9781618856357HavingItAllStorm

by Troy Storm

  “And the guys?”

  “Scott free, as usual.”

  “Damn.”

  “That’s why, in lieu of chastity jockstraps, I thought I’d try and impart a little moral fiber as well as some hard facts.”

  “You’re a good man, Coach Parks.”

  “Hey, you remembered my name. But call me Chad.”

  “Everybody knows your name,” she sang lightly, wondering if he had been a Cheers fan. “At least in my coffee klatch. I think it was the picture of you without your shirt on in the town crier. We don’t often get such beefcake to drool over.”

  “You think I’m worth drooling over?” His voice was lower. He moved closer. His fingers caught one of the tails of the loose bow at her waist that held her dress closed. One simple pull…

  Syble laughed, holding her ground. “At my age, young man, drooling may be more an indication of needed dental work than needed date material. Don’t try coming on to a librarian. We’ve read all the lines and learned all the come-back ones.”

  He glanced down, fingering the material of the tie, then looked up through thick, dark blond lashes, his sexy grin totally endearing. “You can't blame me. You’re very attractive for an older, wiser, reading woman,” he teased. “An anomaly in this town, I grant you, at least among the available gals my age I’ve been able to date. And you’re funny. They’re usually not.”

  “Probably desperate. Anxious? Unsure? Dating is a horrendous ritual. I’m amazed any of us made it through.”

  “I’ll bet you’re a great date.”

  “I hardly remember.”

  “Well, hey, maybe…”

  “Chad…Mr. Parks. Chad. I’m at least ten years older than you.”

  “I’m twenty-five.”

  “I know. We all know. From the paper.”

  “Good grief. You probably know the size of my biceps, too, and the size of my…thighs.”

  She cocked her head at him. “Chadford, your mouth is beginning to run away with you.”

  “I know.” He leaned closer. “You bring out the run-away-with-me in me.”

  He was going to kiss her and she didn’t want him not to. This was…this was…really unusual.

  His face was inches from hers. Young, unblemished. Open. Eager. She felt his heat rising as he moved even closer. She tried…she really did…

  “We should…we should get back to the sex…”

  “Exactly what I had in mind.”

  She felt the tie around her waist loosen. The dress fell open. She felt his hands on her, on her stomach, moving up to her bra.

  His eyes never left hers. They widened as his fingers cupped the lightweight material “Oh, my, God,” he breathed. “You feel…fantastic.” His open mouth covered hers, a soft, anxious tongue sliding between her stunned, lax lips. His strong, muscular body pushed against her, molding her to him as if magnetized. He was hard. His erection pressed into her pubis. Juices flowed into her panties.

  Hot waves rose from their welded middle, rushing like boiling lava through Syble’s veins. He kissed her ravenously, his hands all over, pressing against her back, molding her bottom. She kissed him back. It should have been out of desperation, need, clawing hunger. But she didn’t feel desperate. She felt hungry.

  Her leg rose to coil around him, pressing her wet crotch against his thrusting jeans as her hands found his smooth jaw and clutched at his strong back.

  “I’m…I’m wearing panty hose,” she whispered against his mouth. He pulled away from her looking blank.

  “I’m wearing two jocks,” he said hesitantly, looking down.

  One startled part of her almost exploded in laughter. The other part snuggled her head into the crook of his neck, licking the smooth skin. Her fingers went to the sheer weave she had mentioned separating her from him, thrust through the fabric and ripped it apart.

  His breath came in deepening gasps as he quickly fumbled with his zipper. He dug inside his jeans, working to pull himself free. “Oh, jeez,” he hesitated, pointing his flesh at her sizzling center.

  “It’s okay,” Syble murmured. “I’m on the pill. Blessed pill.”

  With an urgent sigh of gratitude he pushed the pre-cum slicked corona of his desperate dick against her slit, already lubricated, already parting with need. He drove inside, deliberately, pressing deeper and deeper, and when encountering no resistance—only encircling, velvet muscles urging him into the far reaches of her throbbing tunnel—he socketed himself all the way inside her. Soon his firm balls settled against the moist mound of her perineum.

  “Oh…my…God,” Chad breathed. “That’s…you are…unbelievable.”

