Book Two The Blackmailed Mother

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with pure lust for her. "I'm not about to leave, not unless you want me to. I can't explain it, Kim, but you
make me so damned hot just standing in the nude like that, your cunt hair glistening and your breasts
hard and throbbing, that I'm going to get hard again."
Kim stifled a moan of her own, lewd reawakening, only to hear a soft, course whisper from behind the
wall-Saunders again, the damned fool!
but as fearfully aware as she was, the excited young prostitute was still shivering from the thrills
Roger's merciless penis had given her. She gazed with enrapturement at his supine form, saw that
incredibly his cock was slowly filling out with blood, growing harder ... harder ... and a hot seething
knot of tingling need lashed at her vaginal area ... yet she couldn't risk Roger staying here any
longer ... She groaned and taking a shuddering breath, said, "Maybe another time. T-tomorrow,
perhaps."
"Now," he grinned wickedly at Kim, catching the luster in her eyes and knowing that it would be now if
he wanted it, which he did. He stared with rapacious eyes on her beautiful, provocative loveliness as she
smiled with a combination of shyness and passion, and unknowing to him with indecision as her lusting
mind swirled indecisively between prudence and desire but her body ruled supreme, and with breasts
jiggling proudly and thighs matted pubic down flashing enticingly, she began to teasingly parade before
him, unable to control her own spasms of lurid ecstasy ... and he was tantalizingly brought under her
sheer wanton depravity.
He had the sudden urge to kiss her pink-tinged, moist cunt and smell the tang of her perfumed secretions
as her cuntal valley opened to his lips and mouth-and he said so unashamedly.
"Come here, Kim, and I'll suck your pussy like you sucked my cock!"
His lewd words brought forth the moan of licentious excitement that Kim had been able to choke down
before, and on rubber, trembling legs she started for the bed, running her hot, fevered hands up and
down her rich, white and tanned body, cupping her breasts ...
Roger Carmel was completely captivated by this abandoned vamp of a girl, and the guilty self-loathing
which he had tried to conjure up earlier in an attempt to assuage his feelings of lust and satisfaction were
now entirely blotted out by the absolute free and unhesitating debauchery of which he was a willing
partner.
He had tried to tell himself that he should feel shame and remorse for what he was doing, tried to tell
himself that the only reason he had allowed himself to become an adulterer was because of anger and
hurt and jealousy over his wife's similarly despicable behavior-but he knew that it wasn't true. He didn't
know for sure that Lonnie was unfaithful to him, and what difference did it make anyway? He would
have still thirsted for this girl who was slowly and teasingly coming across the bedroom to him ... He just
plain wanted to suck, fuck Kim Copeland and God knew how many other willing, depraved girls if he
could ... Fuck-the word described what he wanted to do perfectly, as in contrast to making love, which
was what he and Lonnie did in the privacy of their marital bed.
And perhaps even more perverse was the consummate love he still had for his black-haired, desirable
wife. He still wanted to go home and wrap his arms around Lonnie and have her wrap her vagina around
his cock so he could make love to her, for no longer was he tortured with righteous indignation over
whatever lewdness she had gotten involved in. He had the faith and the unquestioned belief that Lonnie
loved him in return - - that she was fucking that man, if she was at all, as he was fucking this girl, in a
purely physical gratification of the senses and nothing more. In a way, he had the urge to call her up and
tell her this ... but he wouldn't. Because Kim Copeland was placing one knee on the bed now, her eyes
wide with hunger and her lips wet with the moisture of her licking pink tongue-tip ...
A psychiatrist might have diagnosed Roger Carmel as a man who had an irrational and sub-conscious
fear of the basic male characteristic to mate indiscriminately. Perhaps this had stemmed from his
Victorian mother who had smothered him from birth with the conviction sex was inherently bad and all
men were beasts, and who had sentenced her son to a cocoon of prudery as he reflexively strove to
prove that he wasn't such a contemptuous type, that he was a gentleman first, last and always.
Perhaps ... but Roger Carmel wasn't a psychiatrist, nor at that moment was interested in pondering why
he had kept the lid on his perfectly natural instincts with a blind attitude and stiff-necked disdain, or why
this one adulterous fling had not brought the wretched self-incriminations he had assumed he should feel.
Time enough to unravel such details later, for his chest was pounding as Kim Copeland crawled across
the sheets to him, the predatory feline that she was, and his semi-hard cock began to flinch with the
renewed pressure of arousal ...
Roger Carmel had not changed-he had evolved, breaking out of his self-imposed, unhealthy cacoon
from a mind-shattering combination of pressures from his work, his turmoil of anguish over his wife's [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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