Dearest readers: The first three installments of this series are in the 'mature' category, and the fourth in the 'anal' section (hmmm, guess why?), if you're following along at home, and need to catch up. This is a mystery novel, can't you tell?
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Maggie jumped up from the bed, amazingly spry for a woman who had just orchestrated and been the leading lady in approximately four hours of relatively non-stop (well, except for the brief interlude of her sex-induced coma) live carnal activities. She disappeared into the bathroom. John's gaze riveted upon her tight forty-seven-year-old ass the entire time. He thought of Sam Elliott's line from the movie Roadhouse. "That girl has entirely too much brains to have an ass like that."
He had expected her to go into the bathroom to primp and rearrange her mangled just-fucked hair and dab her make-up. Instead, she emerged moments later with one of those scrunchy, spongy-type things (John's definition, at least) that women use to cleanse themselves with in the tub or shower, and a plush towel. And a sweetly evil grin.
Maggie climbed onto the bed in front of John and knelt before him and began to gently sponge his flaccid cock and empty balls. "Even though that was my first anal voyage, I know enough that we must practice good hygiene, baby. We're gonna need this equipment for the grand finale this evening."
John promptly became an interested spectator of this ball-washing event, though the idea of performing one last virtuoso performance seemed far-fetched right now. However, as Maggie continued the incredibly erotic cleansing and scrubbing and stroking and teasing of his genitals, he began to slowly, somewhat miraculously, feel another stirring deep within his loins. His mind drifted again to George Costanza's mango that resulted in a similar Lazarus-like resuscitation. "I think it moved."
Maggie arched her head backwards and looked down admiringly at her work, taking keen and prideful notice that her manual administrations had indeed begun to evoke the desired effect of her plan, to resurrect John's hard cock so that she could have it impale her needy cunt one last time this evening. She was keenly aware that John had coated her face, mouth, tits, and asshole with gobs of warm cum, but she badly needed to fill her pussy with his hot semen as well.
Maggie relished the thought of going home to her philandering husband with a virile, younger man's cum covering her pores and oozing from each of her orifices, just as she relished the thought of all of this being captured on the video camera. She glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed and realized that the four-hour tape would be just about expiring. She leaned down to teasingly kiss the tip of John's now semi-turgid cockhead, before jumping off of the bed towards the video recorder on the dresser.
John watched as she flipped open the compartment that would normally have held the tape. Except that it was now safely under the bed. John knew this, Maggie did not. He watched her face as if furrowed into a frown of worry. "Shit, don't fucking tell me that I forgot to load the tape," she thought. She pondered this for a few seconds, then convinced herself that she had indeed loaded a cassette before John had arrived. Her neck swiveled to look at John sprawled across the mattress, and saw the scowl on his own face. John propped his body up onto his elbows.
"Ah, yes, the tape. Why don't we talk about that for a minute or two, Margaret?"
The way Maggie looked at John told him instantly that there were no malicious or improper motives of Maggie's. John was born and raised in the inner city and his rapid ascent in his professional career was in no small measure attributable to his 'street-smarts' and his innate ability to read people accurately. Well, the possible exception being one recent ex-girlfriend named Kathy, he had fucked up that assessment royally by his own self-admission. He found Maggie's wide-eyed stare adorable. She suddenly looked like a little girl about to be admonished for bringing home a present to daddy that cost too much.
"Did you throw the tape out?" Maggie's full lower lip quivered in a mortified pout. "I thought you would find it exciting. I thought we could watch it together later and get off. You had to notice the camera, it was there the whole time."
John's voice tried to be as comforting as possible, though he wasn't going to relent from ascertaining the source of Maggie's motivation for the presence of the camera. His gut already had formulated a theory, and he wanted to find out if it had merit. "I have the tape, Maggie, for now."
Maggie's expression changed to one of confusion. "Wait a minute, but, how? When did you take the tape? We were here the whole time, you never left the bed." Maggie couldn't help herself and didn't even attempt to suppress a smile. "Hell, you were INSIDE of me the whole time. Well, different parts of me, at least."
