WARNING:
     This story is fiction and should be treated as such.
     The following story contains descriptions of explicit sex.
If you are not an adult or reading descriptions sex stories upset
you, do not read any further.
     I am not the author.  I don't have the talent.
     I can only be the "TheEditor."  (grobert@soho.ios.com)


                              Mother's New Boarder
                                   Chapter 1

     "I understand there's an apartment for rent over this store."

     Marleen Franklin looked up from the counter she'd been cleaning, turning
to look at the stranger who'd addressed her.  He had a face which matched his
warm, friendly, deep tone of voice; full and expressive with finely delineated
lips and a rather prominent Classic Greek nose, and dark agate eyes.  He was
also big, with a massive chest and lean, tawny thighs; and he was tall,
standing over six feet in his checkered wool shirt, faded Levi's, and
Wellington boots.

     Oddly, a faint embarrassment flushed Marleen's face, confusing her
momentarily.  "W-what?" she asked, flustered, brushing back a stray wisp of
coal-black hair with her hand.  "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

     She had, but his sudden presence in her store and the charisma that had
hit her as she stared at him -- it had taken her breath away, and she could
feel her skin burning.

     the man, not much older than her own thirty-six years, she estimated,
grinned, and his eyes bored into her as if he knew that she'd heard him all
along and was feeling so damned foolish.  He said: "The room.  I saw in the
paper's want ads about the owner here having an apartment for rent.  I'd like
to see it."

     "Why, yes... yes, of course."

     "M'name is Preston.  David Preston, and I'm new here in Reedsport," he
said as Marleen walked from behind the counter, wiping her hands on a dust
cloth.  "I'm hoping to find work."

     "I'm sure you will, Mr. Preston.  Reedsport is a growing community,
especially with the new cannery.  Is that what you do? Work with fishing?"

     "Hardly," he replied with a chuckle.  "I'm a diver.  I'm going down to see
the harbor dredging company.  I know a man there who's promised me a job."  He
followed her as she walked down the aisle to a rear entrance.  "One of the
reasons I wanted to live here is because of this."

     Preston waved his arm and gazed around at the tackle and dry bait,
assorted poles, out-board motors, small boats, and other athletic equipment.
"Who owns the sporting goods shop?"

     "I do," Marleen said with a wry smile.  "Does that surprise you?  A woman
owning a sports store?"

     "Yeah," Preston smiled, eyeing her with a different appreciation.  "Yeah,
I have to admit it does.  Then you'd be the Franklin I'm supposed to rent from,
right?"

     "Right.  Marleen Franklin."

     If Marleen had been stunned by the impact of meeting David Preston,
similarly Preston was blinded by her, and he caught his breath as she continued
to talk and was leading him gracefully to the back door.  She was better
looking than Gloria nine ways from Sunday, and must be smart as well, to run
such a shop, he thought hungrily.  Looking at her smooth rounded buttocks
moving under that skirt; he had the impulsive urge to reach out and run his
fingers over the lithe moons undulating so softly and teasingly ahead of him,
and then to crush her shoulder-length hair, kiss her full, pouting lips and
suck that pair of large, proudly-cresting breasts that strained against her
thin green blouse.  She was beautiful, and he instinctively knew that she'd be
hell on wheels in bed.  She'd fuck.  She'd fuck and fuck passionately, and his
penis throbbed with impatient anticipation at the joys her wet, warm cunt could
provide.

     Sexy, obviously not bad off financially, and with the manners of
unconscious yearning, the smell of a bitch in heat about her. As the ancient
Chinese say: it is a happier state to sleep with a dead pig than an uncomplying
woman...

     "My husband left it to me when he died," she went on to say. "He was
drowned six years ago."

     Preston licked his lips.  Then she was alone... no husband ...  "I'm sorry
to hear that, Mrs. Franklin.  It must be rough to be alone and run the shop all
by yourself."

     "I have my daughter to help me.  Speaking of her --"  Marleen was standing
just inside the rear entrance now, and on her right was a flight of stairs
which led up to a hallway which ran the length of the back of the second floor.
"Wendy!" she called up the stairs.  "Wendy!"

