Mrs Hot-Hot Honeycombe

Harry Pybus finished his facial shave with the Emma's shaver, having watched the lush Emma stretched back in the bath, eyes closed, gently massaging her breasts, which served to pump a injection of lust through his heart to his brain and then on to his very interested dick.

His aim was simple: to give the hot-hot Mrs Honeycombe a vacation she'd never forget. She'd said hubby would be away for five nights, didn't she?

Harry grinned, cuffing his half-aroused cock back into quiescence. He sat on the bathroom chair and began removing the hair from around his penis and testicles, working with intense concentration and thinking the shaver was a wonderfully well designed appliance – obviously designed to do its job effectively between a woman's legs with no skin pulls or cuts even when she was in the shower or bath.

Obviously it was designed and crafted with the sculptured fluidity in form and functionality to at least equal the design of a man's cock with its different duties to perform in a woman's orifice or two or three. He patted his erection, whispering, "Don't worry buddy, if she pressures me I'll just put you away and we'll go, telling her we don't do ass penetrations."

Worried about the finer feelings of his dick, Harry gave it a couple of loving tugs and heard a gasp. Looking up he saw Emma, eyes like hubcaps, had lifted up and focused on the dick in his hand, her tongue lolling across the corner of her mouth, dribbling. He checked out her nipples; they were slicking out of swelling breasts like rampaging boils…er...like the tips of billiard cues. His dick writhed in his grip, attempting to turn itself in the direction where it could smell sex.

"Are you doing this for me?" she asked hoarsely

Looking at the door Harry grinned. "It has to be; the room service maid has gone."

"Oh Harry, bring that pretty boy over here – he needs to be kissed."

Harry was sure Pretty Boy grew another half inch at that compliment – he'd been called names before – 'pull out your Fucking Dick' and 'wham that Heavenly Fucker into me Harry' were typical comments but the most hurtful one had been, "bring that Ugly Brute to mummy' (no, certainly not his mother). But pretty?

Harry's cock shed two tears in adoration for this new, well-hung woman of Harry's although it could be excused for wondering why she spoke English in such a painful fashion. Some of the women Harry had sent him in to bat for him had been real English ladies, speaking oh so beautifully; pity they hadn't a clue about sensuous fucking. Harry's dick had not experienced in-depth relationships with New Zealand women as they tended to keep their identity hidden, wanting to do it in the dark, and their conversations were usually limited to 'You're hurting me, Harry', 'please cum Harry, I'm all puckered out' and 'that's enough Harry, that's my husband's car'.

Harry's dick had tried to warn him about one woman who was persistently bad in bed, turning away from Harry as soon as the first bout of ejaculations hit the end of the condom. She wasn't into tit-fucking and when Harry attempted to put the dick into her mouth she spat and screamed at him to never again be so foul or else the marriage was off.

The dick tried to warn Harry, for the next six weeks refusing to discharge, resulting in Harry walking around, head down and almost going out of his mind. The dick's plan horribly misfired, the woman showed some emotion for Harry at last telling him it didn't matter, that she preferred to be fingered off anyway. She wouldn't care if the dick was surgically removed. At that the dick retreated in terror, refusing to get up any more.

Poor Harry.

He went to a sex therapist who probed Harry's mind with questions and even asked Harry to strip off so she could inspect his non-inflating penis. The therapist tried everything by the book, without success, so decided to be devious. She lay beside Harry reading him filthy sections from a book she'd bought in some dive in Egypt – and she noted the dick showed some flickers of interest. The therapist went over to the bookshelves and was rooting around the shelf at ground level, bent over, and obviously not wearing knickers and clearly was a adept with her shaver.

The dick went rigid and Harry leapt off the couch. The therapist screamed, in pleasure, as she received her best dicking of the year (it was mid-December). But stupid Harry – he went a married Miss Anti-Dick and the marriage lurched onwards for five years before she ended it after catching Harry for the seventh time exercising his dick with one of the numerous women who lived nearby. Upset that havvy had to put up with such a bitch, they took their concern for him to his marital bed.

Harry washed and dried his dick and went over to introduce it to Emma. Sitting up again, Emma greeted her prize in a most delightful way, kissing it a dozen times on the head sweetly and then giving it tongue-tip licks like a playful kitten, leaving Harry's balls to ache with frustration at not being part of play.

