The Ottoman

John understood inherently that this was arousing to her. "They wanted to fuck you, Catherine. All of them." He emphasized the verb "fuck" so that it came out almost in a sneer. He paused, letting her absorb the intent. "Just like I'm going to very soon. Isn't that right?"

Her eyes blazed back at him. She was on fire already. "Yes," she said, simply, quietly, but leaving no room for ambiguity.

"Yes, what, Catherine?" He wanted her to say it in a sentence, and he had a good reason.

"Yes, you are going to fuck me."

There it was. She had answered in the passive tense. This was important to John. It indicated that Catherine wanted to be taken rather that act as the initiator or aggressor. It was simple yet vital information that would dictate how he would proceed.

She was submissive.

"In your fantasies, Catherine," John went on, his own eyes now twinkling with lust, his curiosity seeking more data, ".....your stranger takes you, doesn't he?"

Catherine's eyes narrowed as if she had run this scenario through her imagination many times. "In my fantasies," she began slowly. "......my lover knows exactly what to do, how to......well, how to 'maneuver' me. He controls my body yet lets me derive enjoyment by also using his body for my pleasure."

She waited a minute, as if lost in her thoughts. She looked out the window and then back at John.

"He eats me softly and fucks me hard. Rough, at times. Appropriately, playfully so. I'm being selfish, perhaps, but that's what I need tonight."

It was just then, almost as if on cue, that the young waitress returned with the check. he was cute, petite with jet black hair, and about half their age. She had been astute enough to leave them alone during the meal as she watched their obvious attention for each other.

Yet she had mistaken the relationship of the older couple. Her words distracted them from their intense conversation.

"I can't help but to tell you two that you are so into each other." The young woman pointed to Catherine's wedding ring. "It's so neat to see. How many years have you been together. What's your secret? How do you do it?"

It was hard to tell which one was more amused, John or Catherine. The young lady couldn't have been more incorrect in her assumption. Oh, the naivete of youth. Things aren't always as they seem.

John spoke first. "Great sex. Every time is like the first time."

The waitress blushed at John's reply. The candor wasn't quite was she had been expecting. But as they say, never ask a question when you don't already know the answer.

Catherine jumped right in. "And fantasies. We live out our fantasies." She wiggled a finger at the youngster, motioning for her to lean closer, as if letting her in on the secret to matrimonial bliss.

Catherine peered over her shoulder to fend off any international spies that could be eavesdropping for proprietary information that could compromise the sexual sanctity of North Americans.

"Tonight, for example....." Catherine said quietly. "....we're acting out a role play where he and I are strangers and we've met for the first time."

The waitress stood upright and covered her mouth in suppressed glee. "Oh, my God, that is soooo hot." She looked at the mature couple with new found admiration. "I can't wait to tell my boyfriend about that." She looked around for those same secret-stealing undercover espionage agents disguised as sixty-somethings from Bellingham or Everett.

"Things are getting a little stale in the bedroom for us lately," she whispered, which officially fell under the category of 'Too Much Information'.

John plopped a stack of twenties down on the table. "Buy an ottoman. That will help, I promise." He extended his hand to Catherine and lifted her from her chair, leaving the perplexed waitress to call over their shoulders the universal salutation of the service industry.

"Have a nice evening!!!"

Catherine tucked herself under John's arm as they exited the restaurant. "You're a good tipper," she complimented.

John shrugged, letting Catherine cuddle into his chest. "I think it was only just over twenty percent. It was worth it to stop the inquisition."

"No, I meant the ottoman thing. That's the best tip she'll ever get and she probably doesn't even realize what you meant." She flickered those fabulous brown-green, cat-like pupils. "Oh, but I did."

By now, darkness had fallen and the main street was down nearly devoid of the merchants and pedestrians from earlier. Catherine felt a pang of slight disappointment when she realized that she wouldn't be giving any sunset-induced 'peek shows' this time.

As they continued their walk down Maple Avenue back to the inn, she pretended to spot something in a storefront with a vestibule that was recessed and somewhat shielded from the sidewalk.

John followed her to the rear of the small alcove, watching her lean over as if to examine something more closely. When he crouched down next to her, she took his head in her hands and kissed him. Softly at first, an exploration, the proverbial taste test.

