Her eyes caressed the smoky, deep green length of it and again the words went through her mind – long and thick and hard and warm…

It wasn't warm, but three out of four would do, especially in Janet Jamison's state.

She crawled off the bed with the lithe ease of a big, tawny skinned cat, just reaching the candle from the end of the bed, then lay back with the phallic length of soft wax in her hand.

She couldn't close her fingers about it, falling short by perhaps an inch. It was thicker than her husband – at least as thick any man she'd ever known. As she lay back on the pillow legs spread, lowering the base of the candle, smooth and rounded with the contours of the holder in which it had lain on the dresser, she was momentarily uncertain about what she was doing.

She put one hand down to her cunt, slipping one finger inside. She was fearfully tight there and found herself unsure of whether or not she could take it without pain or injury.

But then she felt the tension, the need to come beginning to knot inside her all the more, and she threw caution to the winds.

The base of the candle touched between the folds of her cunt flesh, pushed up against it. It wouldn't go in at first and she wondered if it was too much for her.

But then she remembered the wonderful elasticity of her cunt, stretching to accommodate men, no matter how large, contracting to grip their penises, no matter how diminutive, and she felt the lubricating secretions dripping from her quim and she knew that not only could she take it – she had to have it!

Janet put her other hand down between spreading the lips of her pussy. The first time, it had pushed them inward, instead of slipping between. This time, though, she held them splayed widely apart as she fitted the blunt, gently rounded end of the candle between, then let them snap back tightly into place around the shaft.