The Ottoman

"It's a hobby."

She couldn't help but laugh, while wiggling her pussy deeper into his lap. "A hobby? Most people collect stamps, or go bowling. What do you call that, does it have a name?"

"I call it 'fucking'".

She shook her head as she felt his hand begin to massage her tits. She was still writhing from the aftershocks of the orgasms. "That's taken already, sorry. How about 'The Gravity Defier', you like that?"

"Too many syllables. And I'm not even sure 'defier' is even a word. I still like 'fucking'. It's catchy."

Catherine wasn't ready to concede just yet. "You can't just invent fucking."

John was persuasive in the simplicity of his argument, however. "Sure you can. Tell me who holds the patent on it."

Try as she might, Catherine somehow saw the logic in that. Or maybe she was just fucked so silly that it didn't compute in her scientists' brain.

She was about to continue to banter with him over semantics, but he picked her up again, effectively ending the marketing campaign. This time he had to extract his cock from her.

He spun her around so that her stomach was perpendicular to the ottoman, and she had no choice but to reach out and brace herself with her hands. He reached down and cupped his hands under her belly button to support her, holding her up, raising her ass to his pelvis. He entered her once more, sliding in effortlessly to her sodden pussy.

"This one already has a name," he said, fucking her powerfully, his balls slapping against her ass. "I believe they call it, 'The Wheelbarrow'".

Catherine was now grunting and moaning vociferously. She was beginning to feel like a carnival barker, caught in one whirly-twirly ride after another.

She was flexible, but this was starting to rival an Olympic gymnastics tryout. "Don't get me wrong, but don't you ever cum?" she asked, hoping the inquiry didn't come off as impolite. After all, she didn't want to sound ungrateful for the best fuck she'd had in decades.

"Funny you should mention that," John replied calmly. "I was just deciding where I was going to cum on you."

"Decisions, decisions," Catherine thought. "God forbid I have a say in the matter." But it was clear by now that Catherine was along for the proverbial ride. Not that she was complaining.

To bring the issue to an amicable resolution, John had one more position in mind. This time, Catherine placed next to the ottoman, on the floor, with her head on the carpet and her ass in the air. Her long legs were bent over her head. John climbed up on the ottoman and hovered above her.

"Pile driver," he said simply, plowing his rod straight down and into her slick cunt. He fucked her savagely like that, his face contorted. Catherine's own head thrashed about wildly from side to side. She felt like his dick so far up her stomach that it was halfway to her throat. Her pussy was beginning to throb with a dull ache from the ravaging, but it was a sweet pain.

She felt his dick surge and swell within her one final time, and he broadcast his pending release with a guttural roar. "Here it comes......."

He pulled out of her with an audible 'pop' and held onto his twitching cock like a firefighter grappling with a gushing hose.

The first blast landed right on Catherine's tummy and settled into her belly button. Shots two, three and four, fired from a distance of about six feet above her, ricocheted off of various part of her body. Subsequent smaller trickles were shaken from his dick over her swollen, gaping cunt.

Catherine purred like a content kitten and rubbed the semen all over her body. Her mind raced back a few hours, before she had met and just had her brains fucked out by this perfectly imperfect stranger, when she had massaged her own cum into her pores.

She remembered what she was thinking. "A tonic for her soul and libido, an elixir, if you will. Nothing is better for the complexion than a fresh coating of cum".

She propped herself up on her elbows an motioned to the Jacuzzi behind her. "I don't know about you, cowboy, but this woman needs a soak."

In the warm, bubbly waters, they caressed and groped each other, kissing passionately, basking in the afterglow of intense, mind-blowing sex.

John kissed and suckled and tweaked Catherine's sensitive nipples, and finger-fucked her gently to another orgasm or three. Catherine literally had lost count now. if this was a sporting event where someone was keeping score, the mercy rule would be in effect.

She tried in vain to coax his flaccid dick back to life by stroking it beneath the surface, but it was on extended time-out. "He's not going anywhere for a little bit, Catherine," John informed her. "He hasn't had a workout like that in years. He'll need some recovery time."

Catherine was always amused how men referred to their equipment in the third person, especially when they were in a recuperative stage, as if, "Hey, it's not my fault, lady. I'm more than ready to go again, but the big fella here, well, what can I tell ya?"

