Free Universal Carnal Knowledge Pt. 07

VII

Girl next door

The events of the day had stunned me. I had had no idea things might go this far. Not only had I just rendered worthless the marriage vows on which I had based my life for twenty years; not only had the sex been utterly out of this world; but to cap it all this sexy, vivacious young woman, her whole life before her, had just pledged herself unconditionally and with every appearance of desperate sincerity to a fat, bald, middle-aged married insurance manager.

I thought long and hard without really getting anywhere. Eventually I heard the key in the door and Wendy appeared, laden with provisions for whatever lavish meal she had in mind for tonight. Finding me already home, she of course (for so quickly had I come to take these things for granted) leapt on me instantly. Fortunately I had had time to recover from my exertions with Connie and was well able to measure up. At first I found it disturbing that I was fucking my loving and blissfully unaware wife a few short hours after breaking my most solemn vows to her, but as I got into the swing of it instinct took over.

After the sex, Wendy struggled off to the kitchen but just as she went she announced, "I've got something for you, darling," and passed me a large carrier bag. I thought it odd that she did not stay to watch me look inside. I opened it. It contained at least fifty pounds' worth of assorted dirty books.

I find it hard to quantify the number of different levels at which this disturbed me. Here are a few in no special order.

1. As dirty books go, they were rotten. Wendy obviously had no idea what I liked so had settled for a bit of everything. Most of it was of no interest to me at all. And she had apparently gone to an ordinary newsagent so it was generally very tame material. Until this moment it had never occurred to me what a very personal act the selection of pornography is; you do not want anyone else to do it for you.

2. The idea of my very respectable wife's marching up to the counter of a street corner newsagent and spending fifty quid on girly books was too gruesome to contemplate.

3. I had just had very satisfying sex. This is not the time I want to see pornography.

4. A few days ago Wendy had been making my life a misery and threatening divorce because of this very issue. What was she trying to prove?

I went to the kitchen and said we had to talk. Without any argument she stopped cooking and gave me her complete attention. When I asked what she was playing at she seemed taken aback and said she had decided it was silly of her to object to my use of porn since I evidently enjoyed it, so she had bought some books to replace the ones she had thrown away on Sunday. She thought we might look at them later. She had thought I would be pleased.

I gave it to her very straight about dirty books.

1. I would buy them.

2. I would look at them alone. This was not something we could do together.

3. Not only was she not to buy them, she was not to look at them even in my absence. If she found them accidentally she was to put them back at once without looking at them.

Did she understand? Yes. She looked so repentant that I let her have a few kind words to the effect that she had meant well. I accepted her proffered apology, and she looked a bit less miserable and returned to her cooking.

This was yet another strange incident to ponder. Even leaving aside the extraordinary change in our sex life, Wendy's general attitude had altered remarkably post-FUCK (I realised I was beginning to divide my life into pre- and post-FUCK). Pre-FUCK, she had been, on the whole, a good and devoted wife to me, and I had loved her dearly, but she had been very much one to stand up for herself, she had had no hesitation in letting me know when she felt I was at fault in any way, and she was extremely stubborn when she had decided what she wanted. Post-FUCK, she had been doing everything possible to please me; nothing was too much trouble even when she would have had every right to put her feet up and take it easy. But I felt that all these things were superficial; there was some more fundamental change going on, and it frustrated me that I could not put my finger on it.

I could hear her humming contentedly to herself while she chopped vegetables and then it struck me. Post-FUCK, she was happy.

This realisation astonished me. Of course the old Wendy had had good days, but she had been fed up and miserable a lot of the time, harassed by this, worried about that, annoyed by something else. But for the last few days, she had been a picture of radiant happiness; not just that, but she seemed satisfied and fulfilled as well. The only time I had seen her upset was just now, when I showed my displeasure about the dirty books.

Over dinner, I asked her straight out how she felt about life; had she noticed anything different lately?

"You mean, apart from our being at it like knives all the time?" she smiled. I nodded.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I suppose I started counting my blessings. I can tell you exactly when it was, too. On Tuesday night, when we were supposed to talk about the [she gave a shudder before she could say the word] divorce I began to think about how miserable I must have made you the night before, when Albert died, and I felt really guilty about it and the more I thought about it the more I realised I had a fine husband, a king among men, and I couldn't think why I should want to divorce him. The whole idea seemed ridiculous; it still does. Ever since, I've just wanted to make up for it."

"And how do you feel in yourself?"

The question obviously surprised her. She had to think for a moment. "Well," she said, "now you mention it, I feel marvellous. I don't think I've ever been happier, even when we were first married. Isn't that strange?"

