Jennifer's Obsession (3) - Payback

Jennifer’s Obsession

Payback

© 2004 Kayleigh Combstock

She removed the banana, put right her gown, and went to fetch the mail, disposing of the banana as she went. It was a letter for Andrew, not that she’d noticed – her ‘recollection’ had temporarily slighted her ability to concentrate. As she returned to the living room she tore open the letter, wondering what had become of Ken after all these years – she’d never saw him again after that night, and she liked it that way. She stopped at the window; it was still raining. Probably married to some pretty little Japanese girl, couple of kids, the usual thing I expect, she thought as she glanced down at the letter. She went cold and her stomach felt as if she’d just been disembowelled by some medieval executioner.

Her forehead furrowed as she tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling with her hand over her heart. That’s not right, no fucking way is it, she thought, turning her attention to the view out the window – it was still raining. Still holding the letter, her arms had dropped to her sides and her usually virile posture, slouched. She wasn’t really thinking about anything now, just staring blankly into the mist. Some feeling returned to her stomach in the form of a churning, sickening feeling, and her eyes had started to well with tears. There was an overwhelming weakness and she had to sit down, but she wasn’t sure if she should to go to the toilet first. The flight of stairs leading to the bathroom made the decision for her – she was too weak to make it and besides, she couldn’t care if she’d pissed herself right there by the window, not now. She dragged herself over to the sofa where she’d, earlier, pleasured herself through memory. Now, there was no pleasure, and no memory of pleasure.

She dared to look at the letter again, hoping what she’d seen might be gone. Her chin quivered, and the tears that had welled broke free from her eyes. She quickly stuffed the letter down the side of the sofa as if hiding it might, by some chance, help. She looked about the living-room, her face crumpling in despair. She placed her elbows on her knees, cupped her head in her hands, and sobbed, and snivelled, and sobbed some more.
The letter was only brief, but those few words managed to shatter Jennifer’s whole world. It read:

Dearest Andrew,
Paris was great, perhaps this time we can see some of it, or not! Really looking forward to having, sorry, seeing, you on Saturday. Thanks for the invite.
Wet already,
Hannah xxx

It was some time before Jennifer regained control of herself. She wiped the tears from her face on the sleeve of her gown, took a few deep breaths, and adopted a posture not too different from a traditional English gent about to duel. Wounded but not beaten she scurried upstairs and swilled the tears from her face. She strutted into the bedroom, stood in front of the full-length mirror, and dropped her robe. She critically examined herself, wondering what it could be that drove Andrew to fuck another woman. She looked at and squeezed her tits. Nothing wrong with these, she thought. They were quite bulbous and firm, very firm, and definitely weren’t heading south. She stroked her waist; it was as tight as the day they’d met. She turned around, twisting her neck as she did as far as it would go, to study her behind. She stroked it as she looked. Well, I haven’t seen many as tight and peachy as this, she thought, slapping it to see how much it wobbled – it barely moved.

She slipped a single finger into herself and felt for a crushing sensation on it as she flexed her pelvic floor muscles. She smiled smugly. I could crush a pencil in there, never mind milking a cock, she thought, quite impressed with herself. She stroked and squeezed her thighs, then her upper arms; her skin was tanned and soft as velvet, whilst the flesh was firm to the touch, no looseness or excess. She adopted several different sexual positions and studied herself, eagle-eyed for any flaws. She couldn’t find any. She had one last look at herself with hands on hips and legs spread. Her focus drifted from her perfect figure and zoomed-in on her face. She was still beautiful -no doubt - even without make-up, and having tearful, reddened eyes with hair that hadn’t been touched since the night before. Maybe he’s just bored with me… or I’ve become boring, and that’s why he’s fucking another woman, she thought as her lips curled in anger. Well, two can play at that fucking game you bastard.

She didn’t consider for a moment her experiences in this field; she didn’t have to because this was different. I’ve never got involved with anyone else before, what the fuck does he think he’s playing at, she thought as she drove to the gym, cursing the rain as she went. She hadn’t planned on going there today but the day had changed, Andrew had changed, she had changed, everything was going to change, today!

