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Making Ends Meet Videll Dais1


Videll Dais/New story (MFF, coers, reluc, wife cheat, preg, 3-sum.) Making
Ends Meet By Videll Dais Part One Marcia Gray hurried down the deserted
street, the heat and her five-month pregnancy making every step an extreme effort. It was 12:50 and Wednesday, half-day closing. She was late,
sweating, panicking. There was nothing in the house for Tom's dinner. He
loved her, but was short on patience, had a low threshold temper, and would
be madder than hell if she didn't have supper on the table when he got home
around six. Another row was something she really didn't need right now.
The very thought forced her to pick up her pace. At last, she reached
Harding's family Butchers, saw the sign in the store window still showed
open and heaved a sigh of relief. She pushed through the door and hurried
inside. "Hi, Mr. Harding," she said, brightly, her stance awkward but her
smile wide and genuine, lighting up her whole face. "Mrs. Gray," old man Harding nodded, frowning. "I'm about to close." "Oh, I know. I'm sorry. I
was wondering..." "Wondering what, Mrs. Gray?" Harding said, impatiently.
He kept his dark eyes down on the countertop, his arm moving in sweeping
circles, making a show of cleaning it. "Well, I..." Marcia bit her lip,
placed her hands on the obvious bulge of her stomach. The down draft from
the ceiling fan stirred the perfect flow of her thick cinnamon hair, caused
one or two strands to flutter about her face. "I was wondering if...well,
if you would be kind enough to let me have a couple pounds of ground beef
till Friday?" Harding stopped wiping the counter, raised his stern face.
The woman nervously averted her gaze, looking everywhere rather than in his
direction. What was the name of that actor in the True Romance movie, the
cute blonde thing, superb breasts, tasted like a peach? Mrs. Gray was a
dead ringer. The way she happened to be standing, light from behind her
shone clear through her blue-cotton dress, making it virtually transparent.
He could see right up to where her long, shapely legs tantalizingly met, a
fact the young woman was plainly unaware of. She wasn't wearing much under
there this hot weather. He tried not to stare too much, flicked a moist
tongue over suddenly dry lips then, smoothing his black bushy mustache with
a thumb and forefinger, he said, "Mrs. Gray, you're account's already
twenty-three fifty and over-due. I'm sorry. I'm running a business here,
not a charity." "Please, Mr. Harding," Marcia said, her expression
pleading, her hands fluttering by her side. She blushed and, biting at her
lower lip, said, "I'm desperate. I really am. I'll pay you Friday, honest
I will." "Like clockwork, you say that every week." Harding leaned both
hands on the counter, stared at her with compassionless eyes. The mustache
drooped around the grim set of his mouth giving him an appearance not
unlike that of an angry walrus. "How old are you young lady?" "Twenty-two,
sir. Almost," Marcia said. Her bottom lip quivered. "Twenty-two, huh?
Don't you think it's time you learned how to budget properly?" Harding came
around from the counter, walked behind Marcia and stood by the door, his
back to her, looking out on the deserted street. "It does no good livin'
above your means, young lady. All you do is get deeper in trouble. You
know that don't you?" "Y-yes, sir...I do," Marcia said, her heart going ten
to the dozen. "Well if you know, how come you never have any money left
for food come mid-week?" "T-Times are hard, Mr. Harding," Marcia said, her
voice small and shaky. "We... Tom and I... we do try to pay our way.
We're learning, but Tom don't earn much and..." "Is that why he's in
Corky's most nights drinkin'? Spending money you don't have? As I see it,
you're just making excuses for your irresponsible partner," Harding said,
his tone unsympathetic. "Good God Almighty, you're expecting a baby -
again. You already got one just starting kindergarten; one you can't
afford as it is. Why are you having another if times are so hard?" "I
don't ... It wasn't ... planned." Marcia lowered her eyes, looked
absently at the sawdust-covered floor. She trembled slightly. "Please,
Mr. Harding ... Just this once. I'll pay you Friday. That's a promise."
"You can see, I've cleared all the stock away," Harding said, slowly
closing the shop door. He locked it with one hand while casually turning
the sign in the window to CLOSED with the other. "Means I'll have to go
out back to the freezer to get what you want and that's mighty
inconvenient. You understand how inconvenient that is for me?" "Y-Yes, Mr.
