After the touching-up I'd given her, this pressed the trigger. For seconds every nerve in her body tensed rigidly, with loaded explosive tension. Then she detonated. But it was an internal explosion! All the wonderful things that happened to her, were cooped up inside her. The only outward symptom was the way her thighs clamped together, crushing my hand up inside her crotch and squeezing it powerfully while she suffocated my prick with her big, fleshy tits. Her loins throbbed and she uttered low shuddering gasps that punctuated her climatic spasms.
It was a lovely orgasm so satisfying she had to rest after it. Her face was still flushed pink and her damp hair stuck to her cheeks when she set out the glasses and poured some whisky. Then she sat on the bed and stroked my belly while we sipped our drinks and she got her second wind. When she set down her empty glass I knew she was ready. I finished my drink quickly. She straddled me, kneeling astride my head and crouching low to lick my knob. I licked her too. But this was only warming up. I'd cooled off while drinking whisky, and she needed a little arousal after her big orgasm. So we sucked each other only a short time before she scrambled around, stacked pillows under my bottom and positioned herself strategically. She squatted astride me, facing me, and lowered herself. She opened herself up with one hand, and steered my knob with the other. It was a swift, hot, slippery glide up inside her. It was a big pussy. It opened up greedily and gulped in my cock without any fuss. Her thrill came from stretching her love-lips apart and then plastering them over my pelvis. She ground down hard, still stretching her love-lips apart so she could get good pressure on her clit-bud. When she was squarely seated in the saddle she leaned forward and took her weight on her hands with her fleshy tits dangling, and their big nipples brushing my chest. My prick was right up inside her, stewing in pussy-juice. Her vagina clung limply to my shaft. It couldn't grip tightly. But it didn't matter because Ruth's way of screwing didn't involve movement. She didn't employ friction to make me spurt. She used a slow, subtle stimulation that was a long, blissful voyage among the stars.
I played with her nipples and got her panting. Her hips writhed and her love-lips slithered around on my pubic hairs. She didn't rise up and down my prick. Instead, she circled around, grinding her clit-bud against my pelvis. While doing it she had a little orgasm. Her hot vagina raged around my prick and copiously secreted hot drool over it. My cock simmered contentedly, cooking slowly. She pushed herself up straight, and ground down powerfully. Her face was flushed and dreamily serene, and gurgling, squishy sounds bubbled in the union of our crotches. Then she leaned forward again and fed her tits into my hands. I played with them and twiddled the nipples until she had another little orgasm. It thrilled through her quietly, boosted the temperature of her vagina and cooked my prick more quickly.
All this would have driven a sex-starved man crazy. But I wasn't sex-starved, and this slow, simmering build-up was bliss. She kept having little orgasms. Her love-juice bubbled and boiled around my prick, boosting it relentlessly to sizzling point. She must have had half-a-dozen orgasms before I was steamed up enough to boil over.
I was panting and ready to go. She knew it. She was wound up high by her little climaxes and avid for a big orgasm. All she needed was the trigger of my spurting spunk.
"I'm coming!" I panted.
She leaned right back, holding her nipples and pulling on them hard. Her eyes were closed and her face was drawn. The way she leaned back placed special subtle pressures upon our pleasure spots. She gasped in unison with me as seed bubbled, surged and spurted furiously, and my loins thrust upwards savagely.
She was waiting for that thrust. She met it head-on, her pussy driving down hard over my cock. She sprawled forward, her arms around my neck and her big tits squashed between us as we pistoned.
The ecstasy of orgasm is usually so overwhelming that it creates superhuman physical response. Scientists who have studied orgasms, report that adrenalin races through the blood, the heart beats twice as fast, and all erotic areas become acutely sensitive. Those enjoying climax sometimes appear to be unconscious.
I was wafted away into sublime bliss. I may well have been semiconscious, because I only vaguely became aware that something was wrong. Ruth was gasping, sobbing and grasping me as 'though she'd fall off the edge of the world if she let go. Her hot breath blew on my ear and filled it with wetness. Yet I had a strange, vague feeling that something was amiss.
That we weren't alone! That there was trouble!
I fluttered open my eyes. My senses hadn't betrayed me. A dark man with a wispy moustache was smiling at me over Ruth's shoulder. I knew he couldn't really be there so I concentrated upon him with my sluggish senses. He didn't go away. I was seeing him. And there was other movement too.
Ruth felt my tension. She swiveled her head around. For a time she was frozen. Then she said bitterly. "Roger. You bastard!"
"Please, Ruth! Don't be crude," he reprimanded in a pained voice.
Another figure edged Roger to one side and something clicked.
"Get out of here!" screamed Ruth.
Another click. The man grinned happily. His camera clicked again.
Ruth tore away from me. Her breasts were stuck to my chest and they peeled away with a liquid, sucking sound.
Wispy-Moustache swam back into my vision. Forgive my intrusion, Mr. Davis." His voice was satin-smooth. "I'll wait in the lounge for you to Join us."
Ruth scrambled off me, I propped myself up on my elbows. Three men were filing out of the bedroom. Wispy-Moustache was last. He turned: "We're taking your clothes, Mr. Davis. We'll return them in the lounge."
"Bastard!" screamed Ruth. A pillow hit the door as it closed behind him.
I was thinking more clearly now. "Your husband?"
"Creeping in like that!" She was crying with chagrin. "And bringing two men to watch!"
I swung my legs around off the bed. "Is it a trap?" I asked anxiously.
She tore open a wardrobe and pulled on a long concealing dressing gown. "I could kill him!" she said furiously. "Cameras tool"
I stood up. I was worried. We'd been caught in the act. The only bright spot was that Roger didn't act like a jealousy-crazed man who'd cut my balls off.
"Come along," snapped Ruth. She seethed with anger. "I've something to tell him. I don't interfere with his fun. And he's not going to meddle in my affairs!"
"I can't go in there like this."
She gave me one of Roger's dressing gowns and stormed through to the lounge. I followed sheepishly. The three men were lounging in armchairs. A tray of drinks was on the table and they held glasses. Roger politely rose to his feet smiling; the gracious host! "What can I offer you, Mr. Davis?"
"How dare you!" stormed Ruth. Her eyes blazed and her cheeks flamed. She lashed him with words. But he simply stood there, smiling and waiting for her to run out of breath.
"All right, Ruth," he managed to interject soothingly. "I've listened patiently. Now let's sit down calmly and talk it over," He looked at me. "Whisky, Mr. Davis?"
I nodded numbly.
Ruth snorted and threw herself down in a chair.
Roger poured drinks for me and Ruth. Then he settled down in a chair and carefully crossed one leg over the other. "I hope I don't need to go into details," he said quietly. "The facts are clear. These gentlemen are my Legal Adviser, and my Confidential Agent. They are my corroborative witnesses. And, of course, we have photographs."
"You've been mast efficient!" sneered Ruth. "It's typical of the way you do everything!"
"I like things neat and tidy, my dear."
"You want a divorce?" she demanded.
He smiled gently. "Obviously."