She parked up, grabbed her kit bag, and splashed her way through the puddles to the steamed-up glass doors of the gym, wishing that the weather would change also. Two minutes later she appeared at the door of the changing room wearing, very little. Looking at her you’d think she’d got ready for a tanning session, certainly not a training session. Her outfit seemed to be, pretty much, a bikini. As she came out onto the gym floor several women decided to call it a day and disappeared, whilst the men seemed to stop what they were doing and stand around in pairs whispering to each other and trying desperately hard not to get caught looking at her.

Jennifer stepped up onto the treadmill and started off with a slow trot, but quick enough to give the impression her breasts might just pop out at any moment. The guys suddenly flocked to use apparatus placed around the treadmill. The two remaining women left. After warming up she decided to hit the resistance machines. The first was the shoulder press. She felt like she had a bucket of corn and the guys were hungry chickens, watching her every move, just in case something might fall out. She forgot her problems for now as she basked in the attention, her face radiant.

She altered the weight setting on the machine and sat into it, being sure to open her legs wide. She gripped the handlebars and slowly pressed upwards. As she neared full stretch her bikini top began to heave against the movement, slowly rising up her breasts. If she couldn’t feel what was happening she only had to look at the guys’ faces; with every stretch she made their eyes widened in time with the move. After about seven repetitions the only thing holding her bikini down was her hardened nipples; the bottom half of the areola that encircled them was on display, as was the voluptuous flesh that hung beneath them. All the guys were now on apparatus directly in front of her, or were queuing to use it. As she counted the tenth repetition she stretched that little bit further. She could feel her nipples tug and strain under the tension and an overwhelming sense of anticipation hung heavy in the air. The gym was silent except for the sound of Jennifer’s machine, and she could feel the heat of the men’s stare on her breasts. Jennifer shut her eyes and reached for the heavens. The men’s prayers were answered as two bullet-like nipples shot out at them, seemingly filling the room. There was a loud and deep exhaling sound; it made Jennifer quiver and she felt like her pussy was being licked.

She dropped the handlebars and rose to her feet, opening her eyes as she did so. “Oops, I seem to have popped out,” she said, slowly packing them away. She held her head low as if embarrassed and smiled in a way that told you she wasn’t. The men quickly turned their attention to everywhere else except in Jennifer’s direction, and clumsily fumbled with whatever apparatus was next to them.

Jennifer strutted over to the leg-bicep apparatus like a lap-dancer. The gym hissed with whispers, eyes darted in all directions, and there was a lot of elbow-nudging going on. Jennifer climbed onto the bench-like apparatus; the nature of the exercise dictated a belly-down position with your backside placed high in the air and your legs pointing toward the floor at about a forty degree angle – the only word to describe this position is sexual. She thought the apparatus may have originally been designed for being taken from behind. It was perfect; not only could the woman lie comfortably over the bench and have her weight supported whilst offering ‘easy access’, but there were also two handles to hold, just below the head on either side, that were the same size as an erect penis which suggested there were a whole bunch of guys doing terrible things to you and making you do terrible things to them, or that’s how Jennifer saw it anyway.

She fidgeted a little until she was comfortable with her position, and set to work. As she curled her lower legs upwards, pulling the weight up in the process, she could feel her slightly swollen mound pressing hard into the bench. God, it feels fleshy today, she thought, hurriedly repeating the move. It was fleshy, and getting wet. For some reason she felt it had become so fleshy it could do with a ‘good slapping’. She continued her moves. She was getting more swollen by the second. Every time she curled her legs up there it was, only it started to feel like she was being fucked now; not from behind but in the missionary position, when a man penetrates so deep into you it produces pressure on your pubic area. She squeezed those ‘cock’ handles harder and harder, thinking ‘if only I could get my mouth on them’. She found a groove. Just then there was a loud, clanging of metal. Jennifer lost her rhythm and looked around. One of the men had dropped a dumb-bell. She was grateful for the interruption, she’d forgotten where she was for a moment; she didn’t really fancy bringing herself off in a public place. Bit embarrassing, she thought, trying not to think about it.

Jennifer decided the interruption was a good opportunity to change exercise. She headed for the mats where she could do a little stretching – her legs had tightened a little from the previous move, just like her knicker-like shorts had around her mound. There were two guys there already. One was tall and quite thin - Jennifer thought he might be a musician; he had a sort of ‘arty’ look about him. The other was of average height and was one of those quite tubby, jolly-looking sorts of fellows whose presence had a definite warmth about it – she liked him.

