Brain Cheese Buffet Part 10

Smith considered this, trying hard not to stare at Donna's cutoffs and orange halter. Well uh, yeah, .she's right. What's the harm in letting her rub my temples... Smith pulled over, put the Buick in park. "Uh, okay." he said.

"Turn this way, lean back a little," the 19-year-old directed. "That's it, that's good."

Smith leaned back against Donna's formidable bosom, while her thumbs gently ma.s.saged his temples. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s felt like firm, plush cus.h.i.+ons against his shoulder blades.

Smith's eyes closed on their own. He struggled to make petty conversation. "So, uh.

Donna, tell me. How's college?'

"Great" she replied. Rubbing. Rubbing. "How's bird watching?' Smith gulped. "Uh, uh, great. I saw a black-throated blue, uh, warbler yesterday."

"Mmmmm." she said. Did she chuckle too? Rubbing, still rubbing, she went on, "That's wild about that drum of chemicals they found, isn't it?'

Rubbing. Rubbing.

"Uh, yeah," Smith fairly moaned. "Wild."

Her deft thumbs continued to knead Smith's aching temples. Christ, I 'm getting hard, he noted of the swelling at his groin. He felt lazed back into the sweetest dream...

Her blond hair smelled lovely, like herbs and soap. Then her lips came very close to Smith's ear and she whispered: "Does that feel good, Mr. Smith?'

"Yes," Smith moaned. "Hmmmm?'

Yeeeeees.

Her lips moved closer, the hot breath caressing his ear, "Has Mr. Smith been a good boy?

Hmmm?'

AW, Jesus. Smith thought. He felt as paralyzed as he'd felt in the nightmare.

"Hmmm? You can tell Donna, can't you? Has Mr. Smith been a good boy?'

"Uh,uh,uh..."

Her thumbs were like mainlines of opium to his brain. Her breath seemed to lick his neck.

"Be a good boy now and tell Donna that you're ready, okay, baby? Are you ready? Have you been a good boy?"

By now Smith could not offer a verbal reply. He moaned some more, and he may have whined. Buta"

Donna reclined the power seat. As Smith descended he saw that the coed had removed her orange halter, and his recognition of this fact dripped like slow mola.s.ses in his head.

Holy Jesus to fargin' Pete, what a rack of milk wagons...

And indeed they were: large, perfectly symmetrical orbs of flesh, with pert pink nipples.

"Let's get you primed, Mr. Smith," she suggested, giggling. "'Let's get this pump good and primed." And with that statement, her hands began to caress his crotch. "Yeah, we're gonna get Mr. Smith all boned up, because Mr. Smith's been a good boy, hasn't he?'

Smith raised no objection whatsoever when, a moment later, she pulled his pants and boxers to his knees. Her fingers caged his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es, and her mouth went southa Smith wanted to shout: No! Don't do that! I'm a warned man, and I love my wife, and I WILL NOT be unfaithful to her. So you just stop that right now! In reality, though, he uttered no such thing, electing instead to just lie back and let her proceed. And indeed she did proceed, with hair-raising expertise. "Mmmmm," she kept moaning in her throat.

"Mmmmmmmm." The hot frictive sensation made him feel electrified: her mouth was a 220-volt wall socket, and Smith's p.e.n.i.s was the plug. Her firm-as-grapefruits b.r.e.a.s.t.s prodded his thigh as she maintained the slow, excruciating ministration. At one point, Smith gazed down over his paunch, and she gazed up, desisting long enough to remark of his 4-inch erection, "Oh Mr. Smith, it's just so-so-so... big!

Smith made a stiff face, recalling the nightmare. No, it's not. It's a breakfast link, remember? And he could've sworn that, when she'd made this comment, there'd been an undue hilarity in her eyes. Look at me, he thought, self-disgusted. I'm a successful 39-year-old man, with a great career, a great wife, a great kida"a great life. And what am I doing? I 'm getting a b.l.o.w.j.o.b from a blonde teenage s.e.xpot in the front seat of a Buick Regal. Yet despite this acknowledgement, he was helpless to do anything about it. He was risking everything, wasn't he? If he got caught, he would lose everything he cherished everything he'd worked so hard for. But Donna was a seductress, a s.e.x-siren. Smith felt that he'd be unable to pull away from this even with a gun to his head. All he could do was simply submit to this harrowing, absolutely mind-wringing oral mastery of hers...

