by Troy Storm
Her chat with Stephen hadn’t changed any of that. As for her memories of being banged by Chad that afternoon…
It was another non-issue.
She nuked a Lean Cuisine and poured herself a glass of red wine to accompany the yummy beef thing with vegetables that wouldn’t add a single ounce to the womanly curves that had been pressed firmly against the library stacks by a ravenous young man in the full throes of sexual need.
Twice.
Obviously fulfilling her sexual need, too, she mused over the succulent beef, since she had met his need with open arms…and legs.
Both times.
And maybe even a third time they could have done it—the young were so filled with energy. If only the young knew, if only she and Stephen had known, what they now knew. Maybe we’ll try for a third time next time, she giggled, shamelessly. If Mrs. Abernathy hadn’t shown up. Right on time, as always. Bless her.
Syble sighed at the delicious absurdities. The library stacks. The very first time she had met Chad face to face. Pussy to dick. Appalling, she smiled, luxuriously rolling the wine around on her tongue. Wondering what the wine would taste like if her tongue were licking it off him. If he were licking it off her.
Whatever. She sighed, remembering, feeling all warm and…fulfilled.
And annoyed. There were no candles in the bathroom.
Now that she thought about it, turning on the tap, when was the last time she had a candle-lit bath where she just lay in the warm, silky liquid and let her dreams and hopes flow around her like the enfolding waters?
Which she used to do all the time when she and Stephen were first married and they were trying to get a foothold in both their careers in the city. He would sit on the edge of the tub of their little downtown apartment naked in all his powerful, youthful glory and they would talk about their ambitions and what kind of lives they wanted to have.
And about how they loved each other.
Then he would slide into the bubbly, silken water that had become cool, and heat it by sliding his rampant hardness into her and fucking her with a ferocity that would blow her mind and send her rocketing into spasming, thrashing climaxes. After which she would lie in his arms and doze feeling totally content.
The tub was ready. Dammit, it was a drag to collect candles from all over the house—the house they might lose at any minute—but the candles were collected and lit and she found the silky stuff…beads…and as the water poured out of the faucet and mounded up piles of bubbles, she was ready to undress and slide in.
The von Furstenberg came off and was replaced by a robe, one of her nice ones, the silk that she seldom wore because it was such a bitch to dryclean. Stephen had given it to her one anniversary and said not to get too fond of it, because he might be ripping it off her if she continued to look so gorgeous in it.
A girl likes to hear those things, even if, even if…it’s years later than when he originally might actually have ripped her robe off to get at her oh-so-willing body.
Syble stood looking at herself in the door mirror. She still had on the ripped pantyhose, split at the crotch for Chad’s penetration. Chad’s big, thick, enormously hard, powerful dick that speared through split fabric and filled her and emptied her and filled her and filled her until she was finally not annoyed at Stephen anymore.
She peeled off the shimmery covering, slowly, leg by leg, seductively as if she were doing it for Stephen, or Chad…or maybe…if ever…If she ever allowed…If…
She should have been thinking as she slid into the silken, smoothly caressing water, no…never again…not…negative…cannot happen, must not….
Should have been…thinking…
She was thinking of the three of them.
But the water was warm to hot and she was enveloped in the glow-inducing steam. The bubbles were tingly and playful. She loved playing with the foam. Anointing her breasts. Undulating her sleek body like those swimmers in the Olympics who, after they made the turn, undulated their sleek bodies. Except Syble was undulating in slow motion, her fingers pressed gently against her crotch, feeling the bloom of her pubis, mounting the mound, pressing in, finding her center…so warm…so fulfilled.
Finally.
“My God, you left the back door open!” The frantic assistant coach burst into the room.
Syble’s eyes shot open. She struggled to push herself upright in the tub, panicked and groggy with bubbles and water splashing. She must have fallen asleep. What the hell was Chad doing there? Yelling at her. Angry. Fearful.