     A small, muffled voice cried back: "What is it, Mom?"

     "Watch the store for a minute, will you?"

     "Aw, Mom!"

     "Don't 'aw, Mom' me, young girl.  Do it."

     There was a slam of a door, and then a young teenage girl, all of sixteen,
bounded down the stairs.  She wore brief black shorts rolled tight and even
shorter against her smooth thighs, and her aqua blouse was open a button too
low, the material clung to her budding but prominent breasts electrically.  She
was barefoot, her slim legs firm and downy golden with tan, and her auburn hair
was drawn back tightly from her temples into a single long, thick braid which
fell across her shoulder and bounced invitingly against her right breast.

     Preston couldn't be sure, but it seemed to him that the daughter, Wendy,
had hastily buttoned her blouse over her and that she wasn't wearing any bra
underneath.  Puckers were evident in the cloth about where her tiny,
dark-ringed nipples would be. Christ!  This would be some place to rent if he
could...

     "Wendy, I want to show this gentleman the other apartment. I'll only be
gone for a few minutes."

     "Well, hurry," Wendy complained.  "I want to get back out in the sun some
more."

     "You have the rest of summer to get a tan," Marleen said primly.  "And you
shouldn't be out on the porch without --"  She hesitated, glancing quickly at
Preston.  "You know what I mean, Wendy."

     "Aw, nobody can see," Wendy grumbled, walking into the store.

     Marleen and Preston went up the stairs, and David was glad that the woman
was in front of him, leading the way.  His cock was now rock hard and pressing
painfully against his underpants and trousers.  First the mother, seductive...
and then the more blatant daughter, running around half naked after sunning
topless on a porch.  He stifled a groan of sheer lewdness.  This was the
hottest potential he'd stumbled into since he and a couple of buddies took
three sisters out in the woods when he was in the Navy, and they all had turns
on each other, the sisters holding hands the whole time...

     The apartment was small and the furniture used and cheap, but it was what
he'd expected to find for the money he had, and it was clean.  Which was more
than he could say for the cockroach farm he was temporarily hoteled in.  There
was a combination livingroom and kitchen, the distinction between the two areas
drawn by a dinette set lengthwise against one wall.  The floor was carpeted in
the Old Rose pattern popular with hotel lobbies, and the few pictures on the
walls were strictly Woolworth Pastoral.  Against the far wall was a gas heater,
and when he looked in the bedroom, he was glad to see that the heater had a
small duct to pipe hot air into it as well as the main room.

     The bedroom -- well, what was there to say about a bedroom? It had the
usual double bed, closet, lamps and bureau.  The rug was newer and a different
color, but same pattern.  He shut the door.

     "There's a porch which is actually the roof of the storage room below,"
she said, nodding over her shoulder towards the hall and beyond.  "You can't
see it from here, but you get to it from either end of the hallway; there's
doors leading out onto it."

     "I'd like to see it if I may," Preston asked...

     The porch was railed and its flooring was of redwood slats. It had a
magnificent view of the whole Reedsport harbor, of the frosty blue Pacific
lapping gently against the sandy, boulder and driftwood-strewn shore, of the
verdant green lacery of trees and shrubs which enclosed the sheltered harbor
like a crescent-shaped cove.  To his left was the main part of Reedsport, a
community of some twenty thousand, nestled in the heart of the fishing and
timber producing area of fertile Northern California.

     Reedsport was in between Crescent City and Eureka, and not much different
than its sister town along the Oregon Coast further north.  However, here the
lumber mills and catch basins for the wood weren't in the immediate vicinity,
so the air was fresh and clear and without the dull haze of burning sawdust.
The cannery Marleen Franklin had referred to lay over the crest of a large
hill, out of sight and smell, built along a sand and rock jetty, which had once
been the home of an oyster processing plant during the Depression.  Reedsport
itself had a quiet but not sluggish atmosphere, the residents going about their
affairs with civic pride and shrewd dignity, without the paranoiac hysteria
which can so easily infect a growing area.  Not the target for hordes of
invading tourists, the zoning laws permitted motels and amusements only along
the strip of US 101 Alternate, the old Coast Highway which ran through the
center of town.

