The subtle breeze of the early summer morning brought the scent of freshly mown grass through the screened windows of the O'Connor home. The sound of birds chirping in the early morning light mingled softly with the sounds of the neighborhood awakening from its contented slumber.
The front door of the small white house opened and a man stepped through the door, bending to pick up the morning paper from the front step. His terry cloth robe parted slightly, clinging desperately to his waist by the loose knot in the sash. With the paper in hand, he smiled, looked up and down Cherry Lane and disappeared back into his home, shutting the door on the neighborhood.
"Anything good in the paper?" a pleasant question begged as it drifted through the summer scented air of the house.
"Nothing that I see yet, sweetie," O'Connor's voice answered back loudly, but happily. He looked through the headlines and saw that most of the news was depressing, and almost all of it was either city news or world news, but nothing that really pertained to their quiet little suburb. He softly padded through the house, winding through the rooms until he reached the kitchen. He stopped in the door way, looking over the top of the paper and took in the sight before him.
She was standing at the sink, rinsing something off; the perfect woman, the goddess. She wore a robe similar to his own in all respects except size: her petite but exceptionally curvy frame would have looked like she was trying to swim in her husband's robe. Her sash was tied tighter, her long dish-water blonde hair hanging limply to her lower back, flowing straight down into her nicely rounded ass. Her head turned, and she giggled, her visible blue eye drinking in the image of her husband, his eyes devouring her body, not even seeing the robe, but remembering the tantalizing flesh under it. A delicious shiver ran through her body, the tingle staying in her flesh and tickling her brain, instantly re-warming her sex, bringing it back to the heat it had radiating from it not 2 hours before.
"And what do you think you're staring at, Michael O'Connor?" the goddess said, her rounded cheeks swaying teasingly under the tight fabric imprisoning them.
"I think I'm staring at the best piece of ass in all of Cherry Hill, Joy O'Connor," Michael said back, folding the paper slowly. He felt his cock rise under his robe; he could feel the remnants of their last love-making session still clinging to him. The musk of his wife's renewed arousal began mingling with the smell of the fresh mown grass from the warming outside air.
"Is that all you want to do is stare at it?" Joy said, turning slowly. Her hand had trapped the loose end of her sash and the knot pulled loose as her body turned, allowing her soft, creamy flesh to be exposed to the open air of their kitchen.
Michael couldn't help but lick his lips as his lusting eyes were lured up and down the vixen's skin. He noted with delight that she had trimmed her blonde bush while she showered, which meant two things: she shaved her shapely legs, which turned Michael on greatly, and she was ready to have her pussy sucked and licked to multi-orgasmic bliss. Michael's dick grew harder, rising through the slit in the front of his robe, unhindered by underwear of any kind.
Joy's lips parted and her tongue snaked out and wet her lips of her own accord. Her robe split farther as she pushed herself away from the sink, exposing the bountiful valley of flesh between her firm tits, only her erect nipples kept the robe from opening fully. Her eyes wanted to stay focused on his hazel gems, but she couldn't help but let them drift down to his rapidly engorging member, her pussy getting well beyond damp at the thought of his impressive tool being buried to the hilt in her anxiously awaiting box for their second round of the morning.
Her eyes were glued to his cock, watching the 9-inches of pussy pleasing tool swing with his steps as he approached. The paper hit the table and the loose knot of his sash untied itself; those actions not even a blip on Joy's radar as she felt the distance close between her cunt and his rod, needing to be filled again. Her pulse was racing, carrying an electric fog of lust, her body reacting already to being stuffed and rammed by her husband's cock.
Michael watched the chest of his wife start to heave, he watched her become absorbed in her need. She moved like she was in a trance, her hands moving just enough to push her robe completely off, exposing her entire body to him except for her feet which had been covered in a puddle of fabric. Drops of her honey were already forming on her red, engorged lips, and Michael felt his tongue snake out and wet his flesh, discovering that his mouth was watering in time with her creaming pussy.
"No, staring at it isn't the only thing I want to do," Michael said, his voice almost hoarse with lust. His eyes left her pussy, traveling up her toned belly, unabashed by the tan line from her low riding bikini, up to her freckle splashed chest, looking at each small, pink nipple in turn, then raking his eyes up her neck to her perfectly formed lips and to her lust-hazed blue eyes. Michael saw those eyes weaken, their resolve melt away, and a hot, liquid lust over power the last of his wife's senses.
Without a word or rehearsal, the couple moved as one. Joy pushed herself up on the counter top, squirming delightfully, feeling a bolt of electric need shooting to her clit as her bare skin hit the cold metal of the sink's edge. Michael knelt in front of her, his knees hitting the soft carpet of the floor mat as his eyes traveled back down his wife's body to her open, waiting sex.
Joy put her feet in the wells of the sink, pushing off the edge, holding herself open and up, needing her husband's tongue in her pussy and his lips on her clit. She felt the sunshine on her back as it streamed through the open windows and somewhere in her brain a suppressed alarm told her all of the blinds were open in the kitchen and dining room and anyone could see. Her pussy almost came from that thought alone and she shivered just before she felt her husband's hot breath caress her hot, pink flesh like a long lost lover. Fireworks exploded in her brain, her vision narrowed and vertigo overtook her senses. She knew only she felt like she was falling and that her pussy was being eaten like no other; an orgasmic flight that left her needing more.