Harding," Marcia whimpered. "I'd really appreciate it, though, I really
would." Harding turned and stood behind Marcia, so close she could feel his
breath on the nape of her neck; not a comfortable sensation. She shivered.
It was quiet for a minute. When he spoke, his voice was low. "How much
would you appreciate it, Mrs. Gray?" "I ... Oh, Very much, sir." "Follow
me," Harding said, walking to a door at the rear of the counter, undoing
his apron as he went. Timidly, Marcia did as he asked. She wasn't
over-fond of Harding. There was something spooky about the tall, thin man with his slicked-back hair, pale countenance and brusque manner. He
reminded her of an undertaker. They entered a kind of parlor sparsely
furnished with a table and a couple of straight-backed chairs by a window.
The yellow blind was half-drawn making the room dim, shadowy. There was a
stove, a refrigerator, a worktop by the opposite wall and another door off
to the right. A pot of coffee simmered on the stove. "Eh, where's..."
Marcia quickly scanned the room. "Where's... Mrs. Harding?" "She's away
to her sister's this afternoon," Harding said, dropping his apron on one of
the chairs. "Wait here. I'll get your meat." Marcia waited patiently.
There was no fan or air conditioning in here. The room felt stuffy,
airless and oppressive. Sweat trickled in itchy rivulets down her back and
she dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief. She hoped Harding wouldn't
be too long. She didn't like being here. It didn't seem right, especially
as Mrs. Harding wasn't around. On the other hand, knowing the dark,
unsmiling woman as she did, maybe it was a good job she was absent. Mrs.
Harding was a hard, uncompromising type - a lot younger than her husband -
who had little time for the more needy of her customers and, had she been
present, probably wouldn't have allowed him to extend Marcia any more
credit. Marcia's legs were beginning to ache and she felt a little giddy.
She pulled out one of the chairs from the table and heavily sat down,
sighing with relief. Just as she was wondering how much longer Harding
would be, he came back into the room carrying a paper-wrapped parcel. He
put it on the worktop. "Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Gray? Some iced
tea, perhaps?" "Well, I huh -" Marcia quickly stood up. "I really should
be going, Mr. Harding." "Oh, come on. Sit. Rest your feet awhile,"
Harding said, kindly, turning on the charm. "It's not often I get the
chance to talk to a pretty lady. It's a hot day out there and you must be
quite thirsty." "Well," Marcia shrugged, giggled, relaxing a little.
"Okay, some iced tea would be nice. If it's not too much trouble." "No
trouble at all." Harding got a tall glass from the shelf, went to the
refrigerator and took out a large jug. Ice cubes tinkled against the
sweating glass. He poured the drink and gave it to Marcia. "Thank you,"
she said, and immediately took a large swallow of the cold liquid. She
smiled at Harding, said, "That tastes good." Harding nodded. "I know it,"
he said, then went and stood behind her chair. He placed his big hands
gently on her shoulders. "You know, Mrs. Gray," he said, quietly, "you're
a very good-looking young lady, very attractive. It must have taken
something to come down here all by yourself asking for credit, a lot of
heart. I like that in a woman. I like you and I want to help you and your
family as much as I can." Marcia felt the butcher's fingers crabbing along
the flesh round her neck and froze. The hand in which she held her drink
trembled. Afraid of dropping the glass, she put it on the table. "Eh, Mr.
Harding, I ... really think it's time I was ..." "Sit there, young lady,"
Harding said, tersely. "Just relax a few minutes. I'm offering you my
friendship, my hospitality. Don't you recognize kindness when you see it?
The least you can do is show a little appreciation, some respect." "Oh, I'm
Sorry. I didn't mean to ..." Marcia's throat constricted, cutting off her
words. She drew in a quick breath, tensed, sat absolutely still as Harding
boldly slid his hand into the scoop neck of her loose dress. He pushed her
tight bra aside and cupped his fingers around the fullness of her left
breast. Gently, he squeezed and fondled the firm globe instantly bringing
the nipple to a stiff peak. "Mr. Harding..." she whimpered, hardly able
to speak at all, "... please ... I'm pregnant." "Oh, I can see that plain
enough," Harding chuckled, his fingers playing with her hard nipple.
"Makes you even more beautiful; firms your flesh up nicely, Mrs. Gray.
