Angry Fuck

Sue Williams was not happy. In fact, she was angry. Very fucking angry. Sue Williams was not normally very pleasant by nature anyway, but when she was angry, well, the world was prone to cower in her path.

Sue had just come from a mediation hearing for her pending divorce. She had to endure the embarrassing public disclosure of quotations from her husband's deposition, stating less-than-complimentary things about Sue's sexual drive and performance.

According to the affidavit, not only were she and her soon-to-be-ex 'sexually incompatible' but it was due to Sue's 'frigidity' and 'unilateral unwillingness to try any new, creative ideas' to freshen up their sex life.

Worse, the bastard had gone so far as to also garner quotes from the only man that Sue had dated briefly during the separation. Truth be told, Sue had only dated this guy to begin with in an ill-fated attempt to make her husband jealous, to show him that she could still attract virtually any man she wanted to, and she knew the man was a close golfing buddy of her spouse.

She really didn't have any true interest in him, and he turned out to be a real limp dick in the sack, although like most men, in his own mind he was a sexual super-hero. In reality, he was hung like a baby chipmunk, had no stamina, a lousy tongue, and after about a half-hour into their first attempt at sexual aerobics, Sue wondered if she were ever again going to find a man who knew his way around a woman's body. She gave him a second chance a few weeks later only in the meager hope that no one could actually be THAT bad. He was.

Unbeknownst to Sue, this former boyfriend, if you could call him that, confided to Sue's ex-husband that Sue was a 'wet fish' in bed. They shared notes on Sue's seeming lack of interest in all things carnal, and Limp Dick had volunteered to testify on her husband's behalf.

The quotes from this Benedict Arnold included, "We only had sex twice in the three months that I dated her, and the whole time her legs were stuck together as if glued."

Followed by this scathing rebuke: "Sue acts as if she is God's gift to man, that her intimate parts are made of gold and not to be shared."

In and of themselves, the characterizations had not painted Sue as the world's most giving and enthusiastic lover, but it got worse. Sue had to endure the diagnosis of a psychiatrist that her husband had insisted on entering into these contentious divorce proceedings, and the alleged expert concurred with the synopsis of her two former lovers.

'Hypoactive sexual desire disorder' was the quack's conclusion. 'HSDD', as it is also known, was defined in the deposition as "a lack or absence of sexual fantasies and desire for sexual activity for some period of time."

It was rather apparent by the mediator's body language that he was more than swayed by this compelling evidence that portrayed Sue as the ultimate sexual 'ice queen'. As the hearing ended, the mediator made it known that the parties would be given one week to contradict evidence presented today before he would render his decision.

Sue fumed. After the legal session had concluded, she overheard the lawyers on both sides, suddenly chummy with each other, invite the mediator to a cordial, off-the-clock happy hour at the Blue Bell Inn later that afternoon. These pompous pricks had balls the size of onions to rub it in her face like that, she thought.

But yet, that knowledge also brought opportunity. Sue wouldn't need a week to present evidence to shatter her husband's slanderous methods. She would do this today.

For Sue, millions of dollars, real estate, cars, boats, et al, hung in the balance of Mr. Mediator's judgment. Her hubby had utilized his substantial financial resources to try to keep his significant wealth that had been accumulated over the years from getting into Sue's clutches. Thus far, he was playing the game with a winning flair.

But Sue had two innate resources that her husband could never hope to capture, not any more, at least.

Her body.

And her smarts.

Both were equally impressive.

You see, Sue was a former runway model in New York City, albeit more than two decades ago. That's where she had met her husband, a wealthy hedge fund manager who also had connections in the fashion world. As they courted, her husband convinced Sue to abandon the modeling career, and Sue took him up on the offer, eventually raising two children of their own while Sue turned her focus on family matters and academic pursuits. After years of copious studying, she had acquired a masters' degree in psychology herself from Columbia University.

Not that she had ever ignored her sensational God-given body, however. Through the twenty-plus years of matrimony, child-rearing and higher education, Sue worked out diligently, mainly at her selfish-prick husband's less-than-subtle urgings. She maintained and even improved upon her figure so that she could assume her rightful role, at least in her husband's myopic vision, as the proper 'trophy wife' for a successful Wall Street mogul.

Sue stood a lean and statuesque five-feet-eleven, and even today, in her mid-forties, she still tipped the scales at only one-hundred and twenty-two pounds. Her long legs seemed to stretch forever, as one photographer once said, "until they made a perfect ass out of her." It was meant as a compliment.

