Sharon Goes Bac to School

Original Story: Scipio

Continuation: RogueAlan

Chapter 17C: Come Together

Sharon barely noticed when her right hip banged the table edge, because by then she was past it. She leapt onto the bench seat, hands catching Tom's heavily muscled shoulders, arms flexing as she pulled herself up, closer to him, one leg swinging through a most unladylike arc as she settled on his lap. The big lineman rocked to his left, absorbing her impact without losing the bite of the perfectly cooked 10 oz fillet he had been bringing to his mouth. Sharon pushed her hips away from him for a moment, her firm ass moving the table away before snuggling down against him again. She laid her head against his chest, body wriggling in her excitement.

Chewing happily, he grinned at the aroused white wife as she subtly ground against him, amused when she pouted, looking up expectantly for a kiss. He winked, but finished enjoying his steak before he dipped his head. By then she had settled her head onto his shoulder, but turned her lips up, head rising to meet his kiss. Her body undulated against him harder. She had pushed the table out of reach, but Tom deftly flipped his fork across the short space to land on the tablecloth beside his plate. His free hand rose, cupping Sharon's breast, thumb finding her erect nipple through the thin material of her dress and stroking it, building her arousal.

Moaning softly, Sharon broke the kiss, her lips trailing over Tom's jaw, down to his neck. The big lineman rumbled appreciatively. He wanted to go on kissing the frat's pet housewife, pretending she was his and his alone.

"God I need you," she murmured, lifting enough that her hands, which had been roaming over Tom's shoulders and chest could dip between them, manicured fingers quickly going to work on his belt and pants. He offered no resistance, as keeping his pants on was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "I was beginning to think I'd never get off." Tom chuckled at that.

"What about your last date?" he teased, "I thought that was your husband." Sharon stiffened momentarily, though her hands never stopped.

"It was," her voice was lower, "But even having him fuck my ass..."

"So you want me to fuck your ass?" She shook her head, her forehead braced against his shoulder as she struggled against the pressure inside his pants to get the button fly open.

"I mean, if you want," she added after her initial denial, "But I'd rather... I really need to feel you inside of me." Sharon's body twitched as Tom brought his second hand to her full breast, working her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He had easily pushed the narrow bands of the dress top in, baring her breasts to his touch. "Not fair," she groaned, "The damn buttons won't come apart... You're too big." And as if reminded what the jeans were hiding by what she had said, Sharon dug at the buttons more fervently.

"Kind of disappointing," Tom mused, "I mean... that's my competition?" Sharon leaned back, looking up at him.

"Your competition?"

"Well, weren't you going home to be with him tonight?"

"Until I had to do these... uhm, dates, I was."

"But you'd rather be my valentine?" Sharon blushed, but nodded.

"So why go home?"

"Well, I guess... It's expected. Damn these buttons!" Tom chuckled, reaching down to pull the fly open with a single tug from the top of the outer leaf. Sharon's hands dove inside, but she bit back a squeal when he lifted the both, leaving her inner thighs braced against his quads as he pushed his pants down to his knees. She shifted forward the moment her knees hit the padded bench again, hand guiding his thick cock to her hungry sex.

"I'm glad you're here," Tom told her as she settled, taking the blunt head of his cock inside her spread, dripping labia.

"Mmmm," she arched her back, settling onto him fully, a smooth movement that was nearly enough, and left her barely able to speak, "Me, too, baby." She did not lift, instead rolling her hips, keeping him captive. His fingers resumed working her nipples.

"Did he wear a condom?" She blinked, puzzled, and looked at the young man giving her so much pleasure without any seeming effort.

"Chris?" She did not stop to consider that before New Year's she had never wanted to talk to the frat members about her husband or family. "Yes," she flushed at that realization, the difference between her behavior here with Tom.

"Good," he smiled, lifting his hips, burying himself even deeper, which stole Sharon's breath. She began to hump against him as he settled again. Sharon's mind was spinning. Was this young man... he could not be much older than Catherine, saying he wanted her for himself? Her body spasmed in a small climax at the thought, delicious, but not enough to ease her need. ,

"You shared me with my other... Valentines," she managed. Tom shrugged.

"I'm a nice guy," He pinched both nipples as she settled onto him, and Sharon's back arched as she pressed her breasts against his hands. "See?" She managed a nod, but was worried at what he was saying.