As she made her way over she couldn’t help but notice how ‘full’ her pussy felt. This is what blokes must feel like, she thought, her lips so enlarged she imagined them to be testicles. The men were sneaking looks at her ass as she passed them by; one side of her knicker-like shorts had ridden up into the crease that separated her buttocks, neatly showing one of them off. She was thoroughly aware, and quite enjoyed it. As she reached the mats the two guys looked at each other quickly and launched into a seemingly disjointed series of moves. Jennifer smiled smugly as she positioned herself on the mat; she was starting to feel like a queen surrounded by her loyal and somewhat in awe, subjects. She placed her hands on her hips, waiting for her breathing rate to return to normal. In spite of having the opportunity of doing so, Jennifer made no attempt to restore her shorts to how they were supposed to be worn. It felt good, and ‘if it aint broke don’t try to fix it’ was her thoughts on the matter. The guys next to her were getting more erratic and uncoordinated with each passing second. She began leaning from side to side, loosening up and trying not to laugh. She made a point of sucking in her tiny waist and pushing out her chest; it wasn’t as if she needed to mind you.

“Shall we do some rowing?” the squat, jolly fellow suggested to his mate in a ‘put on’ way – they just weren’t comfortable being so close to this, almost naked, and seemingly goddess-like creature. His voice sounded quite hoarse, sexy even, Jennifer thought. The thin chap passed in front of her looking straight at the floor and feeling rather self-conscious as he went. The rounded fellow made a move. Whoosh, Jennifer lurched forward into a toe-touching position with her head coming to rest inches from his crotch, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Whoahh,” the stocky chap said, holding his hands out in front of himself obviously fearing a collision of some sort. “Sorry, didn’t see you coming,” she said, angling her pretty face up toward him but keeping her head where it was. “It’s lucky you’re wearing something, I could have had a right mouthful there,” she continued with a tone that also told him ‘well that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, would it?’ The burly bloke just stared at her, not entirely sure if he’d heard her correctly.

Something moving in his grey, cotton tracksuit bottoms caught Jennifer’s eye – he’d heard her correctly alright and it was Jennifer’s turn to be surprised. Judging on the movement she’d witnessed he must have had a cock the size of a cucumber. I wondered why I’d taken a liking to him, I must have a sixth sense, she thought, smiling and turning her attention back up towards his face – it was early days to be talking to his cock. “I’m sorry, are you uncomfortable with the proximity of your cock to my mouth,” she said, holding her mouth open and letting his mind do the rest. “Because I’m not,” she added, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling at him. He didn’t seem to notice her eyes, though; he was still envisioning his meat filling her mouth. There was another movement and his tracksuit bottoms started to behave like a magician’s handkerchief, moving all on its own. Jennifer’s eyes teasingly worked their way back down to his crotch where she suddenly looked back up at him.

“Hey Anthony,” his weasel-like mate shouted, breaking the developing tension.

“I… I got to go…” he said, rearranging his crotch as he went. Jennifer’s eyes followed him.
Anthony and the ‘musician’ set about some rowing, whispering occasionally and looking over in Jennifer’s direction. A short while later Jennifer joined them and climbed aboard the rowing machine next to Anthony, who was panting quite heavily now and had worked up quite a sweat, as had his mate. “So what do you do, Anthony?” she said, “I heard your friend call your name.”

“I’m a baker… a manager at a bakery,” he growled, in between pants and gasps and heaves and pushes.

Jennifer began rowing. “Mmm, so as a baker, what do you think of my buns?” she said, without turning to face them. Anthony and his mate stopped what they were doing.
“What was that you said?” Anthony asked, trying to quieten his breathing so he could be sure of what he heard. His mate was doing the same and was leaning so far over on his rower it looked as if he might fall out at any moment.
“What do you think of my buns? Do they pass your quality control?” she said, still not looking at them and continuing to exercise.

Anthony’s mate burst out laughing and had to look the other way. Anthony, with his hand, wiped the sweat back from his forehead onto his strawberry blonde, short-cropped hair. Is she taking the piss out of me or what? he thought, before answering. “Well, they look fine but of course, to be sure, I’d need to feel them,” he said, looking back at his mate and laughing. He’d decided to play her at her own game.

