In a Single Bed in New Rochelle

"Oh Rob!" Laura panted with her panties down around her ankles, her dancer's thighs spread wide in her single bed in the middle of the day.

Laura's husband, Rob, the head writer of the Alan Brady Show had not made love to her for, well, months. Alan was riding he and Buddy and Sally so hard to come up with new material. Rob was exhausted by the time he got home. Yes, for months. It seemed like years.

She had started to use her fingers. She had to or would have gone crazy. And now, my God, was she becoming addicted to touching herself lasciviously in the middle of the afternoon? What would her pastor say? Or her mother?

The newlywed brunette mewed like a kitten, as her wedding ring hand worked its magic on her juicy New Rochelle pussy. Her lips were a deep pinkish brown turned inside out like choral. Laura's clit was bigger than you might imagine it and it had given her embarrassment as a girl. Now it was extremely sensitive and her fingers were dancing and writhing on her pouting pink lips as she loved up her horny throbbing button protruding from a fashionably sixties untrimmed suburban bush.

"Oh Rob, oh, God" she moaned as she picked up her pace and rotated her hips, the cheeks of her dancer's ass obscenely parting as she writhed on the pillow she'd thrust underneath her bottom when she'd begun to feeling the stirrings of her arousal. With her other hand she sensuously cupped and recupped her full luscious housewife breasts.

Laura began to twist and tease her erect rich, chocolate nipples as she increased the pressure on her clit and started to ram three fingers into her hot sixties cunt.

"Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh," she panted, sounding less like a kitten now and more like a suburban bitch in heat.

The image of her husband's cock, his dick loomed as if in front of her face and her jaw fell slack.

"Fuck me with your dick, Rob" she moaned as her body shook and shuddered and the vision of Rob's dick, long and smooth and thin with the cherry on top she loved to lick ---and when it got angry he thrust inside her honeyed Laura lips his long balls slapping against her pretty chin.

Her fingers moved convulsively from her nipples and she raised her hips high in the sky like a bridge. Her hand snaked between them and parting her perfect, alabaster smooth cheeks to find her hot little dainty rosebud so often hidden by her Capri pants now totally exposed to her probing wedding ring finger. With a gasp she penetrated her sweet sweating anus up to her second knuckle and wiggled in her tight hole.

Now, with an almost guttural cry, Laura humped up to meet her fingers impaling herself from both sides, the lubricant of her excitement oiling her convulsions into humping syncopation.

"Oh FUCK me Rob!!!" she wailed, a young suburban goddess doubly impaled on her slender fingers with her endless legs in the air, the panties now kicked aside, her Capri pants and Wonderbra in a pile beside her single bed in the middle of the afternoon in New Rochelle as the aroma of her sweet Laura pussy pungently scented the air.

She came in shuddering climax sighing, mewing and delicately grunting as she inhaled her own erotic perfume and lay gently convulsing and dripping nectar on the embroidered sheets Rob's mother had given them as a wedding present.

Then she licked all of her fingers, slipped her bra and panties back on, slithered into her Capri pants, buttoned up her blouse, primly washed her hands and went out into the kitchen to lovingly apply vanilla icing to a chocolate Betty Crocker cake.

It was Dick's favourite. She'd baked her own homemade brownies and thrust them deep within it. Involuntarily, her fingers brushed the crotch of her Capri pants.

Oh, Rob, she cooed.

But to her surprise, she had a sudden image of Alan Brady's virile and gleaming bald head dipping between her gaping pussy lips and his tongue snaking out aggressively. To her greater surprise she came for the second time that day.

And that's what she was really thinking about a couple of days later when she blurted out that Alan was bald on the nationally televised quiz show.

That was the first night Dick yanked down her Capri pants, pulled her across his pyjama-ed lap and spanked her.

But that's another story . . .

ALSO IN THIS SERIES: Suck My Cock, Ginger, Lick my Balls, Mary Anne, Get Me Another Scotch, Mrs. Howe.

EXCERPT: I'm the Skipper. I'm the dominant man on this island. All the other men are pussies. That's why it wasn't long before I made Ginger, Mary Anne and Mrs. Howell my cock whores.

Ginger was first, of course. Storms always get me hard and I was fucking her starlet ass as the Minnow rolled, her low cut sequined gown in shreds where I'd ripped it off. Just as we ran aground I yanked back her red hair and spouted a gallon of seamen's semen into her Hollywood hole. She loved it -- and the first sounds we heard on the Island were Ginger cumming with my cock up her rectum as she howled out her submission for all of the castaways to hear. Mary Ann and Mrs. Howell told me later -- when they were my slaves -- that they couldn't stop from fingering themselves as they heard Ginger's primal fuck calls, Mary Anne down her tight farmer jeans and Lovey Howell in under the pleats of her Dior . . .