"And the other frat members," she panted, "What about that?"

"I didn't say we were... uh, exclusive," Tom countered, "Aren't I your favorite?" Sharon nodded without thinking, then looked around, remembering they were undoubtedly on camera.

"I love all my BZ Brothers," she husked, tilting her pelvis at the bottom of another stroke, "Oh, God, but you're amazing, baby!"

"Who's are these?" he taunted her, tweaking her nipples again.

"They're the BZ's breasts," she answered immediately, "You like them, don't you?" She remembered the way his big cock had felt slipping up and down between them in that cage...

"Honestly?" Tom shrugged, "I liked the real you." Sharon leaned back, unable to stop the movement of her body up and down his cock, but shocked at what he was saying.

"You don't like them?" she asked in honest concern.

"Oh, they're great," Tom offered a crooked smile, "But do they... you know, do they feel the same?" He thumbed both nipples as further explanation, and she shivered as she nodded.

"Yesss!" she pressed her chest against his teasing fingers, "They do! I'm not pretending." And she was not, she knew.

"Were you with Chris?" She blushed, but nodded.

"Sort of," she was panting, and knew a real orgasm was fast approaching, "I don't want... to hurt... his feelings... But it's... not anything... like this."

"So you're okay that Catherine Lisa has discovered the joys of black cock?" The words were not Tom's, and Sharon stiffened, aware that he must have been prompted to ask that. She was also aware that she was shaking her head 'no.' "You're not okay with it?" Tom sounded surprised... and angry, his hand slipping down under her ass, lifting her as if he might stop letting her fuck herself.

"No!" Sharon shook her head more fiercely, "That's not it!" She looked at Tom, desperate for him to believe her, not caring about the cameras. "I only want... her to be happy," she shimmied her hips, wishing he would let her resume, "And the thought of... becoming a... BZ Bitch... she's not... a slut... But I meant... Not Catherine Lisa."

"Huh?" Sharon could only respond belatedly to his puzzled look, the friction as his cock pushed into her again nearly getting her off.

"Lisa," she panted, "Is our... 'danger' word... If someone... used 'Lisa'... she knew... they didn't... really know her... or were up to... no good."

"Like a safe word?" Tom asked, and by tone Sharon guessed he was repeating something someone else had asked. She shrugged.

"I guess... Why?" It was Tom's turn to shrug. "Why are you... teasing me... about this?"

"Who says I'm teasing," Tom's brow furrowed, and Sharon nearly giggled at the thought that he could be so intimidating it would be scary, except that they were fucking, and it felt so good. She leaned forward, kissing him passionately but briefly.

"Be your Valentine?" she licked her lips, "As amazing as it is... I'm a BZ Bitch... a shared slut." Tom set his teeth, and she realized he was insulted. "Don't be... mad, baby... I love this... Wouldn't rather... be with... anyone else... But I'm... twice your age." Tom snorted.

"You think so?" He lifted his hips again, making Sharon moan and sag against him. "I was a Mormon," he said after a moment, as if that explained everything. Sharon shook her head , which was braced against his shoulder once more. She was humping against him, holding him buried, on the razor edge of her climax.

"Don't stop!" she whined, "I don't... understand." Tom chuckled, the vibration something Sharon could feel.

"My mom was a Mormon," he said, "Dad left, but she insisted I do a mission. So I did. It was awful. No TV. No music. No movies. No girls. No sports. Even having someone else to talk to... it sucked. Two and a half years it sucked. And so I left the church and partied for another year... year and a half. Before I finally came to school. Then I red shirted. And I was old in my class." He shifted, "I'm 28," he told her, "I'm the old man of the frat. You're what... 38?" Sharon managed to shake her head,

"39," she answered.

"I know lots of people with that sort of age gap," Tom told her simply. "I'm graduating... Gonna get a job working on Sundays. And I was thinking I might just have to make it exclusive... Take my best BZ Bitch with me." Sharon barely heard him, she was so lost within her need. "Looks like you really need to cum right now, though," he rumbled, hands slipping under her ass, "I think we can take care of that..."