Jennifer stopped rowing and turned to face them, her face golden brown and a little clammy with sweat. “Well, to be sure, why don’t you take that french-stick of yours and fuck me with it, and that way you’ll get to have a really good feel of my buns,” she said, as if she might have been talking about the weather. They both turned to face her, their faces looking as if they’d just entered the twilight zone. “Perhaps your friend can help, maybe give a second opinion,” she continued as she peeled back the cup of her bikini-top to give them a brief, private viewing of a well erect nipple.

They both appeared as if they’d been cast in stone. She twisted around on her seat so that her body faced them; her legs were spread wide. “I’ll go and get showered, scribble down my address, and pass it to you on the way out – I’ll see you there in half an hour, if you’re up for it that is,” she said, quickly pulling her knicker–like shorts to one side and giving them a fleeting glimpse of the pussy that awaits them, should they choose to accept. They remained cast in stone until Jennifer disappeared from view behind the changing-room door.

“Fucking hell, did you see her cunt, Dave… Dave?” Anthony said, totally bewildered and looking worried about the possibility of having lost his mind: he’d ask the question just to confirm that he hadn’t.
“Did that just happen,” Dave said, looking intently at Anthony and waiting for a response.
“I think so… you coming” Anthony said, rubbing his hand over his hair again before rubbing his hands together.
“Coming, yeah I’m cumming, right in her fucking mouth mate,” Dave responded, getting to his feet and feeling like he’d just snorted a few grams of something illegal. Anthony joined him and leapt to his feet. “We’re fucking in there mate, she’s like a fucking page-three girl, and we are gonna fuck her” he whispered in disbelief, grabbing at his cock over his tracksuit bottoms and jigging it about. They were like kid-brothers on Christmas Eve, shuffling about impatiently, whispering about what they might get but not really believing it until Christmas day arrives when they can see it, touch it, and know for sure exactly what they’ve got. All-the-while their eyes were fixed on the changing-room door.

About ten minutes had passed when the door suddenly swung open. Anthony and Dave suddenly acquired some butterflies from somewhere and they were fluttering about quite energetically. Their faces reddened as Jennifer approached them. She’s having a fucking laugh, look at her, she’s fucking beautiful, Anthony thought, but secretly hoping the opposite was true. He was starting to feel a bit silly now, having believed her. He couldn’t look her in the eye. Dave had his hand over his mouth and was looking in the opposite direction to Jennifer, kicking his heels. “Anthony,” she said, “I hope you can make it.” She handed him a scrap of paper. Anthony gathered up the courage to look her in the eye as he took the paper. She looks for real, he thought, stuffing the paper scrap into one of his pockets as if it were top-secret and should only be viewed in private. She turned and left. Anthony watched her leave, the mood of the situation changing as she did. It’s like her heart isn’t really in it, I could see it in her eyes, Anthony thought.

“Let’s have a look… Anthony… the paper, is her address on it?” Dave bickered, pulling on Anthony’s arm as he did so. Anthony took the paper from his pocket and handed it to him, his stare fixed on the door Jennifer had just gone through. “Fucking hell mate, we’ve got her address, let’s go,” Dave said, steaming towards the changing-room. Anthony trailed behind, still looking at the last place he’d seen Jennifer.

About a half-hour later Anthony and Dave pulled the car over, parking it outside number eleven, Horse-shoe Avenue; so-called because the forty-four rather grand-looking houses were set out in a horse-shoe shape forming an oak tree-lined avenue about a three-quarter-mile long. (Anthony thought it was called 'Horse-Shoe' Avenue because ‘you'd have to be a really lucky bastard to be able to afford to live there’.) A large, bright red, panelled door opened as they headed up the drive like two hoodlums casing the joint. “Glad you could make it, come in” she said, turning and walking through to the living-room, beckoning them in with her hand as she went. She was wearing a white gown and some strange-looking slippers, more like shoes. Anthony started to feel as if he were some sort of gigolo; it was all becoming a little business-like. He went inside nonetheless. Dave was right behind him, almost on his back.