     To his right, David Preston could see the residential area, sprawling for
some distance around the peninsula, its homes covert and blended with the firs
and pines and redwoods, showing logical and ecological building rather than the
flattened bareness of tract developments.  While the fishing harbor was at the
bottom of the town and increasingly more at the Cannery, the bay was dotted
with piers and boathouses of the shore-owners; Reedsport was the perfect mix of
pleasure and business.

     Directly ahead of him was the back yard of the sporting goods store.  It
also had a pier, a wooden finger of planks sticking out in the water; a
klinker-built Thompson fourteen footer with some sort of outboard attached
bobbing in the salty swell, covered with a green tarp: and high wood fences on
both sides running from the building out into the water.

     "Excellent," he said.  "I really do want to stay here, Mrs. Franklin.
Or... may I call you Marleen?"

     His smile was so winning, his charm so overpowering, that again Marleen
felt the heat of redness stain her cheeks.  "I... I suppose so."

     "In that case, call me Dave."

     "We haven't decided the details yet, Mr. Pre -- Dave," Marleen said,
feeling almost schoolgirlish at her silly way of responding toward this man.
What was wrong with her?  She was around men all day, running the shop the way
she did...  She cleared her throat, getting a grip on herself.  "The rent is
seventy-five dollars a month, including utilities, first and last months
payable before occupancy.  And there's a deposit of fifty dollars which I'll
refund when you move out."

     "Deal," Preston said emphatically.  "That is, if..."

     "Yes?"

     "Well, one of the reasons I like your place is that it's fenced in back
--"

     "Naturally," Marleen broke in hastily.  "I don't want burglars to break in
the back or children to wander through and possibly hurt themselves."  She
realized that she was all but babbling, over-eager as if she wanted this
strange man to move in, to be pleased and without any problems.  What was the
matter with her?

     "Well, you see, I own a dog."  He looked at her, trying to see her
reaction.  Dogs and little children screwed up more situations, including the
renting of apartments.  "He's a friendly cuss, loves people..."

     "We'd have to see him first of course, but personally I like dogs.  I
mean, if they're real dogs, and not those little dust- mops that run around
biting ankles and yapping all the time."

     Preston laughed warmly, and Marleen found herself joining in. "No,
Marleen, this isn't a dust-mop.  King is a German Shepherd, only he's not quite
pure-bred.  His mother was, but the kennel she was at didn't watch her well
enough one season, and she mated with an Alaskan Husky.  King was the result --
almost all Shepherd, only a little shorter and thicker, and much more even
tempered -- and I got him for nothing.  But he'll be a good watch-dog around
here, especially if I can build him a kennel out there, maybe by the rear door
there.  He won't be any trouble, I promise."

     "I'm sure he won't, David."

     Preston opened his wallet, a battered and dog-eared brown leather with
frosted-plastic picture windows and bits of paper stuck haphazardly to its
pockets.  He gave Mrs. Franklin two hundred dollars in twenties.  "I'll move in
this afternoon, if you don't mind.  I don't have much stuff.  It's all at the
Buckingham Hotel, on --"

     "I know the place," Marleen said, wrinkling her nose in disdain.  God
forgive the fancy name, it was over a garage, entered by a flight of stairs
narrow and dark, open to the street. No door, no entry way, the place from the
outside had the sleaziest look imaginable.  Window shades were dirty and
cracked and crooked, and the curtains, where they existed at all, were limp,
bedraggled, and filthy.  It was a fierce looking place, and Marleen had never
been prompted to set foot in the place.  But it was about the only reasonably
priced place for transients in Reedsport, which didn't cater to "outsiders"
much -- beyond the expensive and garish motels along the Strip.

