened against her landing strip, his balls coming to rest against her tanned ass cheeks.

Matt pulled back so that just the head of his cock remained ensconced in the overheated hole before pushing back in, ensuring that her slippery cunt juice lubricated the entire length of his shaft. He continued in this manner, falling into a slow but steady rhythm, his large hands gripping Olivia's pliant hips.

"That's it, fraternity boy," she leered at him, her emerald eyes burning with lust. "Fuck me nice and slow . . . nice and slow."

While Matt continued his able penetration of Olivia's unfaithful cunt, she smoothed her long fingers across her landing strip and grasped the waist hem of her turtleneck. Squirming on the bench, she pulled it up and over her head, her bare foot slipping on the latest issue of Cosmo Girl, left there by her youngest child.

Through the silk bra, Olivia squeezed and massaged her 36C tits, pausing occasionally to tweak her thickening nipples. As Matt's cock continued to slice between her folds, she released the catch at the front of the bra and pulled the cups aside.

"Oohh, fuck," Matt groaned when Olivia exposed her soft tits, her thick, elongated nipples beckoning his attention. As blood surged into his young shaft, he adjusted his position to get a better angle at her cunt. His knee came down atop the soccer cleat, and he edged it aside.

The cleat digging into his knee brought the full impact of what he was doing slamming into his brain. He was fucking someone's mom, someone's wife, in the backseat of the family minivan, the same car she used to pick her kids up from school, to go to the grocery store and runs carpools for soccer practice and lacrosse games.

Matt increased the pace of his fucking as the long, manicured nails of Olivia's left hand grazed across a crinkly areola and thickened nipple. Her large tits rose and fell atop her trim chest as the force of his fucking increased.

"Gooood boooy," she cooed, the soft pads of the fingers of her right hand smoothing across his sweaty cheek. "Faster now, sweetie . . . mm-hm . . . that's it . . . faster . . . fuck me harder!"

The depravity of fucking this married lady in the backseat of her minivan, combined with her filthy mouth, spurred Matt on. He lost all restraint and began pounding his thick cock into her.

Olivia's long manicured fingers fanned out across her firm tits to keep them from wobbling too much on her heaving chest. A bead of sweat formed across her eyebrow and above her upper lip; her high cheekbones were aglow.

"Aaaahhhh!" she screamed as her clit was smashed between their pelvic bones. She tossed her head from side-to-side, her long blond hair whipping back and forth as she arched her back and bucked her hips, forcing the slicing cock deeper into her sloppy cunt. But Matt slowed his pace before she could reach another orgasm.

Her body settling, Olivia pushed her soft tits together, mounding them atop her chest, her fat, darkened nipples jutting from the white flesh.

"Suck."

His thick cock still slipping between the folds of her cunt, Matt dropped his head toward the immense cleavage, his lips parting to allow a thick nipple to penetrate his dry mouth. "Oh, god, Olivia."

She released one tit and grabbed Matt's left ear between manicured fingers. "That's Mrs. Freeman to you, fraternity boy," she demanded in a harsh tone. Seeking his understanding, her hips still bucking at the invading cock, she raised an eyebrow. "Got it? Mrs. Freeman. Not Olivia. Mrs. Freeman."

"I . . . got it," Matt responded through labored breath, burying his face between her soft, jutting mounds when she released his ear and brought the wobbling tit back atop her chest.

Burying his cock to the root in Mrs. Freeman's saturated hole, his lips sought and found a burgeoning nipple. He washed his tongue across the engorged flesh before sucking it lewdly between his lips.

Matt readjusted his position again so that he could wrap his arms around Mrs. Freeman's svelte body and suck her soft tits while at the same time continue pounding her cunt. As his lips again searched for a thick nipple, she arched her back into him, pushing her tits toward his face.

He sucked first one then the other nipple into his mouth again, ramming his cock into Mrs. Freeman's slackened cunt, holding it there, grinding his pelvic bone against her inflamed and exposed clit.

"Oohh, ggaawwdd," she whimpered at the brutal tingling that coursed through her body.

He pulled out again, his lips still attached to the fat nipple, and violently rammed his cock back into the married mother of three. He sucked the blood-engorged nipple between his teeth, scraping and nibbling at the tender flesh as Mrs. Freeman's little body trembled beneath him.

"Bite," she ordered in a voice barely audible.

Matt withdrew slowly and just as slowly shoved his thick cock into her quivering woman. He wiggled his hips to penetrate her unfaithful cunt further. His tongue washed across a tender nipple.

"Bite!"

His cock buried in her, he ground his hips against her, crushing her delicate clit between them. The coarseness of his pubic hair agitated the inflamed bud and Mrs. Freeman squirmed around beneath him, trying to apply greater pressure to her little clit.


"I said, Bite!!!"

With her tender clit still smashed by his pubic bone, Matt fastened his lips tightly around the base of her raw nipple. Slowly, he bit down, feeling the flesh compress between his teeth.

"Aaaaahhhhh!" she wailed, her hands flying to the back of Matt's head, pulling him tighter against her swollen tits, his nose mashed into the flesh such that he could barely breathe. "Harder . . . harder!" she whined.

Matt's teeth continued to close on the thickened nipple until he was afraid he'd break skin. He pulled his hips back slightly to relieve the pressure on her abused clit before jamming his shaft back into her, again trapping the little clit between their sweaty bodies.

"Ooohhh, gggaaawwwddd!" Mrs. Freeman howled, her cunt trembling and twitching and quaking around the teenager's cock. Her athletic body shook and shuddered beneath him as another orgasm washed over her.

"Yyyeeesss!" she hissed. "That's . . . it . . . fraternity boy . . . I'm cumming . . . on your . . . young . . . thick . . . cock!"

Matt held his cock in Mrs. Freeman's cunt as her body convulsed on the bench seat, sweat dripping from her chin and running between the cleavage formed by her shoved-together tits.

He pulled out, leaving only his spongy cock head buried in her, and she gasped at the emptiness she felt.

"Put it back in," she pleaded. "Pleeeaaase . . . put it back in."

A thick nipple still trapped between his teeth, Matt pounded his thick back into her, nearly knocking the wind from the cheating wife's lungs.

"Oohh . . . yyeess," she moaned, regaining her breath as her body's tremors and spasms slowed.

Matt released the battered nipple from his lips and teeth and sat back on his haunches, his twitching cock still wrapped tightly in Mrs. Freeman's sloppy cunt.

"Ohmigod," she breathed, her eyes hooded in post-orgasmic wonderment. "Your . . . are one . . . nasty little boy."

Matt prepared to respond when The National Anthem sounded from somewhere behind him.

"Oh, fuck," Mrs. Freeman breathed. "It's my cell phone. Reach behind you and get it, would you?"

Making sure that his fat cock didn't slip from her slushy cunt, Matt twisted around and spotted the cell phone sitting in a cup holder below the minivan's stereo. He reached behind him, grabbed it, and handed it to her.