She had her boobs lifted and enhanced a few years back, again at the urging of ex-hubby, and even though she often did her best to conceal them whenever possible nowadays, almost in spite, they still measured a firm 36C with pink nipples the size and shape of Skittles candies.

Her long, silky, natural honey-blonde hair was frequently bound up in a tight bun or ponytail, but when she let her mane loose, the curly locks reached the middle of her back and cascaded down over her sizeable breasts.

Even Sue had to admit something to herself, though. She really hadn't been very interested in sex during the last several years or so, but not because of any bullshit psychological malfunction such as 'HSDD', as diagnosed by her husband's paid-for-hire so-called professional.

No, Sue's libido was in recess for a much more fundamental reason. Her deep animosity towards her husband, combined with a rather obsessive focus on stripping him of his assets, had duly distracted Sue's attention from her sexuality in recent years. It lay dormant, maybe, but it most certainly was not flat-lined on the sexual EKG.

It was time for things to change on multiple levels, Sue decided, and she went straight to her computer upon arriving home to research two things.

The first project was a review of this alleged ailment she was suffering from, 'Hypoactive sexual desire disorder'. Sue sniffed as she poked the keyboard, "Have you ever heard of such shit?"

Sue read and discovered that there were four basic subtypes of this affliction, according to a medical journal: General (general lack of any desire); Life-long (the person has always had little or no sexual desire); Acquired (begins after a period of normal sexual activities and relations); and finally, Situational (person still has normal sexual desires, but lacks interest in current partner or partners).

The last two types could reasonably be applied to Sue, she had to admit to herself. Yet, the first two were laughable as far as pertaining to her, Sue thought. Before she met her husband, Sue was more than sexually active by anyone's definition. At one point in her modeling heyday, Sue figured she might have fucked about a third of the West Side's eligible bachelors and a handful of her fellow female models. Back in the day, Sue would never have been accused of any such 'lack of sexual creativity', that was for sure.

Sue wouldn't shy from the occasional stray piece of hot pussy herself. Maybe it was time to hop back on that saddle, she mused. With a willing cowboy as a companion, of course, just to spice things up.

And that's when she let her fingers do the walking, so to speak, tapping the keyboard with urgency until, in only about an hour, she had secured two dates to meet her at the Blue Bell Inn about six-thirty that very evening, one from each gender. An equal-opportunity three-way rendezvous.

The first site she visited was, for lack of a better term, a 'cougar site'. Within minutes after posting some pictures of herself that she had long sequestered, Sue had arranged for Sean, a twenty-five year-old hunk who resembled a young Colin Farrell, to be Bachelor Number One this evening. Boy, was THAT easy, Sue thought, smiling.

Of course, her choice was finalized only after carefully reviewing the mandatory cock photos, which Sean gleefully and expediently provided. The Internet had certainly thrown any decorum or respectable etiquette out the window, Sue mused, but what the hell. Eight-and-a-half was always her lucky number, and Sue was indeed legitimately impressed and nearly drooled, knowing that thick, elephantine rod would be impaling her various holes and tunnels later in the evening. Solely for evidence's sake, you understand. After all, this was sport-fucking at its most contrived.

Shortly thereafter, she had also contacted one of her former 'close' modeling girlfriends who Sue knew now resided locally, told her the plan, and was delightedly aroused when her buddy had agreed to meet up and join in the fun and frivolity, with one caveat. She could come over to Sue's house first and get duly 'reacquainted'. Sue agreed to her terms happily, and excitedly.

Sue again perused the damning deposition from the hearing as she basked in satisfaction with her plan. She began to lightly stroke her fingers over her now-tingling clit as she read the phrase that pissed her off as she had never been. 'Unilateral unwillingness to try any new, creative ideas', huh?

Fuck that. Fuck him.

There were two lawyers and a mediator who, in a few hours, were about to receive some compelling eyewitness evidence to the contrary. But first, there was some pleasurable catching-up to do with Sue's old 'friend' Bridgid, who walked up the path to Sue's front door right on time, precisely at four-thirty, and found Sue's hand-written note.

"I'm in the jacuzzi, darling, please come in. Naked."