Michael slowly licked along the sides of her lips, careful to only let his tongue touch her sensitive lips teasingly. Each time he rounded her clit, his lips went to her soft pink flesh and gave it a gentle kiss, sucking the cool air of the kitchen into his mouth, eliciting a gasp from his wife. He rounded down to her pussy and gingerly lapped the cream from her drooling snatch, the tip of his tongue wiggling against her flesh, making her thighs quiver in time with his ministrations. With a long slowly lick, Michael's tongue worked back up her sex, finding the small bud of her clit poking out of its hood. His lips locked around it and he sucked on it, batting furiously at the sensitive nub, feeling her body buck and rock on the sink, trying to maintain contact.
Joy started panting, moaning and screaming. Her mind was lost, her body erupting, her mouth working on its own accord. The open windows let the entire neighborhood know what was going on as she started screaming profanity in her bliss. The effect was not lost on their upstairs guest, either, Joy's screaming waking her up from her slumber.
Michael kept eating her pussy, sucking on her clit harder, licking with rapid strokes down her open flower, drinking the juice that was oozing from the blonde-framed pussy before his eyes. He stuck his tongue out rigid and started fucking his wife's cunt, his nose bumping her clit every time his lips met hers.
"Oh fuck yes! Eat my pussy, baby!" Joy's screams echoed through the small kitchen. "Fuck me with your tongue! Oh shit, yes! Get ready....oh God!" she continued in an almost continuous stream. Michael picked up the pace, licking, sucking, and fucking her pussy with everything he had. His lips locked around her clit and he bit it softly, his tongue caressing and lavishing it in strokes and swirls before he slid two fingers into her gaping box, beating them with furious speed against her G-spot, her pussy juice splashing off his fingers.
Neither were aware that their house guest had crept down stairs and was standing by the front door, watching them. Her hand was in her boxers, reaching up through the leg to frantically finger her own pussy. She heard her cunt start to splash with juice, the sound mixing with her friend's wet sounds as they echoed out of the kitchen. She had to lean against the front door for support, her orgasm rapidly rising inside her chest and flowing out with her heat to her nipples and slowly to her pussy.
"Fuck yes!" screamed Joy when Michael's fingers hit her second most sensitive spot as his tongue assaulted her first. "Fuck it!" she panted, her voice getting hoarse, her mouth gone dry. Her pussy started to convulse and Michael knew she was close. He slowed down a little bit, his fingers softly strumming inside her, one and then the other, against her sensitive flesh. Joy caught her breath and opened her eyes for the first time since situating herself in the sink, her hazed vision missing their masturbating house guest in the back ground and focusing on her husband's face buried at the junction of her own parted thighs.
His eyes were locked onto hers and a devilish grin twisted his face. His tongue leapt into action as his fingers renewed their assault on her pussy with enhanced vigor. Her eyes clamped shut and her head rocked back, a long scream leaving her throat, her chest heaving, her breath coming in ragged gasps, each one ending in a scream as she exhaled. Michael's face was coated in her honey as it oozed from Joy's pussy, every time her cunt clenched around his fingers, a small squirt came out, running down his chin to his chest, glossing his cheeks with her cum.
Their observer came, too. Her screams were silenced by her mouth clamping shut, her juice coating the flannel crotch of her underwear, her own juices running down her thighs and splashing into her splayed fingers as she watched her best friend get eaten out by her hunky husband. She wished it was her pussy getting eaten, wished she could feel what Joy was feeling, and she wished it was Joy doing it to her. Her body shook again as she pictured returning the favor to her blonde friend, snaking her tongue up that snatch, tasting what her husband had just tasted and suddenly becoming very jealous of Joy and envious of Michael.
She had enough sense to realize, even mid orgasm as she struggled to keep her feet under her, that the couple in the kitchen were parting and Michael started to help his new bride off the counter. With shaking legs that felt like they were filled with jelly, she crept back up the stairs, needing to feel something in her cunt other than her fingers.
********
Sarah May Wilcox woke up with the morning sun streaming through her living room window. Her hand came up and rubbed at her sleep filled eyes, then moved to her temples where she massaged those as well. She tried to recall what had woke her up, when she heard a voice from her left, "Hey babe, see you're up."
Turning her head, she tried to focus on the blurry image before her. The man stood about 6'4" and had a toothbrush hanging from his mouth. "Is that mine?" she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders, walked over and spit the foamy, mint paste into an empty beer can. "Figured I ate your pussy, so what the fuck, I could use your toothbrush too."
Sarah rolled her eyes and yawned. She pushed herself up, threw her legs over the side of her cream colored leather couch and headed to the wet bar. "Want a drink?"
"Nay, I'm good. Do they always do that in the morning?" Sarah barely registered that he had said anything as she grabbed her Jack Daniels and poured herself some breakfast