     She took the money offered.  "I'll write up a receipt later," she told
him.  "Your mail can be addressed to the store, and will be in with mine.  I'll
sort it."  She handed Preston the key with which she'd opened the apartment
door, telling him she'd air it out if he liked, and that there was a side
entrance separate from the store at the foot of the stairs, connecting with an
alley-way and gate leading to the sidewalk.  "The key works the gate, too.
You're free to come and go as you wish; I'm not a nosy woman.

     "Good," he grinned, and she thought she caught a glimmer of risqueness in
his eyes.  "I was afraid that you'd mind if I had, ah... visitors now and
then."

     Visitors...  Polite euphemism for girls in his room.  Mrs. Franklin found
her throat suddenly constricting and a weird, loud pounding of breath in her
chest.  Girls, to make love with... Her head whirled, but not with shock.  That
was the galling part -- she was a good woman in her own mind, a respectable
grass-roots widow with a child to raise, who had successfully placed sex in the
back of her mind since her husband's death, and she should be shocked. But she
wasn't.  Stoically she had spent six years with only the memories of Howie's
wonderful love-making and his delightful ways of causing her utmost joy, and
though she'd been on dates now and then, there'd never been a man among the
fishermen and other acquaintances she and her late Howie had known that had
attracted her.  Even then it wouldn't have meant sexual contact, for she would
save herself for marriage, as she had the first time.

     But as she looked up at the frank, open expression on David Preston's
face, she felt no bitter and righteous indignation.  She felt something in its
place -- what?  It was a shock, then, a heart-quickening, blood-pulsing shock
to realize then what was causing the turmoil in her mind.  She was saddened!
She was standing there, having met a man for less than fifteen minutes, and she
was dismayed to learn that he knew other women, that he was interested in
making love to them instead of... instead of her!

     Mrs. Marleen Franklin, a woman who had always prided herself in being
honest with herself above all, of accepting her frailties but determined to
overcome them and be a strong and resourceful person, of taking on life's
responsibilities and working without rancor for a better day, a happier life,
felt her body quiver inside, though its fleshy shell of skin remained
motionless, if slightly blushing.  She was actually jealous of the other women
in her new boarder, David Preston's, life, and that was a bruise to her
disciplined morality.

     No, she couldn't turn him out, not for being a man.  And what a man he
was, she had to admit, a secret tingling of excitement spreading through her
loins.  He stood in a lord-like, animalistic splendor, not arrogance or cruel
maliciousness -- only with the innate healthiness of an earthy,
hedonistically-oriented male.  He took his women, a modern-day Ghengis-Khan or
Viking; from his flaxen, wavy hair down to his strong, muscular legs, he was
the conqueror.  No, she couldn't turn him out or deny him his physical pleasure
any more than the maidens of Rome could do anything but melt to the ravishments
of the Visgoth barbarians.  She couldn't, because the pure and basic magnetism
between a man -- a true man -- and a healthy woman wouldn't allow it.  She felt
this without knowing it, without admitting it.

     Her mind, a product of puritanical society, was no match for her body, the
evolution of hundreds of thousands of years of instinct.  Adam and Eve didn't
worry about proprieties, only about the heat and needs of one another, and
their mingling seeds had been refined and sophisticated, but were still the
foundation for both Marleen and David.

     Dizzily, she heard herself reply in a way which an hour ago she would have
labeled as impossible.  From a mouth which seemed not her own, came the echoing
words: "I'm an adult, David, and once was happily married.  Have your visitors
as often as you like, but all I ask is that you be discreet.  Not for my sake
as much as for my daughter's."

     "I understand," Preston said huskily.

     Marleen returned to managing the shop after David Preston left.  She took
care of the customers in a peripheral, dazed way, her mind still charged with
the emotion of meeting a man who attracted her tremendously, who had awakened
her drives and needs and made her aware that she was a woman.  It was a
tremendous jolt to her nervous system, and though she had no intention of
throwing herself at him, or even of being other than the distant, courteous,
and civil neighbor and landlady that she had always been with her tenants, she
still couldn't get the piquancy of his masculinity out of her nostrils or the
tight band of jealousy from around her chest.