They dried each other off and snuggled into the huge king four-post bed. John dozed off almost immediately, cradling Catherine's head in his arm.

She lay there, content, yet randy. Unlike men, who were undeniably wired differently, Catherine was not too dissimilar from most women in that the more sex she had, the more sex she wanted.

She fidgeted restlessly for the better part of an hour, at first afraid that her movements would wake John, but eventually realizing that short of a Richter-scale event and a sonic boom, her new one-night lover wasn't waking up anytime soon.

Catherine began to idly run her fingers over her still swollen and protruding labia. Her mind imagined the looks of the men on Maple Avenue earlier this evening as they looked straight through her sheer dress in the sunlight. She thought of John's words at dinner.

"They wanted to fuck you, Catherine. All of them."

Catherine had to suppress a groan as she eased a finger into her sodden snatch, wiggling it up into her soft inner flesh. All of them. Yes, that was a fantasy, alright. Fucking a small town. Now THAT would be a vacation story. She looked at John. As if this wild fuck wasn't good enough already. How about one man after the other, absorbing a brigade of unsuspecting Western Washingtonian cocks?

Her mind drifted back to that weekend a quarter century ago, before she was even married, when she spent a weekend with her boyfriend at the time, who had "surprised" her by also inviting two of his friends. With only minimal coercing, she ended up fucking the trio of men dozens of times over the course of forty-eight glorious, wickedly sinful hours.

Her pussy warmed at the mere flashback of the decadence, even to this day. Yes, she thought, she certainly had the capacity to be a wanton slut. It was her alter ego, one that she rarely released, and only on special occasion with even to her husband.

But tonight was one of those nights where circumstance and opportunity collided. She looked down at John's flaccid, slumbering cock and decided it,, too, required some incentivizing. Self-stimulation would be for another night. There was a gorgeous cock next to her, and it wasn't going to go to waste.

She slipped down under his arm and began a slow descent down his chest, covered with soft brown curls, and licked gently around each of his nipples.

She followed the trail of his hair that led like a path to his belly button, while slipping a hand beneath his testicles, cupping him, raising his ass slightly off of the mattress. He stirred unconsciously in response to the tactile stimulus.

She slithered a bit farther down and moved her own body sideways to afford herself a better angle to the desired target, like a hunter zeroing in on its seven-inch prey.

She lifted his limp penis with her palm and pressed it against his tummy. She began to softly suckle on his large balls, knowing that she would be inducing "seconds" of his sperm before her reconnaissance mission for cock was complete.

She started to stroke her one-night lover's cock slowly, watching it intently, still content to allow him to sleep, at least for the time being. For whatever silly reason, she thought of the cartoon where Elmer Fudd would look at the screen and make a shushing motion to the audience and say with that speech impediment, "Ssssh, be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting wabbits."

Well, in this case, Catherine thought to herself, her battery-operated 'wabbit' wouldn't be required tonight. Mimicking Elmer's voice to herself silently, she parodied, "Sssh, be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting cock. Heh-heh-heh-heh-eh."

She took the tip of John's cock, once so angry and swollen and bright purple, but now peacefully deflated and a light pale pink, between her soft lips, and began to suck on just that.

Catherine loved the thrilling sensation of reviving a limp and 'left-for-dead' penis with her talented mouth. It was like a rescue mission for sexual road kill, taking an enervated and temporarily incapacitated appurtenance of the male body and transforming it with her adroit oral homage into a mighty, armor-laden sheath, resurrected for her own recreation.

Catherine began to pump the bottom of his shaft while sucking on the top, feeling it stiffen gradually with each elicitation. So enraptured in her objective was Catherine that she was startled when she felt John's hand on the back of her skull.

She looked up, wide-eyed, to see him peering down at her. He wrapped a shock of her hair inside his grip, tightening it. "You love to suck cock, don't you?" he asked quietly.

She resumed the function of rejuvenating the cock she desperately wanted for multi-task purposes. She consumed a few inches of the now-almost fully hard penis.

"Mmmm, hmmmm," she hummed, mouth stuffed with the product of her choice. She extracted it and ran the thickness over her cheeks and chin, savoring her success, looking him squarely in the eye. With her lips curled in a semi-sneer, she uttered huskily, "I invented it."