Mrs. Freeman flipped the phone open and, with her left hand, brushed her tangled hair behind an ear.

"Hello?" She paused while the person on the other end spoke, and then abruptly looked at watch. Her bright emerald eyes went wide with surprise. "I'm so sorry, sweetie," she gushed. As she spoke, Matt pushed into her, jamming the soft underside of his cock against the back of her pelvic bone, and bent to suck a still engorged nipple into his mouth.

Mrs. Freeman nearly gasped, but maintained her composure and continued her conversation. "I'll be there in twenty minutes . . . I know, honey, I just got sidetracked with something."

Slicing into her cunt, Matt's movements became erratic at Mrs. Freeman's nastiness. Here she was, in the backseat of her minivan with a kid half her age. She had met Matt less than two hours ago, yet his cock was buried in her unfaithful cunt and his lips were tightly suctioned around her aroused nipple.

"I know, sweetie," she breathed. "I said . . . I said I'm sorry. Give . . . give me twenty minutes." Mrs. Freeman slammed the phone closed and dropped it to the floor.

She pouted her lower lip out and said in a child's voice, "My poor, poor baby." Her hands encircled Matt's waist, sliding down to his tight ass, her manicured nails digging into his flesh. "I almost forgot all about her," she whispered in his ear, pulling him towards her, his cock sinking deeper into her loosened cunt.

Mrs. Freeman slapped his ass, prodding him on. "Now, cum in this mommy's cunt so she can go get her baby girl."

Matt moaned deeply into Mrs. Freeman's squishy tit that was molded against the features of his face. As the nasty words tumbled from her shiny lips, his cock lurched in her wet cunt. Feeling his cum about to spill from his heavy balls, Matt jerked back and pulled his cock from her.

Mrs. Freeman was surprised and shrieked, "What are you doing!?! Put it back in!"

"I . . ." Matt tried to speak but his balls were churning, his cock was pulsating and his cognitive mind had shut down.

"Put your cock back in me!" she ordered. "You'll cum all over the car!"

His eyes rolling to the back of his head, Matt slammed his cock back into the depths of Mrs. Freeman's sloppy cunt, knocking the wind from her lungs. Alcohol-tinged breath gusted by his face, filling his nostrils.

"Are you . . . on the . . . pill?" he managed to ask, his body jerking in impending orgasm.

"No . . . what? . . . no! I don't . . . fucking . . . care . . . . Just cum . . . in me!" Mrs. Freeman spanked Matt's pistoning ass again, urging him to drop his seed inside her unprotected cunt.

When Matt next sunk his cock into the loose cunt, he held it there, squirming his hips, sliding the sensitive underside of his cock against Olivia's pelvic bone. He felt his sperm-laden balls release and a surge of cum screamed through his shaft before splattering against the searing walls of Mrs. Freeman's cunt. He jerked once, twice, a third time, each time coaxing more cum from his balls and into her fertile hole.




Just Add Alcohol Ch. 03



Matt's body relaxed and, sensing he was done, she pushed he teenager off her sweaty body. "Come on," she said in a hurry, slipping her free foot back through the pink thong. "Let's go. I'm late. I need to pick my daughter up from school."

While Matt situated himself on the bench seat and found his boxers and pants, Mrs. Freeman fastened her bra and pulled the cashmere turtleneck back over her torso. Matt was taking his time.

"Come on, kid! Make it snappy," she ordered, clicking her manicured fingers at him as she reached for her pants.

Matt picked up the pace as Mrs. Freeman finished dressing. "Go on. Get out!"

"But can't you drive me back to-," he began before being interrupted again.

"No. Just get out," she pleaded, squeezing between the front seats of the minivan and sliding into the driver's seat.

Matt shrugged his shoulders as the side door slid open. His feet were barely on the ground when he heard the engine rev and the tires chirp behind him.



Just Add Alcohol Ch. 04



At the request of a reader who was kind enough to offer both feedback and a plot suggestion, I have this to say:

Chris entered Room 834 at the Palmer House Hilton and was immediately overcome by a stench he knew all too well. An assistant manager of the venerable Chicago hotel, he had been summoned to the room by the head of housekeeping a few minutes after noon on Sunday. It was just over an hour after check-out time, and the room was still occupied. Given the circumstances of the occupation, housekeeping didn't know what to do about it.

Before entering, Chris rapped his knuckles against the oak panel of the door several times before sliding the master keycard through the slot. When it clicked, he opened it slightly. "Hello?" he said loudly, giving fair warning of his impending entry.

Receiving no response, he pushed the door open and stepped into the entryway of the small suite. 'Not again,' he thought to himself as the commingled scents of alcohol, sweat and sex assaulted him.

He closed the door behind him – loudly, giving further warning of his presence – and stepped down the short entryway and into the main living area. The shades were pulled and he squinted, looking across the room and into the bedroom, the door of which stood open.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. His guest – Chris was rather proprietary of those who chose to stay at the Palmer House – lay upon the bare mattress of the king-sized bed, the sheets having been torn from the corners and strewn about the floor. She was face down, her small, dainty feet dangling off the edge of the mattress, her tight, tan-lined bottom bare to the stale, muggy air that permeated the room.

Judging by the rank odor of alcohol, she was passed out. Judging by the equally strong smells of sweat and sex, her little body had been ravaged the night before and probably into the wee hours of the morning.

* * *

The denizens of the city of Chicago were euphoric. Well, most of them were. The diehard Cubs fans were a little put out, upset that the White Sox were playing in the World Series just two years after the Cubs had blown their chance to participate. Nonetheless, the city in large measure came out to support the White Sox – the true-blue fans as well as the fair-weathered ones.

But with it the World Series brought a whole host of visitors from far and wide. Hotels were sold out – not just in Chicago, but in the suburbs, too. You couldn't get a reservation at a decent restaurant. Finding room to belly up to a bar was next to impossible. A cab in River North? Forget it. Just walk.

Astros fans, baseball fans, corporate sponsors, those who just wanted to say they went to a World Series game – one and all, they descended on Chicago like vultures, turning the city upside down for the first weekend of the 2005 World Series Championship.


Among them was Kimberly Cannon. Kim had arrived the Thursday before the first game on a Delta flight from Atlanta with a dozen co-workers. Being employed by one of Major League Baseball's major sponsors got her easy access to tickets. Being employed in the sponsor's marketing department with daily interaction with the MLB got her into a private box at the stadium and a small suite at the Palmer House Hilton.

Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it – she had had to leave her husband and two daughters behind. Tom wasn't happy about it, but the demand on the company's tickets and box access was too great to allow for spouses to attend, at least at Kim's level within the corporate hierarchy. Sure, Betsy, Kim's boss, had brought her husband. But Kim's of seventeen years had been forced to stay at home with the girls, relegated to watching the games on television.

