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Sunlight pooled like golden water, warm waves licking at the tousled blankets on the bed. Delia woke to the sound of a lawn mower starting in the neighbor's yard, her bleary eyes cracking open only enough to ascertain what the disturbance was. It was morning. She stretched like a cat, pushing aside covers that were musky and sweet from the night before. Her blond hair fell about her as she rose, rippling down her spine like platinum snakes of tangled silk. She padded to the kitchen, yawning wide, tawny skin bare and beautiful without a thread of clothing to cover her.

At the kitchen table Max sat, nude in the summer air, his french blue eyes scanning the newspaper spread before him. Delia's hand smoothed over his shoulder as she passed, headed for the ancient coffee pot that sang on the stove. She poured them both a cup, hers thick and sweet with cream, his black as his byzantine curls. They sat together and looked across the table at each other. Something good and dirty flashed between their eyes, a spark of igniting fire over the rims of their mugs.

“When does your husband come home?” Max asked.

“Not until this evening,” she answered.

In one smooth motion he rose, reaching for her as she left her chair and dove into his arms. His kisses were a tender rain, his lips exploring her skin as though they had never tasted its softness before, though they had countless times in nights gone past. He was pushing her against the counter, kneeling at her feet, parting her legs even as his tongue buried itself in the dewy folds of her sex. She moaned, a low sound from deep within her, watching the top of his head as his tongue came and went inside her, it's satin edge almost cruel as it forced her body to waken to its pleasure. His tongue withdrew from her well and spread her perfumed cream over and around her clit, licking and lapping as though eating her flesh, his fingers delicately holding the petals of her mound open, exposing her most sensitive places to his reach.

She was whimpering, hands on his head, pulling him into her. It wasn't enough! She needed more! With her body she pushed him down until he was on his back on the tile, looking up at her straddling him, her knees on either side of his head. His cock was stiff and throbbing with needs of its own but he continued to drink, his hands on her taut bottom, holding her against his mouth as he ploughed and dug. He brought one hand beneath her and suddenly where there had been a pliant tongue there were hard fingers sliding easily inside her wetness, stroking the muscles of her inner walls, making her twitch and squirm. He pressed the flat of his tongue to her clit as he stroked and her hips took up the rhythm he'd set, grinding against him. She cupped her breasts, kneading them while he watched, nipples twisting between her fingertips.

Her skin grew feverish, its sun-darkened tan flaring like fire. Max could tell she was close, only dangling by her fingertips on the edge of control. He stopped and Delia groaned at the sudden aching absence of his fingers inside of her. But he was wiggling under her, bringing himself out, lowering her on his body until she was poised with the tip of his cock against her dripping opening. With a satisfied gasp she lowered herself onto his shaft, slicing into herself, and the fullness of him stretching her inside sent wave after wave of fuzzy pleasure from the tips of her toes to the roots of her silvery hair. She rode him, his hips lifting into her each time she came down. Max was waiting for it, holding himself back with an inconceivable will, waiting for her to let go before he came with her.

Delia saw the face in the window of the back door, like a sudden shock of cold water dousing their flames. His eyes were wide, disbelieving, but it was too late. Richard, home early, watched as his wife came apart, her body writhing as she came again and again, panting and helpless on the man beneath her. The sheen of lust on her damp skin blinded him like the sun. Her eyes were locked on her husband's, mouth forming his name. Despite himself, Richard felt his cock stiffening. The sight of her like this, her hair a mess, face flushed with sex and guilt and shame, called to his primitive side, a possessive arousal taking hold of him. The desire to take her off this strange man's body and have her was strong. He put his hand on the doorknob.

Inside the kitchen he spied upon, the pair had stopped and Max, catching sight of the furious man just outside the door, had disentangled himself, leaping to his feet, and disappeared. Delia was on her hands and knees on the floor, watching fearfully as Richard entered the kitchen. She lifted a hand in supplication, but he knocked it cruelly aside. He dropped down in front of her, taking fistfuls of silver hair that he brought to his face, inhaling deeply. He growled at the telltale scent of lingering musk that was on her. She was trembling, uncertain.