They stood together, their bodies rising in tandem, their mouths locked in a fiery kiss that escalated with heat, expressing the mutual desire that had been peaking from almost the minute they had met on the patio, mere hours ago.

John's soft lips traced a trail down the nape of Catherine's long neck as she held his head more tightly, encouraging the descent to her collarbone and the top of her chest. Her hands fell from the small of his back, where she had been pressing his pelvis into her own, and she began to grope for the hard cock that she felt twitching against her thigh.

She gasped as she reached her target and stroked him through the fabric of his shorts. In reciprocation, he eased one of the straps of her dress from her slightly freckled shoulder and began to lick the crest of her breast. He sucked and nipped at her distended nipple as his other hand traversed southward and lifted the hem of her dress.

The act alone ignited Catherine's latent exhibitionism tendencies. She found the danger of public sex indescribably exciting, and a spark went off like a detonator inside her sodden pussy when John began to tug at her thong, pushing the fabric into her puffy folds.

Whenever Catherine became especially aroused, her pussy lips enlarged to such an extent that even after all these years, she still became a bit self-conscious. They approached the texture of a rubbery, deflated balloon.

If she only knew the effect that such tumescence had on John, who felt the flaps expand as he tugged at her bloated labia majora. He eased a finger beneath her thong and into her humid, slippery slit and heard her groan huskily and bury her head in his chest.

Unconsciously, her legs parted involuntarily as she became aware John was now tucking the hemline into the gold chain around her stomach, which meant that she was more than partially exposed from the waist down.

In her altered state of semi-intoxication from the wine and the thrill of this stranger's boldness, she barely noticed that he was now on his knees in front of her until she felt the warm tip of his tongue circle the perimeter of her vulva.

He peered up at her and saw that her head was tilted back and her eyes were shut. Her hands gripped the back of his skull involuntarily, pushing his face into her overheated gash, which now all but emitted steam in the cool evening air.

"A below-the-waist admiration society, remember?" he murmured into her cunt, flicking his tongue into her narrow opening, tongue-fucking her and lapping greedily at the juices dripping liberally from her vagina like tiny raindrops rolling from the blossoming petals of a tulip.

The thrusts of her hips caused the hem to fall from the chain. The dress now covered John's head like a veil.

He took her to the edge of euphoric bliss within seconds. Though he could see virtually nothing except her pink cunt, which hung like a fluffy robe on a hanger on the tip of his nose, he felt her thighs quiver and her stomach muscles rumble with the animated declaration of her impending explosion.

His hands cupped her firm buttocks and he heard the loud grunt announcing her release at the same instant he felt the cascade of her foamy ejaculate rush into his mouth.

He frantically tried to open and close his mouth like a hooked fish to capture each drop of her as small streams of fluid rushed from her cunt. He watched in wonder as the filaments of her thick labia contracted and compressed, like the flags of a sailboat in a Puget Sound breeze.

When he emerged from his clandestine hiding place, like a shy sparrow coming out of its roost, he saw that her eyes were ablaze in unbridled lust.

One nipple, the one that he had been sucking upon, still was exposed, and he was surprised to see that two of her long fingers had encircled the nub, pinching and pulling on it so that it protruded more than a quarter-inch from her skin.

Without a word, she brought his mouth to hers and sucked the fresh overflow of her own cum into her lips. She scooped her sweet nectars out of his mouth like she was eagerly savoring the residue from a melting ice cream cone.

Catherine had always loved the way she tasted. She wondered why any man wouldn't want to eat pussy constantly. Catherine had some limited experience with women in her experimental past, and she longed for another opportunity to make oral love to a woman sometime again.

But for now, for tonight, she had a nice cock to suck of her very own. And she knew just the spot for it.

"C'mon," she demanded, virtually pulling John out of the vestibule, not looking or caring if anyone was nearby. "Since I 'stole' your room from you, I need to pay my dues for the upgrade." Almost as an afterthought, she winked at John and remarked casually, "Oh, and I'm sure you've been told this before, but my God, you have an incredible tongue, stranger."