While some of the younger company attendees had departed the Cell for the bars and clubs of Rush and Division, Kim returned to the Palmer House with Betsy, Betsy's husband, and a few mid-level MLB personnel. The rest of the returning crew opted for bed, but Kim stopped by the bar off the main lobby for a drink before retiring. Through the game, she had gulped down a few beers before switching to vodka-and-tonics; she wanted her buzz to keep her going a little while longer.

The bar at the Palmer House is by no means a Chicago hotspot. Nonetheless, it was quite crowded after the first game had let out. Kim elbowed her way to the bar and ordered a Cosmopolitan. Sipping from the glass, she waited until a seat opened at the bar and slid into it, smoothing the back of her gray, just-above-the-knee skirt as she sat.

Being alone, and not knowing anyone at the bar, Kim looked around her, peering through the cigarette and cigar smoke that drifted toward the ceiling, and eavesdropped on the conversations taking place beside her.

An elderly couple seated next to her paid their tab and rose to leave; Kim ordered another Cosmo from the bartender when he came to collect the couple's tab.

* * *

Gary, also in town for the opening game of the Series, had been sitting at a low table set away from the bar with a few of his friends. Graduates of Northwestern's business school, now flung across the country and, in one case, Southeast Asia, they had all met back in Chicago to attend Game 1.

Single, with considerable disposable income, Gary was playing the game. He looked around the bar – as he did at every bar – for any opportunity he could find to quench his sexual desires. The Palmer House was perhaps not the best scouting field, but several opportunities did present themselves.

When he saw Kim hike her trim rear-end onto the bar stool, he made his choice. He had tuned out the conversation around him, watching her as she brushed a few stray strands of long, dirty blonde hair behind an ear before tipping the martini glass against her full lips.

She looked his way without actually seeing him, and Gary smiled inwardly. 'What a beauty,' he thought, taking in sparkling green eyes that sat above high cheekbones and an elegant, perfectly proportioned nose.

When the elderly couple sitting next to her at the bar rose, so too did Gary, taking his drink with him. "Be back in a bit," he muttered to his friends.

* * *

Approaching the bar, Gary slid into the just-vacated seat next to Kim and ordered another scotch-and-soda for himself.

"I've never seen this place so crowded," he said to Kim, looking around.

She glanced his way and gave him a small smile to acknowledge his presence.

"Let me guess," he continued despite her lack of encouragement. He feigned concentration, his thumb and forefinger at his temples. "You're here for the Series."

Kim smiled wryly, finishing the last of her Cosmo. "Wow, you're incredible! How'd you do that?" she asked rhetorically, setting the empty glass on the bar. "I mean, you're in a hotel bar full of tourists, it's the weekend of the World Series, and you actually managed to divine that I'm in town for the World Series."

Gary gave her a sly smile, ignoring the thick sarcasm. "It's my sixth sense."

"Yeah, I bet," she responded as the bartender approached with their drinks. Kim reached for her clutch.

"No, no. Let me get it," Gary insisted, pulling a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. "What kind of gentleman would I be to let such a beautiful young woman pay for her own drink?"

Placing their drinks before them, the bartender rolled his eyes at Kim before swiping the bill from the bar. Kim mirrored him, though she secretly reveled in the attention of young men.

"Mind if I join you?" Gary asked, all confidence as though there was no way the striking woman would decline him.

"You already have, haven't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I have."

"Then you're welcome to stay." She raised her glass to the young man and they clinked. "Thanks for the drink."

"My pleasure," he said, taking a sip. "So, was I right? About the World Series, I mean."

"Mm-hm."

"Little dressed up for a ball game, don't you think?"

"Not really. If I was in the bleachers, sure. But I was in a box with some co-workers and clients."

"Nice seats."

"Very nice seats."

"And booze, too, I'm sure."

"And booze, too." She smiled at that, and took a long pull from her Cosmo.

"So, where are your co-workers and clients now? You look like you're here alone."

"That's because I am. They're either out at the clubs or hit the sack early."

"Leaving you all alone."

"Leaving me all alone."

"No husband?"

"No husband."

"At all, or just not here?" Gary strained for a look at her left hand. It was bare of any jewelry, with only a barely visible tan line at the base of the cherry-red manicured ring finger.

Kim just shrugged her shoulders again. The action caused her large breasts to rise then fall with a tight jiggle.

"Is that a tan line on your finger?" he asked, reaching across her for her hand and gently taking it in his.

She simply nodded her head.

"Married?"

Another nod. Kim's emerald eyes locked on his searching ones.

"So, where's the ring?"

"I took it off," she responded demurely, almost beneath her breath.

Gary's eyebrows arched in mock surprise. "Really?" It wasn't quite a question.

"Really."

"Hmph." He took a long pull from his drink, Kim's soft hand still cradled in his, his thumb lightly rubbing over the smooth flesh that normally sported her engagement and wedding rings. "Mind if I ask why?"

"No."

He paused, waiting for her to continue.

"No, you don't mind, or no, I can't ask?"

"I don't mind if you ask."

Gary waited for her to continue, but she didn't. "Ooo-kay. Then tell me, why did you take it off?"

Kim looked around to ensure that no one was listening before she answered. Leaning closer to the young man, her full breasts squishing against his muscular arm, she whispered in his ear. "I take it off when I wanna fuck."

Her hot breath caressing his inner ear – and the filthiness of her words – caused Gary's cock to stir in his pants. He let that sink in for a moment.

"Tan line's kind of faint," he said, his eyes focused on the pale band of flesh on the otherwise tan skin.

"I take it off a lot," she responded, again with a wry smile.

Gary returned her smile, and then took another drink.

"I think you should put it back on," he announced confidently, almost as a command.

"Oh, really. And why is that?"

"It belongs on your finger, doesn't it? Didn't your husband put it there on your wedding day?"

She frowned at the brash young man. "Why do you care so much? You're not my husband."

This time, it was Gary who leaned close. "No, but if I'm going to stretch your little married vagina tonight, I want that ring on your finger while I'm doing it."

Kim leaned back, somewhat surprised at the kid's bluntness. A smile crept across her face, parting her silky red lips and revealing her bright white teeth. She gave him a short nod and reached for her clutch, resting on the bar between them. She snapped it open, dug around inside, and pulled two rings from within.

The fingers of her left hand spread before her, long red nails gleaming in the faint overhead light, Kim slowly slid the diamond-encrusted wedding band on her ring finger, twisting gently to ease it over her second knuckle.

"Better?" she teased.

"Almost."

Kim smiled at the young man as she slid the engagement ring on. The light from above, while dim, caused the ensemble of diamonds to glitter brightly in Gary's eyes.

"How 'bout now?"

"Much better." He again took Kim's small hand in his and bent, kissing the back of her hand. The three-karat diamond scraped softly across the flesh of his chin as he did.

Gary straightened and took a sip of his drink. The heat from the head of his cock burned into his thigh.

"Not sure your husband should ever let you travel," he announced, sotto voce.