Always the accommodating one, even after nearly twenty years since having seen the first woman she had ever made love to, Bridgid followed directions and peeled off her clothes and lingerie, leaving them in Sue's master bedroom closet, before entering the steamy love tub. The interior fog hindered Bridgid's vision at first, and she heard Sue's sultry voice from deep inside the mist. "Mmmm, you look even yummier than I remembered."

Bridgid followed the sound of Sue's voice, already dripping wet in anticipation of this impromptu rendezvous with her old bi-sexual mentor.

Bridgid Boisseau had just turned forty-one, four years younger than Sue. Three ex-husbands and an affair with the best plastic surgeon in Montgomery County had left Bridgid well-endowed both financially and from a beauty standpoint. She was a walking, talking, breathing, very sexy real-life Barbie Doll.

Five-feet, eight inches, 130 pounds with hot red hair and very seductive green eyes. Bridgid also had impossibly flat stomach and a firm muscular ass with not a hint of fat anywhere, any such traces having been sucked away in liposuction, which she had paid for in turn by regularly sucking off Dr. Plastic.

Bridgid was French, still with the hint of an erotic accent. She had a full, firm 38C chest with nipples that stood out almost an inch when erect. They were appropriately stimulated now, even though she hadn't even yet laid eyes on Sue, who was partially submerged in the hot water pool, admiring the view of her old lover.

Sue accurately recalled that Bridgid was always the lady when in public but in the bedroom she was the ultimate slut. She was willing to do anything to give her partner pleasure and was not shy about telling you what she needed to fulfill her own needs.

In other words, the perfect accomplice, both emotionally and physically, to implement Sue's master plan.

Sue rose from the jacuzzi like an apparition through the steam, and without saying a word, she kissed Bridgid deeply, the two women savoring each other's tongues and lips, twenty years of long-lost chemistry resuscitated instantaneously by hot, wet, impassioned kisses, their taut bodies pressing and melting into the other woman as one.

With a wicked glint in her eyes, Sue took Bridgid by the hand and led her out to the second story deck, which was obscured from any neighbor's view by a series of mature shade trees in the back yard.

Positioning Bridgid against the railing, leaning over it with her back turned to Sue, Sue squatted down on her strong haunches and began to work Bridgid's magnificent ass cheeks with her mouth, taking care that Bridgid's torso was in full view of the surveillance recording camera that Sue had positioned beneath the top of the awning.

Turning Bridgid to face her now, Sue began to cup Bridgid's breasts and pull her nipples. As Sue had relatively small hands for such a tall woman, Bridgid's huge tits overflowed in Sue's hands, and it looked as if they were trying to escape.

Bridgid moaned and closed her eyes as Sue expertly rubbed her nipples around and around, making them get puffy, then pulled them to make them stand up. Sue next took Bridgid's left breast in both her hands and lifted the nipple to her mouth, laving it with her tongue, and gently sucking the nipple. She did the same thing with her right breast, this time biting her nipple gently and loving the tingles running through her sexy body.

Although it had been over twenty years since enjoying the charms of any woman, Sue took to the task enthusiastically, even momentarily forgetting that this was on tape. It was like riding a bike, muscle memory and sincere sexual desire had taken over, further reinforcing the folly of the 'HSDD' diagnosis. Sue lowered her fingers as she sucked on Bridgid's heaving chest, and gently eased two fingers into Bridgid's already sopping snatch.

Sue made a mental note that she would again have to begin clipping her fingernails. Sue learned a long time ago that one of the easiest ways to detect a lesbian or bisexual woman was if she had trimmed nails.

Well, that, and if she wanted to lick your pussy. That was always a tell-tale sign, too.

Another two fingers soon joined the first two within Bridgid's responsive French cunt, she now had all four of her fingers inside Bridgid. Sue's free thumb began strumming Bridgid's clit. Flashbacks of Bridgid's engorged, oversized clit stormed back into Sue's mind. A clitoris was one thing that the plastic surgeons couldn't alter, at least not yet.

Twirling her fingers around and in and out of Bridgid's pussy, Sue quickly found her G spot. With her thumb still rubbing back and forth over the swollen clitoris, and two of Sue's fingers rubbing the redhead's G spot, she felt Bridgid's release rapidly approaching, and feeling the burst of nectar onto her fingertips, Sue raised her hand to Bridgid's full, pink lips and together they shared her delicious juices.