Now you just sit there and be still, girl. Let old Bob here have a little
fun for a few minutes. I won't hurt you. Trust me." After what seemed
like an age, Harding removed his hand from Marcia's tingling breasts, came
around and stood in front of her, real close. The room was completely
still, stifling, silent except for their rushed breathing. Afraid to look
at him, Marcia lowered her eyes, felt sweat run down her face and her
cheeks flame with embarrassment. She felt she should do something, protest
louder, even scream maybe, or try to run. Instead, she remained
motionless, fixed, rooted to the chair, not able to even think rationally,
let alone act. How far would she realistically get anyway? Would she make
it to the locked front door? She doubted it. And what if she did? What
then? No, she was trapped good and proper. It was best to go along with
things, wait and see if she could work something out. Her nipples tingled
from his touch. When Harding stooped, put his rough hands on her knees,
she automatically clamped them tighter together. His face came close to
hers. His eyes, lust-dark, seemed to bore into her rushing brain. "If you
want help from me," he said, softly, "you must be prepared to give a little
something in return." She felt the insistent pressure of his grip. Though
she fought against it until her thigh muscles hurt, she relaxed the tension
and reluctantly allowed him to spread her knees apart. "That's very good,
Mrs. Gray. You learn real quick." "Mr. Harding, " she said, tremulously.
"I'll be late ... I really must be going now..." "Quiet, now. Plenty of
time. Just sit comfy." Harding stepped closer, between her spread knees,
his legs nudging her dress higher up her bare, white thighs, bunching it in
her lap. Marcia felt his closeness, his heat, looked through hooded eyes
and could clearly see the pronounced bulge pushing at the front of his
trousers. He reached down; boldly let his fingers trail lightly along the
soft skin on the inside of her thigh. From her knee, the fingertips, light
as fluttering butterflies, moved slowly higher until they brushed against
her panty-covered crotch, tickled over her bulging mound. Marcia flinched.
God, her flimsy panties were no barrier at all. For all the protection
they gave, she may as well have not been wearing any at all. She wanted to
stop him, to clamp her legs together again, but his own legs were rigid as
iron bars, solid, immovable, holding her open. He pressed his palm against
her, cupping it fully over her mound, letting his fingers linger, tracing
the outline, the shape her sex clearly defined through the sheer material
of her panties. Her stomach lurched with tremulous sensations. She
quickly closed her eyes, expelled a rush of air through dilated nostrils
and bit hard on her bottom lip. "You're shaking like a nervous little
bird, girl," Harding said, smiling as he gently stroked the pronounced
folds of her sex. "Anyone would think you'd never done this kind of thing
before, but we know different don't we?" Marcia didn't answer, kept her
eyes closed and tried to think of other things, to detach herself, pretend
it was an unpleasant dream, that it wasn't really happening. Easier said
than done. Harding was very experienced, knew exactly how and where to
touch. "Does that feel nice, Mrs. Gray?" Harding muttered, his voice
thick and low. "Don't hurt none does it? Make's your cunt feel all needy
and juicy don't it?" The pad of his index finger traced slowly up and down
the length of her sex lips, easily found and gently massaged the rising nub
of her clitoris. Despite herself, Marcia twitched, drew a sharp intake of
breath, felt a liquid warmth bubble up sensuously from deep within her
abdomen to her tingling nipples. Her panties were wet. "Ooh...Mr.
Harding...Please s-stop." "You don't mean that girl. You like it. You're
getting real wet down there already. I can feel it through these
itty-bitty panties. I can feel everything." Marcia gasped, tried to push
Harding's hand away, but he was too insistent, too strong. In response to
her half-hearted protest, he pressed his fingers tight against her
panty-covered crotch, spreading her fat sex lips wide beneath the thin
material, rolling and pinching, prodding and poking. "You know, Mrs.
