I wasn't sure if it'd be Loving Wives or Non- Con ... Non-Con kinda gives things away, but such is life at Lit. I hope you enjoy my effort. There may be fuck-ups.
THE HEAVILY LADEN TROLLEY gave me my chance; and I took the opportunity presented to me. Not that she knew I'd been tracking her along the supermarket aisles; I'd taken care to be the grey man, just another suit shopping for his dinner before heading home at the end of a work day. Besides, why should she suspect she was being followed?
Watching her browse for the groceries had been a surprising pleasure, not least because of the suit and heels she wore, the everyday office attire of a million secretaries and, as she browsed, I couldn't help but fantasise about ripping the buttons off that cerise shirt, which she wore a good size too small; and about rucking the tight skirt, only just bordering on decency, up around her hips; she selected mundane breakfast cereals, two-litre bottles of coke, biscuits and bread, the weekly shop, while I imagined her shoes, heels pointing skywards and dancing like a scarecrow in a hurricane as I fucked her in some dark car-park somewhere.
When she turned to look at me after I offered to help with the trolley her expression twisted with apprehension. It was a good instinct she had; I could see the polite refusal forming on her lips, society's conditioning, trust nobody, especially strange men, even in broad daylight, but, ignoring the initial blurt of protest, I took control of the cart. "It's no trouble at all," I said, talking right over her refusal of help. "Just lead me to your car and I'll be off."
Her heels clicked on the tarmac while she struggled to keep pace with me in that skirt. It's a sound I love, heels click-clacking like that. Puts me in mind of jaded whores in Amsterdam; jaded whores in Thailand; jaded whores in ... Well, I love that sound; it's an association thing, a Pavlovian response. With my cock stiff in my trousers I helped her unload all of her shit into the boot of the Toyota. It was a struggle to hold myself in check. The urge to take her by brute force was almost overwhelming but, from somewhere, I summoned the sense to wish her a good evening and walked away.
That night, after winding myself up with some particularly nasty porn, I let my imagination run free. By the time I finished with the mature blonde in her business suit she was a bedraggled, well-used cum-sponge.
I saw her again the following Thursday, at the same supermarket, loading another week's worth of family crap into the trolley. She wore a variation on the same outfit. Different coloured blouse, same size. In my head I saw the garment gaping, her tits spilling out over the cups of her bra, her face warped in that pained twist of desire and lust as she urged me to spear her gaping cunt ...
This time, in the car park, she smiled at me. "You again," she said. "Anyone would think you were stalking me."
Many a true word spoken in jest, not that she knew it – Oh the irony; I'd weep if I wasn't laughing so fucking hard.
"Well," I said, flirting with the irresistible risk of making her suss, "I did hope I'd see you here again sometime." I played the shy card and even managed a blush. "I just didn't think it'd be so soon." Pausing, I took a long look right into her grey eyes. There was a flicker in there; perhaps from fear, I wasn't sure. Again I had to fight down my urges. Those painted lips around my cock as I thrust into her mouth and heard her gag ... Forcing my mind back on immediate concerns, this early contact was the slipperiest stage, I decided to press the issue while there was still the element of confusion for her. If there was a point at which she could save herself this was it. It was a gamble to escalate things so soon but I couldn't wait. The plan had come to me over the course of the week. It all counted on the next minute or so. Around us there were people going about their everyday business. Cars drove into the vast lot, cars drove out. The petrol station attached did brisk trade. Mothers with fractious brats pushed their own trolleys laden with monosodium glutamate to their own vehicles ... And I asked Jennifer if she'd like to go for a quick coffee.
The world shrunk for me. The busyness that surrounded us faded to a background hum as I willed her to accept. Inside the bubble, under our dome of solitude, separated from the world at large, I watched Jennifer's face.
Surprise, doubt, an initial compulsion to refuse ...
"Just a coffee," I coaxed. "Back inside to Costa. A fast latte ...?" I smiled, hoping the sharp suit and guileless façade would convince her.
They did.
A week later and we met in Costa again. Two days after that it was a pub. I knew all about her. She told me about her job, her husband, her kids, everything that a lover needed to know before embarking on an excursion across such dangerous waters -- Dangerous for her anyway. I didn't give a shit about any of what she revealed; her childhood in privileged Godalming; her university days; her marriage to a moderately successful bloke who owned a printing business ... I didn't give a toss, all I could think about, as I listened to this banal drivel, was how she'd squeal when I stuck it into her. I wanted her to choke on my cock; I wanted her to kneel and pull her buttocks apart and beg me not to hurt her too much as I ripped into her sphincter ... I had some bad stuff planned for Jennifer. And it was all her fault for provoking me with those tapping heels, short skirts and tight blouses.
