She'd had plenty of chances, it wasn't that.

There was the loyalty to Carl, the memory of him, the fear that nobody would ever measure up to him.

It wasn't that she was sexless, either. But she'd found a solution to salve her jittering pussy and keep herself from becoming prey to the unscrupulous studs who had fluttered around her for the first two years, wanting all the goodies that Carl had left behind.

The solution hadn't been enough lately. Finger-fucking was fine for a while. It could take care of the burning need. It was fine in the dark of night when she would awaken with her pussy aflame and dripping between her thighs and her hips pumping up and down as if there were a prick thrusting into her cunt.

She could spread her thighs and move her hands between her legs and make her fingers swirl over her honeyed cunt-mouth and straining clit, make them massage the bloated lips and even venture into the slick, wet haven of her cunt in imitation of a big cock.

But the time had come now when she wanted a real one, a hard one, a cock that spurted and boiled slick sperm into her depths and bathed her flaming pussy walls to put out the fire inside her.

She saw it. It was coming towards her, hard and long. She could see the full line of the throbbing shaft inside his pants, and she couldn't suppress the little shiver rippling through her body.

She wanted it. Even if it wasn't Carl's, she wanted to be fucked by that hard, thrusting prick!

"Ohhhhhh, God…" she moaned softly, lying back on the couch before he was even over her, shameless and hot.

He paused. He gazed on her slim, willowy form, seeing the clear outline of her thrusting, firm tits under the satiny material of the green dress.

He ran his eyes over the pinch of her waist, the sweet curves of her hips, the way the material dipped between her thighs and outlined the vee of her pussy.