"Prob'ly not," she agreed, downing the rest of her Cosmo and ordering another.

"Sure you can handle another drink?"

"Of course."

"That's – what? – three now?"

"S'far as you know."

"Quite a bit for such a little woman."

"Don' worry yourself. Loosens me up."

"I'd rather be the one to loosen you up."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Kim smiled, lifting her refreshed drink to her shiny lips.

"You gonna take me up to your room any time soon?"

"Soon 'nough."

"Make love to me?"

Kim just shook her head.

"No?"

"I only make love to my husband."

Gary was amused but a little confused. "But you cheat on your husband. How do you do that if you make love only to him?"

Her lips parted in a wicked smile. "I said, 'I only make love to my husband.'" She leaned into him again, whispering in his ear. "I FUCK strange young men that I meet in hotel bars."

Gary nodded his understanding as a chill ran up his spine, but wanted her to clarify the difference for him.

"Well," she responded, "when Tom and I make love, its nice and slow. Missionary, you know? I might ride him once in a while. He strokes my hair, tells me how beautiful I am, how much he loves me. Very gentle."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but fucking is different," she began, turning on her stool to face him directly, leaning closer to him. She rested her left hand on his thigh. "When I get fucked, I want to be on all fours, my hair wrapped 'round some strange guy's fist as he yanks my head back. I want sweat pouring off my body."

She paused to hiccup.

"Pardon me. I want to be spanked. I want to ride young, thick cock in reverse cowgirl, my bald little cunt split wide open with a few fingers buried deep in my asshole. I want my nipples pinched and twisted. I want to be called nasty names, to be degraded."

Gary shuddered at the lady's depravity. "Not gentle," he muttered, his cock throbbing against his thigh.

Kim's emerald eyes bore into his and she slowly shook her head, her dirty blonde tresses whispering over her shoulders; a few loose strands fell from behind an ear, partially obscuring her classic beauty. "Not gentle at all," she breathed. "Very, very nasty."

"Let's get outta here."

Kim pushed herself off the stool, her manicured fingers bracing against Gary's thigh, brushing against his swollen shaft. Her full, wet lips descended on his ear. "Only if you promise to punish my cheating cunt."

"I . . . promise," he gulped, his mouth parched.

* * *

Kim slipped the magnetic keycard into the lock and, hearing it click, pushed the heavy oak door open, stepping into her mini-suite and flicking on a light.

Gary followed her, coming up behind her as the door swung shut behind him. Circling his arms around her trim waist from behind, he used his chin and nose to edge her dirty blonde locks to the side, nuzzling her soft neck and earlobe. He inhaled her perfume – and the vodka she had been pouring down her throat.

Kim stopped at the contact and moaned her approval as Gary's hands slid up her torso, his palms brushing over her large tits. Deftly, his fingers found the top button of her white silk blouse and undid it before continuing to the next. When he had pulled the last button from its hole, he yanked the hem of her blouse from Kim's skirt and then off her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the thick carpet at his feet.

He felt for but couldn't find the catch at the front of her bra and instead simply yanked the silky fabric out and down. Kim's massive breasts popped from the D-sized cups as Gary nipped at her earlobe, the pearl stud clanking against his teeth. He strummed his fingers across her distended nipples before taking them in his thumbs and forefingers, pinching them lightly.

Moaning, Kim pushed herself away from the young man. She kicked the heels from her feet, one of them thudding against the drywall. Turning, she threw her arms around Gary's broad neck, draping her little body against his. Their lips met and her tongue slithered from between her ruby red lips, probing his mouth while she anxiously tore open the buttons of his shirt.

Gary groaned into her mouth, his tongue thrashing against hers, the smell and taste of alcohol strong on her breath. Kim's soft palms smoothed the shirt over his shoulders before her long nails pulled his belt buckle loose and ripped open the front of his pants. Sliding them down, the adulterous woman squatted, helping him out of his shoes before pulling the fabric of his pants and boxers over his feet.

Kneeling before him, Kim pushed the twenty-something against the entryway wall, her cherry-red nails pressing into the flesh of his thighs as her soft lips descended on the shaft that bobbed before her angelic face.

There was no subtlety to Kim's conduct. She wrapped her elegant fingers around the thick cock, circled her full lips, and slid them down the length of Gary's veiny shaft, not stopping until the fat mushroom-shaped head bumped against the back of her throat. She pulled back, half of the thick shaft protruding from between her lips, and jammed her face back on it, causing her to gag.

Saliva poured from her mouth, rendering a glossy sheen to her ruby lips. It slid down her chin and dripped to her jutting breasts as she bobbed her head back and forth. Above her, Gary braced himself against the wall with one hand, placing the other on the back of her head in a useless effort to guide what didn't need to be guided.

Kim moved in closer to the young man, dropping to her haunches, and cradled his heavy balls, kneading them in her long fingers. Her own spit dripped from her distended nipples as her fingers strayed from the hanging nutsack to the sensitive perineum toward his asshole.

Gary shuddered and his knees almost buckled at the sensation. With Kim's shiny lips sealed tightly around his invading shaft, the sensitive head tickling the back of her throat, his cock lurched in the hot sucking mouth and she backed off.

Kim pulled her sloppy face from the young man's crotch and regained her feet, leading him into the living area. As she approached the couch, she noted the flashing 'message waiting' light on the room phone. 'Probably Tom,' she thought. She gave it a mental shrug and turned and pushed Gary onto the couch. With a bare foot, she prodded his legs apart before kneeling before him again.

His cock still slick with a mixture of her saliva and his pre-cum, Kim wrapped her fist around the thick girth of him and it easily glided up and down his length. Lifting her torso and leaning forward, her massive breasts cleared Gary's thighs and settled to either side of his gleaming shaft.

She released him from her grip and placed her hands, slender fingers spread wide, against the outside of her soft but firm breasts. "Tittyfuck me," she commanded, pushing the globes together, creating a tight cleavage around Gary's cock.

He groaned as the warm, soft flesh molded itself to his veiny shaft and bucked his hips slightly, burying his cock in Kim's breasts. Pre-cum leaked from the winking tip of his cock and was swept away by her flesh, adding lubrication to her tight cleavage.


In front of him, on her knees, Kim raised and lowered her torso, dragging her soft tits up and down the length of Gary's shaft. Sweat formed across her forehead and at her upper lip from the effort; it glistened in the faint light cast by a table lamp throughout the room.

"That's it," she whispered when Gary bucked his hips again, the head of his cock gently nudging against the underside of her jaw. "Fuck these tits."

She pressed her torso harder against him and the sensitive underside of his cock coursed over her chest bone.

"Oh, gawd," he moaned, his large hands falling to the cushions, gripping them tightly.

Kim increased the speed with which she rocked against him, the tightness of her breasts pulling at the skin of his shaft, her breastbone crashing against the base of his cock.

Gary's head thrashed from side to side against the back of the couch. "Oh, fuck, ofuck," he muttered, his tongue thick. His cockhead turned a deeper shade of purple and lost its texture, taking on a smooth and shiny appearance.