"Another gin?" I asked as we sat in the beer garden of a pub close to the supermarket. I knew I had about ten minutes before she'd have to head off back to domestic bliss.
Her face creased. I knew she wanted to stay; I was gratified that she wanted to stay here, in the pub, with me. "I ..." she began, and then smiled warily. "Go on then ..." she finished, relenting when she saw my crushed face.
"Jen ...?" I began with faux hesitation. She looked at me, her eyes pale behind her spectacles, she usually wore contacts but they irritated her eyes sometimes, hence the specs. I thought the eye-wear added an extra degree of sluttishness to her already tarty ensemble. Jennifer's face covered in spunk, her glasses smeared with my gunk, was an image that I savoured. It was on the list. "I was wondering," I bumbled along. "If ..."
My mobile rang. Cursing inwardly I picked it up and checked the flashing display. It was him. Answering the phone with an apologetic look at Jennifer I informed the caller that there had been developments, but that I was 'in the middle of something' right then and would give him as much information as I could, when I could.
"You were saying?" Jennifer asked.
She leaned in closer to me. I could smell her scent. The lust flared, deep and hot in my guts as my balls tightened and my cock stiffened. I couldn't resist looking down into the cleft of her décolletage as the two top buttons gaped and a third strained bravely against the pressure of her tits. "It's inappropriate," I croaked, the catch in my voice entirely involuntary. For once I wasn't acting.
Ice tinkled in Jennifer's glass as she swirled the contents. She smirked and lifted her eyes to meet mine. Blood roared in my ears, which was surprising since I imagined the entire volume of my body's blood supply was currently pulsing in my erection. "I thought it might be," she chuckled. "I'd guessed you were rather ... Keen on me."
Even though my mouth felt wadded with cotton wool in place of my tongue, I had enough noggin to carry on the game. "No, I'd better not say," I managed to mumble.
Five minutes later in the Merc and I had Jennifer's knickers down. She sprawled across the acres of back seat, her head wedged against the backrest and door panel, while I pushed two fingers into her.
"I've never," she gasped. "This is the first time. Nineteen years and ..." She groaned as I curled my fingers inside the sluice of her opening.
At this point in the seduction of Jennifer I somehow managed to repress all the atavistic urges and conducted my business with clinical efficiency. Her first affair? A pity it had to be me, but ... Shit happens. Using the perfect level of filthy talk I fingered Jennifer's opening, curling my digits inside her, probing for that tell-tale rough patch of flesh that would make her squirm. When I found the ridge under the tips of my forefinger I gave an analytical tickle. Jennifer's gasp and convulsive twitch told me I'd found the spot.
After that, it was easy.
Despite the public setting Jennifer writhed against the leather seat. Her buttocks, once the skirt was bunched around her hips and her underwear a forgotten scrap on the Merc's carpeted floor, squeaked against the cushion as she fought against my insistent fingers. Jennifer stared at me, her eyes filled with that look of hatred that lust can bring to an aroused woman's face. Tiny mewls of pleasure slipped from her mouth mixed with her mantra of: "Oh dear God ... That's so good ...Just there ... Yes ... There ..."
With the nasty talk pouring from me in a foul torrent I finger-fucked the bitch hard and fast. Her tits, spilling over the bra like I'd imagined, heaved as she breathed. Jennifer's usually neat, straight bob stuck up in hedgehog spikes of disarray as she jerked her head from side to side, all the while repeating the chant to finger her 'just there'.
I watched objectively as, holding Jennifer's labia splayed with the fingers of one hand, I elicited a squelching dribble of ooze from her opening with the fingers of the other. Rubbing the ball of my thumb around her stiff pink clitoris gained me even higher reward as the woman squirmed and writhed. The ooze increased to a dribble until, with a great groan and an audible squirt, Jennifer climaxed loudly against my hand. The juice spurted out of her and spattered against my palm and wrist as I kept up the pressure inside her.
That's going to stain, I thought to myself; not really giving a shit since the car was rented under a false name, using a hooky credit card.
Pulling my goo-coated fingers from Jennifer's body I first sniffed at them before, with a slow, lascivious wink at the panting, slit-eyed woman, I slid sliding one finger into the moue of my lips. After sucking at my finger Colonel Sanders' style, I offered her the other one to taste. Jennifer licked the smears of her juice from my extended digit, and I looked at the woman inelegantly spread across the seats, her pubic bush – that's getting a trim, I thought to myself – matted and messy with the gloop she'd pissed over the upholstery.