  He slowly pulled back, extracting himself, fighting the urge to stay, as the coils in Syble’s emptying tunnel rebelled, clutching at his retreating fullness. She tightened her grip.

  “Oh, jeez,” he gasped and thrust back in. He pulled out again quickly but slammed back in before her impatient pussy could complain. In and out he pumped, his fingers clutching her bottom, clamping her to him; her encircling leg tightened, locking them together.

  Syble ground her hips as Chad pistoned in and out, her body arching and writhing under his onslaught. “God in Heaven,” he gasped, “what the hell are you doing to my dick? That’s fucking amazing.” His smooth brow, now wrinkled with concentration, began to glow. Sweat popped out on his upper lip. He mashed his face to hers, not interrupting the rhythm of his thrusts.

  Syble’s insides sucked him in even more greedily. Her back pressed against the metal stacks, her ass and shoulders shoving back rows of books. Somehow she hung on, her tongue driving against his, entrapping his, encircling his, winding him deeper into her mouth.

  Her pussy inhaled his meat, grabbed a gurgling breath, and then inhaled him more deeply. She could feel his lunging length under her belly button, in her chest, pushing between her breasts. She could taste his lube in the back of her throat.

  “Oh, God, I’m coming! I’m coming! My fucking ass is about to blow off!” he gasped.

  She milked him harder, not as much for his imminent orgasm as for hers. She hadn’t had a vaginal pop in a coon’s age, as her sainted grandma might have said. Oh, God, she was coming along with him into the home stretch, hooves slamming home, dirt pounded into pulverized dust, jockeys’ silken rock-hard asses smoothly working up and down like well-oiled machine.

  “Jesus, fuck! Oh, my! Ungh! Sweet Mother! Yeah! Oh, fuck, yeah!”

  These were not sweet, romantic musings to be tenderly recorded and recalled, nor were they indications of how staggeringly potent the simultaneous orgasms had been. They were blasphemous exclamations, gritted out through clamped teeth, hisses and grunts used to tamp the screams that were gagging the full-throated bellows they both wanted to let loose. In the library! In the florescent-lit back stacks! His thick, creamy cum homogenizing with her cunt juices, now drained from her pussy, drizzling down her leg.

  Laying against her, heart pounding, he sucked in deep gasps of air. Pressed back, she finally felt the hard shelves and soft books creasing her backside. Her insides were pure liquid. Pumped full enough of him to have leftovers slicking the glass floor. She could skid over it on her bare bottom. She could whirl and skate her butt on the cum-drenched, under-lit floor. Syble sighed. Contentment had not filled her this over-flowingly in a long, long time.

  “My dick wants to live in your pussy,” he croaked quietly into her neck, his big chest still heaving, his denim-covered thighs pushing against her bifurcated panty hose. “I want to pound you so hard and so often, I want to fuck you so much that your pussy will barely have time to pee it will be so busy sucking me in.”

  Syble chuckled. “My husband might get annoyed.”

  He froze against her. In her. His breath stopped. She felt his dick detumesce, its little mouth, she imagined, still dribbling his thick seed, shaped in a Whaaaa? Her clit, digging into the root of his buried meat, shrank back, Uh oh, waggling like an admonishing finger.

  “Your…what?” He was a ve
ry little boy. There was no Santa Claus. “Ooooo, nonononono. Your husband?” His head wobbled back and forth, unbelieving, refusing to take it in as he pushed his upper body away from her, head down, his midsection still glued to hers, his dick still buried deep. “But you’re in the middle of a really shitty divorce? He beats you. You’re gonna take him for all he’s worth. Right? You wish he would fucking croak! Please. Please!” His cerulean blues were pale and haunted, searching her face for an out.

  “No, Stephen is a wonderful man. You two would…”

  “Oh, no! Oh, definitely damn no, ma’am we would not. He will want to rip off my dick and shove it into as many inappropriate spots as he can find. And,” he wailed. “I can’t blame him. Dudes don’t do that to each other. Real men do not fuck another man’s wife. What would my kids say?” He moaned mightily, but his still-hard meat remained where he had planted it. “If he’s such a great guy, why…did you…do you…? You don’t, do you?” He looked truly aghast.