Just Add Alcohol Ch. 04



Before his balls could release a torrent of scalding sperm across her lubricated breasts, Kim released them, leaving Gary's cock bobbing before her. Standing, she bunched the wool skirt up around her waist and wiggled out of the silk panties that adorned her damp crotch.

Kicking the thong from her feet, she fell into the corner of the couch, lewdly spreading her lithe legs. "Get down there and lick my cunt," she demanded through hooded eyes. She hooked a dainty foot over the back of the couch, planting the other flat on the floor, lightly slapping two fingers against her sopping vagina, a wet smacking sound emanating from between her legs.

Catching his breath, Gary slid from the couch to the floor and crawled between the married woman's widespread legs, her inner thighs glistening in her own juices. Needlessly, he placed a hand on each of her smooth thighs to ensure that her legs remained open to him.

Dipping his head toward her bald cunt, Gary inhaled the musky scent of her vaginal fluids before allowing his tongue to dart from between his lips. He ran the tip up one thigh and around the flesh surrounding her hole, careful to avoid her splayed labia and inflamed clit.

Above him, Kim moaned her delight, her long, elegant fingers running through his hair. "Yyeess," she hissed. "Eat . . . me."

Gary's tongue continued its journey down the opposite side of her cuntal opening and circled around to the crack of her ass. He traced the tan-line that ran along the junction of her toned leg and her crotch, across the top of her cunt and down the other side.

"Nice little shaved cunt," he muttered before wiggling his tongue against her sweaty perineum.

"Oh, ggaawwdd," she moaned.

Flattening his tongue, he dragged it up the furrow created by her flowered cunt lips, applying increasing pressure as his head rose, forcing his tongue to penetrate the adulterous hole. Kim bucked against his face and her fingers grasped at his short-cropped hair, long nails scraping against his scalp.

Gary pulled back and his wet lips hovered just above her inflamed clit. "Shave it for your husband?" he inquired, taunting the older woman, hot breath blowing across her clit.

"Uhn-ugh," she moaned, arching her back, trying to shove her burning clit against the young man's strong tongue.

Her efforts were in vain as Gary pulled his face and protruding tongue away from her. "Then who?" he whispered.

"For . . . me," she grunted. Her slender fingers slid to the back of his head, nails digging into his scalp, and she pulled the young man's face into her leaking cunt.

Gary's tongue slithered from his mouth and flattened again, pressing against Kim's engorged clit as she pulled him close.

"Aaaahhhh," she sighed, reveling in the exquisite pressure against her inflamed bud. She released her grip on the back of his head long enough to allow him to swipe his broad tongue down and then back up the crevice formed by her slick lips.

When Gary's tongue flattened against her clit, Kim bucked into his face, smashing his nose against her pubic bone, and screamed out, "Oohh, FUCK!!!"

Her nails dug deeper into the young man's scalp. Her pelvic bone slammed into his nose almost drawing blood. The overheated walls of her cunt opened up and cunt juice squirted from between her splayed lips, splashing against his chin and coating her crotch in the slimy fluid.

Her hips still bucking against Gary's face and his tongue still smashing itself against her clit, Kim removed a hand from the back of his head and brought it to her chest, squeezing a massive tit, the flesh oozing between her fingers. Her thumb and forefinger found the engorged nipple and twisted roughly, and another stream of cum sprayed from her sloppy cunt lips.

Gary's eyes watered and his nose stung. From between the cheating slut's thighs, he watched as the muscles of her stomach rippled and undulated, a sheen of perspiration glistening across the taut, tanned flesh. A bead of sweat, and then another, ran down her lightly made-up cheek before dropping to collect in the hollow of her clavicle.

Kim's body was still shaking and quivering when Gary pulled his drenched face from between her lewdly spread legs. He knelt upright and knee-walked closer to her. The fat head of his cock pushed at her sloppy cunt lips and he thrust his hips forward. The sodden state of her cunt allowed his cock to slide into her in one thrust.

Taken by surprise, Kim twisted her torso in pleasure-pain, her substantial tits rolling across her chest. She plastered her pretty face and bulging tits against the back of the couch. "Ooohhh, gggaaawwwddd," came her muffled scream as Gary withdrew his cock before brutally slamming it back into her yielding cunt.

He took firm hold of her pliant hips as he jackhammered his thick cock into her. Her ass cheeks rippled with each inward thrust and Kim screamed into the back of the couch. He released her hips from the grip of one of his hands, the marks of his fingers lingering on her damp flesh, and wrapped her dirty blonde hair in his fist.

He pulled back on her blonde tresses, now disheveled, and Kim's head pulled up. She turned slightly and peered over her shoulder at her young, male aggressor. Her eyes were alight with lust and her lips curled into a sneer, Gary's heavy nutsack slapping against her exposed clit with each thrust.

"This . . . what . . . you wanted . . . slut?" he grunted, a stream of sweat streaking down his cheek.

"Fuck . . . yyeess," she hissed, droplets of spittle spraying from her lush lips.

"This . . . how your . . . husband . . . treats you?" he taunted the married woman, slapping her left ass cheek with his free hand.

"Uuuggghhh!" Kim groaned, Gary's hand leaving several red imprints on her flesh as he repeatedly spanked her. "Oh . . . god . . . no."

Still yanking on her blonde mane, using it like the reigns on a wild horse, Gary pushed her over, exposing more of her tight bottom. A drop then another of sweat dripped from the end of his nose and fell to her rippling ass, landing at the apex of her crack.

Gary's middle finger strayed from her ass cheek and swept his sweat from her crack, sliding it toward her crinkled asshole. He swirled his lubricated finger around the tight anal ring and Kim jerked.

"Fuuccckkkk!" she panted through gritted teeth as the nail on Gary's probing finger scraped across the sensitive flesh of her sphincter. He released his grip on her silky hair and pushed her face into the back of the couch, his middle finger breaking through the seal of her tight asshole.

"Uuhhgg," came another muffled moan from the unfaithful wife.

Kim twisted her little body hard against the assaulting cock so that she was flat on her stomach. Her sudden movement pulled Gary's finger from her asshole and a pathetic whimper escaped her slender throat.

Behind her, his cock still firmly lodged in her cunt, Gary lifted his right knee from the floor and wedged it beneath her right leg, spreading her already lewdly splayed legs further. Sweat shimmered along the tanned flesh of her back and collected in the small of her back.

"Look . . . at you . . . whore," he tormented. "Some strange . . . cock . . . buried . . . in you . . . Bet your . . . husband . . . would be . . . ashamed."

Kim's muffled response was unintelligible, her angelic face shoved roughly into the corner of the couch. Gary again gathered her lustrous mane in his fist, pulling her head up, her chin resting on the low-slung arm of the couch.

"Fuck . . . yeah . . . he would," she spat. "My daughters . . . too."