Now it was my turn to hesitate. I was aware I was skating on very thin ice here but I desperately needed to understand what was going on. While I was still debating whether "yes" or "no" was the more politic answer to Wendy's question, she forestalled me by answering it herself.

"No, actually, it's not strange. What shouldn't I be happy loving and caring for the best husband in the world? Look at the question you asked me just now. You were worried about how I felt when I hadn't even thought about it myself. Is it any wonder that I love you so?"

Rightly recognising this question as rhetorical, I chose to leave it there. Connie and Wendy were very different women but in the space of a few hours, each of them had expressed in her own way her complete devotion to me. It was highly flattering, but I had no idea how I was going to deal with it.

The next day was Saturday and normally would have been spent chasing round shops and catching up on housework. But not this time. It gives me no distress at all to report that Wendy and I spent the entire day in bed fucking. We could not get enough. We behaved like a pair of lovestruck (and luststruck) teenagers; quite the pleasantest and most rewarding Saturday I had spent for years. Suddenly life with FUCK seemed good after all.

More of the same on Sunday would have been most welcome but Wendy had a long-standing commitment to see her aunt in Sussex. Often I accompanied her on these visits because I enjoyed the drive and was quite fond of the old lady, but it would have been hard to reconcile it with the newfound necessity of ejaculating copiously every few hours. Wendy wanted to cancel and stay home with me but I said she ought to go and, as I was coming to expect, she complied with my wishes without demur.

It was another blazing hot day. I knew I ought to go to Albert's but Wendy had taken the car so it meant a bus ride and I found it hard to summon the energy. Eventually I left the house but as I closed my front gate I heard someone call my name.

"Hello, James. Sorry to hear about your uncle. My mum told me."

It was Kylie, leaning over her front gate. She was, as usual, revealingly clad, on this occasion in a pair of rather short football shorts and a white shirt that she had cut off just below her huge tits. The shirt was not buttoned up; she had tied the two corners together under her bra-less breasts, so as to stretch the thin white fabric over them and hold them together. She must have been spending more time on the sunlounger because she looked incredibly bronzed. Her smiling face – in fact her whole body – glistened with sweat and I saw little rivulets of it running down into the cleavage of her vast bosoms. I was trying to be subtle about where my eyes were resting but she must have noticed because she gave me a cheeky grin and leant farther forward, accentuating her cleavage still further.

She was giving me that look – the wide-eyed, adoring gaze I was coming to recognise. I ought to move before someone saw us, but I felt paralysed. Then her eyes dropped a little, but not from modesty. They were fixed on my groin. At the same time I felt the warmth of blood stiffening my cock. Kylie's look was no longer a dreamy gaze; it was a lecherous stare, and a leer of undisguised lust spread across her young face.

"You look hot," she said with studied ambiguity. When I failed to reply she added, with the air of one making a casual observation, "Wendy's gone out. I saw her."

I had to get away fast. "Er, well, I must be going," I said, willing my feet to start moving.

"You and Wendy had a nice day yesterday", she replied.

I must have looked baffled at this apparent non sequitur because she added, "I could hear you through the wall."

The walls did transmit noise, it was true, so it was often possible to hear activities from next door. It was hardly what I ought to be discussing with my eighteen-year-old neighbour, though.

Then she came out with it. "I wished it was me," she said in a low but clear voice.

Desperately fighting the magnetic pull of her rampant sexuality, I made a last bid for freedom.

"Don't be silly, Kylie," I said in what was meant to be a casual, laugh-it-off voice. "I really have got to be going, you know." I finally managed to get some co-operation from my feet and took a step away.

A desperate look crossed her face and she blurted out abruptly, "I heard you and the black lady too."

I stopped dead in utter horror. She had heard me with Connie on Friday! I tried to say something but only a feeble croak emerged.

"I wished I was the black lady too," she said.

I finally managed to speak. "Kylie," and I was begging now, "please, I have to go. Your mum will think it's funny if she sees us talking like this."

"It's all right," she said. "She ain't minding me. She's out the back with me brothers."

"Kylie, please …"

But she had me caught and she knew it. Her eyes were fixed uncompromisingly on my throbbing cock. Then, quite slowly and deliberately, she raised a hand and tugged at the knot that held her shirt together. It parted instantly and her tits swayed free. She looked at my face for a moment to see the effect (which I presume was a mixture of lust and horror), then her stare reverted to my cock, which now felt gargantuan.