He stood, lifting the impaled white wife easily, driving up into her as deeply as possible. Sharon moaned, back arching, feet scissoring behind his ass. He took a step forward, then gently laid her on her back beside the plate of his half eaten steak. The entire movement was accomplished without interrupting the rhythm at which she had been humping against him, Sharon's hips continued to undulate, rising as she worked herself on his thick shaft even on her back. Her hands scrabbled for the table edges, seeking leverage. Her entire focus had become the buzzing pleasure emanating from her stretched cunt. Her taut ass was balanced, half off of the table, and she had instinctively cinched her heels behind Tom, who braced on his fists on the table and teasing pulled back, then thrust into her smoothly again. He leaned down over her, pressing still deeper inside, the root of his cock an irresistible heaviness shifting perfectly against her clit.

"Happy Valentine's Sharon," he murmured, bending to kiss, then suck at her engorged nipples while catching hold of her waist as he began to hammer in and out.

"Yes!" Sharon screamed, not caring that anyone else in the impromptu Lonely Hearts would hear... not really aware of anything else except for Tom and her shimmering, expanding orgiastic bliss, "Oh God Yes! Fuck me... Fuck yes! Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God..."

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" her fists beat against the table top, then caught the edges, giving her purchase to push back as her lover filled her again and again with his amazing cock. "Yes!" she husked, "Fuck me! Fuck me!" He spanked her haunch. "Give me your big black cock!" she responded immediately, not even thinking about it.

She knew what they were doing was terribly risky. Not that he was fucking her raw- she had gone on the pill as soon as she realized he was not about to use a condom. And not that he was black. It was not even fucking in the house, since they were alone. But fucking in the kitchen? She shook her head, wanting to tell him to stop, to wait, to go into the basement or up to her room.

Except she did not want him to stop. Ever. She had giggled she wanted to do that all the time in that first week after he had shown her what fucking was really like, a murmured wish when they had both been spent. Smiling down, he had told her he could arrange for just that. She had rolled her eyes, clearly not believing it. Pressing back against his driving cock, she flexed her knees in, changing the angle so that he was filling her at just the right angle. The next stroke threatened to get her off. She arched her back, naked breasts lifting off of the countertop that had grown warm from her shifting body. Aroused nipples crinkled in the cool air. God she was close!

"S'up, Z, damn! Ain't that shit hot!" She gasped as Donald sauntered into the kitchen.

"The door!" she knew she should be covering herself, wanted to stop, and yet she needed to cum, and she was so close. Z did not slow a bit, laughing at is friend's entrance. "Didn't beep," she finished, panting, aware she could not have stopped him if she really wanted.

"Naw," Z snorted, "I left it open. Didn't want to spoil their Valentine's surprise." Lisa blushed, but it was not the first time Z had shown her off to his friends.

First it had been talking to them while they were having sex, describing how good she was, which she found exciting- she was proud he thought she was that good considering she had quickly realized she had no real sexual experience.

That had progressed to his sending photos to the guys while she was sucking him off, and then while he was fucking her doggy style. She knew she should be mad, but she did not want to have a fight and have him stop getting her off...

The Friday before MLK Day they had been hanging at his mother's, who as usual was working her second job. When Z had told her he wanted her to blow him, Catherine had been more than ready, almost jumping up from where she had been curled next to him on the couch, heading for the bedroom.

"Naw, girl," Z had caught her hand while using his free hand to pull the tie of his sweat pants loose, "Got SportsCenter on, just get to work here." She had glanced about, shocked. Donald was stretched out in the lounge chair to one side, the ridiculously long Mohawk he wore dyed golden blonde was fallen over one shaved side of his head. He had not been watching the television, his eyes fixed on Catherine.

"Snow Bunny gonna bail, Tomas, the swarthy half black son of a black city cop and a Mexican caterer crewed, "Told you Z, your pito ain' heroin, cabron." Catherine had glared at Tomas, but the heavy young man had offered a crooked smile, eyeing her unblinkingly until she had looked away. Her eyes had come to rest on Z's crotch. She licked her lips, aware that her body was more than ready- when she got him off with her mouth first he could fuck her for what seemed like hours. She took a step toward the hall and Z's bedroom.

"You're scaring her, Toro," the other guest had scolded Tomas. Catherine had looked over, expecting Paul would be staring at her, too. Like Z, though, he seemed more focused on the television. Then again, college basketball was the topic, she thought at least, and the rangy power forward had yet to decide among several NCAA scholarship offers. "It's not very sporting." Catherine was debating continuing on her course... certainly Z would follow if he was really horny. And there was a TV in his room. "Besides, she knows we've all seen it before, anyway," Paul finished and shrugged, returning his attention to the television.

