The Awakening Of Marsha

"You sure you want to do this?"

Marsha stared out through the windshield of the car for a moment before she nodded once and then glanced over at her friend, Holly. She forced a smile and then nodded again.

"If you've got any doubts......"

"None," Marsha said softly, looking now towards a nearby house. "I want this. I need this."

"Nobody's forcing you," Holly whispered as she chewed on her lip. "I mean, what's OK for me....."

"Will be fine for me," Marsha smiled, trying to force a laugh as she looked at Holly again. "I need this more than you know."

"Want me to wait?"

Marsha shook her head as she took her purse and opened the passenger's door. She forced another smile as she got out of the car and watched Holly drive away. No need to wait, she'd figure it out what came next. If anything came at all. She turned away from the street and began slowly walking towards the front door of the house. God, she needed this more than anyone would ever know.

In three weeks she would be fifty. Fifty, the happily married housewife who had the picture perfect life. OK, an almost perfect life. Hell, it was no life at all, at least as a woman. Marsha shuddered once and then again. He hadn't touched her in eight years. Eight long years. Sometimes a woman needs a lot more than a house. More than a partner. Sometimes a woman needed a man. Even a pudgy butt like her.

Twenty pounds less would have been nice. Then she could be a skinny-Minnie like that bitch, Holly. Marsha shuddered at what she'd just thought. That was her best friend. You don't go calling your best friend a bitch. You don't lay down with another man either. Somewhere it had all gone so crazy and the front door was opening. God, was he one good looking man.

Marsha stopped and felt a grin forming on her face as she appreciated the view. John, the little charmer. The tour guide she and Holly had met a few months ago, the silver tongued rascal of a shameless flirt. The stallion that went down on Holly. The man who would have her. Her, the bitch in need. For eight years she'd been without, even with a man sleeping right beside her every night. She was twenty pounds too heavy. He is just so beautiful. Marsha let her grin widen and walked up the steps.

It wasn't like this was something casual, after all. She'd been on that one day tour with John, twelve hours enthralled with this free spirit. It hadn't taken a genius to figure out Holly had laid him shortly after. That bitch wasn't inhibited, not letting a little thing like a husband of thirty years stop her from a fling. They'd all three had lunch a week ago. She'd come to him two days later.

Not that anything had happened, damn cycle of the moon. Well, not much at least. She'd had to know, know if what Holly had said was true, that they were just screwing, nothing serious. That he could take care of her and not tell everything he knew. That he was the greatest kisser on earth. She had to know all that before anything went any further. She'd had to know that and what it felt like to let a man mouth her breasts again.

They'd talked. They'd laughed and then they'd kissed. He was everything Holly bragged he'd be. Marsha had only been vaguely aware of her blouse opening and then her bra. He'd heard she couldn't let him, not then. She'd heard her own voice tell him she would come back to him. To him, to let him. Five days later and she could still feel his chest against her breasts. She needed this. Marsha needed it now.

Without a word she went through the opened door. To talk at that moment would have been to lose nerve. Marsha heard the door close behind her as she stopped and then slowly turned to him. So gorgeous. She needed so bad. With a single step she leaped into his arms, locking her lips on his, feeling his cock growing hard at her touch.

"Two questions," he gasped as they broke for air. "When did you tell him you'd be home?"

Marsha shook her head and shrugged. Him. Brian. The husband. The inert object that shared her bed. She would be home when she was home, not before.

"Other question," John whispered, kissing her throat. "Why am I the lucky one? You could have any man you wanted. Why me?"

She was lost, seduced by his words. Marsha knew her blouse was opening. She heard him gasp. A little black bra that barely covered her assets, a trick Holly suggested to turn him on even more. Marsha had felt like a hooker getting dressed, but not now. She was becoming a woman again. The blouse fell off, her bra undone.

"Not here," she gasped. "The neighbors will see us."

"They won't look," John laughed, his kisses moving down Marsha's chest.

"Not here," she repeated. "Upstairs. Please."

He was a man who understood need. Without another word he guided his lady of the day to the steps and then walked beside her the thirteen risers to her happiness. There was no fear in her, only a readiness. It was a readiness he was more than willing to match.

The antique walnut bed welcomed her as if it had been her own, warm and comfortable for a woman hot and ready. She knew John was stripping her nude, nearly ripping her clothes off of her body to claim his prize but it didn't matter. It was going to happen, finally, mercifully, she would finally be screwed. Screwed like a woman, screwed by a beautiful man. Marsha was naked, she knew it. She was so ready and then she saw him.