“Oh…my…God…you’re gorgeous.” He wasn't angry anymore. He stared at her naked body, dripping with the now-cool, non-silky water, barely covered with an occasional film of tired bubbles.
She swept what was left of the bubbles over her breasts.
“You almost gave me a heart attack! What the hell are you doing in my bathroom? What time is it?” She turned to look at the travel alarm on the shelf with the towels and realized she had turned it to the wall, not wanting to know the time it was while she was playing in her bubbles. Dreaming her dreams…
He stood in the middle of the floor, his eyes adjusting to the candlelight, his mouth slowly opening and closing, as if the sight of her softly lit naked body emblazoned on his retina had struck him dumb.
He’s so young, so earnest. So beautiful. Everything is such a big deal. She glanced at his crotch, expecting his huge, rampant dick to be piercing through his pants, and then blushed at the thought and looked away.
“You…left the back door open!” He lamely struggled to reprimand her. “I could have been anybody. There are home invasions around here, you know.”
There were, sort of, it was true. A couple of years ago. Even in this quiet, nothing-ever-happens-here perfect little suburb. Although the one real ‘invasion’ turned out to be a disgruntled former gardener who tied up his former employers and spent two hours ranting about how badly he had been treated while taking beautiful care of his captors’ plants, and had then perfunctorily took some silverware and stomped out, leaving a cell phone within reach for them to call 911. He was never found.
The other one that turned out to be not quite one was the town drunk—one of them—who inadvertently wandered into a neighbor’s house while wearing a ski mask because he didn’t want his old lady to see him drunk again.
He was thrown in the hoosegow for a night.
“Chad, what are you doing here?” She spoke quite sharply.
“I realized I won’t be able to see you tomorrow night. We’ve got a really tough soccer match coming up this weekend with Milldale and I promised the guys I’d show them some clips and run them through a bunch of plays after dinner…but I could come by late tonight,” he finished hopefully.
He pulled up a small stool and sat, legs wide, muscular arms resting on his thick thighs. He knew his reasoning was suspect. “I had to see you again. As soon as I could. I wanted to be sure. I wanted to be sure I could. See you again.”
In the candlelight his eyes were a deeper, deep-end blue. She wondered what he looked like in racing trunks. Not those hip and leg things they wore in competition now, but old-fashioned, show-the-world-what-you’re-made-of competition Speedos.
“You shouldn’t be here.” She tried to sound convincing. “But thank you for coming. Although you shouldn’t have come. Are you parked out front? I…there are a couple of neighbors. Neighborhood Watch types who…”
He grinned and began to undress. His grass-stained sneakers first.
“I parked two blocks away, in the driveway of a house with no lights, and then when I got halfway here I thought that was stupid. What if they were just out for the evening?”
He pulled off his jeans, exposing the two jock straps, obscenely packed, and then pulled his polo shirt over his head. Syble’s lower jaw slowly lowered as he unveiled his muscular body. “So I went back and circled the block and then parked in front of a house with no lights. Now I’m worried there’s no parking on the street at night.” He shoved t
he two jock straps down, his huge erection slapping into his solid, six-pack abs as he bent over to step out of the double Bikes. “And maybe you have a private patrol that checks on suspicious cars. I don’t know this neighborhood that well.”
He was a beauty. An absolutely, staggeringly, hunky beauty.
Just like Stephen had been.
Fifteen…twenty years ago.
Right down to the giant dick.
Chad stepped into the tub, facing her and slowly lowered himself into the water, sliding his muscular legs on either side of her.
Leaning forward, with one smooth motion, he placed one hand behind her hips and pulled her toward him as his other hand guided his massive meat to her yawning slit. She tilted her hips and bent her knees behind him to cock her legs and press her heels into his ass to assist in easing his hard, driving length to penetrate.
She felt his tight ball-sac nosing against her perineum, again.
He was home.
His hands cupped her breasts, massaging and molding as his dick ground in and out of her center.