Catherine had nearly whimpered at that thought... Somehow she had not really considered what Z was doing while he was holding his camera up, talking to his friends. She could feel the blush from head to toe, and in that moment her embarrassment was so overwhelming she never considered getting mad at Z.

"You sayin' you don't want some?" Z asked, pushing the waist band of his sweats down a suggestive inch.

"Guess you were right, Toro," Donald shook his head, looking away from her for the first time, "I guess she isn't as good a cocksucker as Z made out." He had adjusted himself through his basketball shorts, making a point of turning his attention to the TV, "She probably can't even get him off like that."

Angry that they were teasing her and Z, Catherine had acted without conscious thought, pivoting and moving between her boyfriend's muscular thighs, dropping to her knees and bending her head over his crotch as she pushed his sweats down, exposing his amazing cock. As he began to swell in her mouth, Catherine had told herself at least her long hair hid what she was doing. ;

"Score!" she heard Z's Mohawk'd friend laugh.

"So he wasn't exaggerating," Paul added, "She is a hungry little slut."

"Shut up, Trump," Tomas growled, using Donald's nickname, which was based on the similarity of the business mogul's comb over to his own garish do, "& You too, maricon, I was gonna win."

"Pendejo," Paul shot back with a credible Cuban accent thrown in for effect, "You were trying to cheat. I just called the foul." Their voices had faded into the background as Catherine's focus shrank to Z's amazing cock. There was a perverse pride in his telling his friends she was good at it, and she wanted to prove it, pushing her nose down against his crotch and fighting the urge to gag as she held him in her throat, sucking steadily in part as a distraction.

He had leaned down, playing with her tits through her shirt as she sucked at him. She had been the first to his mother's apartment, and at his urging she had gone straight to the bathroom, stripping off her sports bra and panties. When the other guys had arrived she had been self conscious, keeping an arm over her breasts as she leaned against Z, but they had not seemed to notice, and soon enough she had been talking and laughing with them, getting up to resupply chips and beer without considering what she might be showing off.

She had gotten used to the pattern of their lovemaking, and so she thought she would know when Z was getting close. He had surprised her that day, not that he came more quickly, but there had been no warning before he was erupting, buried in her throat. That had made her gag. She had nearly thrown up as his jism threatened to flow into her lungs. His hand had come down on her head, though, and she caught his knees, steadying herself as she had swallowed and swallowed and swallowed.

Finally his hand came off of her head, and Catherine had sat up. It had been several seconds as Catherine sat panting between Z's muscular thighs before she had realized that he had pulled her top up, and that her breasts were exposed for his friends... at least for Paul and Donald. She had only realized it when lifting her hand to wipe at her mouth, concerned that there was some jizz on her lips, and her fingers brushed against her pebbled nipple.

Blushing anew, she had yanked her shirt down, the first attempt covering her puckered areola and erect nipples but leaving the under curve of each breast plainly visible.

"Nice!" Paul had complimented, bobbing his head.

"Oh yeah," Trump had agreed, "Too bad you didn't get a look, Toro; she fine." Catherine had nearly jumped back onto the couch, curling up against Z. She had self consciously wiped at her mouth, and feigned watching television as she tried to understand how that had just happened, and why she was nearly shaking she was so excited. When she had chanced a glance at Tomas, she had shivered in fear and somehow renewed arousal at the intensity with which Z's friend was staring at her.

"Show us, Snow Bunny," he growled, and honestly Catherine's first thought was to obey, but had she pressed herself against Z, unable to hold the young man's stare. "C'mon, Z," he had pouted, then, "The others got a peek."

"Everybody square?" Z had answered, the rumble of his voice a physical force transmitted through Catherine's skin. She had been puzzled as Tomas cursed, digging out his wallet and throwing crumpled bills at Paul and Trump. As it happened, Z's fingers had dipped under the edge of Catherine's shirt, his thick fingers cupping her bare left breast and quickly locating and teasing her still erect nipple. Catherine had writhed against him, stifling a moan, still shocked that he was doing it right there in front of his friends.