Gray," Harding said, removing his hand from her heat, his breathing ragged,
"you be good to me, we'll forget about your outstanding account. In your
condition, there'll be no risks. Tommy won't miss a little slice from his
pie. It'll be fun, too. Think about it. No one will ever know. I'll see
to it you're all right. You'll eat well and for free. It makes sense,
don't it?" She felt one of Harding's hands ruffle her hair, tickle around
her ear, press firmly on the back of her head, forcing her to move closer
to him. Something hot, smooth and tumescent brushed against her cheek, her
tight lips. Somehow, she didn't know how, he'd unzipped his pants, freed
his large penis. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs and her
temples throbbed. She wasn't stupid, knew what he wanted, what he expected
of her. Despite being nervous and afraid, she felt a strange excitement
wash over her, a familiar electric tingling of pleasure in her heavy
breasts and spread thighs. "Open your mouth," Harding said. Anxiously,
Marcia swallowed. "Mr. Harding ... Sir, this is wrong ...You shouldn't
be making me do ... this..." She couldn't put into words what she wanted
to say, how scared, how confused and embarrassed she was. "Come on, now
baby. Do as I tell you. Open those pretty lips. Suck my cock a little
bit." Harding said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Do it for me, just a
little bit. What's the harm? It won't take long." She closed her eyes.
This couldn't be happening, not to her. Even in her denial, she swallowed
and opened her mouth slightly. Her heart throbbed against her ribs as the
meaty head of Harding's penis nudged her lips wider. "Come on, " the old man said, his voice no more than a raspy whisper. "Just a little wider.
That's it..." All thought of resistance fled her reeling mind. It was
pointless. If she didn't do what he wanted, he would force her, probably
hurt her. She wasn't bothered so much for her own self, but if he hurt the
baby? God, she'd never be able to live with that. Never. She had to
consider the baby most of all - and, of course, the meat for Tom's dinner.
As Harding instructed, Marcia opened her mouth, her lips formed a wet O
around the swollen helmet and the next second she was sucking in the thick,
meaty cock. "Oh, yes..." Harding groaned, then gasped. "Oh ... that's
it. That's sweet ... Good. You've done this before haven't you? Does he
like it, your husband? Does Tom make you do it for him? Oh, yes ... Go
on ... Gently now. Gent-ly. Yes ...deeper. Suck it like that. Good.
Good." Marcia, keeping her eyes closed, imagining it was her husband, took
Harding's cock almost to the back of her throat. He felt hot, huge. She
tasted salt, smelled his musky male smell. Without thinking, she reached
up and closed trembling fingers tentatively around the stiff length. It
was so thick, so long. It warmly throbbed between her fingers. "No,"
Harding said, brushing her hand aside, gasping. "Just your mouth, girl ...
Just your lovely, soft mouth. Suck it in deep now. Use your tongue...
Yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh, that's real nice. Real nice." Marcia surprised
herself, adapting easily to this stranger's dimensions, the extra length,
the girth splitting her lips wide, giving her tonsils a soft, insistent
battering. She sucked him in, eased back his foreskin by tightening her
lips, and gently lapped the smooth oval plum of the unsheathed head.
Moving only her lips and mouth, she teased the single weeping eye with the
delicate tip of her tongue - just how Tom liked her to do. She wanted to
make Harding come, wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. She
heard him grunt with pleasure, felt him shudder; increase the thrust of his
hips, allowed him to set his own pace. Her ploy was working. It wouldn't
take long. Any second now, like Tom, he would come in her mouth and her
ordeal would end. She dribbled saliva, felt his organ pulsing, swelling,
pushing in and out faster between the wide O of her lips with soft slurping
noises. His breath came in rapid gasps and, almost bursting with shame,
Marcia realized her body was responding to his lusty excitement. She felt
damp and sticky between her thighs. Then Harding was pushing her away.
"Wow, hold it. Enough," he said, sternly, stepping away from her. "Boy,
you sure can suck cock little lady. Another second, you would've finished
me off." Marcia glimpsed his erection, the large purple head, and the
throbbing length of his weapon shiny-wet with her spittle. God, it was so
big. She closed her eyes, tried to put the thing from her mind. Harding
said, "Stand up." "But..." Marcia looked up at him, her wide blue eyes
pleading. "Do as you're told, girl," Harding said, impatiently grabbing
her arm, pulling her up from the chair. Roughly, her turned her around.
He was quick to notice, the more he ordered her about, the more turned on
she seemed to get. "Bend over the table," he panted. "Quickly, now."
"Please, Mr. Harding..." Marcia stood up straight. Surely he wasn't going
to ... He wouldn't. He couldn't. Not when she's expecting a baby. Tom
hadn't touched her in that way since the third month. "Let me just ...
suck it for you," she pleaded; her tremulous voice no more than a whisper.
