Mrs Hot-Hot Honeycombe

Emma Honeycombe's deep emotional yearning for sexual excesses accompanied by out-of-this-world soft caressing and poetical soft and caring utterances motivated her like a woman possessed, turning Harry's cock of unspecified length (it never had been measured) into a burning, pulsating piece of flesh covered thickly veined steel.

"Oh Harry – look at the length and thickness of it? I could never accommodate it without being tore apart."

"Oh slut of little faith (oops, thought Harry, that should have been 'Oh woman of little faith') you have been built to accommodate such an invasion of your vagina.

"Did you hear the word 'slut' my hot-hot babe?"

"No. – who used it?"

"Funny what you can't hear when you're consumed by lust, isn't it?"

"What did you say, Harry?"

Terminating that going-nowhere-conversation but pleased Emma was rarin' to go Harry put out his hand and bowed, she going all coy and taking his hand stood up and said, "Yes Master?"

Harry wasn't into that deviant stuff and she was probably copying something she'd seen on the web. It was time she had something else to focus on.

"Bend over the table, my sweet."

"Oooh – the table," she said excitedly and with great difficulty tried to bend over it on her back.

"You'll be more comfortable if you flip over."

She did that, then looked at him over her shoulder and worried: "Are you going in my back passage?"

That shocked Harry. He wasn't a tail-gate Charlie and didn't expected her to be a chute-minded woman, not with her inexperience and notwithstanding what she saw on the web or in the unlikely event she frequented men-in-raincoats XXX cinemas if indeed any still existed. What had shocked him was the comment, 'Are you going in my back passage?' – that presented merely as a nervous question. He would have expected a near-hysterical rejection such as 'Get away from that hole, you filthy beast'. Women can be so surprising at times.

He reached down between her legs and burrowed two fingers into her soppy cunt.

"Is that your back passage?"

"N-o-o-o, but fingers out and stick that hot-pump in there instead, please. I'll do my best to accommodate it."

Harry grasped around her hipbones, steering with one hand to ensure it was the correct orifice and pushed forward. She turned around to look at him, eyes huge and biting her bottom lip. He put on his best leer, believing that in their hearts women really loved reprobates as it touches their mothering core. He pushed the last inch fully home, watching her eyes bulge and water.

"Take it easy sweetie, relax and your body will automatically adjust to it; as Captain Kirk might have said, 'Spock, we are fully docked'."

"That's cute, but I feel I'm going to burst."

"That feeling will pass," said Harry, pulling his hips back slowing and coming out until only the head was gripped by the curtain of membrane he'd long assumed formed a almost leak-proof bulkhead to turn back the tide of millions of sperm so they swam in the right direction to the target area.

Slowly he fed his length back in and Emma turned to face forward stretching out her neck like a swan. She was now more relaxed as it slid in more freely. His groin thudded against her butt, jolting her forward slightly and she moaned as if greatly satisfied. This time as he pulled back Harry could feel her pulling away, pressing into the table, and then pushing back at him. He grinned and reaching under her arched torso began playing with her tits.

"Oooh, that's nice."

"I want it to be nice; I really want you to enjoy this so that you taste your potential."

"Is that all I'll be tasting?" she asked naughtily.

They picked up speed and soon were rattling in and out like a woman's tongue at a fish market.

With perhaps the not-so nice side effects of fucking they both began sweating, puffing and juices ran down their thighs. Harry began to worry that he might cum before she was ready, so gave her nipples some heavy rolling and a couple of tweaks that made her squeal and pound against him a bit more heavily.

He began to see the first of the red dots floating across his eyes and then thankfully felt his cock being squeeze by her cunt muscles. Just as he was about to fire, the circles he was drawing with his other forefinger around her butthole suddenly slunk into the centre to just touch the edges of the hole. She squealed and began bucking so in relief Harry threw his head back and began firing, his vision now a red haze changing briefly into pitch black. She clamped down, the head of his splurging cock swelled and they momentarily locked, their thrusting braking to an abrupt halt.