"What a nasty . . . little . . . fuckhole . . . you are," he grunted, his large hands mounting each of Kim's quivering butt cheeks. He roughly pulled them apart, exposing the wrinkly asshole distorted by the thick cock buried in her yawning cunt.

Gary hung his head and allowed a profuse amount of saliva to fall from his lips. The wad of spit landed square on the misshapen ring of her asshole. He used two fingers to spread the lubricant around before sliding them into her butt.

"FUCK!!!" Kim screamed, her athletic body jerking and convulsing below him. Cunt juice squirted from her stretched hole, splashing against the conjoined couple before streaming down their thighs, soaking the couch. Her body continued to jerk, her cunt muscles contracting rhythmically around Gary's thick shaft, as he pounded into her in measured but powerful strokes.

As her orgasm subsided, Kim gasped for breath and again turned her head over her shoulder, her glinting emerald eyes burning lustful holes in him.

Gary pulled back and allowed his cock to slip from her saturated hole. He gave her a light slap on the ass, rose to his feet, and began walking toward the mini-suite's bedroom.

"Now let's see how filthy your cheating cunt can be in a proper bed," he said over his shoulder.

By the time Kim collected herself and caught up with him, Gary was in the bedroom and had pulled the comforter from the bed, tossing it in a heap in the corner. She eagerly mounted the bed and brought herself to all fours, her tan-lined ass turned upward, invitingly.

Gary raised a knee to the bed and followed her, moving up behind her. Before him his cock bobbed as he moved, coming to rest in the crack of her ass, his cum-laden balls swinging beneath and brushing against her flowered cunt lips.

Taking Kim's malleable hips in his hands, he pulled his hips back, dragging his cockhead down the crack of her ass. He felt the head graze through the sopping furrow of her cunt and slowly pushed it back into her. Her vaginal fluids eased his cock's progress as the head parted her slack lips and stretched her cuntal walls around his thick girth.

"Nice tight little cunt you've got," he murmured when his pubic hairs flattened against her firm ass cheeks.

Kim merely grunted her response, burying her pretty face in the mattress.

"Glad you give it up so freely." Gary was taunting her, giving her what she wanted: debasement, a little humiliation.

He pulled the length of his cock from her overheated hole, leaving just the head trapped between her loose lips. He drove his shaft back into her, pulling her cunt lips with it, and held it there. He leaned over her prone and sweaty body, placing his lips against her ear. He nibbled at pearl earring before whispering.

"Want me to buttfuck you?"

Kim didn't respond to him. His left hand let go of her hip and he gently but firmly gathered the locks of her radiant dirty blond hair in his fist, pulling her up, lifting her face and arms from the mattress. Several beads of sweat ran down her lightly muscled back. Her back arched, her massive tits thrust forward and a droplet of perspiration dripped from a thickened nipple, falling to the crisp white sheet, discoloring it.

He gently bit her earlobe, one hand circling around her little body, brushing against her taut stomach muscles, sliding up to a sweaty, heaving tit. His fingers found her distended nipple, pinched it lightly, twisted it a little.

"I said, you want me to fuck your little asshole?" His voice was a whisper, the low hum of the heater the only other sound in the suite.

Kim nodded her head. The movement was barely perceptible, but with her back to him, her silky hair rose and fell against his chest, stimulating his nipples. His cock still buried in her unfaithful vagina, Gary released her and she fell back to her elbows, her damp blonde tresses matted to her perspiration-slickened shoulder blades.

He pulled his cock from her and rolled off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom. A moment later, he reappeared with a small plastic bottle filled with complimentary hand lotion.

Jumping back on the bed, Gary twisted the cap from the bottle and turned it upside down, spreading a quarter of its contents along the top ridge of his shaft. He emptied another quarter at the apex of Kim's asshole; she clenched as the cold fluid made contact with her overheated flesh. Gary watched in amusement as goose bumps appeared on her skin, as her asshole visibly tightened.

With one hand smoothing the lotion around his shaft, a finger from the other spread it around her anal ring, occasionally dipping into her depths to deposit the makeshift lubricant along her anal walls.

Beneath him, Kim mewled, her face buried in her hands as the young man prepared her forty-year-old asshole to be penetrated. 'Ohmigod,' she thought to herself, her chest expanding and contracting with deep breaths. 'I can't believe I'm going to let this kid fuck me in the ass.'

Behind her, Gary pushed one of her ass cheeks outward, using his free hand to align the head of his cock to her clenched butthole. He swiped the rubbery head up and down, stimulating the craggy flesh, prodding it open. Kim relaxed a little and the tip of his cockhead sunk into her.

"Oh, gawd," she gasped, tensing as the crown pushed passed her tight anal ring. His hand still firmly gripping his shaft, Gary pushed against Kim's upturned ass harder, forcing the head deeper into her bowels.

"Uuunnnggghhh," she groaned, stretching her arms above her, turning her head to the side. Her lips curled into a mask of pain mixed with pleasure as half of his cock lodged itself in her asshole.

Gary pulled back a little, tightened his grip on his cock, and shoved forward again, smashing his hand between his pubic hair and Kim's shuddering ass cheeks. He pulled it free and felt the rest of his cock ease into her.

"Ooohhh, gggaaawwwddd!!!" she screamed, her long slender fingers grasping at the bed sheets so fiercely her knuckles turned white. "Oohh, ffuucckk!!"

"Like it . . . in the . . . ass . . . huh?" he grunted, pulling back before viciously slamming his hips back against her sweaty ass cheeks.

"I . . . fuckin' . . . love it!" she hissed, whipping her head around, her emerald eyes ferocious with lust. Her elegant hands pulled harder on the bed sheets, pulling them from the top corners of the bed. "Harder! Fuck me harder! Pound . . . my ass . . . with your . . . young . . . cock!!"

Holding firmly to her hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, Gary increased the speed of his angrily thrusting hips, sending his thick cock into the depths of her asshole on each stroke.

Kim's pendulous tits swung beneath her little body, thick nipples grazing against the dampened sheets, rubbing them raw, sending tingles through her body. The steady pounding from behind her, the stretching of her tender asshole, caused her arms to give way.

Her slim torso fell, her tight ass still in the air. Her huge tits flattened between the mattress and her rib cage, the titflesh spreading to her sides, squeezing from beneath her trembling body. Sweat rolled from her ass to her shoulder blades, pooling there.

Gary followed her down, bracing himself on outstretched arms, his hands planted firmly on either side of her head; he could feel her labored breath on the hairs of his left forearm; the almost overpowering stench of stale vodka floated up into his nostrils. He bent and licked gently at her earlobe and felt her shiver as his hot breath caressed her inner ear.

"Reach back . . . and pull . . . your nasty . . . asshole apart . . . for me," he commanded in a whisper before pushing himself back up to his knees.

