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Avant propos: This story is the third part of a series, and while you no doubt would enjoy the first tales you can read and appreciated this one in itself.
As I think I mentioned in the first part of this tale, I met Diane Barr, wife of our editor, Elliot Barr, at the publisher’s extravagant Christmas party, and immediately began trying to get in her pants. When I sobered up the next day – or was it three or four days later? – I decided that the better part of lechery was discretion in which better part I have saved my job. (I’m a coward, just like Sir Jack)
But then, the bumptious Elliot challenged me to fuck Doris, the middle-aged advertising manager and heiress. I have already described how he proved insufferable in my defeat and dismissive in my success. So, discretion be damned, I fucked his wife.
Anyway, following our January romp in the hay – explained in unconscionable detail in the previous chapter – Diane and I avoided each other for a month. She came to the office a few times to pick up or see her husband, and walked right past my desk without a glance. I usually got up at that time and went to the store room to gather pencils and note pads, so I wouldn’t have to be polite when Diane and Elliot emerged from his office.
All this time, I thought of her often, flashbacks about her warm body next to mine and those delicious juices that stained my sheets, and even fantasies about fucking her in the booth at the Christmas party. I really wanted to fuck her again. When she would pass me at the office I would get hard viewing her terrific tits protruding through her sweater and remembering how they look and felt. And that ass, of course.
But, for the most part, I kept busy, fucking Sally, the women’s tennis coach at the nearby college, and trying to fuck this 17-year-old high school student with big tits and the mayor’s Creole secretary with a big ass: a blow job from the former, a stop sign from the latter.
Then came Mardi Gras. I had planned a weekend in New Orleans with Sally for my monthly Saturday off, but Friday afternoon Elliot decided to go fishing for the weekend and I had to replace him. Boy was I pissed.
Fucking Diane Barr again now took on a new urgency.
Diane taught a morning kindergarten at one of the Catholic schools in town. They had no children so she would be alone in the afternoons. Elliot was in his office from 6 or 7 in the morning until 4 or 5 in the afternoon, with an hour or more for lunch with politicians at Tony’s or Wednesday’s Rotary dinners at the Holiday Inn.
So, one Wednesday in March, I waited in the newsroom until Elliot stuck his Rotary pin in his lapel, put on his jacket and left for lunch – after lecturing me from his papal throne about the difference between a borrow pit and a barrow pit. I adjusted my tie, grabbed my own jacket and scurried over to Market Street to call on Diane. She had just returned from her morning at school and was having a sandwich alone in her kitchen when I rang the doorbell.
“Elliot is not here. He’s goes to Rotary on Wednesday.” So to maintain my gentlemanly manners and proper etiquette I said, “I didn’t know .”
She knew I knew. She also knew. “Not today,” she said, avoiding pretensions. “Maybe next time. Maybe tuzla escort later. Maybe never. I’ll let you know.” I left in disappointment for the Wednesday special at Nick’s. (Might have something to do with why I hate spaghetti so.)
For the next two weeks I tried to make up my mind what I wanted more: to make love to a beautiful woman or to slam my cock up Elliot’s wife’s ass until she yelled for me to stop – which I wouldn’t. Now, I wasn’t even sure if I’d even get the chance to do either.
At last, the first Friday in April, as I was walking up the steps to my apartment the telephone rang. It was Diane. “Wednesday” was all she said and hung up. Not so sure about church calendars but this obviously was my Good Friday.
When Wednesday came, after visions of sugar plums dancing in head for five days, I left the office early and parked my very recognizable TR3 on Bertheaud Street behind of my landlord’s house. (I lived above the garage in the back and usually parked in the street.) I then took the long way to Market Street. I must have smoked half a pack of Camels in anticipation and/or fear. (Elliot often scolded me for smoking too much.) When I reached my destination, I walked around back and knocked on the screen door.
“Thank you for using the back door,” Diane said. “I didn’t think I had to say too much in my phone call.” She was still in her kindergarten teacher costume, ill-fitting slacks and a pull-over that showed off her ripe tits to the extent allowable by nuns. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m fine,” I lied again – I wanted to get down to business just in case Elliot came home early after his meeting. “A cup of coffee? Or maybe you’d prefer a drink? Or maybe both. I think I still have a bottle of Armagnac in the liquor cabinet.”
“Sounds fine.” I had no idea what Armagnac was. We sipped our spiked coffee on the sofa in the living room. After a few minutes I put my arm around her shoulders, then took her face in my hands for a long, wet kiss. She melted, her body limp in my arms; my member rigid in her hand.
“Not here lets go in the other room.” She rose from the couch and led me by the hand into what was certainly the guest room. In the room, I kept moving to touch her, but she kept retreating. I got the hint and stood at the foot of the bed wondering what was next. Diane stood looking in the mirror, her back to me, purposely blocking my view, and took off her ear rings and drew her sweater over her head, revealing a black lace bra pulled tightly in the back to hold her big breasts. She then let her pants drop to the floor. Her panties were black lace, too.
Still in her working heels, she turned and walked toward me in silence. I don’t think she knew what to say either. She waited for me to move first, and I did. Touching that soft skin again I was head-over-heels in lust. After a long tongue twisting kiss, she undid my tie and pushed my jacked from my shoulders and let it hit the floor before clumsily unbuttoning and removing my shirt, the whole while nibbling on my ear. I kicked off my loafers as she began to fumble with my zipper. She swiftly removed my trousers, dropping to one knee as my hardness immediately poked out through the slit in my shorts.
She licked the tip of my penis and looked up and shyly stuttered: “I love tuzla escort bayan your taste, Jack. You’re the only one. Elliot is such a prude.” She then proceeded to give me the greatest blow job. I was shaking when I came, and after stopping briefly in surprise as my sperm hit the back of her throat at 50 km/hr, she resumed her sucking and swallowing until she had taken every ounce.