He smiled. A married woman who loved sucking cock and was a smart-ass. His dream woman. He wanted to urge her on, to push buttons. "You like being a slut, don't you?"

Catherine never shied away from this moniker, if presented in proper context. Besides, she was hardly in a position to quibble, considering she was sucking the cock of a man she hadn't known as recently as mid-afternoon.

She played along. "I do. I like being a slut for the right man, especially one I know I'll never see again. And you like having your cock sucked by slutty married women, don't you? What does that say about you?"

John pondered this while lifting his pelvis so as to buck his dick deeper into Catherine's mouth, strengthening the grip on her hair, clenching his hand around her thick 'bob'.

"It says that you're the sexiest woman that I've met, and that I'm a lucky man. I won't forget this night."

Catherine wasn't expecting such a sweet, unrehearsed remark. It touched her. She literally felt butterflies in her stomach. She lifted her head from his lap and raised her mouth to his.

They kissed, deeply, eagerly, hungrily. He cradled her head in his hands, whereas a moment before it was a controlling grip while she sucked him, now it was a tender caress.

But the scientist in Catherine refused to let her become sentimental or emotional. Despite the unmistakable sexual chemistry that had already developed between them, and the intellectual attraction she felt for this man, this was strictly a one-time thing. An aberration. Truth was, Catherine very much loved her husband, but this was not about him, not tonight. So neither would she let herself succumb to guilt.

This was a hot fuck only, she told herself, nothing more. Physical gratification, the sexual equivalent of instant coffee. Real life would return soon enough, as soon as she got back on that ferry for the return trip home.

Ridding herself of complicated thoughts, she climbed on top of John and placed her legs on either side of his muscular thighs. She took his revitalized tool in her hand and positioned it at the puffy entrance to her vulva. She aimed the thick trunk of meat straight at her fissure, and gave him a simple edict that was without any pretense of ambiguity. She had to put this back on a level she was comfortable with.

"Fuck my slutty cunt, you lucky man."

Catherine thus took the wheel of this journey, rocking up and down on him gently, enjoying the expansion of her tunnel as he stretched her again. John was content to be the sight-seeing co-pilot, looking up at her, reveling in her beauty and the knowledge of the pleasure he was providing to his captivating mature lover.

He watched her run one hand over her tits. If a woman in her early fifties could have tits that could be described as "perky", well, Catherine had such a set. Her other hand idly drummed her clit, peeking through its cover like Little Pink Riding Hood.

John raised two fingers to her mouth and she greedily sucked on them, as if devouring a two-pronged dick. He prodded her verbally, realizing it heated her up even more. "You wish those fingers were a cock, don't you, Catherine?"

With the fingers still engulfed between her lips, she murmured through them, "Yes."

Curious, wondering if he should traverse this slippery slope, he couldn't help but to inquire, "Have you had two men at once?"

He felt her cunt quiver and tighten around him at the bold inquisition. "Yes," she admitted. His cock twitched inside of her, hearing her confession.

He reached back and eased his index finger into her brown puckered asshole, feeling the the heat radiating from her body, her anus serving as a conductor of sorts for the sexual electricity shooting charges through her every fiber.

She tried to relax her sphincter to accommodate the digital intrusion. John cautiously snaked his finger into her ass up to the first knuckle.

"How about more than two men at once, Catherine?" he continued. It was as if he knew her history.

"Yes," she grunted, squeezing his finger within her backside muscles, while still churning her cunt on his dick and sucking the fingers on his other hand, preparing to detonate once again.

He was out of fingers now, and his toes weren't going to reach. "More than three?"

Catherine opened her eyes and gave him a mockingly stern look. "Don't press your luck. What do you think I am, a slut or something?" They smiled at each other, a lovers' inside joke.

Duly chastised, and knowing when to shut up and fuck (or just shut the fuck up), they fucked leisurely in a myriad of positions for the better part of an hour as the clock ticked past three AM. Coherent conversation stopped except for their mutual expressions of pleasure uttered in monosyllabic, muted grunts of desire.