Below him, Kim pulled her arms in from above her head, bringing them around to her rippling ass cheeks. Gary watched as her cherry-red nails inched closer to her anal ring, pulling her flesh apart for him. Deep inside her butthole, his cock throbbed as a beautifully manicured nail accidentally scraped against his veiny cock flesh, the diamonds of her engagement and wedding rings glittering in the faint light cast from the bedside lamp.

"I love . . . stretching . . . little . . . married . . . assholes," he grunted, his breath ragged, his eyes beginning to roll to the back of his head.

"I love . . . having mine . . . destroyed," she growled back.

"Oh . . . god." Gary jerked, his movements erratic. He held himself steady, not wanting to blow his cum in her asshole just yet. When he regained control of his churning balls, he bent forwarded, pushing Kim to her stomach, flattening her against the mattress.

"What . . . would your . . . husband do . . . if he could . . . see his little wifey . . . now?"

Beneath him, her pretty face buried in her elbow, Kim moaned into her flesh.

"Pinned to a bed . . . getting fucked . . . in the butt . . . by a guy . . . whose name . . . she doesn't . . . even know?"

"Oh, ggaawwdd," she managed, her words muffled. "So . . . mad . . . so . . . fucking . . . mad . . . no idea . . . his pretty . . . little . . . wife . . . is such a . . . fucking . . . whore!"

Gary's eyes rolled back and felt his balls contract. His body lurched then stiffened and he quickly pulled his engorged cock from Kim's slippery asshole, gripping his nutsack in an effort to calm the torrent of cum that was almost unleashed. He remained there for a moment, suspended by an arm and two knees over the adulterous woman, his free hand squeezing his balls, his breath uneven, halting.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed, rolling off her to his back.

Kim pushed herself to all fours, sweat dripping from her nose, chin and distended nipples. She threw a leg over Gary's prone body and wiggled her hips when she felt his thick cock bang against her cunt lips. A twist here and a nudge there, and the fat shaft easily slid into her soaking cunt.

Developing a steady rhythm, Kim allowed her elbows to buckle and her little sweaty body collapsed against his, her hardened nipples digging into his muscular chest. Grinding her inflamed clit between their bodies, their pubic bones putting excruciating pressure on the little bud, Kim bent and sunk her tongue into the young man's mouth.

The smell and taste of alcohol nearly overwhelmed him, but the silky warmth of her tongue spurred Gary on. Grabbing her hips in his meaty hands, he thrust up into her, the rubbery head of his cock parting and stretching the walls of her cunt. He reached around and pulled her firm ass cheeks apart and she gasped as the cool air caressed the burning flesh of her asshole.

Kim pulled her slutty tongue from the young man's mouth and turned her athletic body around on the mattress. Getting her feet beneath her, she rose and then squatted over his prone body, her ass facing his way.

With her left hand bracing herself on her knee, Kim guided the thick shaft toward her gaping hole with the right. Once the shiny purple head was firmly seated in the folds of her cunt, she lowered her hips toward him and moaned deeply as the immense shaft prodded her walls apart.

"Oh, gawd," she moaned, settling her ass cheeks against his groin and stomach, her hairless cunt lips obscenely stretched to reveal her abused clit. "Feels . . . so fuckin' . . . good."

Kim lifted herself slowly from the impaling rod until just the head remained ensconced within her. Just before it popped free, she relaxed her knees and her pelvis crashed back down against his.

"Aaaahhhh!!!!" she screamed, her fat tits wobbling on her trim torso.

She lifted herself again but this time allowed Gary's cockhead to fall from her dripping cunt. With her right hand, she repositioned the rubbery head away from her cunt lips so that it brushed against her loosened anal ring. Without pretense, Kim again buckled her knees and impaled her tender asshole on the thick shaft.

As soon as her ass cheeks flattened against the young man beneath her, she pushed herself up again, then dropped, skewering her lithe body on the protruding cock.

"Oh, fuck," he grunted behind the unfaithful woman, his blurred vision fixated nonetheless on the sight of his blood-engorged cock plowing into her asshole.

Kim tried to push herself up again but the pleasure ripping through her asshole had zapped her strength. Halfway up the shaft, her quivering thigh muscles gave out and she fell back. The unexpected spearing of Gary's cock back into her asshole caused her to yelp in momentary pain, followed by, "Uuuuuuggggghhhhh," as she struggled to dislodge the fat, veiny shaft from her anal passage.




Just Add Alcohol Ch. 04



But Gary impeded her progress. He reached up and took hold of her shoulders, pulling her down toward him so that she was lying against his chest, her tanned and toned arms spread to her sides, bracing herself.

Gary reached around the nasty housewife and cupped her slippery tits, his fingers dancing across her thickened nipples, pausing to grasp them between thumb and forefinger, twisting. His continued bucking into her battered asshole kept her bouncing on his lap while he abused her nipples. Her legs involuntarily pulled up and her dainty feet bobbed in the air in time with his thrusts.

He released one of her raw nipples and slowly slid a hand down her taut, sweaty stomach. Consciously avoiding her clit, Gary lightly ran his fingers across the flesh of one trembling thigh, then another. His fingers lightly brushed over the flesh at the crease formed by her legs and pelvis before circling her dripping cunt.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered, goose bumps popping across her tanned skin.

Gary dipped his fingers below her cunt, tickling her perineum, and Kim bucked at the sensation.

"Pllleeeaaassseee," she whimpered. "Please play . . . with my . . . cunt."

He slowly traced a line from her sweaty perineum to her clit, dragging two fingers through the furrow of her bald cunt lips. His fingers slid across the engorge clit and Kim gasped and convulsed.

"Yyyeeesss," she hissed, a trapped nipple throbbing in Gary's clenching fingers. "Rub . . . my . . . clit."

Gary applied considerable pressure to her clit and manipulated it in quick tight circles, causing Kim to jerk and quiver on his lap, his cock still lodged deep in her not-for-my-husband asshole.

"Cum for me, whore," he whispered in her ear, the speed of his fingers increasing as they flashed across her bald cunt. "Squirt your nasty cum all over the room."

Kim's head fell back against Gary's shoulder, lolling back and forth, her damp dirty blonde tresses matting against his chest as he taunted her.

"You know why I call you whore?" he breathed, twisting hard on her raw nipple.

"Aaahhh," she squealed at the pressure before responding breathlessly. "Un-uh."

"'Cause you've . . . got a stranger's . . . cock . . . slamming into your asshole . . . and a wedding ring . . . on your finger." Gary increased the pressure his fingers were applying to Kim's abused clit as he reminded her of her marital status.

"Ooohhh," she whimpered, both from the cuntal stimulation and having her adulterous nature dragged before her.

"You are a filthy . . . little . . . fuckhole," he continued, his fingers a blur against her bald cunt lips and scorching, blood-engorged bud.

Above him, Kim's eyes screwed shut against the exquisite ecstasy that coursed through her body. As Gary's thick fingers sped across her distended clit, blood thundered in her ears.