“Richard, you're always gone so long... I'm sorry.. I just...” She was pleading, but his stoney expression silenced her. There was nothing but the sound of the lawnmower next door as he knocked her, un-gently, to the floor. Inside his pants his cock was straining, harder than it had ever been before to see her sprawled like a rag-doll, her body limp and pliant and juicy from the orgasm she'd had. He unzipped himself, and his cock sprang free, thick and angry red. Delia's eyes opened wider. Richard crouched over her prone form like a lion, taking in the mingled scent of her and the scent of the other man that clung to her skin. He pinned her, kneeling over her with his legs on either side, cock above her face and blocking her vision. Her tongue flicked over her lips nervously.

“Open,” he commanded, one word. Her lips parted obediently and in he plunged, sinking himself to the back of her throat without waiting for the muscles of her jaw to relax in response to this sudden demand on their space. Tears sprang to her eyes but she lay still, taking him demurely as he beat into her again and again, fucking her pretty little mouth until her lips were numb and the salt of his pre-cum made her salivate. His hand was tangled in the hair at the back of her head, trapping her face to his crotch; she couldn't have broken free even if she'd wanted to.

“On your stomach,” he commanded again, releasing her suddenly. His cock slid wetly from between her lips as he lifted himself only high enough to let her flip herself over, breasts pressed to the cold tile, arms folded before her, firm ass in the air waiting for him who owned her. He stood, looking at her. His clothing was burning at him but he took his time removing it, letting her squirm while her mind tried to guess what he might do next. He crouched beside her and ran a hand along her back, mapping the curve of her spine from her shoulder blades to the smooth rise of her behind. The air reverberated with the sound of his palm hitting those plump cheeks, and she stayed still as he spanked her, her shame keeping her firmly in place. Tears were clouding her eyes, streaking her face. He stopped and admired how red her skin was where he'd struck her, the imprint of his fingers tattooing his claim on her flesh.

He knelt behind her and took his cock into his hand, stroking absently. Her knees were parted, her achingly swollen sex peering out at him from between her reddened cheeks, and he realized the juice that dripped down her thighs was hers alone - the other man had not cum. Richard's smile was tinged with a little disappointment, surprising himself. But he'd leave that for another moment to think over; right now Delia was open, waiting, and from the sound of her short little breaths, as hungry as he was. He brushed the head of his cock over her lips, pleased at how slick she was, at how easily he slid inside her. She curled like a rattlesnake, her breath escaping her clenched teeth with a hiss. She pressed back onto him, forcing him deeper, painfully deeper, until it was physically impossible to go further. Obligingly he fucked her, one hand resting on her lower back as he watched the place where his shaft was disappearing into her, quicker and quicker, her body eating him alive.

Her fingers curled, nails digging into the floor as she moaned. He could feel her tightening around him. His own body was tensing, and suddenly he was shooting off inside her with a pleasure like bright lights before his eyes, an intense contraction of his muscles, a surge of release. Delia was shaking, her body contorting, she was cumming in spasms and a river of warmth over his cock, it was running down his legs, so sweet and warm!

Slowly the morning returned to them as though a haze were clearing, the sun and the air, and the lawnmower still humming. Delia looked over her shoulder at him. He pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head, holding her close. “Who is he?” he asked.

“A friend of mine,” she said, her voice small.

“How long?”

“Only since you've been leaving town for work.”

“So, three months.” Richard thought about this. Three months some other man had been screwing his wife, making her writhe, making her moan, making her... bad. Bad, and dirty. Richard's cock twitched. He'd never been so turned on in his life!

Delia watched his face as he sat with her, his expression deep in thought. After a moment it seemed as though he'd come to some sort of resolution. She bit her lip, anticipation and dread eating at her.

“Maybe...” he started, “maybe we can work something out.” And he smiled.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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