Richard Travis

Another suck wife

CHAPTER ONE

Kitty finally adjusted to her evenings at home with Harold, to retiring precisely at ten, accepting his immediate fuck-thrust without foreplay, handing him the Kleenex box, then hearing the regular breathing of his deep sleep.

It hadn't been like that in the early days of their marriage when he needed her, needed her desperately, and when he wanted her, really wanted her. He had crawled to her then, licking from her toes up, begging entrance to the delights of her pussy.

Kitty kept telling herself she was better off than most. Harold rarely drank too much, chased women or mistreated her. He was cold, but solid: successful, a good provider of clothes, a car of her own, and a home with a pool.

She couldn't stop her restless nights, or the sexual fantasies that crept through her mind the instant she was alone in their sprawling, silent house. But she could keep them to herself.

When strong lust plagued her, made her restless, filled her with the feeling of missing something in life, something basic and important, she ignored it and rearranged the furniture, or went shopping.

Then James came on the scene.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, James came to mow the grass, water and trim the, shrubs.

James never looked at her, which confused Kitty. She was used to having men look at her. When she had been a waitress, they looked at the full swell of her tits as if they wanted to order them instead of the luncheon special.

When she had been a cocktail waitress, they looked at the swell of tit-flesh that threatened to spill out of her scanty uniform. They had looked at the cheeks of her ass and her bare thighs as she walked away to get their drinks. She was used to men looking at her.

She loved it. It was as if their devouring eyes were warm, eager hands exploring her body, creating excitement, desire everywhere they touched.