"I'll see you later, sweet one," Emma said, looking at Harry's dick which winked at her. "But I'll give you something to remember me by, to keep you keen." At that she closed her mouth over the head and seizing Harry's butt, pulled him right against her, causing the dick to penetrate deeply into her throat brushing tonsils.

Harry climbed into the other end of the bath and came up on to his knees as she spread her legs outwards – one over the side of the bath, the other resting knee bent, against the wall. That of course allowed her to float her butt up to the surface and out of the water came her vulva, shedding water like the surfacing submarine 'The Hunt for Red October'.

He lowered his head and she grabbed his hair in one hand, pulling him down on to it as if she were in desperate need.

"Paul won't do this to me…I've only read about it."

Presumable Paul was her husband. Harry also wondered what books she'd possessed to be reading about pussy licking. Perhaps True Romance paperbacks had come into the 21st Century since he'd last read one.

She was squirming and splashing about so much as he clamped his hands on her thighs he thought of calling room service for a face mask and snorkel.

Emma pulled the butterfly wings open, calling "Hurry, hurry" or was that "Hurry Harry"? He was in no hurry but obliged.

Wham! The tip of his tongue had just found the slit when she heaved, the rings on her finger holding open her outer labia thudding against his top lip as she convulsed into her first ejaculation of the day. It was an ejaculation rather than a super-charged orgasm as the taste was something other than normal pussy juice.

"Are you all right," she gasped. "Sorry about that, I'd just become so worked up. I wanted this but it's the first time I've participated in an adulterous liaison."

"It's fine," he soothed, "providing you keep those discharges coming and enjoy to the max. You slugged my lip, which saved me from a tooth chip, for which I am grateful."

"Oh, sorry – whatever can I give you in compensation?"

"A mouthful of pussy is fine for right now – enjoy!"

It took almost fifteen minutes of dedicated tongue and finger massaging before Emma fired again – it was the finger delicately rimming around the perimeter of her asshole that did it. She jerked, gasped, thrust and splashed water everywhere before yelling "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeek".

"Oh, you wonderful man. That sent my across the divide for a few seconds."

Jaw aching, Harry called for a compulsory break. He stood up in the bath and pulled her up, immediately thinking sex when her breasts fell into normal position, no slump that he could see and the nipples turned cutely upwards as if proclaiming, 'Please suck me.'

He licked his lips.

Emma reached down and squeezed his balls, making him yelp. "Come on Harry, you called the break. Let's hit the champagne."

Harry couldn't believe that this was normal behavior for Emma. She sat right opposite him, just out of reach, and cocked a leg over each arm of the leather lounge chair, her slightly gaping slit winking at him. His dick, as usual unable to contain itself, rose up to look at a juicy hairless cunt and winked right back.

"This is lovely," she cooed, sipping champagne from a most elegant flute and eyeing his cock, moving slightly as if caught in a breeze.

"I'm going to suck that mother-fucker."

Harry's champagne slopped down his virtually hairless chest and ran down on to the base of his dick and between his legs and on to the leather. How on earth did a conservative American woman, playing around for the first time in her life, know an excruciatingly foul phrase like that?

"Where did you learn the term 'mother-fucker'?

"We watch a lot of police and private detective films on TV – and that word is normal language for them."

"Do you know what it means?"

"I think so – an insult about the person the term is directed at."

"Yes, and meaning?"

Emma turned crimson. "Ohmigod, what a disgustingly obscene term. I'd never thought about it. It's like when you say he's in the crap – you never think of him standing up to his knees in excrement. Oh, please accept my apologies."

"I have a better idea – when you've finished that drink, come over here and wash out that foul mouth of yours with my cum."

"Now that was a disgustingly obscene invitation," Emma said, throwing back the last mouthful of wine and lurching across on her knees, breasts swinging.

The sight of those swinging boobs made Harry come close to losing his load.

She reached him and they kissed, his erection doing its best to nestle between the orbs of delectable flesh.

Harry pulled his head back. "Before you start, have you done this before?"

"No, never."

"Have you tasted cum?"

Emma burned pink. "I confess to having licked my fingers after touching Paul a couple of times after he'd withdrawn from me. It makes you wonder about Cum Sluts though – I thought it tasted a bit like that stuff we had as kids."

"Sago or tapioca?"

"Yes, that's it. Pretty tasteless from memory."