And just before Smith would e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ea"

She stopped.

What the h.e.l.l are you doing! Smith wanted to bellow. Why on earth had she stopped? Her eyes beseeched him, the sultry face in the frame of fragrant blond hair rose upward.

"You've been a good boy, right, Mr. Smith? You're ready, right?"

Smith, infuriated gasped at the ludicrous question, pointing to his indisputably erect member. "For G.o.d's sake, doesn't it look like I'm ready?' his voice grated.

She papped his nose with a finger. "That's not what I mean, Mr. Smith." Her lips played at his ear. "What I mean is... are you ready?"

The word dropped like a stone in his head.

Ready.

Are you ready?

Smith's memory ticked. The nightmare. Jeanniea"

What had Jeannie said in the nightmare?

Something about being... ready?

Yes- Donna's preeminent b.r.e.a.s.t.s vised his face. Her fingers weaved through his hair. "Oh, Mr.

Smith," she whispered. "Please tell me that you've been a good boy. Please... tell me that you're ready."

Ready? Yeah I was ready, all right, you teasing, fickle b.i.t.c.h. Smith thought, driving the Buick home. How much more ready could he have been? c.o.c.k-tease! Evil cunning s.l.u.t!

She'd brought him to the brink, then left him hanging like clothes on a line. She primed my pump, that's for surea"

Then she'd left. Smith, incredulous, had stared after her as she'd opened the car door, gotten out, and walked away, leaving him with his pants at his knees and his unslaked erection bobbing in his lap. Women are such evil b.i.t.c.hes, he glumly thought. c.o.c.k-teasing, evil fickle little harlots...

His headache raged when he arrived home. Jeannie lay before the tv in the family room, her little ankles crossed in the air. She raptly watched Star Trek reruns. "They stole Spock's brain. Daddy!" she fretted upon his entrance. Tough luck for Spock, Smith thought. He remembered the episode. "Don't worry, honey. I think Bones will save the day," he consoled. How about taking my brain-along with this f.u.c.king headache! "I hope they catch the slobs who dumped that c.r.a.p," Smith griped to his wife, who tended to dinner at the Jenn-Air range. "I mean, Christ, couldn't they have dumped it in Jersey like everyone else?" "I'm sure they'll catch them, dear," Marie a.s.sured. "So why don't you just relax?' When Smith sat down at the table, Marie came around to rub his temples.

"No bird-watching tonight, dear?'

"Naw," Smith said, swallowing his guilt like a lump of phlegm. "How's that headache?'

"It'sa" " Then Smith paused. He hadn't told her of his headache, had he? "How did you know I had a headache?'

"Honeya"" Rubbing. Rubbing. "You told me this afternoon."

"This afternoon?' Smith questioned.

"This afternoon when you called me. Remember? You called me to ask if anyone had come about the drum, and I told you the police were here, and the EPA mena"

"Yeah, yeah," Smith said. "I remember. Sorry, this headache's killing me. I'm just out of it today."

Out of it was putting it lightly. And Marie's affection, her sheer care for him, made Smith feel even worse now. Fifteen minutes ago I was letting a blond coed suck my d.i.c.k and she didn't even do it long enough for me to come... What was wrong with him? The gifts of his life couldn't be more plain. His loving wife, his lovely little girl, his home. All right, so Marie would never make the cover of Swimwear Ill.u.s.trated. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, not nearly as large as Donna's, had a bit of droop to them now, and she was getting a trifle wide in the caboose department. But- She'd stuck with him through thick and thin. She'd given him a beautiful daughter and a beautiful life. She was real, and her love was real. How could anything else matter? The girl next door was just something pretty, a bird in a sense, a black-throated blue warbler no more real to Smith than the August centerfold of Penthouse.

At once his guilt fell down on him, like a mineshaft cave-in.

"Marie?" he peeped.

"Yes, dear?" Rubbing. Rubbing. "What is it?'

Smith was suddenly close to tears. "I-I-I..."

"Honey? What is it?'