     She ached, and her firm inner thighs and pubic mound swelled with heated
blood... the blood of unwanted, subconscious arousal. It scared her, and she
solidly resolved not to let David Preston know how he'd affected her, or let
herself go beyond this stage of, she thought, mild interest.

                                  *    *    *

     Night had settled on Reedsport.  From the set of three small- paned
windows overlooking the street, David Preston stared out at the building across
from the sporting goods shop and his apartment.  Not that there was anything
especially to see -- the building was an old grey stucco apartment house, and
the few windows that were lighted were covered with curtains and shades. The
street was empty below, and only faintly could he hear the crumbling surf from
the ocean behind him and the occasional bark of King in the yard.

     His eyes weren't particularly focused on the non-existent events anyway;
his thoughts were turned inward, and he was mulling over and over the fantastic
luck at finding this apartment, and the desirability of his new landlady.  Not
to mention her daughter!  Sweet, virginal pussy -- it was enough to make his
balls explode, just thinking about it!  He'd fuck them both, given the
opportunity, and as he stood there in contemplation, he decided to let fate
have a few nudges so that the opportunities might present themselves.

     "Davy-boy," a high yet throaty voice said to him.  "You want a beer?"

     He didn't turn.  "Mm."

     "Well, do you?"

     He turned then, and smiled.  "Sure, Gloria.  Sure, I'd love one."

     "Me too.  Boy, is it hot, especially after all this moving."

     Preston watched her as she walked to the kitchen and opened the small
refrigerator, comparing her body from behind mentally with Marleen Franklin's.
Gloria Talbot came out damned good, but second place.  Not because of her body,
which was actually lusher than the Franklin woman's well-proportioned form, or
her walk -- it was the other things, he decided.  The things which make a
relationship lasting and never boring; but from the sexual aspect, Gloria had
been one of the finest swingers he'd ever picked up.

     She was bending over, picking out the two cans of beer, her perfectly
proportioned buttocks tight in a pair of shorts shorter than the ones young
Wendy Franklin had been wearing.  She wore a white velour blouse and a half-bra
which thrust her magnificent, globular breasts out, their upper portions
clearly visible as being bare almost to her pink nipples.  Seductive, that way.
Her legs were the kind he never tired of running his hands along, and her back
was smooth and creamy, and he could span her waist with both of his hands,
flaring into thighs and hips that were invitingly succulent in their shape.

     Then she straightened languidly, a beautiful feline cat, and opened the
snap-tabs over the sink to catch the foam.  She swiveled around, thrusting her
hip out slightly, and extended her hand, which held one of the beers.

     "Here, lover..."

     "Not there," he replied, feeling the stirrings of sexual arousal in his
gut.  Damn, she could always do this to him, always, even in opening a
God-forsaken can of beer.  She was a walking sex machine, he thought lustily.
Absolutely without scruples or restraints, and her eyes sparkled as she
undulated seductively toward him, her expression of promised salaciousness, and
he knew that she was primed and ready for him to make love to her.  No, not to
make love to; to fuck.

     And that was the main difference between Gloria Talbot and Marleen
Franklin, and what made Gloria runner-up in his private contest.  Preston
demanded a challenge, a game in which he could pit his experience and cunning
against a woman's pride and virtue. He loved the searching for clues and
vulnerabilities and making the adjustments, the inexorable moving into intimate
channels, retreating and advancing with skill and daring, chancing his
abilities against hers.  Marleen Franklin had that air of steadiness and
sincerity about her which promised such action and made him want to give chase.
The tension of the chase excited him, answering a need to master the female
sex.  He'd been a scrawny little bastard in school, a thyroid condition
preventing him from developing when his friends had, and the girls had totally
ignored him; when he had found a few years later that girls were attracted to
him, once he had grown, he'd been afflicted by the subconscious drive to
compete, to continually prove to himself that he was a man.