“I couldn’t stay away.” His breath was coming in gasps as his exertion rose. “I had to see you again…to be sure it was all right…to see you…again." His mouth covered her breast and he suckled, heating Syble above the water line as his penetration was heating her underneath.
“You said that,” she murmured.
“I want to see you every day, every night,” he whispered against her neck. “I want to make love to you as often as I can. I want to move into your pussy. I want to live in your cunt.”
Make love? They had just met. He didn't know her at all well enough to love. Except for her pussy…her cunt…her sucking love tunnel. That could be loveable. Stephen had told her. He would know.
She just knew the energetic assistant coach was hunky, hot and knew how to use his dick to make her supremely happy.
But other than that…
No, that wasn’t being fair. He cared about his young teams. He especially seemed to care deeply about the horny teenagers who needed to learn to be responsible about sex.
She chuckled. If only his horny teenagers could see their coach now. Her vagina rippled and clutched lovingly at his thrusting appendage.
Chad groaned, his mouth against her nipple. “Oh, yeah! Dude, make her laugh,” he earnestly commanded himself, “even if she laughs at how good ’ole Chad is no laughing matter. I’m cool with that, so long as my dick is in her. She can laugh my fool nuts off.”
Syble let out an unladylike guffaw. “You're a friggin’ nutcase, young stud.” Her kneading love tube clutched at his deep liquid thrusts even more vigorously.
“Oh, hell, yeauh! Just like that, lady…” Pistoning in and out, his body rippling like a leopard in full gallop, he pulled her hard against him, her legs locked around his waist, the bath water sloshing onto the floor, her breasts flattened against the hard plates of his broad, smooth pecs.
It took a while for them to hit their peaks, longer than in the stacks. She nuzzled into the top of his dark blond buzz cut as he impulsively kissed her neck, her cheeks, her mouth, and wondered how hard his day might have been.
Apparently even at the end of a long hard day, Chad was hot and horny. Dare she wonder if he might be boffing the cheerleaders during the day. No, strike that…they were all high-schoolers. Well then, perhaps the cheerleaders’ moms, while their ever-loving hubbies were slaving away in the city during the day and wondering why their ever-loved wifies were too pooped to put out when they came home at night ready to bang.
Syble had obviously been ready to be banged…and now the warm waves were building throughout her. She suddenly had no interest in what Chad might or might not be doing to any other willing girls and/or women. More power to his powerful fuck pole. The young had such reserves, such energy, she mantra-ed. She and Stephen had gone for hours. Chad was bringing back feelings she had not experienced in years. If she was one of many, so be it. They should all get together and high five their horny hero.
Yea, for Chad’s dick! Yea, for lonely, unfulfilled ladies!
She writhed her hips and gave a final milking grip to the dick inside driving her toward another moment of total happiness.
At her clinch deep inside, he came, yelling and chortling at the top of his lungs now that they didn’t have Andy’s fine, young sensibilities to shock.
She came, too. He knew where the spot was…or his dick knew…she didn’t care who knew, just so long as it was found and hit.
Minutes later, they lay in the water…shriveling. He revolved under her and she lay down his front, fingering his nipples as he tweaked hers.
Still no remorse. No regrets. Not a one. What kind of wife was she becoming?
Fiddle-dee-dee, she’d think about it tomorrow.
“I’ll be back day after tomorrow…okay?” He was already planning his next assault while still pinned to her.
“Chad…maybe, we should cool it for a while?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” She ran a fingertip around a hairless, brown, pebbled areola before lightly pinching the little nub. Steven had bigger, tougher ones.
“Stephen will be here this weekend,” she said.
“You gonna tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
He pulled back and looked at her. “About us.”
“Oh. No. I don’t think so. Not this weekend. I have to think about things for a while.”
Her answer seemed to surprise him for a moment, but just a moment. He went back to kissing her and tweaking her nipples. Satisfied. “Up to you. But I’m not giving you up.”