When they reached Catherine's room, there was not a need to discuss if John was going to go his room. In fact, there was not a need to talk about anything. Catherine's mouth would be busy for the immediate future.

Though a self-described 'submissive' by nature, Catherine had a single-minded agenda when the door was unlocked. She pulled the dress over her shoulders and stood naked in front of John, clad only in her Jimmy Choos, the belly chain, and the lascivious grin of a hungry feline preparing to enjoy an "indulgence". After all, they hadn't had dessert, had they?

Catherine walked across the room with John's eyes riveted on her luscious ass. She intentionally walked with the swagger of a runway model, her hips sashaying evocatively. She sat on the edge of the oversized ottoman. In both of their minds, there was only one reason that the piece of furniture was in the room. It served only one true purpose.

She parted her legs lewdly and ran her palm across her still percolating pussy. With two fingers, she pulled apart the billowy creases of her labia and exposed her clit. She stuffed a finger into her sticky tunnel, and the squishing became the only sound in the room, save for their clipped breathing.

John required no further direction. Catherine had already provided an easy-to-decipher roadmap. With his eyes still focused on the wanton display of self-exploration by this married woman he had met earlier today, he unzipped his shorts and kicked his legs so that they fell to the floor.

He joined Catherine in a brief mutual masturbation session, each fully cognizant of the eroticism of the moment.

Catherine admired the handsome man stroking his manhood in appreciation of her own wares. Though by no means a 'size queen', Catherine wasn't adverse to a well-endowed piece of equipment, either. And the cock in front of her was quite a prolific specimen.

Catherine estimated its length to be maybe seven inches, though she was not a very accurate appraiser of penile inventory. What was most noticeable, and impressive, however, was its girth. The circumference of John's cock would be more than a mouthful, she thought to herself, and the cock head itself looked like a small plum. Succulent, for sure, and certainly scrumptiously edible.

Catherine watched intently as John removed the remainder of his clothing. He had a thick, muscular torso, a few extra pounds, perhaps, but the well-preserved body of a desirable, mature man. A smattering of salt-and-pepper hair on his chest, and a thick but 'manscaped' curl of black pubic hair with small patches of gray interspersed.

He approached her, holding his erect cock tightly in his grip, as if proffering a precious gift for Catherine to accept.

Which she did, willingly, happily. She took a generous suck on his shaft as an opening salvo, taking perhaps four inches into her mouth. She felt her jawbone expand to accommodate his width as she engulfed his gorgeous rod repeatedly. There was nothing subtle in her technique, not tonight, not now.

Though a bit rusty, Catherine had a lot of techniques in her oral arsenal. She considered herself quite the accomplished and talented cocksucker, a description that was echoed by many a fortunate male recipient back in the day. Catherine had enjoyed as many as three cocks in her mouth (and cunt, for that matter) in one day, so she unequivocally knew her way around a dick.

But for 'Mister Right Now', well, she needed him deep in her mouth. She would be greedy, enthusiastic, ravenous. An unabashed, uninhibited cock whore, a one-night excursion into "anything goes".

"There's just something decadently wicked about a new cock," Catherine mused silently as she hummed on John's cock, reveling in the feeling of its gradual expansion to full, unfettered arousal with each fervent series of sucking methods.

John wrapped his hand around a shock of Catherine's hair, not so much for the purpose of face-fucking her, which he could easily do if he so desired. It was more so that he could control the pace of Catherine's expert administrations.

With each half-inch that his impromptu lover consumed of his dick, he had to consciously restrain himself. Catherine had all but maybe an inch and a half stuffed down her throat now,and John had designs on at least one more of Catherine's orifices before he blew his initial load.

"Maybe my assessment of her submissiveness was a bit premature," John thought to himself as he watched the indentation of his cock tip push against Catherine's cheek. Though her eyes were slits, concentrating on the task at hand, what he could see in the glint in her pupils was unadulterated craving. A voracious craving for cock. If this was a hot-dog eating contest at Coney Island, she would be a strong contender.

That left John little choice but to take command of the situation. He stepped back and a strand of saliva led from his engorged cockhead to Catherine's lips. She whimpered slightly when he withdrew, like a kitten who had its beloved chew toy pilfered.