My G.o.d, Smith realized. "I love you."

"I love you too." Marie said.

"No, no, I mean . . ." But what did he mean? "I mean, like, I really love you."

Marie's voice seemed to grow hot. Her fingers meandered at his temples. "Why don't you show me?' she whispered.

f.u.c.k dinner. Smith concluded. He led Marie by the hand up the stairs, to the bedroom.

He slowly stripped her, reveling at the vision of her body, pale skin and cellulite and crooked teeth and all. "Make love to me, darling." she hotly breathed. She lay back on the bed. parting her thighs. And what she said next absolutely shocked him, for Marie had never been one to talk dirty.

"I want your c.o.c.k in my p.u.s.s.y, darling. I want you to stick your c.o.c.k all the way up my p.u.s.s.y and come in me."

The words alone nearly made Smith come, the words in addition to Donna's previous attentions. Yeah, she primed my pump, ail right. But to h.e.l.l with her. I have a loving wife.

I have a real woman...

' Stick your c.o.c.k in me right up to the b.a.l.l.s and come, you big beautiful flicking love-machine. Squirt all that wonderful j.i.z.z right up into my little honey hole."

Smith was dizzied. He lay atop her and obliged. At once her hand slithered around and-ma.s.saged his b.u.t.tocks. "Come, baby, come," she breathed. "Come in my p.u.s.s.y, darling..."

Aw, s.h.i.+t! Smith was going to come, all right. Quite expeditiously. He tried to stave it off, think about baseball, Mantle's 500th homer, which Smith had seen with his dad. Marris breaking Ruth's record, and Catfish Hunter's first 20-win season. Boy, could the Catfish throw a spitter!

But it didn't work. How could it? This was love, not childhood baseball memories.

After a strenuous, sweat-popping five seconds, Smith e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, exhaling like a busted raft, Marie moaned with each pulse, wrapping her legs about his back.

"Oh, honey," Smith nearly wept into the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

And what a cruel ripoff this was. Smith generally lasted at least half a minute.

Punishment, he thought; his guilt continued to a.s.sail him. Yes. the universe was punis.h.i.+ng him for being with Donna, decimating his already less-than-impressive endurance.

"I'm so sorry, Marie..."

Her warm hand played over his scalp. "That's all right dear. I ... I know."

Smith's heart skipped a beat. She knows? he thought in sheer terror. She knows about Donna?

But then he simmered down. No, no, she didn't know about that. How could she? She merely meant that she understood Smith's problem with premature e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. She was so understanding, so considerate, What a woman Smith realized, as drenched in shame as he was sweat. Buta"

Yes!

There was something he could do for her, wasn't there?

Smith slithered down...

"Oooo, sweetheart," Marie cooed lewdly, "You know exactly what I want, you dirty little s.e.x-m.u.f.fin."

Yeah. Smith thought Here was this wonderful, warm, pa.s.sionate woman who'd offered herself solely for Smith's pleasure. Now he would return the gesture.

Yeah.

Her white thighs opened before his face like a newspaper. Her fingers raked his hair, while her own haira"her private haira"tickled around Smith's mouth. Suddenly he felt bent on something, frantic in the taste of her. Compelled. Driven.

"That's it sweetheart that so good," she breathed. "You do it so good, you big love-tongue, you..."

The synchronicity of Smith's tongue against her pleasure quickened in increments; he chased her squirming hips across the bed. Smith kissed, licked, lappeda"

"So good, sweetheart- Kissed, licked, lapped.

"So good, so good, such aa"

Kissed, licked, lapped.

"a"good good boy."

Smith's eyes bulged. A good boy?

Hadn't Donna said the exact same thing...

But before he could even reckon such a coincidence, Marie seemed to gasp, and her body seemed to... tremor.

Smith's mouth remained locked at her s.e.x when the septic stench rose. Marie gasped again, then her hips twitched, thena"

Holy motherf.u.c.king s.h.i.+T!

Several hard, steady dolphin spurts of the stinking black sludge shot into his mouth. He wedged away in shock, paused to bend over and vomit and when he raised his head again, a final pulse of sludge jettisoned right in his face.

Over the rise of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Marie's eyes fixed on him.