“I’m not into threesomes, Dave you go on through to the study right there,” she said, pointing towards a door with her fore-finger. “I’ll deal with you later,” she said, turning to face Anthony. Dave did as he was told and left the living room, albeit with a slightly ‘miffed’ look about him. Anthony watched Jennifer, wondering how she was going to get to the ‘having sex’ part, and in the back of his mind still puzzling over her. He’d concluded that she didn’t like Dave and that he’d only been invited along to make sure Anthony turned up, not because he thought highly of himself but because that’s just how it felt. He still didn’t know why she seemed to be gagging for a bit, but not really wanting it, deep down. Either way, he wasn’t about to complain.

Jennifer walked through a doorway; it looked like it led to the kitchen. Anthony only had to wait for a moment before she reappeared. Fuck, I thought those ‘slippers’ were a bit funny, he thought, wide-eyed, smiling, and eyeing Jennifer from top to bottom. She was wearing fishnet stockings, a black skirt that Anthony thought of as a ‘greyhound’ (it was very close to the hare, he thought), a white blouse with a black-and-white cheque tie, a black jacket with numbers as epaulettes, and a policewoman’s hat – it was Andrew’s favourite outfit. The shoes she was wearing were just plain, flat black shoes – not Jennifer’s choice, but Andrew’s.

“It’s a fair cop,” Anthony said, offering his wrists – he didn’t know what else to say. Jennifer slowly approached him, exploiting her curves as best she could. By the time she was stood in front of him, Anthony was visibly hard; an observation that would be very difficult to miss. He stepped back as she produced the handcuffs.
“Hands behind your back,” she ordered sternly, as she moved around him so closely he could feel different bits of her body brush up against himself. Anthony obeyed. Jennifer positioned herself behind him with her legs spread wide. As his hands came round to his back she lowered her knickerless pussy right down onto them. He could feel the flesh of her lips pressing softly over his fingers and couldn’t resist a little squeeze. She leaned over his one shoulder with her hot breath caressing his neck.
“You are a bad boy aren’t you,” she whispered whilst neatly cuffing his wrists. Anthony felt his cock straining against the denim of his jeans. Jennifer lowered herself a little more onto his fiddling hands, thrusting her pelvis as she did so. Her skirt had risen up to clearly expose her stocking tops and her close-cut pussy; not that Anthony could see mind you, but she could. She put her hands on her knees and rode his twitching fingers. Anthony could hear her groaning and feel her getting wet. God, how he wished he could see her. Suddenly she stopped.

“Do you know what I’ve got in my hand, bad boy?” she said, holding a truncheon-like object. Anthony turned his head, trying to get a glimpse of what it was. He needn’t have because it came sliding over his shoulder. He eyed the object. It was about nine inches long and probably an inch and a half in diameter. He wasn’t sure if it was made of wood or plastic. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s a truncheon.”
It disappeared from view. A second later he could feel it being placed into his hands. He could feel a handle of some sort, like it was grooved. It was difficult to grip properly with his hands cuffed, but he managed to hold onto it.
“Now hold on tight, or I’ll be taking you down,” she said, smiling to herself. I hope so, Anthony thought, looking a little anxious. He felt the truncheon being moved, followed by a groan. It felt like he was a holding a rod with a fish attached. The truncheon began to push and heave in his hand.
“Oh yeah, now you fuck me good or you’ll be in real trouble Mr.” she groaned, thrusting her pussy down onto the stick he held in his hands and then almost retreating back off it, repeatedly. Anthony thought his cock was going to tear through his jeans. He looked down at his crotch and noticed a wet patch more than halfway down his thigh – it was that big.
He could hear Jennifer’s groans and sighs, wishing it was his truncheon doing the fucking. He felt her hands clasp at his waist and heard her sinful whimpers getting quicker. Anthony’s breathing got deeper and he’d now become aware of his heart beating. He suddenly let go of the stick and spun himself around so quickly he hadn’t even thought about doing it. The world seemed to melt away as he stared at Jennifer, watching her slowly recover the truncheon from her pussy. His wrists chaffed as he strained against the cuffs – he so wanted to free his cock, it was almost unbearable. His lips puckered as the truncheon’s end slipped out and her wet lips squelched as they peeled away from it.

