She had no idea what had turned her husband on this morning, but she welcomed it. She met him with equal energy, pushing her ass back against his belly, grinding her hips from side to side, jamming her hot crotch down to meet him as he fed his cock up her cunt hole. He slammed in, jolted in, cork-screwed in. Her cunt was working like a wringer, clamping and pulling on his prick. He fucked faster.
His balls swung against her crotch as he stuffed his prick in to the root, driving his cock head deep into her belly.
Her flaming hair cascaded as she tossed her head from side to side. That hair was the same color as Jennifer's but no! He must not think of such a thing!
She began to come.
"Oh! Darling, shoot up me!" she cried, wanting him to come with her, to share the moment of joy.
"Yes!" he rasped.
His balls were ready to burst.
I'm fucking my wife! He thought desperately.
And then his hot jism was hosing her cunt. And, sure enough, be pretended she was his daughter.
Afterwards, with his cock and balls emptied, Jennifer's father was heartily ashamed of his lascivious thoughts and his incestuous fantasies. But he hadn't been able to help it. And, in time, he came to realize that there was no real harm in the imagining of such things. As long as it never went, beyond fantasy.
He thought about his teenaged daughter quite often, after that, while fucking his wife.
And Jennifer, too, had a new frig-fantasy. It was even naughtier, she thought, than the one about giving head to the football team or the one about putting out, charitably, for the sex-starved escaped convicts.
She often thought about fucking her father when she finger fucked herself. Sometimes she pretended that she was sucking his prick, too. She worked up a lovely scenario in which she sneaked into her parents' bed in the dark of night and sucked her daddy off while he thought that it was his wife who had gone down on him.
And, when she got really carried away, she pretended that she had moved over, after she had milked her father's cock, and gave her mothers cunt a good tonguing, as well.
That one was so naughty that, even when she was really hot, Jennifer had to blush when she imagined it. But it was very exciting, she had to admit.
Yes, Jennifer was a girl who masturbated a lot and who thought of many naughty things while she did so.
She was all set to give herself a good hand job now.
And she didn't know, yet, that she was in for an unexpected treat.
CHAPTER THREE
Jennifer's school was new, modern and characterless – brick squares and glass oblongs, functional and plain. The school library, however, was totally different. It was older than the school and had originally been the town's public library. When a new and larger library was given to the town by a local lad who had gone away and made his fortune and never returned but, out of guilt, had a modern architect design a modern – plain and functional and ugly – Library, the older library had been used as the foundation of a new school built around it. Thus, right in the center of the low, square schoolhouse, the old doomed, vaulted stone library remained.
The library was so out of place that stepping into it, from the school corridors, was like traveling through time, returning to more gracious ages. The main room was large, with tall, conical windows and a veritable maze of bookshelves in which an unwary researcher could become lost. Many of the original books were still there, not having been transferred to the new public library and no one had yet catalogued them. The school books and reference works necessary for students were all at the front. The shelves in the back were an unknown wilderness.
That was why the library was kept locked when the librarian was not there. It was feared that unsupervised students might wander into the back and discover unwholesome volumes or lascivious tomes. It was even rumored that a copy of Fanny Hill lurked somewhere in those shelves and it had been whispered that Frank Harris' biography lay, like a vein of gold in a cleft, somewhere within those high stone walls.
Now Jennifer Hastings moved into that mysterious jungle of wood and stone and leather, not seeking a book, but looking for a comfortable place to give her pussy some welcome attention.
Halfway along a cross-corridor, she found a padded leather bench that looked just right. She looked up and down the corridor, automatically, even though she knew that she was alone in the library. The idea of finger fucking herself in a public place was exciting, but she certainly didn't want to be caught at it.
She removed a book from the shelf behind the bench, then drew the opposing book out, so that there was a clear space through which she could look toward the front of the library. It gave her a perfect view of the door and the librarian's desk, as she had hoped. Just in case a teacher or the librarian was to come in unexpectedly, Jennifer would be able to spot them and take evasive action. If she were found among the books she might be scolded, but at least by that time she would have had a chance to cover up her cunt.
It was a nice spot for pussy playing, she thought. Sunlight from the tall windows ran along the colored spines of ancient leather volumes, leaving the bench in shadows. Dust motes danced in the light. It was very quiet. She wondered if the suction sounds that her fingers made as they pushed up her cunt would echo in the room.
She lifted her skirt.
She pushed her panties down and stepped out of them. They were already soaked at the crotch-band, but she folded them neatly and put them in her handbag. She sat down on the bench, her skirt above her waist. She leaned down, looking at her pussy. She felt a great affection for her hairy, juicy cunt. It gave her so much pleasure. She was looking forward to giving it to some handsome young man. She looked at her pussy for a while. Her cunt rippled under her gaze, as if her vision were a laser beam, warming that creamy cunt by visual caress.
She was leaning right down over her groin, so close that she could feel the heat of her pussy wafting up into her face, steaming under her chin. If only she could have bent down a few more inches, she would have been able to use her tongue on her clit and that idea made her tremble. But she had tried it in the past and knew that she could not quite manage it, and that it was so frustrating to make the attempt and have her hot tongue fall just short of the mark. Maybe she would start practicing yoga, she thought. She wondered if nimble acrobats and lithe contortionists and ballet dancers went down on themselves? She figured that they probably did.
She would have loved to see a woman tongue herself!
Why, she might even give her a hand.
That fantasy sprang into her mind and it was as exciting as any of them. Jennifer decided that she would think about licking a cunt while she frigged herself off. She spread her cunt lips apart with her fingers and gazed up the open slot at the dark inner flesh, streaked with silvery juice. She pretended that it was another girl's cunt and that she was just about to clamp her mouth on it like a suction cup and suck and tongue until the woman creamed. Her pussy flooded with cunt juice.
She was just about to start finger fucking herself when she heard the door open.
Damn! She thought.
She wasn't worried about being found there. The worst thing she could be accused of was looking for naughty literature. But she had really been looking forward to giving herself an orgasm and it annoyed and frustrated her to be interrupted.
Maybe whoever it was wouldn't stay.
She got up and lowered her skin, then peered through the gap in the bookshelves to see who had come in.
It was the librarian.
Miss Julia Childress was only about thirty years old, but she looked older because she effected the style of the traditional, unmarried librarian, the classic spinster. She wore no make up whatsoever, and she kept her hair pulled severely back into an old-fashioned knot. She always wore plain tweedy skirts and high-necked blouses under utilitarian cardigans. Jennifer had never really taken much notice of the woman. She was just part of the furnishings, of the library, as unremarkable as a filing cabinet or a chair.