Temptation

CHAPTER ONE Even though she was thirty, the attractive housewife with the ginger hair which matched the fuzzy V of her unsatisfied p***y was blessed with a figure so ripe and luscious that both male and female heads turned in her direction when she passed. Men's eyes brightened with lust and women's narrowed with envy. The high t**s which demanded a D-cup bra were topped with large pastel n*****s, two tempting berries that ached to be sucked by an eager mouth. Pam pressed the thirsty towel against her enormous boobs. Patting them dry, she gazed down at her full bosom, letting her fingers trace the outline of its generous curves. Suddenly, she dropped the towel so that she could grab her big firm breasts with both hands and squeeze them good and hard. How I wish Ross would do this to me, she thought, her cunt beating in silent agreement as her fingers continued to knead the pale flesh. I wish he'd grab my t**s and squeeze them till they hurt! Pam's full lips parted as she fantasized about her husband. Though the woman with the shoulder-length hair often daydreamed about what she secretly longed to have her man do to her in bed, Pam's erotic dreams had yet to be fulfilled. She loved her good-looking husband with all her heart and wanted nothing more in life than a happy and successful marriage. But Ross was not the passionate, expert, and demanding lover that Pam had hoped he'd be when they married over a year ago. If only he'd pinch and twist my n*****s, she sighed, manipulating the pointed tips with her own fingers until they stood out rosy and stiff with excitement. And then suck them! she thought, closing her eyes. God, how I wish Ross would suck the hell out of my boobs! Pam's fingers worked faster, plucking her n*****s as she envisioned Ross' mouth pulling on her tender flesh. Her cunt throbbed with a steady beat, now, and its love-starved inner walls grew creamy with desire and frustration. A frustration that was plaguing the big-busted housewife more and more lately. "Oh, why torture myself?" she groaned, trying to quell the all-too-familiar ache of her naked and lovely body. Pam opened her eyes, abandoned her excited t**s, and bent over to retrieve the damp towel. The delicate petals of her p***y peeked out, pink and glistening and ready for action. But Ross wasn't home. Pam's thirty-five-year old husband, an insurance agent, had left the house over an hour ago, saying that he had to call on a prospective customer. "Maybe he'll want to do it when he comes home," Pam told herself hopefully. Even a half-hearted f**k was better than none. The voluptuous housewife tried to divert her thoughts as she dried her nude body. But when she blotted the curly mass of reddish brown pubic hair, she couldn't resist letting the towel linger between her parted legs. 'Mmmmmm," she murmured as the nubbiness of the terry teased at the sensitive membranes of her hungry p***y. "Feels good." She slid the towel back and forth between her outspread thighs, thrilling to the feel of the rough fabric against the bud of her c******s. She moved the towel slowly, sensuously. The pounding of her s*x-starved cunt grew stronger, more demanding, and the juices of her s****l arousal flowed more freely. "Damn, how I need a good f**k!" she whimpered. It felt good to say it. "f**k!" she repeated, feeling her excitement mount at the sound of the forbidden word. Pam had read numerous lusty novels over the years, books that were filled with four-letter words. Words that she knew Ross would find disgusting. How shocked her unsuspecting husband would be if he knew how often the wife he so revered used so-called dirty words in her s****l fantasies. Pam was ashamed of her secret thoughts but she couldn't stop them. All those words increased her s****l excitement, stimulated her. Even though she knew that Ross would be horrified, Pam wished, desperately, that the man she loved would say and do the wild, uninhibited things that lovers did in the novels she read in secret. Books that left her aching with need and envy. Panting, Pam spread her suntanned legs, removing the towel. In its place came her eager fingers. The sexually-frustrated housewife pressed her hand against the gaping creamy folds of her parted p***y and stroked. Her azure eyes were thick-lidded and bright with lust as she explored the wetness of her cunt. When her fingers brushed against the swollen bud of her c******s, Pam gasped with delight. Oh damn, damn, that feels good! she told herself, shivering with pleasure. The rigid n*****s of her twin hills of flesh were two fiery needles now, stiff and oh-so-ready for roving hands and greedy, sucking lips. Pam's fingers moved to the oily slit of her v****a. Her passion-coated cunt was pounding with need. How the naked and spread-legged woman ached to shove her fingers all the way up the deprived depths of her leaking p***y. To pretend, all the while, that it was Ross' stiff prick inside her. "Yes, Ross' PRICK!" she said, savoring the word. "Not his p***s," she added, her voice tremulous as her fingers continued to stroke. "But his big, dripping c**k!" Suddenly, Pam caught a glimpse of her flushed and lustful face in the bathroom mirror and the reflection brought her to her senses. She quickly withdrew her hand from her throbbing cunt. Thoroughly ashamed of her wanton behavior, of the fact that she had begun to masturbate again, the naked housewife bent over the wash basin, her huge t**s dangling like pale giant teardrops as she scrubbed her hands. She felt soiled, dirty, and shameful. Tears stung her eyes as she cleaned the fingers that just moments earlier, had been engaged in self-stimulation of her frustrated p***y. Pam had been m**********g frequently and even though the things she did to herself in secret brought temporary physical relief, they also left her with feelings of shame and guilt. When she reached for a clean towel to dry her hands, Pam noticed