  “No, no,” Syb pleaded. “I’ve never cheated before. No. First time. No eccentricities. Oh, you probably don’t know Tennessee Williams that well. I promise, you’re the very first time I’ve ever…You were so terrific looking. So sexy. So ready. I don’t know…but, well, there you are.” She tightened her vaginal muscles, though he was making no attempt to withdraw. She just wanted him to know she truly cared. That he wasn’t one in a crop.

  His eyes widened. “Oh, God,” he moaned. “How do you do that? That’s fantastic. That’s totally unbelievable what you do when you…nobody else has ever…do you do that to him, too?”

  “When I get a fucking chance.” Her answer was fully as snide as she had intended.

  “Oh.” He nodded, suddenly calm, satisfied. “The dude does not do you enough.” It seemed to be an answer he could live with. Relaxing his guard, he took a deep breath. “Why? Has his dick gone dead?” His smirk was not as attractive as his grins.

  “He’s very busy, working in the city. He’s home on weekends. But, even then…I guess I miss him more than I had let myself realize.” The young man’s hips began to subtly grind, in answer to her deep-rooted clutch. He was still hard. Like Stephen used to be. Hard for hours. In her for hours.

  “I’m not losing this,” Chad said, forcibly, his hips grinding more urgently now, screwing himself in. “I’m not giving you up. You’re unbelievable. We’re meant to fuck. Fuck a lot. Don’t tell me you don’t know that.” He slowly pumped in and out, deliberately, re-claiming his territory, re-defining his inches, re-imprinting his massive, young, vaginal filling meat on the grasping velvet walls. The withdrawals and plunges were more and more powerful. He reached up and pulled a breast free of her bra. The strained undergarment ripped. Damn, another twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents shot, along with the twelve-dollar pantyhose. Target, here I come.

  There was a big red bulls eye on her pussy and Chadford “Chad” Davis Parks, Assistant Coach of the town’s high school, was shooting his big, bad arrow home. Again. She went with it.

  “Miz Thornton, are you still in there?” It was the plaintive voice of Syble’s young library assistant calling from the doorway of the lower floor. Chad froze again inside her, although ‘froze’ was definitely not the operative word.

  “Yes, Andy,” she answered. “We are.”

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Leave a note at the desk saying you’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Oh…yeah. That's cool. Is the coach still with you?”

  “He is,” she said. Chad smirked and resumed fucking her. “We’re getting a lot done. Thank you for looking after things for me. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  “Okay.” The door slammed. How many times had she told Andy not to let any of the heavy doors in the ancient library slam?

  She spread her legs to stretch her pelvic muscles, ripping the panty hose’s crotch even further. Her husband, Stephen, could still give a good account of himself—when they did it—but the young stud assistant coach was going to leave her slightly raw if she wasn’t careful.

  “You coming with me? Don’t just lean back and let me boff you, gal. Your old dude can’t screw his lady two times in a row?” His voice was rough and preening. He redoubled his pounding. She loved it. “I want to hear those cries of ecstasy again.” Although she had made no sound during the first round, stunned into ecstatic silence.

  “He…Steven…does…very well,” she gasped, released to verbalize. “Thank you…young smug stud. If you were…under the pressure he’s under…you might have to…cut back a little…yourself.”

  “He’s got a dead dick. You’re just being nice ’cause you’re the kind of great gal you are. I’m never gonna cut back on you.”

  What, she thought, annoyed, her breath beginning to come more quickly—what prerogative does the young punk think he deserves from just one fantastic fuck? Well, one and a half, and well on it’s way to being a two homer. The nattering harpy waving a red flag was way back in her consciousness.

  He came.

  She came.

  Rattling the bookshelves. Bodies wracked. They clung to each other and braced against the shelves.

  “I’m not letting you go,” he said, even more defiantly, looking at her fiercely, when his senses had returned. He stayed inside her, still hard.

  Syble’s senses were returning to her, too. The red flag waved even more frantically. And she wasn’t too sure what to make of it. She should be appalled with herself. Ashamed. Horrified.

  She wasn’t.

  “Miz Thornton? You still in there…with the coach?”