After a while she began to rock very slightly from left to right, so that her tits swung gently before me. I was standing in the street, with a gigantic erection in my trousers, staring at the naked swaying tits of my eighteen-year-old neighbour. It was a quiet road that we lived in, but even so it was a minor miracle that no one had passed by. It was probably only a few minutes, but in my agony it seemed like hours that we stood facing each other before Kylie broke the silence.

"I only want to chat for a bit," she claimed innocently.

I gave in. "All right, Kylie, you win. But not here in the street. Come in my house, OK?"

She looked ecstatic. "OK," she said, and retreated hurriedly up her garden path without ever taking her eyes off me. She opened the front door and yelled into the house, "Mum, I'm goin' out!"

"All right, darling," came the faint reply from the garden.

Kylie, without bothering to do up her shirt, ran back up her garden path (a sight to behold) and was waiting at my front door almost before I knew what was happening. As I fumbled with the key she looked up at me with wide sparkling eyes and a huge grin; it was an unforgettable mixture of adoration, anticipation, lust and sheer triumph.

I was under no illusions what I had agreed to. Now I had surrendered I had decided, or maybe it was my cock that had decided, that this was no occasion for subtlety or decorum. She wanted it and so did I and that was the end of the matter. The second the door closed behind us I jammed her against the wall and pressed my lips to hers. She kissed desperately, a real randy eighteen-year-old kid's kiss. Already her hands were struggling to remove her shorts and knickers and her bosom heaved with anticipation.

I manoeuvred her though the door into the front room and as I finally escaped my trousers I fell back on the settee. In a second she was on top of me, stark naked now and with those colossal tits dangling above me. I grabbed them firmly, squeezed them together, and crammed them into my face. She was moaning with desire and her hips were beginning to thrust even though I was not yet inside her. I let go of her breasts and used one hand to pull her arm round me. She got the idea and held my face to her bosom, freeing my hands to explore her lower body. She had no equivalent of Connie's slender waist; in fact, she had no real waist at all but through the layers of flesh I could feel where her hips started and so I held her tight just above there and made my own pelvic thrust upwards.

Again my cock seemed to know unerringly where it wanted to be. I pushed it home – no sign of any hymen in the way, incidentally – and she squealed with delight. I was not sure whether she had come but I hardly cared. Her hips began to buck violently again and I struggled to co-ordinate my own thrusts. Suddenly her movements became even stronger and much more rapid. She emitted short sharp yelps of wanton lust as she beat herself to the most explosive climax. She pressed my face even harder against her huge quivering tits and came with a huge satisfied roar of sheer animal joy.

Her frantic fucking had put me off my stroke, but now that she had relaxed she was mine to do with as I would. I grasped her round the middle again and began to drive my cock home in a series of long, deliberate strokes. Each time it seemed to delve that little bit deeper, and each time she let out an involuntary grunt as the pressure of the thrust forced air from her lungs. I was being utterly selfish now; she had had her pleasure and I was taking mine. I slowly speeded up my thrusts while maintaining their depth. Suddenly some basic instinct took over and I was thrusting back and forth like a jack-hammer. Then I felt the rush of hot spunk in my shaft and it blasted from my cock and soaked her inside.

As it did she abruptly came to life. A moment before she had been as limp as a (very flabby and heavy) rag doll following her earlier orgasm, but now her body seemed suddenly gripped by a desperate tension. As each hot spurt from my spasming cock hit the inside of her cunt she gasped and quivered. This unexpected reaction seemed to intensify my own orgasm still further as with a mighty final thrust I felt my cock unleash inside her a blast of cum eclipsing all that had gone before. Kylie gave a vast elemental heave and uttered a long, low moan that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul.

It was over.

Many minutes must have elapsed before I could move. With Kylie on top of me, over twelve stone of what was now effectively dead weight, I was the reverse of comfortable but at first I had no strength to do anything about it. Finally I felt that breathing was becoming difficult so with a great effort I managed to shift her. With a loud bump she fell unceremoniously on the floor, but she did not react.

When I had gathered my senses a little I leant over to look at her. Her post-orgasmic state was clearly far more profound than even Connie's had been. She was sprawled awkwardly on her back, her breathing was rapid and very shallow, and her eyes were wide open like saucers but they seemed glazed and did not respond when I waved my hand in front of them. Her mouth sagged open in a vast vacant smile. When I said her name she showed no recognition at all.

I struggled to my feet. There was no way I could lift her off the floor but I managed to rearrange her into a more natural and comfortable position; it was like manhandling a sack of potatoes. I put a cushion under her head and staggered off to get a cold drink from the kitchen.

As I drank, I wrestled with a new realisation. I had been assuming that the effects of FUCK would gradually wear off. But on this evidence, the reverse was true. They were becoming more intense.