He had said that. Several times. So sure. So earnest.
So young.
He sat up, bright-eyed. “I can be with you every day next week. We don’t have any travel games during the week.”
She coiled her arms around his strong back and tightened her legs around his firm, trim hips. “We’ll have to find you a better place to park.”
His hips had the answer. “No better place than this.”
Still inside her, his dick was hard again.
* * * *
Over the next few days, their relationship got sillier and sillier.
And much more intense.
Mrs. Abernathy almost caught them going at it in the stacks again, but they had quickly learned to be ready at any time and under almost any condition.
He wore jeans that sat low on his hips. A quick unzip and his prodigious pointer was out and ready to bury itself inside her. She wore slacks that also unzipped to provide quick access to her moist center, framed by hose, separate stockings, with only a simple thong standing guard, more than ready to be slipped aside by his imperative pole.
From the front or back, they appeared fully clothed, standing close, sharing a bit of high school humor, perhaps. Their bodies shivering with amusement, perhaps.
Perfectly respectable…perhaps.
And that’s how they had been ‘engaged’ when Mrs. Abernathy burst through the doorway on the lower floor of the library stacks, her bustling person equally bursting with high enthusiasm. She too had been earnestly researching the subject of teen-aged sex, once she had wheedled out of them the purpose of their meetings, and had yet another page full of references to thrust at Chad.
From her viewpoint at the doorway beneath them, looking up, she might have caught a glimpse of Chad’s jean-covered rear through the mottled structural glass serving as the floor of the small library’s second floor ‘closed’ stacks. But she certainly never gave the slightest hint that anything was awry between Syble and the assistant coach, and by the time her rather substantial bulk had navigated the small, circular, iron stairway up to their level, Chad had pulled out and tucked his unsatisfied self somewhat clumsily away as the excited lady approached.
It had taken Syble no more than a slipping of her thong back into place, a zip up of her loose slacks, and a smoothing of her tucked-in top to appear equally innocent.
“I’ve found
some wonderful new information,” Mrs. Abernathy announced breathlessly, waving a handful of notes, and glancing excitedly from Syble to Chad. “It’s absolutely amazing how much information you can get on the Internet from searching teenage sex. My husband has been just as astonished, too.” She blushed and patted her immaculately groomed gray hair. “I have to admit, it’s been rather titillating. George and I…well, we’ve become rather fond of doing the research together. One thing just leads to another, doesn’t it?” She finished brightly.
Andy had gotten in on the act, too.
“What do you two do back there all the time?” Syble’s young assistant asked forthrightly toward the end of the week.
Syble told him.
About the sex project.
He grew thoughtful. “Yeah, that’s tough about the girls getting knocked up. You’d think they’d know better. I mean, about how to keep from getting…you know, that way.” He humphed. “Guys are just generally stupid about stuff. ’Specially guys who are doing it. Mr. Parks is a real stickler about that ‘responsibility’ stuff.”
“Do you think it might make a difference, Andy? Providing information?”
“Sure. If you shove it down their throats and make ’em read it.” He grinned, sheepishly. “Illustrated lectures would really get their attention.”
“Andy, that’s naughty,” she smiled. “Besides, I’m sure young men these days can see whatever they want to see whenever they want to see it on the Internet.”
“Nah, not always. My folks are always checking on what I look at. Some guys’ parents don’t give a damn…oh, sorry, I mean, don’t, uh, care. They think their precious sweeties are just too good to be looking at…well, you know…stuff.”
“What do you think would be the most help?”
There was no hesitation. “Talking about it.”
“In what way?”
“You know, getting a bunch of guys together and making them talk.”
“Making them?”
“Guys my age don’t talk. They’re afraid of being called stupid…or a kid. So they just talk about stuff that other guys talk about, you know. Stupid sports. And, you know, who got to what base, who did what to whom, and whose team won and who was the best at whatever. It’s all stupid.” He frowned and turned back to the books he was shelving.