"I'll do it good ... if..." "Shut up," he said, impatiently. "Just bend
over the table and keep quiet." He put his hand on the back of her neck,
forced her head forwards. "Bend down lower, now." Marcia allowed herself
to bend, placed her hands flat on the table, her weight on her arms. She
felt Harding behind her, raising her dress. Her cheeks flushed with
embarrassment and her nipples ached as his big hands quickly found the
elastic waistband of her panties. He slipped them over her rounded bottom,
then down her long, trembling legs. He left the frail garment pooled
around her feet. She couldn't believe things had gone this far this fast,
that it was happening at all. It was impossible for her to fully
contemplate the enormity, the strangeness of her situation. "Oh yes,"
Harding said, pushing her dress up around her waist, running his hands over
the smooth, bare flesh of her lower back, cupping and squeezing the firm
rounds of her bottom. "Truly beautiful. Magnificent skin. Nice ass. So
white ... so ... soft." He dug his stubby fingers deep into the divide of
her buttocks, pulled apart the plump cheeks and squeezed again. "Your
husband's a damn lucky young man. Open your legs wider and stand still."
Marcia did as she was told, quivered as his fingers slid under her, found
her pouting sex, gently probed her wetness. "My God, girl..." he
whispered, sliding his fingertips along her slippery cleft, nipping the bud
of her clitoris. "The honey is dripping. You love it don't you? You're
soaking. How long is it since you've been properly seen to?" "Please, Mr.
Harding, sir, I ... the baby. I'm..." Marcia sobbed, fell silent. She
could practically feel the scorch of his avid gaze on her naked flesh and
closed her eyes as a wave of shameful pleasure flooded her insides. How
could a complete stranger - and not a very young or handsome one at that -
make her feel this way? She wanted to cry as her whole body gave an
involuntary shudder. She gasped again as he found her secret place. First
one, then two of his thick fingers eagerly splayed her open, delved between
her engorged love-lips. She felt so wet, so loose, fully dilated.
Blushing furiously, she couldn't help pressing back onto the artfully
wriggling digits. Electric sparks of sensation leapt in her swollen belly,
tingled around her tight nipples and she groaned. "If I didn't know
better, I'd say it's been a while," Harding said huskily, moving his
fingers quicker, making Marcia choke back quivering gulps of air. "Yes ...
Oh, yes, that's it. Let it go, girl. Let it go. I knew my instincts
about you were right. God, you're one mighty hot and hungry young lady."
Harding watched her writhe, push her wet cunt down to meet his probing
fingers. He had her now. No more effort was required on his part. Her
body, her natural arousal was doing it all for him. He unceremoniously
dropped his trousers, placed the hard length of his cock along the soft
crease of Marcia's proud buttocks. "Oh, yes," he muttered, feeling the
heat of her flesh, "delightful. Absolutely delightful." He pulled her hips
roughly against him, slowly worked his leaking member excitedly back and
forth in the dewy crease, effectively trapping her against the table and
his hard, throbbing flesh. He bunched her dress higher up her back, almost
to her neck, and then tentatively undid her bra strap, freeing her breasts.
Marcia lowered her head almost to the table. Biting her lip, panting
urgent gasps of air through her nose, she leaned on her elbows, made a low
moaning sound as Harding reached under her arms and explored the secrets of
her bare, unresisting flesh. Taking his time, he smoothed his spread palms
lazily over her hips and swollen belly. He went lower, touching the front
of her thighs, toying with the fine, curly down covering the mound of her
pubis, then gently moved up over her belly again, cupping each of her
tender breasts. They seemed to fit his hands perfectly. He weighed them
like ripe fruits, fondled and plucked at them with his fingers, tweaked the
nipples into impossibly tight, fiery little nubs. Marcia sagged,
whimpering. "Ooh...Oh!" Harding was an expert and no mistake. Marcia was
on fire, found she couldn't keep still, couldn't keep herself from
fidgeting, spooning her bottom back against the hard, hairy columns of his
thighs. She automatically began rotating the creamy globes to better feel
the smooth temptation of his erection nestling so intimately in the
crevasse between them. "Ooh," she moaned, again. "Raise up a little,"
Harding croaked, palming her breasts, squeezing the nipples between thumbs
and forefingers. Marcia did as she was asked, raised her tight buttocks
slightly, and gasped with shock as the plump head of his slippery cock
accurately found her seeping heat, easily split her nether lips wide and
surged deep into her moist cunt. "Ah, there now," he whispered, breathily,
moving against the rounded swell of her buttocks, rotating his hips,
reveling in the hot velvet grip of Marcia's surprisingly tight slit.