“You naughty, naughty boy,” she said, waving the truncheon back and forth in front of his face. “Now I’m going to have to punish you.”
The truncheon made a cracking noise as it crashed into the wood floor. Jennifer pressed up against him, placing her left hand on Anthony’s short hair, and her right hand over the outline of his, presently contained, beast. Fucking hell it’s big, she thought as she ran her thumb and forefinger up and down its length. She tried hard not to look surprised at the mass he had between his legs.
“Uncuff me,” he pleaded, as he kissed and licked at her neck, losing himself in the moment. “Your scent is the scent of unadulterated desire, and if you are to be the devil, then I am your disciple,” he said, brokenly between breaths. Jennifer was stunned by his words. That’s beautiful, she thought, deliberately not saying it aloud for fear of breaking the ‘scene’ she’d created.

She pushed him away from her. “Get down on your knees,” she ordered, loudly. He did. “Now you do exactly as you’re told, do you understand?” she said in a very commanding tone. He nodded, not taking his eyes off her pussy. She was going to make him lick her, but first, she wanted to see what a cock of his dimensions looked like in the flesh. She unbuttoned several of the buttons on her blouse, and heaved her full breasts out of the gap she’d created. She posed with hands on her hips for a moment, displaying her wares to him. His cock ached and he groaned with the pain. Jennifer bathed in his desire, feeling like there were a thousand hands stroking every part of her body; her nipples had visibly grown and her pussy had ‘fleshed up’ some more in just those few seconds of being stood there.

She cat-walked up to him and pressed her ‘flesh’ onto his face. “Don’t you dare,” she ordered, feeling his tongue separating her lips. He put his tongue back where it belonged. She bent over and reached for buttons that had been the cause of his ache. She was keen, and a little afraid also, to see what he had down there. One of her breasts swung about his face as she fiddled with his jeans; the soft, warm skin of it made him just want grab her and fuck her, but he couldn’t – he was cuffed. She unbuttoned him but his long cock was trapped down inside his jeans.
Get to you feet,” she said, making sure his face rubbed over at least one of her nipples as he did; she felt him tug at it briefly with his teeth. He stood up straight, his hands still straining against those cuffs; he just wanted to grab at her tits and ram his shaft into her, and she knew it. She took a hold of the waistband and slowly began to work it down over his thighs. She quietly gasped as she saw the base of his cock; it was so thick. She tugged the washed-out denim a little more; the tip of his cock was still buried deep down his leg and she could already see about five inches. She bent down a little further and tugged some more. Sprrrring! His cock flew up at her, hitting her hard under the chin. She wasn’t sure if it was the impact that gave her a shudder or the sheer mass of his brute. She guessed it must have weighed a good five pounds, at least! She stood upright and stepped back, taking in the view. She put her hand over her mouth, worrying for a moment about whether she’d be able to take a length that great, and the girth; it was just plain frightening. He really was hung like a horse.

“Get on your knees,” she said again. He did, again, although he looked a lot more relaxed now, what with his horse-dick being free of its confines. Jennifer felt her pussy almost close up in fright as she thought of what his monster might feel like inside her. I’m going to have to get really wet to fuck that cock, she thought, as she approached him, again.
“Let me see that tongue,” she said, with her pussy an inch or so from his face. Anthony did what he was told and poked his tongue out. His tongue’s big as well, she thought, as she leaned back like a limbo dancer and took a hold of her pussy lips with her fingers, holding them wide open.
“Now be a good boy and pleasure me, well,” Jennifer snarled through gritted teeth. Like a slave, his obedient tongue touched her lips, and slid deep into her as far as it could go. She watched closely as his face gradually pressed up on her pussy, his tongue nowhere in sight but she could feel it alright; its warmth and its probing inside her caused her eyes to flutter. “Let me see you lick it,” she said, her lips, facial now, curling back from her brilliant-white teeth. Like a dog he lapped at her. Starting from the bottom his tongue licked all the way up her mound, lifted off, and started at the bottom again. On and on, and on, and on he went.

His tongue felt soft, yet hard enough to separate her lips amply to feel his breath on her innards. Every long, slow lick felt like a tiny orgasm. She couldn’t help but start to work her pelvis as if getting fucked. She was getting wetter, and wetter, and more flustered by the second. She grabbed his head by his ears - his hair was too short - and cast him away like a dirty vagabond. She quickly glanced at his enormous erection as he regained his balance, before turning around and bending over. He looked at her cute little ass, thinking she could have been aged about seventeen it was so well-formed and fresh looking… and the uniform - my God!