Holly had said he was nice, but not this nice. Rippling muscles defined his arms and chest, now so bare and so beautiful. His stomach, flat. His cock, red and enraged for her already. Marsha fought the urge to gasp. John was longer and thicker than her husband Brian, the only man she'd ever had. For one brief instant she was almost as afraid as a virgin. In one brief instant he was mouthing her breasts.

Marsha heard his suckling sounds as the lust grunts escaped her throat. She knew he had caught her scent, his hands caressing her womanhood. So wet, so ready, Marsha opened her thighs and moaned her invitation. John's body fitted to hers, his cock brushing her clit in teasing.

"Please, baby," she panted. "Make love to me. God, baby, be gentle. It's been a....."

Her groan replaced her words as his cock entered her. Marsha gasped and then shrieked as an orgasm escaped. She shrieked again, not from coming but from knowing that she had coated his maleness with her sex. Finally she was getting laid and God, it was a man. A beautiful man pounding his cock into her, his chest crushing her breasts as he fought to go deeper into her body, Marsha's legs wrapping around him as her lust grunts came from deep in her body. On and on he pounded, taking her like a wild animal and driving her into deeper and deeper lust. Eight years without and the flood gates were open.

Again and again the orgasms flooded out of her soul over his beautiful shaft. Again and again Marsha squealed and shrieked in lust glee. She felt John lift his upper body and pin her shoulders to the mattress so her could watch her nipples harden again as she came and his cock pounded away. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She was getting the screw of a lifetime. She was getting the screw she'd needed.

John's lust grunts grew louder as his cock slammed into Marsha faster. She felt another orgasm escape her as she felt his cock head begin to flower. His body went rigid as she held on tight. With one last grunt, his penis exploded inside her, Marsha shrieking again as the scalding hot come belched out in massive bursts. She was coming again and again as his body quaked and then collapsed on her. God, it was incredible. God, she was a woman after all.

There were no words as they lay gasping for air. Marsha felt John's hands caress her body weakly, his come taking his strength from him. She tenderly stroked his body, her orgasms giving her power. Slowly she sat up, grinned at her lover and staggered out of the bed. She had to get cleaned up, there was a bathroom. Dressed. Cleaned. Jesus Christ, she'd been screwed. Marsha grabbed her clothes and padded to the bath as he lay on his back watching her. Somewhere it all had to make sense.

Marsha closed the door behind her and then turned to look at the woman in the mirror over the sink. She'd been screwed. Screwed like she'd never had it. She'd been screwed good. Marsha flushed in embarrassment as she saw her nipples harden again. God, just thinking about what he'd done and she was ready to come again. Again. Jesus, when was the last time her husband made her come ten times? Never. Ever. Marsha grabbed a wash cloth and turned on the tap. She had to get cleaned up. God, she'd been screwed.

At least there wasn't any guilt. She'd been afraid of that, first time with another man and all, but it didn't happen. Marsha had needed banged and she got it. She'd gotten it good. No guilt at all, in fact. Not that there was any love, but there wasn't any guilt either. Marsha dried herself and slowly began to dress. She'd laid a man she didn't love but she sure did love the banging. Apparently so did he.

Marsha tugged her bra into place and stared at the mirror. John had banged Holly. Skinny, No Boobs Holly. Hell, at least she had some lungs for him to suckle. Marsha ran a hand over her left breast. He had suckled hard. He's probably screwed everything in a skirt from those tours he runs. She shuddered and then pulled on her blouse. It didn't matter. He'd screwed her and God, she felt so good even if it was over.

She opened the bathroom door and stepped into the hallway, looking back to the bed of her conquest. There he sat, still nude, half covered by the sheets.

"What are you doing?" he asked in curiosity, arching an eyebrow as she stared back at him in return.

"Hey, I'm a single man," he growled, the lust fury growing in his voice. "I'm not content with one. Baby, I'm not done with you.

"Now get that damn shirt off and get over here. We've just started."

Marsha dropped her blouse and walked towards him, seeing the sheet rise with his erection. She felt her own lust fire grow as he quickly unhooked her bra, her breasts sagging as they came bare. They both groaned as he began to mouth each nipple and move her onto her back. She was going to get banged and then again, that she knew.

It was a beginning all right. She never dreamed it was the beginning of an adventure of a woman's life.

Next time--Marsha enters the world of voyeurism