     Gloria Talbot had been sitting in a bar, hungry for a man, when he'd met
her up in Portland, Oregon, hungry but not starving. The bar had been
smoke-fogged and Preston had been whisky-dulled, yet there had never been a
question in his mind as to whether she would or wouldn't; only the one as to
how good she'd be, and a single look at her had assured him that she'd be
active and tasty. He'd known she'd put out -- it was in her eyes, the loose,
cock- sucker quality of her smile, the way she would move her long, too- yellow
hair back over her ears with a movement of her arm and head that made her
breasts jiggle slightly.  That had been four months ago, and she'd been with
him ever since, an awful lot of woman for a guy that was practically broke and
living the ramshackle life. She was the best thing that had come along, up to
now, up to when he'd met the Franklins, mother and daughter...

     "Here, Davy-boy," she purred.  "Let's take them in the bedroom."

     "In a minute."

     "Now..."

     He laughed and put his arms around her, against the soft muscles of her
back, and sliding his hands down, he cupped one full, hardening breast.
"Aren't you tired after carrying all my things up here?"

     "Yes, but not that tired."

     "When are you moving in with your brother and sister-in-law?" That was one
of the reasons he'd ended up in Reedsport.  He was a diver by profession, but
he didn't know anybody at the dredging company, the latter a white lie to allay
any fears about him drifting that Marleen Franklin might have had.  But Gloria
knew some people, including her brother, and Reedsport was an excellent town in
which to find a job, so when she had said she was heading south, Preston had
decided to go along.  Nothing to lose -- he'd just been blackballed from the
Union in Portland.

     "Tomorrow," she replied.  "But let's think about tonight."

     He laughed again and let his hands rove further down, around her slender
waist and onto the roundness of her quivering buttocks.  The shorts were so
tight that he could tell that she wasn't wearing any panties underneath --
there wasn't the tell-tale ridge of elastic.

     "Don't you ever wear panties?"

     "I can't afford to lose any more of them, and you keep ripping them off of
me," she said and pouted in mock anger.  "I'm down to Saturday, Sunday, and
Monday."  She was talking about the set of French Day-of-the-Week panties that
he'd bought for her as a present some time ago.  "Thursday was torn beyond
repair."

     "Sorry about that," he chuckled and kissed her.  Her lips were parted and
wet, and she did some wild motions with her tongue, making him suddenly
feverish with desire, and she ground her pelvis into his loins, her pubic mound
pushing circularly against his penis, which grew hard with impending lust.  He
began to breathe harshly, and then with the coyness of her teasing ways, she
broke his clasp and stood back, letting her wet pink tongue slowly moisten her
soft, full lips.  Provocatively, Gloria unbuttoned her blouse and let him gaze
lewdly at her burgeoning globes which trembled in their barely sufficient
halter.  She let her blouse hang open, and then she unbuttoned his shirt and
she pressed her warm breasts against his naked chest, writhing a little as she
kissed him ardently.  He'd seen and possessed her body innumerable times, and
they both knew what positions they liked, what foreplay they liked, what would
turn each of them on and off, but Gloria was practiced and charming and could
somehow make each time seem the first time.  It was incredible and uncanny to
him how she could do it, and a hell of good substitute for the desire to
conquer which ran so strongly through him.  And he could do anything to her he
wanted in bed, and she loved it; she loved cock.  She wouldn't do one trick
he'd ever asked her, but then few women would.  Which was too bad, because the
ones who did loved it.

     Yes, it was too bad that Gloria wasn't a virginal, naturally reluctant
woman -- but then, once a woman had let her passion overcome her inclinations,
she never was.  And it was too bad that Gloria didn't like King.  As David
Preston had told her: love me, love my dog...

     But at that moment, fired with the building heat of his loins, his penis
and testicles swollen and painful with arousal that wanted to burst the
confines of his clothes and spew orgasmically into the hungry, wet tunnel of
Gloria's hotly sticking vagina, he didn't care about her drawbacks.  He reached
for the button and zipper on her shorts, but she stopped him.

     "The bedroom, Davy-boy.  Let's try out your new mattress, hmmm?  Let's
throw our own, private little housewarming party. Just you and me and that
lovely big cock of yours..."