No longer quite so shy, she put on my tie then stood and pressed her warm body on mine. She proceeded to apply another love mark to my neck as I unhooked her bra and cupped my hands on those delicious bare breasts. She pressed close to my own bare chest and reached down to grab my reemerging cock. “You get back up in a hurry,” she smiled.
“Pour toi, ma chere. Surtout pour toi.”
“No French, please.”
“Mais, c’est la langue d’amour.”
“Not the way you say it,” she continued, her Cajun accent reemerging in an unguarded moment. I imagin that Cajuns don’t associate their language with love and sex. (Floyd’s in Ville Platte, however, did stock Jane Barkin’s Je t’aime.)
She fell onto the bed and beckoned me to join her, and so I did, sliding myself between her legs, my longish hair brushing the inside of her thighs as I moved. When I reached her mound of Venus, I could smell her essence and I put my mouth over the wet spot of her panties and sucked and bit on her pearl like a baby on a sugar tit, getting just enough of her taste to make me eager for more. I went down her left leg slowly, kissing and stroking, then back up the right leg before removing her panties to reveal a large jet black bush, like a pool calling for a diver. I smothered myself among the bristles and let myself be smothered in her sweetness.
Diane began pulling at my shoulders, urging me to enter her right away. She began calling for me. “Now, now,” each plea more urgent than the previous. I knew that for the second cuming I could go on at length. Let her wait. After nearly choking on her love juices, I began slowly moving up, my hands sliding teasingly up and down her sides to her shivers as my well lubricated cock rubbed against her abdomen and her chest, being sure to press against each of those huge tits. The head of my penis touched Diane’s long, erect nipples. I straddled her upper body and stroked my erection teasingly under her chin and along each side of her neck, before passing downward again, over those delicious tits and nipples and that taut abdomen.
I was perched now at her entrance, my body looming over hers, supported by arms above her shoulders. I looked down at her and smiled. We kissed as I plunged inside her. Swift and hard, with a prick filled with both anger at Elliot and lust for Diane. She was tight, oh so tight, that her body seemed to be trying to block my way. It was heavenly, and I was pressing harder and harder in and slowly out. Each time as I was nearly out, she would pull at my hips to keep me inside. At most times I was able to withdraw, only to drive back in as far and as fast as her muscles would let me.
She arched her back and moaned each time I entered, her legs wrapped tightly around me. Her hands were on my shoulders at first, when my passion for her was at its peak, but after a few minutes my thoughts switched to how much fun it was to fuck Elliot’s escort tuzla wife. I pinned her arms to the mattress and stroked her hard and rough, my heartbeat strong and rapid, my body sweating and my smile turned wicked or gone altogether. “Call my name,” I demanded.
“Oh Jack,” Diane began repeating between moans, muted cries and streaking tears. She also kept repeating “Oh my god” and “yes, yes” as she enjoyed orgasm after orgasm. She must have come at least four times, probably more, many more if you could count the mini-orgasms that came amid the earthquakes.
After what seemed like an hour, my anger waned and my attention turned from cuckolding Elliott to pleasing Diane, she with the eager and welcoming body. So, as she was reaching climax once again I exploded in a volcano of cum, and we shook and moaned together “Diane, Diane,” and “Jack, Jack, Jack.”
I lay atop her, my member inside of her, feeling awash in our juices as my hard diminished. But only a little. Her muscles massaging my dick, intentionally or subconsciously, soon returned me to hardness. I put my hands on the mattress and pushed myself so that I could enjoy those big, beautiful brown eyes, and that perfect face framed by her raven hair. I saw her smile. That was almost enough to sustain an orgasm for me. So much meaning in such a simple gesture. I would have begged for her charms were she not giving them to me freely.
Diane knew I was as much a captive of her smile as of her body. We turned over and she sat astride me so I could stare at her perfection, of which she was fully aware obviously, as she rode me, sliding up and down and leaning side to side, back and forth, staring into my eyes, her smile aglow. I just lay on my back and felt good.
She began to move faster now, riding harder and harder, her breasts swaying rhythmically from side to side, up and down. She leaned back and grabbed her hair in her hands and was breathing heavily. “O my god. O my god. Yes. Yes.” I responded to her rhythms pushing up as she moved down. God! This was great. She began shaking. “Now. Now. Cum Jack cum.”
I stopped moving. “No, not yet.”
“Please, please. Don’t stop now.”
I pushed her off to her side and moved to her rear and put my juice-filled cock at the base of her anus and waited.
“Yes. Yes. Just do it. Now. Now.”
And I moved in, slowly and incrementally at first and then further and quicker as she gasped and began to tremble. She was so tight, so, so, so . . . “Damn it Jack, damn it…Aaaaaah… Yes. Yes, yes… O Jack O Jack. I whispered in her ear, “Yes, Diane.” Then I exploded with my own moans
We were both covered in our cocktail of sweat and cum, as we rolled over for a smoke. Diane quivered: “That’s something else I’ve only shared with you.”
Then it was time for me to go. She put on a robe and gathered up our clothes. I quickly put on mine and got ready to leave. But not before one last long, this time passionate kiss. Making love to Diane had won out over fucking Elliot’s wife.
# # #
Well, I came over the next Wednesday and the one after that. Wednesday was day. But by mid-summer it seemed the whole town knew about us. We put everything on hold, but we both knew it was too late.
I found a job n south of Lafayette, and gave my two week notice,
On my last day, after packing up my desk, I walked into his office to say good-bye. He thanked me, complimented my work, then punched me in the mouth. I didn’t have to ask why.
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