  “No, Andy, Coach Parks and I jumped out the back window.”

  “What? Oh…yeah. Ha,” he grunted. Andy knew a joke when he heard one, and he could come back with one, too. “Well, then I guess you saw Miz Abernathy driving into the parking lot. Can I go?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Andy. Be sure to sign out.” Syble began pulling herself together. Chad was still impounded. Neither of their bodies wanted to uncouple. “Mrs. Abernathy is a very dedicated volunteer who will not stand at the doorway and yell,” she told the coach. “She’ll be up here right away, anxious to help.”

  “Maybe we could fit her in someplace,” he smirked, reluctantly extricating himself. He stared lovingly at her sodden pussy as she tugged the shredded pantyhose over its swollen lips and enclosed the evidence with the wrap dress.

  It took him a bit of finagling with the large, semi-soft appendage to get it securely tucked away inside his two jock straps. Syble was fascinated.

  He shrugged in answer to her unasked question as he zipped up and she tied the von Furstenberg securely. They started down the stairs. “The sex questions the kids ask me can get pretty graphic. They don’t need to see their coach getting a hard on over their angst. Therefore, two.”

  “You're a good man, Charlie Parks,” she smiled softly, hurrying to explain the joke as he started to correct his name. “As in ‘good man, Charlie Brown.’” Sliding behind the librarian’s desk in the small, sun-streaked, high-ceilinged main room of the library, she settled herself as the earnest Mrs. Abernathy came toward them over the creaking floorboards.

  “Thank you for your help, Ms…” Coach Parks glanced at the nameplate on Syble’s desk.

  “Thornton,” Mrs. Abernathy spoke up behind him as she bustled up. “Mrs. Thornton. Our one and only ‘professional’ librarian, and the town is lucky to have secured her superior abilities.”

  Chad smiled at the older woman and nodded back to Syble before turning to go. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  The town wasn’t the only one lucky enough to have found her, his look said. And I’m not losing you to a dead dick.

  Behind the librarian’s desk, Syble blushed and crossed her legs as her soaked crotch absorbed a farewell ‘’til the next time’ squirt.

  “He seems a nice young man,” Mrs. Abernathy observed, watching the retreating figure.

  “Yes.” Syble’s gaze rose from the snuggly enca
sed ass to observe the official leather patch at the jeans’ unbelted waistband. Levis. Fitted. “Very nice.”

  “I hope he found what he was looking for.”

  “I think he found more than he was looking for.”

  “Oh, good. I’m glad you were able to help.”

  Chapter Two

  That evening, at home, Syble waited for the other shoe to drop—to feel remorse, disgust, sorrow, pity, annoyance...fear and trembling? Some acknowledgment of what she had done.

  She expected one or the other, or all of them, to arise when she talked to Stephen.

  They tried to talk every day or two during the week, though there wasn’t that much to say. The firm he was slaving at was tanking, inexorably; his corporate life was hell and quickly drawing to a close. He should have bailed long ago. It was relentless and grim and all she could do was support him as best as she could and wait for him to get back to her on the weekends where she could hold him and soothe him and try to give him strength enough to get through another week.

  And as usual, while they talked, she listened and made appropriate commiserating sounds, and her heart ached from what he was going through. She told him she loved him and to get back to the warmth and protection of her love as soon as he could.

  When she hung up, she realized she hadn’t thought of Chad once. She hadn’t not thought of Chad either. He seemed a non-issue. She was too busy supporting Stephen, sending her love, her support, and her strength over the wires. If anything, Chad would probably commiserate with Stephen about the job more than she. They were guys. They all seemed to have those genes. Make a career. Keep at it. Play Powerball with their whole being.

  There were other things in life.

  She had done her wifely duty of being as supportive and as understanding as she could. Now she wanted a warm bath. Warm to hot, with that wonderful stuff—beads or pellets that somebody had given her that smelled like patchouli and sandalwood and other exotic climes, and that made the water feel like wet silk scarves sliding over her skin.

  And bubbles, it made bubbles; that stuff, she remembered, puffy clouds of cuddly bubbles that would meringue her silken skin, which was still glowing and tingly from the afternoon.