"Great example . . . for your . . . daughters," she barely heard, her cunt lips contracting violently, searching for something thick and concrete to squeeze down on. "A little . . . married . . . butt whore."

Her nerves frayed, Kim jerked upon the young man's lap, his cock pulsing in her ass.

Then her little, sweaty body went rigid, her lungs contracted and her filthy mouth went silent. But just for a moment.

"Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!," she wailed, her dainty feet slamming down to the mattress, her back arching and pulling her impaled ass almost off Gary's invading cock. Her thick nipples throbbed and a thick stream of cum jetted from her stretched cunt lips.

It arched from between her wide-splayed legs before splashing down to the bare mattress. A second then a third and finally a fourth torrent gushed from her cunt, each one weaker than the one preceding it, saturating the hotel mattress.

Spent but still quaking, Kim rolled off the young man, falling to her back next to him. Perspiration glistened across the tanned, taut flesh of her stomach. Her massive tits wobbled on her trim torso, her thick nipples alive, throbbing in the cool air. The smooth skin of her thighs gleamed with her female ejaculate.

Before she could catch her breath, Gary followed her, kicking a leg over her slim torso and straddling her. His thick cock rested against her heaving breastbone, the large, spongy head corking the bottom of her immense cleavage.

"I wanna fuck these tits again, slut," he breathed, moving up, the fat shaft sliding against her sweaty flesh. Pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cock head, adding lubrication to his efforts. "You gonna let me fuck your husband's fat tits?" he taunted.

"Oh, gawd," she moaned, her eyes hooding over. "Fuck 'em."

Gary leaned over the prone housewife, bracing himself with his hands at either side of her head. His shaft buried itself in her considerable cleavage before his progress was impeded, his thighs bumping against the soft bottoms of her substantial tits.

He reached for her thickened nipples, grasping them between his thumbs and forefingers. After ensuring that he had a good grip on the obscenely distended teats, he pulled them inward, trying to wrap her titflesh around his shaft.

Below him, Kim winced in the excruciating pressure that was being applied to her sore nipples.

Seeing her pain, Gary released her from his grasp and licked his fingers, soothing the aching nipples with his saliva. He then tapped her hands, coaxing her into action.

Kim slid her long, elegant fingers from her shoulders down to her soft tits, placing her splayed fingers against the outer reaches of her titflesh, pushing the supple globes together.

He pulled his hips back, his thick cock retreating down through the cavern formed by her molded tits. He savagely pushed back up – "Uugghh!" – but his cock popped from the hot, sweating cleavage.

Kim laughed lightly but slid her manicured fingers up her swollen tits, lacing her fingers together, trapping the young cock between her giant tits. She lifted her head, burying her chin in her chest, and spit a wad of saliva at the head of Gary's cock.

"How's that, you tittyfucker?" she whispered.

He moaned at her nasty behavior and pushed forward. The flesh of Kim's tightly packed tits caught his own, pulling it back as he thrust toward her face. The spongy, mushroom head of his cock bumped against the soft underside of her chin and she groaned deep in her throat.

Gary's eyes floated down to his cock buried in the older woman's chest. The soft, tan-lined flesh was squeezed tightly around his thick shaft. Her long, slender fingers were locked together. When he pulled his cock back down through the overheated but well-lubricated tunnel, her manicured nails hovering over his flesh, the backside of Kim's engagement and wedding rings scraped along his flesh. They caught on the veins of his shaft and the light from the living area hit the multiple facets of the three-karat rock.

The diamond sparkled in his eyes before they rolled into the back of his skull, the image searing itself into his brain for evermore.

Spurred on by the debauchery of this married woman – whose name he still did not know – Gary slammed his cock up and down through her yielding tits. Kim arched her back slightly, sending her breastbone crashing into the sensitive underside of his cock.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned. Sperm churned in his balls and his thrusting became erratic. His body jerked uncontrollably. He pulled back and thrust into the cheating whore's tits one more time.

Cum flew from his cock and splashed against the underside of Kim's jaw. A second stream of cum roped from his cock, leaving a thick elastic string of sperm stretching from her chin to one of her heaving tits.

Kim released her tits from around his cock and wrapped her left hand around his trembling shaft, jerking it viciously. "Cum for me, boy," she hissed, looking up at the twisted expression that served as a mask on Gary's face.

Fucking his thick cock into her fist, Gary's eyes eased open at her words. They focused on the tanned, slender fingers gripping his shaft, the diamonds of her engagement and wedding rings sparkling with each thrust. "Oh, fuck . . . You are . . . so . . . fuckin' . . . filthy," he grunted.

Another rope of sperm gushed from the tip of his cock, splashing against her lightly made-up cheek.

"C'mon you bastard! Cum all over me!"

"Oh . . . gawd," he managed, his hips jerking against Kim's fist, feeling the cool platinum of her wedding band on his overheated cock flesh. A fourth surge of cum shot from his convulsing balls, plastering her chin, lips and nose in the white, pearlescent fluid.

"There you go," the adulterous woman growled. "Cum all over my face . . . all over my married . . . whore . . . face!"

Gary's cock jerked and quaked on Kim's tightly clenched fist a final time. A thick glob of sperm oozed from its tip and dripped down her slender fingers, whitewashing her cherry-red nails. Her grip on him slackened and she slid her fist down the base of his cock, coaxing the last of his sperm from him. The diamonds of her engagement and wedding rings were coated in a dull milky sheen.

Above her, Gary's body heaved, his breath still short, and his arms collapsed. He rolled off the cum-saturated housewife and sprawled on his back. The two lay side by side on the bare mattress, his face and chest slick with sweat, hers with sticky, chlorine-scented cum.

When Gary's breathing returned to normal, he kicked his legs over the side of the bed and sauntered out to the living area. He returned a few minutes later fully dressed, just poking his head in the doorway.

"Thanks for the fuck, whore," he offered.

His gratitude went unheard, however. He knew this as Kim's soft snores fell upon his ears.

* * *

Chris approached the doorway to the bedroom and stood just outside it. The woman's snores were unmistakable – alcohol induced – and her legs were slightly spread. Her ass cheeks, inner thighs and hairless vagina were caked with a white, flaky substance – undoubtedly dried cum. His eyes roamed up her taut back to the arms stretched out to her sides. The diamond rings sparkled in a stream of light that penetrated from a gap between the bedroom curtains.

Chris retreated from the doorway. Hotel protocol prohibited him from remaining in the room once he determined that the guest was female. He needed to summon a female manager to take care of this. In the living room, he lifted the telephone and dialed the front desk.

"Billy? This is Chris. I need a little help. I'm in Room 834 and I've got a woman passed out up here . . . yeah, another one of those . . . please track down Keri and send her up here. Tell her I'll be waiting in the hall for her . . . thanks, Billy."

Chris set the phone in the cradle, took a last look at Mrs. Kimberly Cannon. 'Fuckin' whores,' he thought. 'I should start calling their husbands.' He turned and exited the room.