Ruth was motherly, a tender, affectionate, comfortable fuck. She was understanding and self-sacrificing. If I couldn't have raised a stand I could have told her without fear of ridicule or contempt. Then she would have soothed, comforted and tried to make me better.
I was good for Ruth too. I gave her what she needed. She'd told me her husband was a cold fish. He fucked every night regularly, the moment they got into bed. He simply rammed it into her. He tossed himself off inside her pussy in thirty seconds, pulled out, turned over on his side and went to sleep. It was like driving a nail into a block of wood with a few hard bangs. Then he was finished. Often she was as dry as a bone when he climbed into bed, with her love-lips stuck together. It didn't make any difference. He never fondled her with his fingers. He simply flattened her with his weight, forced her thighs apart with his knees, angled his cock between her legs, and thrust. He never brought her within shouting distance of an orgasm.
But she'd grown used to him hammering home a nail every night. She was resigned to it. She waited until he was snoring, which was within a few minutes of screwing. Then she juiced-up her pussy with the spunk he'd shot into her, and gave herself a leisurely toss-off. She made do that way. But she lived for our Wednesdays. It provided her sex life. I too enjoyed our Wednesdays. I was content with her undemanding, unselfish, motherly attitude.
I was especially anxious about tonight. I wanted my troubles listened to with a sympathetic air. I wanted to be consoled. So, while she kneeled and removed my shoes, I told her about the jam I'd got into with Lillian and Janet.
Ruth liked to undress me. She did it patiently, like a mother getting her lad ready for bed. She tucked my socks into my shoes and placed them neatly on one side. She unraveled my tie and smoothed it flat before she hung it over a chair back. She simply undressed me. There was nothing sexy about it. Even my big, fat prick, standing up like a red truncheon, she handled quite sexlessly as she eased the waistband of my jockey-shorts down over it, and out from under my buttocks. By the time I was naked she'd heard my sad story.
"What am I going to do?" I wailed.
She punched up a pillow and pressed my head back comfortably. She sat on the side of the bed and looked at me with big, soulful eyes. "You have got yourself into a jam, Mike."
"I don't know what to do."
"It won't make any difference to us," she comforted me. "I'll always want you to call around. Even if you're married to a dozen women!"
"I know, Ruth, but that's not the problem. I can't upset my family and cause a big scene. But I can't afford to lose my job either. It's the only work I know, Worse. I don't even want to be married!"
"You'll have to marry sometime, Mike," she soothed, teasing her fingers across my nipples. "You can't.be fancy-free all your life."
"I might marry one girl," I said. "But I can't marry two." I looked at her pleadingly. "What shall I do, Ruth?"
She smiled tenderly, but her face was cloudy. "I can't advise, Mike. It's difficult. If only money was involved, you could marry Janet, and take over the business. But I know how awful it can be if you're estranged from your family."
"I'm trapped," I groaned.
"Can't you get the two girls together and explain the position? Let them decide between themselves what's to be done."
I shuddered. "They'll both hate me. They'll crucify me. I'll be out of a job and my folks won't want to know me."
"But you'll be free," she pointed out. That was tome. I decided to give her suggestion some thought. But later. Right now the soft stroking of her fingers was having its inevitable effect My big, fat prick was heating up adrenalin and pumping it into my blood.
Ruth held the hem of her slip with crossed hands, pulled it up over her head and stripped it off. She had big, soft, fleshy tits that hung weightily. They swung heavily as she kneeled on the bed, hovering over me. "You're a lovely boy, Mike!" she whispered. Her mouth came down, lips brushing my forehead and cheeks and browsing down to my mouth. It was a very affectionate kiss, and deeply moving. Her big tits were fleshy cushions lying heavily upon my chest. When she stopped kissing, she Lifted up until her breasts were dangling, the big nipples whispering across my chest as she swung her tits from side to side. They were a motherly symbol; big, milky and softly enveloping. She used them to caress me, lowering herself until I could feel the full weight of each breast resting upon my chest Then she slowly trailed them down to my belly, and swirled them around. She trailed them up to my chest again, draped them over my shoulders and then teased my lips with the dangling nipples. She held one breast with two hands, squeezed it tight, and fed as much as she could of it into my mouth. I sucked happily for a time, and then she fed me the other tit.
She massaged me with her tits. She trailed them over my ribs, my thighs and my groin. She smothered my head between them, dangling one each side and raising up and down slowly until I could feel their heavy softness with every screaming nerve cell.
Finally, she got around to my prick. Her ample, fleshy tits played with my prick as dexterously as Janet's magic fingers. My cock strained taut, chortled, thrilled and throbbed. She snarled up my knob and balls in her cleavage, making a hot, snug package tightly wrapped up in clinging mammary flesh, My prick's drooling heightened the sensations, turning her flesh slippery so my prick and balls slithered around in their hot wrapping. Then, while she kneeled and clamped her glistening breasts around my prick, massaging it, she angled her ass around to face me.
She wanted what she couldn't get from her husband. A finger-fuck. It was no chore. She was very blonde, and hairless. She shaved every few days. I rested my fingers on her thigh and ran them up her hairless cunt. It was hot and juicy without even being touched. I opened up the outer love-lips and probed. She had a deep crevice. It was like thrusting my fingers into a purse of hot Vaseline. I fumbled around, locating myself by sense of touch. I identified the slippery walls of her vagina vestibule, the crinkly love-lips, the hard pea of her clit-bud and the dimpled entrance to her vagina.
She loved being fingered. Even while I was merely getting the feel of her she mewed with pleasure, wrapped her flabby tits around my prick and massaged it furiously. She loved being fingered so much I made a fuss of her. I toned up her love-lips first, running my fingers around the slippery, crinkled edges until she was quivery, and then pinching and tugging them between fingers and thumbs. She bad a couple of little orgasms while I was doing it and then my fingers probed deeper, running around the walls of her vagina vestibule, frictioning briskly until they ran with love-juice, and simultaneously applying subtle pressures in different places. I worked deeper into her crevice, circling my finger around her vagina dimple and then squeezing three fingers up through it. Once my fingers had penetrated the ring of muscle at the entrance to her vagina, I separated them and wriggled them around. She had a big, loose vagina. Having her husband's big, fleshy nail driven into her every night had brutally stretched her pussy instead of pleasurably exercising it. The entrance muscles had lost their elasticity so I tried to tune up their sensitivity with gentle finger-stretching. Her pussy responded gratefully, flooding with drool and contracting convulsively. But a weekly exercising session can't repair the mishandling of years. She'd always have a slack cunt But I didn't have to worry because she had her own special screwing method.
When she was ripe for orgasm. I withdrew my fingers from her vagina and stroked upwards to the clit-bud. It was hard and quivering, enveloped in soft membrane and so slippery it kept escaping my fingers. Finally I got a grip on it, held it tight and used the ball of-my forefinger to stroke back and forward across its crown.