"Oooh, thank you, Susan, my long-lost love," Bridgid purred, still writhing from the after-shocks of Sue's manually-induced orgasm. "You are like no other, still."

She kissed Sue passionately in gratitude, and started to lower her face to pleasure Sue's own beautiful, tempting breasts. "Now it is my turn to please you, yes?"

Reluctantly, Sue had to pull Bridgid's auburn mane gently, resisting the urge to have the sensuous beauty tongue-ravage her needy tits. "We must wait a bit, my good friend, we have a mission to fulfill, remember? In due time." She inconspicuously turned off the deck's camera as she took Bridgid, still naked and needy, inside.

Sue led Bridgid to her master bedroom, where they took turns dressing each other in tonight's strategically planned wardrobes, while kissing and nuzzling and fondling throughout, as Sue elaborated the circumstances and Bridgid's role in the plot. Bridgid got as wet hearing about it as Sue did in explaining it, and soon, two steaming wet pussies attached to two scorching hot cougars were more than ready for playtime.

The two gorgeous women rode together to the upscale bar in Sue's Mercedes, alternating lifting each other's hemlines and playing with each other, to assure their cunts were wet, their faces flushed, their nipples erect. Their intoxicating scent served as an olfactory aphrodisiac as they would enter the bar separately.

Sue had to peek around the vestibule of the bar's entrance to identify the targets to Bridgid without being seen by anyone, which would be very difficult because of the way she was dressed. She wore a tight, black strapless Sherri Hill mini-dress that molded to her toned torso and displayed her prominent nipples poking through the sheer material of her blouse.

No bra was necessary, so Sue prudently decided that any thong or garters would just be window-dressing, anyway. There was nothing between Sue and her Sherri Hill. Brooke Shields and Ralph Lauren would be proud.

On her slim ankles, Sue wore four-and-a-half inch Stuart Weitzman designer black pumps with red patent leather crisscrosses. The heels might as well have come with a don't-just-fuck-me-but fuck-me-up-the-ass warning label. There was no duplicity in the attire, but just to make sure, Sue wore a deep black onyx five-strand choker necklace from Tiffany's that gave the illusion of teardrops at midnight.

An ebony-attired wet dream with honey-blonde locks cascading down her bare back like a Nordic waterfall.

She spotted her prey quickly in the crowded room. The two lawyers and the mediator, who already looked more than half-in-the-proverbial bag, red-faced and portly, were in a rear circular table, leering at the young waitress who barely looked out of her teens. On the other side of the bar, looking like a young, anxious Adonis, Sean poked at a tray of peanuts and sipped his imported lager.

"Why is it that youngsters think it's sophisticated to order imported beers? God forbid they have a fucking Miller Lite once in a while," Sue thought. But then again, she was still angry, so she let the fleeting thought pass and remembered Sean's magic number.

Eight-and-a-half. Aaah, that's much better.

Sue scurried outside where Bridgid was waiting impatiently in the car, idly diddling herself with her legs spread with a tiny pocket-rocket tucked in her hairless twat. Sue couldn't help but be a little bit envious of Bridgid's tits as they spilled out of her pink blouse like two watermelons bursting from the vine.

Sue wondered just how many hummers Bridgid had traded for such surgical handiwork, and having already feasted herself on the prodigious puppies a few hours ago, she knew that they seemed to have a string attached directly to Bridgid's clit, too. She made a mental note that she would have to get the number of the fine surgeon, especially as a treat to herself if tonight proved successful.

Sue described the legal beagles to Bridgid, went over the game plan in one final run-through, kissed her on the lips, and told her she'd see her in five minutes. Her pussy dripped as she entered the bar and saw Sean's face lighten in recognition. She didn't know which excited her more, the reality of she and Bridgid team-fucking Sean on videotape or mind-fucking the lawyers.

She decided that it's never a bad thing either way to fuck a young stud or an old lawyer.

The mediator saw Sue first, poking the barristers in the ribs, as her ass swayed in an exaggerated wiggle as she purposely walked closer to them than she needed to, but never let on that she realized they were there.

As Sean rose to greet her, Sue made it a point to grab him lightly by his tapered hips and spin him so that he faced the men in the rear table. As she leaned in to kiss him on the lips, she placed her open palm directly on his crotch and squeezed, letting her fingers trace the outline of his bulge. Sue gasped involuntarily as she felt Sean's massive cock rise to her touch. She was legitimately turned on, this was no ordinary cock.