Every several minutes, John would withdraw from Catherine and begin to lick and suck on her pussy, lapping up the residue of juices from her small mini-orgasms that dribbled and hung on her labia. C

Catherine would return the favor by sucking John to the precipice of orgasm, stopping just short each time she felt his sack begin to swell. Their frantic fucking from earlier in the evening had evolved into a middle-of-the-night harmonious two-performer ballet, each sharing turns as the choreographer.

In the midst of this carnal marathon, John changed the subject category to 'current events'. "You never know until you ask, right?" he reasoned in his head.

"Since you're stuck with just me, do you want a certain stranger to fuck you in the ass tonight, Catherine?"

She leaned down to kiss him with a gleam in her eye. The kiss lasted for several minutes while their mutual thrusting escalated. It was a kiss that indicated an affirmative reply. She hopped off of him. "Be right back."

She was going 'wabbit hunting'.

She came back to bed and proudly held up her toy. "I don't have any lube, so we'll have to improvise, OK?" John looked the the sleek jelly vibrator with some awe. He articulated his wonderment. "It looks like they are making some great technological advances in the vibrator field these days. I haven't seen one quite like that, I admit."

Catherine playfully rubbed the vibrator over his testicles. "Novice. And here I thought you might have invented it."

She rolled onto her side and inserted Mister Bunny snugly into her already stretched cunt. Her juices dribbled out of the side of her snatch, on the perimeter of the dildo. She curled a leg first up in the air and then over John's back.

He, too, had rolled onto his side and was effectively spooning her now. She drooled some saliva onto her palm and began to give John an energetic hand job, serving the dual purpose of both lubricating and further stiffening him.

She smiled over her shoulder at him after a few moments and nodded, indicating she was ready to accept him in this most intimate way, feeling his sword at her sacred entrance. "Go slow," she whispered. "You're like a double-wide going into a one-lane tunnel."

He kissed her the entire time he eased into her anus, trying to divert her attention during this transition from temporary discomfort to intense, exhilarating pleasure. The rabbit stimulating her vagina and clit also served to further relax Catherine, and John's shaft eventually slipped past her anal ring and deeper into her bowels.

Her body shook and trembled as some subterranean tsunami rumbled deep within her. Reacting to her cues, John kissed Catherine's neck and tweaked her impossibly erect nipples, stimulating all of her sensitive pressure points.

With a cock embedded firmly in her anus, a vibrator in her cunt, hands on her breasts, and lips on her neck, Catherine.........waited...........held off.......and..................

God, how she came. Punctuated by a series of guttural, primal squeals and moans that rattled the ornaments on the mantle of the fireplace.

Provoked by her proclamations of glee, John fired his own volley of blasts into her anal cavity. Her last waking thought before collapsing into semi-consciousness, and then slumber, was John pulling out of her cum-soaked asshole and feeling the trickles of their mixed cum roll down her thighs.

She was awakened hours later by the first streams of sunlight peeking through the window panes. Taking a few seconds to get her bearings, she rolled over to see that she was.......alone. No stranger in her bed, not this morning. She rubbed her eyes. How much had she had to drink? Was it all a dream? The dull throbbing in her ass told her that, no, it was most definitely not a dream.

She looked throughout the room and saw that her dress was folded neatly on ottoman. Yes, that ottoman. She felt a profound pang of disappointment, more than that actually. Sadness.

Had he just left, just like that, without a word? And then she saw the note. She staggered out of bed on unsteady legs, like a newborn filly, and anticipated it was the "had a great time" didactic farewell epistle.

Instead, she could barely make out his scrawl, but it said, "Showered in my room. Didn't want to wake you. Will be back with breakfast for us."

She clutched the note to her naked chest and grinned like a schoolgirl who just got the phone call for the prom invitation by her crush. She walked into the bathroom, leaned over the porcelain sink to splash some water on her face, and looked at her image in the mirror.

Her hair, usually neatly coiffed, was splayed in enough directions to make Don King envious.

"Wow. Now, THAT is a just-fucked look," she mused. She jumped in the shower, letting the warm water restore her to some semblance of morning vitality. When she emerged, she was just about to adorn herself in the plush robe after toweling off when he poked his head in the door. To her surprise and amusement, he was naked, his cock full, thick, semi-erect.