"Doesn't hurt a bit does it?" Marcia stuttered out her surprise. "Is ...
is it in?" "Is it in?" Harding repeated, not quite believing what he was
hearing. "My God, girl, are politicians full o' shit? It's buried to the
maker's name. Can't you feel it?" He withdrew his fat length, shoved it
back into her harder several times in quick succession, bending her to the
violence of his plunging rhythm. "Feel it now?" "Aagh!" Marcia gasped at
the increased friction, the stretching, the fullness, screwed her face into
a mask of pained pleasure. "Oh, yes ... Yes, I feel it..." She drew in a
deep, sobbing breath. "It just ... it just went in so ... easy." "That's
'cause you wanted it so bad," Harding panted. "Admit it: you wanted some
stiff cock didn't you?" Marcia couldn't speak; Harding's meanness, his
harsh attitude and savagely reaming cock overwhelmed her completely. She
was too choked, lost in a whirlpool of exquisite sensation. Waves of
pleasure rippled through her thighs and belly with each smooth inward
thrust, each tantalizingly slow withdrawal of his massive hardness. She
was stretched wide around the whole length of his sex, could feel the
weight of his stones slapping against her bottom. Every inch of the
silky-smooth, thick-veined weapon rasped the sensitive walls of her insides
as it continued to pierce her in a steady, unhurried rhythm. God, she
never knew it could be like this. What had she been missing all this time?
Tom always rushed when they did it; a quick in out and it was over. But
old man Harding? Oh, this man was different. He may be old, yes; he may
be taking unfair advantage of her, but - oh, how he could use his thing,
how he was doing it to her! Marcie shuddered. Harding grunted like a
rutting animal as he grabbed Marcia's hips, pulled her onto his thick,
thrusting shaft, tried to get it impossibly deeper into her soft, cloying
flesh. She was so exquisitely tight, so slick, so needy for cock. Her
groans and mutterings of pleasure thrilled him as much as the sweet sucking of her creamy cunt. It was wonderful, everything he'd dreamed - and more.
Pulsing sensations swelled his stalk to bursting, quivered his flanks and
tightened his balls. He wanted it to last forever, desperately wanted to
give this bitch a shafting to remember, a real reaming fuck, but he knew
his excitement was getting the better of him. He couldn't hold out for
much longer. "Is that good?" He pushed against the globes of her
silk-smooth bottom, slid his shaft deeply in to the hilt, held still,
soaking in the sticky heat. "Come on, little lady, tell me what it feels
like. Is it good?" "Mmm ... yesss," Marcia panted into the crook of her
sweaty arms. "It's... it's good. So good." "I knew it. By God, I knew
it." Holding a breast in one hand, Harding reached beneath her undulating
belly with the other, cupped it over her lightly furred mound. He ran his
fingertips tentatively around the base of his embedded cock; felt her
engorged love-lips stretching wetly, tightly around him. He sought and
found her erect little love-button, gently massaged the oily bud, caressed
it till Marcia quivered and moaned at the same time. Her bottom squashed
back against him as she attempted to get his deep-probing root ever deeper
inside her. "Ooh!" She whimpered, gasping breathlessly as the fat tip
nudged against the mouth of her womb. "Oooh!" "My, you're a hot little
bitch," Harding croaked, stretching her wider, working a finger into the
slick sheath alongside his throbbing tool. "You like this?" He wriggled
the finger inside her, stirring Marcia's juices even more. "You like it?"
It was too much. Marcia convulsed with shocks of sensation that seemed to
go on and on, building to a tingling crescendo of pleasure that finally
broke in long shuddering waves through her sensitized body, convulsing her
from head to toe. "Ye-es!" she yelled. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" Harding felt
the whole length of his pulsing cock gently clasped by Marcia's quivering
inner muscles as spasm after spasm shook her body. He could hold back no
longer, felt his over-flowing scrotum draw up tight at his root, begging
for release. He shut his eyes, threw back his head and pulled the excited
woman's hips hard onto him. A silent scream hung in his throat as he let
it all go. Surrendering to the sensuous milking tremors, he bathed
Marcia's insides with copious spurts of hot semen, groaning and trembling
uncontrollably until his balls were emptied. "Oh God..." he muttered.



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