Her mood brightened considerably, and quickly, when John took her hips in his hands and lifted her in one motion from the ottoman. His strength both surprised and excited Catherine. Her whimper turned to a mutes squeal when he sat on the ottoman in the same position that Catherine had occupied and lowered her lithe torso onto his lap.

Instinctively, she spread her legs so that each was on the outside of John's thighs and she straddled him, facing him. His thickly veined cock jumped and danced in anticipation of that first penetration, and Catherine took her hand to her pussy and opened herself up to him, allowing full access to her jewel.

She threw her arms around the back of John's neck and eagerly waited for the insertion, the magic moment when new cock meets strange pussy for the first time. Is there anything more erotic, Catherine asked herself silently, feeling his enlarged tip slide into the irriguous cauldron of her needy vagina. Especially for a married woman?

He entered her slowly at first. Experience had taught him that most women required time to acclimate to his thickness. Catherine, however, seemed to adapt easily, comfortably, and within a few seconds, his length was buried snugly inside her furnace. She rocked and bucked on his lap like a jet ski rider on a choppy bay.

He lowered his head and began to suck on the brownish-pink nipple of her left tit. Her areola were smallish, and he traced circles around it with his tongue as she held his neck with one hand, and cupped her tit with the other, presenting it to him as an offering. "My body is yours," she groaned through clenched teeth, as her chest flushed a bright red as he nibbled on her thimble-like nub. "Take it."

She was tight. He was thick and meaty. He stretched her with each thrust, and she began to growl as his cock reached places within her that hadn't been explored in far too long.

"She's quite a moaner," he smiled to himself, enjoying the verbal response he was evoking from her as his cock probed her upper spongy walls. "I wouldn't have guessed she'd be a loud one. Goes to show you just never know...."

It didn't take them long at all to establish a vigorous rhythm that belied the fact that this was their initial tryst. This was not lovemaking, this was a pure, hot fuck. Call it what you will. Neither had any pretense that this was anything but an exercise in salacious concupiscence.

John could feel Catherine's talented inner muscles gripping his shaft in accelerated convulsions, her pussy pistons churning as his cylinder pumped frenetically within her. Again, wanting to prolong the delectation, he lifted her hips once more an spun her around 180 degrees so that she straddled him now with her back to him.

Hesitantly, before easing back down on him, she peered back over her shoulder, uncertain as to what to hang onto. He had a solution.

"Wrap your calves around the back of my calves," he instructed. "And let me do the rest."

She complied, and her calves held onto his in a death grip, her manicured toes clutching at the bottom of his strong legs. He placed his one hand around her waist as he slid his cock back into her.

"Reach back and cling your arms to the back of my neck," he directed while tightening his hold on her body. "And hold on."

Those were prophetic words.

He stood up, and Catherine suddenly realized that she was suspended in mid-air, with no place to land except her pussy directly on his cock. John tossed her up and down, up and down, and each time Catherine's g-spot was stimulated directly by his cock slamming into the top and rear of her tunnel. She could feel John's cock literally snap inside of her as it bounced against her cervix.

Her husky howls pronouncing her carnal exhilaration reverberated off the walls of the room like a percussion ensemble. A cacophony of prayers, drums and cymbals crashed within her ears, and pyrotechnics flashed behind her shut pupils.

He fucked her like this for perhaps ninety seconds, and with each return from the stratosphere, Catherine experienced one mind-blowing orgasm after another. An endless, continuous string, one after the other after the other.

Exhausted by the sexual calisthenics, he finally, mercifully, sat back down on the ottoman, still firmly inside of her cunt, which spewed milky moisture out of her sides like a punctured pipe.

Catherine was nearly hyperventilating, the sensation left her glassy-eyed and dizzy. "Holy shit," she gasped. "What the fuck was THAT?"

"Did you like that?" he asked, fighting to catch his own breath. He already had an inkling that she did.

"That was fucking intense," she panted. "Christ. Where did you ever learn that?"

"I invented it," he said quietly, moving his pelvis in small circles, continuing to stimulate her electrified cunt.

"You invented it? You invent sexual positions?"