that the water level in the tub hadn't changed. She checked to make certain that she hadn't left the washcloth over the drain or failed to remove the stopper. Convinced that she'd done neither, Pam quickly dressed into shorts and a halter, then went to the utility room for a plunger. She spent several minutes trying to free the clogged drain but her efforts were in vain. "Damn," she muttered, placing her hands on her curvacious hips. "Looks like this thing is really stopped up this time." The bathtub drain had been sluggish ever since Pam and Ross Jamison rented this house three weeks earlier. If they weren't still lacking a telephone, Pam would have contacted their landlord about it before this. When they'd given old Mr. Rodgers the first month's rent in advance, the man promised to take care of any problems which might arise. He assured them that he'd send a repairman out should anything go wrong with the plumbing or wiring. Mr. Rogers admitted that he seldom visited his income property these days. Instead, he relied on hired help. "Jus' gimme a ring," the wiry, bent man had advised. "And I'll see to it that someone gits out there right quick. I don't want me no unhappy tenants, no sirree!" he added. Pam stared at the water-filled tub and decided it was time to see if the old landlord lived up to his promises. Seeing she and Ross were still on a waiting list for telephone installation, Pam sighed and headed for the back door. The pretty housewife would have preferred having Ross drive to a public phone to call Mr. Rogers but there was no telling what time her husband might come home. He might get in too late to telephone the landlord and Pam wanted that tub repaired as soon as possible. With this midsummer heat and no air-conditioning, a daily bath was definitely a necessity! I'll go ask the Tomiseks if I can use their phone, she thought as she stepped out into the sultry July night, her cantaloupe-size t**s jiggling beneath her clinging halter. Pam was not one to impose on neighbors, especially ones she scarcely knew. But she hoped that when she explained the problem, the couple next door wouldn't mind her asking to use their phone just this once. Her rounded buttocks jutted enticingly from beneath her brief shorts as she treaded quietly on the soft grass which was already coated with evening dew. Dusk had descended and the ambrosial scent of phlox hung heavy in the humid air. Fireflies lighted her path with brief, intermittent flickers as the voluptuous woman crossed the lot line separating their house from that of Blanche and Stan Tomisek. Pam saw that the lamp over Blanche's kitchen sink was on and she wondered if Stan, who was working the night shift down at the factory, was asleep. He started his shift at midnight, she knew, and it was twenty minutes to nine. "I'll knock softly at the kitchen door," Pam whispered to herself, heading for the rear of the house. The Tomisek's phone was in the kitchen, anyway, and Pam would make her call to Mr. Rogers as quickly and quietly as possible, then make a hasty exit. When she passed beneath the bedroom window, Pam heard voices and the attractive housewife paused, feeling somewhat relieved. Evidently, Stan was awake so she wouldn't have to worry about the possibility of disturbing him. She was about to continue on toward the Tomisek's back door when Blanche's sudden, ecstatic cry kept Pam rooted to the spot, on toward the Tomisek's back door when Blanche's sudden, ecstatic cry kept Pam rooted to the spot. "Ohhhhhh, Stan!" Blanche cried out in a tremulous voice. Pam stood mute and transfixed as she heard her blonde neighbor sigh. "Ohhhhh, that feels marvelloussss!" Stan's gruff voice was next. "You really dig havin' yer cunt licked, don't you, baby?" "Mmmmmmm, yessssss!" Blanche agreed. "But Jesus, don't stop, honey. Give me more, more! Lick my cunt dry!" Stan emitted a gutteral laugh. "Then spread yer legs, baby," he ordered. "And let me have a hell of a good go at yer sweet little pussy." Pam stood beneath her neighbors' bedroom window and felt the fuzzy triangle between her legs begin to pulsate at the sounds of Blanche's soft whimpers and the wet slurping sound which accompanied her outcries. Stan's tongue! she realized, breathing harder as she listened. Why, he's actually tonguing Blanche down there! She knew that she should creep silently away and return to her house. It was the only decent thing to do but the s*x-starved housewife couldn't move. It was just like in the books she'd read, just like her own secret s****l fantasies. As she listened to Blanche's moans and cries of delight, Pam's p***y throbbed with hunger and envy. The crotch of her bikini panties grew damp as she wondered what it was like to have a man do that, to feel a warm wet tongue inside her open cunt. Oh, if only Ross would go down on me, Pam thought longingly, her huge breasts rising and falling beneath her skimpy halter as her heart pounded with excitement. Perspiration trickled down between her enormous boobs and the creamy nectar of arousal staining her panties felt pleasantly warm against the pulsating membranes of her p***y. If only he'd spread my legs and bury his face in my p***y and suck the hell out of me! she thought. But Ross wasn't that kind of a lover and he did not consider Pam that kind of a woman. Ross made love to Pam as though she were some sort of delicate china doll that might break. Pam adored Ross, loved him with all her being, but he did not satisy her in bed. He was much too gentle and tame and it was always over much too quickly for Pam. Most of the time, she didn't even achieve orgasm. Yes, somehow, Pam just couldn't bring herself to tell Ross how she felt about his lovemaking, about her secret s****l desires. She was afraid he'd be disappointed in her, that he'd consider her indecent. How lucky Blanche is, Pam thought enviously as she stood beneath the window. To have herself a real man!