He imagined looking down at his cock, sliding into her from behind, holding the ‘copper’ in place by her tie. His cock began to ache like it was earlier, despite being free.
“How dare you make me wait, fucking lick me,” Jennifer demanded, pouting her pussy at him. He went straight into her with his tongue. He fucked at her and licked at her as fast as he could; he needed to get his cock seen to in double quick time. Jennifer wriggled her pussy on his face to add to her pleasure, while he licked and fucked and kissed and ached.

“You fucking fucker, get that dirty tongue out of me” she said, still wriggling her pussy on his face. He withdrew. She stood upright and told him to do the same. She stood alongside him, looking down at his cock; veins had popped up all over it now, like one of those bodybuilders who appear as if they are about to burst open, and it was twitching as if it were a separate entity from Anthony. She just wanted to eat it all up, right there and then. He looked at her pretty face as if to say ‘just touch it, please just touch it’. She looked him in the face, looked down at his cock, and slowly moved her open hand toward it. Her fingertips came into contact with the underside of his anomalous cock. It sprang upwards. Anthony groaned as if he were cumming. It fell back into place, landing back onto her fingertips. She slid her hand, slowly and gently, down its length – it took some time. Jennifer guessed it must be a good nine to ten inches. As she reached its tip, she held it between her thumb and forefinger, and slowly pulled his foreskin back. They sighed together as his deep-red helmet became exposed to the air. He watched her hand, which seemed almost like a doll’s hand up against this mammoth cock, gradually form a grip around him – her fingers were a good inch or so away from her thumb it was so thick. She started to slide her hand up and down him, squeezing at him. Her pussy was ready to have it inside her.

Jennifer released his cock but started to stroke its swollen end with her forefinger as she positioned herself in front of him. She dropped down onto her knees, took a hold of his cock, and stuffed it in her cleavage. She wanted to give him a titty-wank but it was so long its tip was going up past her face. She looked up at him, retreated a little, and just about managed to take him in her mouth. She held her tits up either side of his cock as he started to fuck her face, so he could get a good look at her nipples.

She could feel his cock scraping over her teeth, top and bottom, despite having her mouth opened as wide as it would go. He started to fuck hard at her, his hands desperate to get a hold of her head so he could ram it down her throat. Jennifer suddenly pulled back from him; it was too much, it was choking her. Anthony continued to thrust nonetheless. She looked at his cock probing the air, again in awe of it. She got to her feet, turned around, and bent over. She placed her hands on her buttocks with her fingers reaching into her pussy to hold herself open – she needed as much help as she could get trying to get his oversized tool into her.

Anthony studied her for a moment. Those stockings, the little skirt, her pussy pouting out invitingly. He leaned a little to one side where he could see her breasts hanging down freely through the gap she’d made in her blouse with the cheque tie hanging down in front of them – he cursed his cuffs knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold her steady by the tie now as he fucked her from behind. He looked down at his cock; it made her tight, little ass look even smaller than it already was. He stooped forward to get his cock to point downwards, and stepped forwards, trying to gain entry. He couldn’t wait to feel her flesh on his. Jennifer felt his tip on her fingers. With her one hand she took a hold whilst her other tried desperately to stretch herself wide. It felt really strange to her, holding something so large and expecting to put it inside her. He could be a giant, she thought, if I hadn’t already seen the rest of him. She dragged his tip into her warm, wet hole.
“Slowly!” she snapped, feeling him trying to just bang it into her. He gently pressed forward. She felt herself being pulled wider than she’d ever been opened before. The tip was inside her. She exhaled deeply as it firmly steamed into her. Fuck, he’s going all the way in, she thought, not really believing it. She giggled like a school-girl as she finally felt his thighs squash up against her buttocks, knowing that the beast she’d seen was now all the way inside her. He started to withdraw; it seemed to take forever. Then, BANG! He rammed into her this time and because he couldn’t hold her, he almost knocked her off her feet. She screamed out as he filled her.
“Stop, stop a minute,” she pleaded. He stopped. Jennifer moved about on his cock to see what it felt like. It felt so huge and hard inside her she thought he might be able to lift her from the ground on it. She wriggled about some more, giggling at the sensation of it. She felt she was being spoiled, and probably was, for any other guy with a normal cock that is. “Let’s go over here,” she said, pointing towards the fireplace; she rose up, but not quite completely, and waddled over to it – waddling was the best she could manage with such a huge object inside her. She could feel its mass knocking her insides about as she went and had to fight the urge to jump up and down on it, as they were. Anthony followed behind; he had to, because the tightness of the fit meant there was no danger of it just slipping out.