Still groggy and massively aroused, Harry rolled Emma on to her back and began sucking at her cunt and dabbing at it with his tongue, sending her into another round of ejaculations which he vacuumed up nosily causing her to still buck her hips although she was almost exhausted.

He lifted up to her, she expecting to be kissed. Instead he dribbled a string of liquids into her mouth. She swallowed and croaked, "You obscene, filthy bastard – more!" Harry obliged.

While she drifted off to sleep, a cocktail of juices leaked out of her on to the floor and dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and on to the table, Harry ran a fresh bath and filled their flutes with more champagne. He then sat on a chair for her to wake, drifting off. He awoke minutes later to find her gone, the table wiped clean and a bath towel on the carpet where their combined juices had leaked.

"Hi," she yawned, as he appeared in the bathroom. "I awoke in time to avoid a bathroom flood. Jump in and we'll have a toast to my best fuck ever."

"One of my best ever, too," said Harry, raising his glass. She looked ever so pleased and toasted, "Here's to fucking."

"To fucking."

The door chimes went; Harry and two room service staff pulled in a loaded trolley and another bottle of champagne.

"The day manager says please forgive him, and here's lunch and champagne with his compliments. He hopes you haven't eaten."

"We've eaten, but not lunch," Harry snickered.

"Ooooh," said one of the maids. "We are not busy right now; perhaps you may wish us to join you and Mrs Honeycombe?"

"No thanks, Mrs Honeycombe is strictly conventional, I believe."

The maids looked disappointed but then one of them gave Harry a card. "It's our phone number," she said. "In case Mrs Honeycombe changes your mind or alternatively you, sir, would be welcome to visit and see just how comfortable Anna and I are in our shared bedroom."

"Thank you ladies," Harry said, giving them a generous tip. He thought it seemed so civil and courteous; prostitution was so sophisticated these days. According to the hourly rate on the card, their prices were bordering excessive but then he figured they were principally catering for wealthy tourists.

During the time left to them before the return of the heartless husband Paul, they fucked themselves almost to a standstill.

Finally came time to say goodbye. Emma had received a call.

"He's just just flying out of a place called Whakatane. He's never caught so many trophy fish in his life, including trout at Lake Taupo. He says he can't wait to get home to show the photographs to the guys."

"Did he say he loves you?"

"No, he didn't come to think of it; he just said, 'Hello, have you missed me?' and I answered truthfully, and said no."

"The callous bastard."

"Don't talk about him like that, Harry, he's my husband."

"I love you."

Emma looked at him, and her knees appeared threatening to give out. "Come to bed, Harry."

They said their goodbyes, exchanged cards, and she shut the door to the suite behind him with tears streaming down her cheeks – this from the woman who never cried!

At the hotel entrance Harry asked the doorman for his car and a bellboy drove up with it and handed the ignition key to the doorman.

"That's four night's parking fee, $120 – pay it and you'll be handed the key to get this heap of junk out of here."

"Up yours mate," Harry said, blowing a kiss at the doorman. Taking a spare key from his pocket he drove off without paying.

The doorman attempted to read the number plate to make a complaint to the police, but there was so much grime on the car's registration plate he couldn't read it through the haze of poxy-blue exhaust smoke.

Two hours later Harry phoned Emma.

"How was the reunion?"

"Unremarkable and he stinks of fish."

They continued the conversation until she said, "I have to go as he's coming back from the bar."

"Emma."

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"Oh Harry."

"Emma, start divorce proceedings and settle up and come back here with the kids. You'll get residency because I'll marry you."

"Oh Harry, I can't – as much as I'd love to do that, I can't."

"Listen, Emma, every time he treats you like shit just think of me. Eventually you will see the light."

"Bye Harry."

Ten days later Harry received a phone call. "I've commenced divorce proceedings. Come over and meet the children, Harry..."