     They entered the bedroom and Preston took his shirt and threw it on the
room's single chair and Gloria slid her blouse off, using her palms, and
rotating her loins salaciously as she inched the tight shorts down along her
long, curvaceous legs until they lay puddled at her now shoe-less feet.  Her
eyes were heavily lidded and smoky, and she watched his face intensely as she
undressed, reaching behind her and unhooking her bra, pulling the sheer, white
cups away from her firm breasts slowly, making sure that the aroused,
berry-sized nipples were the last to meet his hot, flickering gaze.  She
dropped the bra on her shorts and then raised her hands to mold her full, rich
mounds, kneading them the way he would be doing soon.

     "You're slow, Davy-boy," she whispered.  "Take off your pants and let me
see that hard cock of yours."

     "Christ, you fucking whore!" Preston exploded with an evil grin.  Gloria
reveled in his lustful words and leering, hot eyes for a long moment, and then
she stepped over to the bed and pulled the coverlet down to lie on the blankets
and spread her legs wide in a wanton, provoking position, exposing to his eyes
the total expanse of her wet cuntal slit.  She rotated her hips lasciviously,
arching them up and down in a measured, intoxicating way.  Preston threw his
pants across the room and stood over the bed with his great, trembling penis
standing from his groin in full erection, the unseeing eyes of its glans oozing
thin clear droplets of lubrication.  And Gloria stared at his rod-hard cock,
moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue as if tasting the seeping fluid
already, as if it was deliciously swirling around in the warm, sucking cavern
of her mouth.

     "Come on," she urged heatedly, "lie down beside me, Davy-boy and see what
happens next."

     "What?"

     "I'm going to take that big cock of yours and suck it dry, suck every drop
of hot cum right out of it."

     Shit! Preston thought, she can really turn me on.  His prick throbbed as
he sat down beside her, and she snaked out her hand and encircled his cock,
beginning to stroke it up and down and massage its turgid length, rubbing the
shaft and cradling her hand underneath his testicles slightly, caressing them
softly, like precious jewels in her palm.  He groaned with the pleasure of her
touch, and lay down, stretching out lengthwise alongside her palpitating, hot
flesh, letting her manipulate his cock with expertise until he thought it would
shoot off all by itself, without ever letting her suck it.

     She rose up in a kneeling position, her tongue still flicking along her
lips, her eyes resting feverishly on his loins, and then she began to trail
soft, moist kisses across the girth of his large, well-muscled belly, making
him groan uncontrollably again and raise his hips upwards from the stimulations
she was sending through his body.  Her fingernails scratched lightly over his
cock now and then they reached downwards, probing briefly at the puckered ring
of his anus, retracing their path back to his straining, quivering penis.

     "Goddamn it, Gloria, suck it!  Suck it before it goes off by itself!"  He
thrust upwards, his head lifted so that he could look down at her lust
contorted features as her beautiful face was poised over his blunt cock-head,
and he could feel his semen boiling in his testicles, and knew it wouldn't be
long before it would come spewing out of his shaft like a flow of molten lava.
"Hurry, hurry!" he begged.  "Suck it, baby, suck it!"

     In obeisance, the woman plunged her head downwards, and Preston felt the
incredible, hot moist softness of her lips close over the sensitive flesh of
his cock, felt her firebrand tongue lick circles of liquid flame around and
around it, flicking into the glans opening and swallowing the beginning drops
of his seminal fluid.  He entangled his grasping hands in her blonde hair
tightly, and guided her as he jerked upwards, and he drove the entire length of
his massive penis deep into the warm, butter- smooth folds of her mouth,
feeling his cockhead graze against the back of her throat.

     "Mmmmmmm!" she mewled around his hardened rod of flesh.

     "Ahhhhhh!" he cried out in lust-crazed agreement.  "That's it, baby!
Stroke a little, too!  That's it!  That's it!  Run your fingers along my
balls... easy, damnit!  Ahhhhh!"

     And through the paper-thin walls, in the bedroom next door, Mrs. Marleen
Franklin sat up in her bed, listening.  She was recoiled in abject revul