Jennifer placed her hands on the original, but reconditioned, Victorian cast-iron fire-place with her palms pressed against the mantle-piece. Anthony felt her resistance to being moved and immediately penetrated deeper. Jennifer let out a sigh mixed with a giggle. Anthony quickly found a fast-paced tempo and one that suited Jennifer. She groaned deeper and louder with every thrust, even pressing down on him now as he entered – that was something she really didn’t think she’d end up doing when she first saw what he had. There was no giggling now, and Anthony had adopted a very serious demeanour as he began to pound faster, harder, deeper. Jennifer focussed on the fullness that over-filled the gap between her legs, the glee causing her head to spin. Anthony got to watch his arm-like cock disappearing and reappearing into and out of her, as if by magic; it certainly felt like magic. Jennifer looked to her right side, smiling as she exhaled another thrust of pleasure. Anthony caught a glimpse and thought maybe she did it for him to see what he was doing to her, and maybe she was.
His gaze wandered to her swinging breasts that were only minutes ago wrapped around his cock. He sometimes caught a view of her nipples.

He snapped back upright and got really serious. “Oh… oh, rip me apart you fucker,” Jennifer cried as she reached down between her legs grabbing for his cock. She wanted to feel his enormous shaft going in and out and in and out and in and out. She stroked it as it penetrated and withdrew, and penetrated and withdrew.
“Ahhhhhhhh… fuck, fuck, fuck” she screamed as a lightning bolt of pleasure ripped throughout every last inch of her body. Her hat fell off as her head dropped and her tits flung back and forth into her face and about her head. Anthony could look no more at his cock, or her ass, or her tits. With his eyes tightly closed he ripped into her mercilessly. In and out, in and out, in and out. He was driving into her spent body like a steam train. Just then the train began to derail as the fluid that had built up to dangerous levels begun to unleash its load. He exploded inside her already completely full pussy; the pressure of it tickled and was the coup de grâce for Jennifer. It took everything she had just to hold onto the mantle-piece while he finished off inside her. They both dropped to their knees with Anthony crouching over her.

They remained united for a while, until Jennifer summoned the strength to get to her feet, dragging herself off his ten inches. She smiled as it pulled out.
“That was fucking great,” Anthony exclaimed as he struggled to his feet.
“That is some fucking cock,” she said, watching it soften as she delved into her jacket pocket for the key to the cuffs. Anthony turned around for her. She gasped as he did; there was blood all around his wrists. She quickly released him and headed for the study, correcting her clothing as she went. Dave was walking away from the door, fiddling with his jeans looking rather red-faced and suspicious. She looked at the door and saw a spattering of something just below the handle. “Who’s a little wanker then?” she asked, laughing as she turned and headed back toward the living-room.
“Come on, you’ll have to go, my husband’ll be back soon,” she said, seriously.
“No worries,” Anthony said as he finished off buttoning himself up followed by a quick rub of his wrists.
“Whoah, what about me?” Dave shouted as he rushed into the living-room, his brow furrowed.
“I don’t think so, do you?” Jennifer said, in a school-masterly tone. She turned to Anthony. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” she said, smiling as she gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Perhaps I’ll see you around.”
“I hope so,” Anthony replied as he headed for the door, ushering Dave along with him.
“Bye,” she said, looking sweetly at Anthony.
Anthony waved as he, and a rather upset Dave, headed up the garden.

Jennifer closed the door on them and headed straight for the sixteenth Century bureau that sat against the wall to the right of the fireplace. She lifted its partially open cover and removed a cassette from a camcorder that had been sitting within.
“Wait till you see what I’ve been up to, you bastard!” she said to herself, her pleasure quickly giving way to anger. She made her way over to the sofa and flopped onto it, holding the tape in one hand and her head in the other. Her face wrinkled up and a couple of tears escaped from her eyes, running for it down her cheeks.


XXX

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