Swinging in the 70s Ch. 05

She screamed and tried to move but, well, she might be a big girl but I knew the leverage and I held her there while the water ran cold and then slowly, so slowly, it turned hot.

When I reached past her and started blending cold into the now too-hot water she bit my ear.

"That's going to cost you," she said.

"Oh?" I asked, reaching for the shampoo, my wife's Prell if it matters, and started on her hair.

"You'll see," she said, but she was smiling, enjoying this little intimacy.

I realized it was a race. She had ridiculously thick, curly hair, and the water heater had limited capacity. So I turned off the water as I worked my fingers through the mass of her hair, then turned it on to rinse and turned it off again to do her face, on to rinse, and then off while I did her body.

I was surprised at the soft pouch of a pot belly covered with a mass of stretch marks I found. She had obviously been pregnant at some point.

"Explain?" I said, softly, my fingers playing with that soft warm pouch.

She was serious for the first time that night.

"I was 13 and my stepfather started at me," she said. "I was pregnant at 14 and they gave away my baby. I got emancipated at 15 and I've been on my own since."

She smiled at me, a tear running down her cheek.

"Now you know, and now you're still going to pay," she said, giggling, "so finish washing me so I can be presentable to your delicate senses."

So I did. I used the bar of soap, Zest that my doctor had prescribed for my slightly oily skin and finished her up.

When the hot water ran out I turned it off and then started with a towel. She giggled as I toweled that thick mass of frizzy red hair and then made a soft humming sound as I dried her face and then her body. She giggled and said, "I think they're dry," when I paid more attention than was absolutely necessary to her big boobs.

I laughed and said, "Caught me," and started drying myself.

I watched as she casually rummaged through the drawers of the little vanity (Everything in that trailer was little. Looking back, and now owning a travel trailer, I guess you had to be in your 20s to live like that, in about 450 usable square feet.) finding Monica's Johnson's Baby Powder, and applying it liberally between her legs and under those big tits.

She smiled as she squeezed past me and I watched her big ass move out of sight as she moved down the hall.

I dried, and rinsed my mouth with Listerine, watching her pass by the door on the way to the bedroom as I gargled, her bottle of Jim Beam in her hand.

I spat, rinsed, spat, wiped my lips, and went in search of a drunk redhead.

"Have a drink," she said, holding out the bottle.

"I'm not much on hard liquor," I said.

"Have a drink," she repeated, "lightweight."

So I took the bottle and took a healthy drink. The hard alcohol made me shudder and as I stood there, kind of shivering, I felt it, on top of the beer and pot.

Her grin was predatory. Hell, her grin was practically carnivorous.

"Come here, Baby," she said, her voice steady and soft, almost alluring in its whisky hoarseness.

I just looked for a minute. Damn, she looked sexy. As she stretched, those tufts of orange hair in her armpits practically glowed, and the pale powder under her breasts and between her legs made an interesting contrast to the overall pinkness of her skin.

She rolled up on her side, patted the sheet again, and said, "Come on, David, relax, I like to be on top and do the work."

Okay, let's be honest now. What man could resist an offer like that? I suppose there might be one or two in a nation of 325,000,000 people, but surely no more than that.

I crawled up onto the bed and flopped, dramatically I thought, onto my back.

She giggled, took another pull from her bottle, and then placed it, in that careful way of a drunk not wanting to spill something, on the little bedside table.

She swung up onto her knees, sitting back on her feet in that way only a woman can pull off, and ran her fingernail down my erect cock, starting at the bottom of my urethra, my peehole, and then slowly down until she traced the scrotal raphe, that little raised line that divides the ballsack, until her fingernail touched my asshole.

I twitched and squirmed.

"Not bad," she said in a mock serious, almost clinical tone. "Good girth, acceptable length, and about a seven on the firmness scale."

She kissed me, a good kiss, the bourbon on her breath still strong.

"Let's see if we can make improvements," she said, sitting back and doing the fingernail thing again.

And again.

The fourth time she lingered at my asshole, her fingernail scratching lightly, giving me a new sensation and bringing my erection to full, Adamantium-level hardness.

"I warned you," she said, smiling, as she swung her leg over me and used her hand to point my hard cock straight up while she scooted around holding that bright orange muff an inch above the glans of my ridiculously hard erection, "you're going to pay for freezing me."

"Ingrid," I started but was cut off by my yell when she suddenly settled, almost dropping, and impaling herself on my cock.

It hurt.

She was completely dry and the hair that was caught up when she settled onto me added a level of scratchiness. An image flashed through my mind of being masturbated with steel wool.

She was grinning. If I had to label that look, I'd say she was grinning crazily. She reminded me of The Joker of Batman fame.

She started her hips moving and each movement hurt.

"I told you," she said, that grin in place, "and now I'm going to fuck you raw."

I tried to pull away but she just spread her knees a little, and settled more, pinning me.

When I reached for her she grabbed my wrists and used her weight to pin them beside my head while her hips continued to move, grinding into my cock that stayed so crazy hard.

It hurt but on some level, and to this day I can't understand it, I liked it.

I don't know how long it went on. That grin frightened me, but excited me too.

Finally, her body responded and I felt that wonderful slickness of an aroused woman.

And she came about 30 seconds after that.

She came spectacularly. She came explosively. She yelled a loud, "YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSsssssssssssssss," the final sibilant consonant trailing off to a whisper with her head thrown back.

But she wasn't done with me.

She released my right hand, freeing her left. She moved her hand, slowly, raising it straight up almost as if she was showing me she didn't shave. I watched that hand as it slowly, so slowly, moved down until she pinched my nose shut with her thumb and forefinger. It was almost involuntary the way my mouth opened automatically to allow my breathing to continue unabated.

Her hips kept rocking as she was doing all of that, her natural lubricants flowing freely now, soaking us both.

I watched as she slowly blew out a breath, the little zephyr breeze cooling my forehead.

Suddenly she covered my mouth with hers and inhaled, stealing my breath until she had my lungs completely empty. She even took the residual air, leaving me with that "wind knocked out of you" feeling that I felt once before in my life when, as a teenager, I had run, full speed in the dark, into a steel barricade right at chest level.

My body started to panic when she blew out, filling my lungs.

She held that position, our mouths locked together, as she came again, wet and hot and squeezing on me.

And I came with her, my pent-up need overriding the soreness.

I was getting lightheaded as we used up the oxygen in our shared air when she finally released me with a whooping gasp.

She moved, then, to lay beside me for a few seconds, gasping, and then rolled over and reached for her bottle.

She took a pull from the bottle and turned back to me.

Meanwhile, I was testing my dick, soft now, and feeling the base, wondering if she had actually, as she had so poetically put it, "fucked me raw." The way I was burning, I thought she might have.

"How?" I asked, the single word asking my question.

She smiled, a good smile, prominent front teeth suggesting some expensive dental work at some point.

"I have a mild allergy to talcum powder," she said, "It dries me completely."

"But, ummmm, you're raw too, then," I said.

"Yeah, you'll probably want to change the sheets," she said, smiling.

She laughed at the look on my face. "Yes, Sweetcheeks," she said, rolling up and kissing me, quickly, "I fuck you raw, you fuck me bloody. Seems fair to me,"

"Is this the only way it works for you?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

"No," she said, smiling, "sometimes tender is good too."

"So spend the night and we'll try that tomorrow when we're both sober," I said, kissing her.

She smiled and stretched.

"Will you be gentle?" she asked.

"Promise," I said.

She smiled, kissed me, and rolled onto her side.

I barely had time to snuggle against her before she was snoring.