"Well, in my role as tutor, I suggest you bang away on my dick, varying your tempo and mixing licking, sucking, rubbing and light squeezing and when I warn that I'm coming, direct the cum stream over my gut and chest and then lick up as much as you wish. If you don't like it, don't do it. Where did you learn about Cum Sluts?"

"When masturbating I visit hot-hot websites."

"Do you have toys?"

"A whole box full."

"Does Paul know?"

"I don't think so; I don't think he'd be interested. I just keep them in a shoe box stacked with my other shoes."

Harry rather liked this conversation – his dick could wait. "Have you ever inserted a shoe?"

"Yes, several times. I have a pair of blue shoes with 6-inch glass heels. The first time I used one I squirted for the first time ever. I was so horrified, thinking I'd peed all over the bedspread and on to the carpet. But I tasted some and realized it was not urine."

"Can you squirt at will?"

"No, much to my disappointment as it's super-sexy seeing the gush and feeling your eyes gyrating. It only happens with the blue shoe."

"Have you those shoes with you?"

"No, you dirty depraved man. Now let me get on with this job. Your poor little man – ooops – your poor big man will feel neglected."

"It's all yours, Emma," Harry said, pushing his hips forward and sinking back into the chair, hands behind his head, one of his biggest smiles of the year on his face.

Emma had a playful time and learnt what what worked for her and what drew responses from Harry. Finally he grunted at her and she pulled away but too late – cum sprayed her face and hair. She scooped dollops on to her fingers and sucked them, tentatively at first and then greedily.

"You like it?"

"It's okay, a bit mild and salty but the naughty feeling I get doing it is so pleasurable. Lick me clean, please."

"Me," asked Harry nervously. He had no trouble doing this when heavily aroused, with cum, pussy juices, sweat and dribble all over the place like a potpourri – he particularly liked being put in charge of cleaning up around the tits and vulva.

"Come on, clean me up Harry or else I'll fetch your belt and strap you."

Between lickings Harry asked, "Are you sure Paul is only a dedicated Missionary man and that you haven't played around since your marriage?"

"It's the absolute truth Harry."

They awoke in each other's arms on Harry's chair. It's lovely being with you," he said.

"Do you have to go home?"

"No, I am on my own at present."

"Will you stay with me for the next five nights?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

That question was like a hand gripping Harry's balls with pliers. There were so many possible permeations – answer correctly and he'd be flooded in pussy juice for the next five nights, providing she could keep up with the pace, being a once-a-week woman, though she'd not stated her masturbation schedule. He wondered how could she keep such crucial information from him. If he answered pathetically she might say, 'Goodbye Harry', two words he had no wish to hear.

Harry cleared his throat and took the plunge, stroking one of her sweat-dried breasts as he spoke.

"Emma, you were a lady in distress when I first saw you. We have bonded, delightfully so, and you are such an interesting and invigorating woman for me to fondle and to converse with. The most compelling reason for me to stay on as your surrogate husband is because we have yet to fuck. Imagine that – we've been several hours together in the most intimate situations, exchanging the most intimate thoughts and – yes – body fluids - and yet we haven't fucked. For me to walk away now would be a disgrace to my sex, an unthinkable cowardly act on mankind and a sizzling, tumultuous act of deprivation the like of which you're never experienced."

He looked at her, she was wide-eyed and appeared close to either falling asleep to chicken shit oratory or else she was romantically close to swooning in the classic submissive way of a Victorian heroine.

With a signal from his brain confirming that his system was recharged with the ability to overflow her cunt with semen, Harry heard the inspirational rousing orchestration in his ears of the opening music to Bizet's Opera 'Carmen' and pressed his case.

"I have been sent to you by destiny, dear one, to tear you out of the bondage of inconceivable banal sex and lack of mutual soul-touching to take you through the amazingly emotional uplifting and tiring steps to ultimate sexual fulfillment. In setting you free to become your own woman I will give you the key to turn your hitherto underperforming husband into an audacious sex machine or, if that fails, to give you the reason to walk away from him and seek the sexually artistic administrations for your unleashed body will crave so desperately."

That was it. Harry had shot his biggest bolt ever – verbally. It would be diarrhea to men but to some women it could be a turn on of monumental proportions.

He tensed, closing his eyes, ready to hear the march signifying the death of the matador or would it be the triumphant march of Escamillo?

"Harry – fuck me, fuck me thoroughly."

TO BE CONTINUED