Mandy did not love Frank.

Mandy did not love Frank, but she had sex with him anyway. This bothered her sometimes. It wasn’t that she’d never had sex with someone she didn’t love before—far from it. There had been a time when sex was Mandy’s number one choice of recreational activities.

But that was back when she wasn’t having sex with someone she did love. Now she had a lover, dear, sweet Jeremy—Jeremy who was gentle and considerate and steady and dependable and who would never, ever cheat on her. And the sex was great, too.

By all practical standards her emotional and physical needs were met, which made Mandy’s secret passion for Frank all the more inconceivable. It did not, however, keep her from showing up right on time for their weekly rendezvous.

Why was her mind consumed with this man? Their relationship began and ended with naked bodies and messy secretions and naughty words like insects buzzing in the dark. Passion. Friction. Sweat-gleam on curve of breast or buttock. Dark, damp places, and two people who ought to be old enough to know better than to rut like rabbits in long, lascivious, mindless fucks.

When Mandy took time to consider these facts, they puzzled her—but it didn’t happen often, and it didn’t last for long. All Frank had to do was put his big hands on her bare skin and grin that happy farmboy grin and she turned into so much clay to be molded around his cock, a sex toy made to order.

Sometimes she thought that the smile was the key. She knew she shared that silly grin, that look of sheer delight when he pinched her nipples or rubbed his eager fingers against the hot, hard nubbin of her clit. For all their carefully developed adult sophistication, they were both still what they were born—a pair of yokels, bright enough to break away from life downwind of clover and manure, but still tied to those days when their private encounters with their own respective joy buttons brought the most exciting entertainment life could afford. They couldn’t be blas’ about it if they tried. Great pleasures more recently discovered might be viewed at a graceful distance, but never that first, primal experience of bliss.

Hence the grins that couldn’t be entirely suppressed. Hence the simple, delicious lust, quaked with cocks and cunts and eager fingers and mouths happy to suck and lick any body part they were offered.

Even lying on Frank’s bed, skin glowing near-opal against black satin sheets, Mandy could still smell the scent of cows and clover, in her mind if not in her nose. The prickle of warm hay was permanently embedded on the curving cheeks of her ass. And she could still see dust motes dancing in a single band of sunlight over Frank’s shoulder, as he drove in his cock again and again to the rhythm of flickering candles.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Harder. Oh, baby, fuck me.”

Clich’s never used anywhere but with this man. Because with him they were new, and exciting, and deliciously dirty, like they had been when she was twelve years old and just learning what they meant.

Fuck me. Harder. Fuck me till I scream. Fuck me until my head blows off.

Oh, yeah. Delectable dirty words, finally in a place that didn’t involve the wooden door of the fourth bathroom stall down in the girls’ room at Central High. Fuck me harder. I wanna feel you shoot off. I wanna feel your cum all over me. Another word, long disdained as poor spelling. But when Frank came inside her, it was cum. Cum dribbling out of her cunt, cum that she swallowed when he came in her mouth. Cunt. Cock. Tit. Fuck. All the naughty words, with all the naughty glee like she was sneaking a shag in Uncle Bill’s hayloft with that nice neighbor boy, Danny, who first showed her what made little boys different from little girls.

Mandy shuddered and grasped Frank’s shoulders in tight, tight fingers. “Harder,” she whispered. “Oh, God, just fuck me.” Her hands moved to her own tits, to pull at the nipples and wish that Frank would suck them. Sometimes she just wanted to lie there and have Frank suck her tits until she came without so much as a finger on her clit or cunt or indeed below her waist. She loved to have her nipples sucked, more than she loved having her clit sucked, if truth be told. As much as she loved to suck Frank’s cock, to feel him explode in her eager, gulping mouth.

Oh, god … she was there already … Mandy gasped and wrapped her legs tightly around Frank’s midsection as she came like a firecracker, a string of M80’s popping off in rapid succession deep in her cunt. She clenched her vagina, hard, around Frank’s pumping tool, and felt him shoot off inside her, like she’d grabbed an open tube of lotion and slammed down her fist on it. Hot cum, battering the wall of her diaphragm and leaking down to make a serious wet spot on the sheet beneath her.

“Ah, shit … the sheets,” Mandy laughed, and rolled, so that Frank ended up beneath her, his cock still buried in her throbbing cunt. “God, that was so good.” She felt like she should say something enthusiastic, although she supposed her physical response had already communicated the message. “So good.”

“The sheets will wash.” Frank pulled her head down to his, pressed a long, delicious kiss on her swollen mouth. Mandy adored kissing Frank—his tongue was agile and his nose never got in the way. Finally he let go of her and smiled. “I was kind of worried there for a few minutes—you looked like you’d gone out for a snack or something.”

“Just wandering around in my head. Thinking about us.” Mandy laughed at the shadow of panic in Frank’s eyes. “Not like THAT! Don’t worry, I don’t love you, either.”

Equilibrium restored, Frank grinned. “So—what about us?”

“I don’t know—how you look like you must have the first time you dipped your wick into Aunt Emma’s prize heifer.”

Frank’s eyes widened, and he burst out laughing. “That’s what I like about you’so romantic!”

Mandy laughed, and said, “At least you aren’t a hypocrite about it. You’re the one person I don’t have to dress it up for.”

“I kind of like that slinky little black number.”

“Not dress ME up. Dress IT up. Sex. I wonder why that is.”

Frank grinned. “Easy. It’s like apples.”

“Apples? Now you’ve lost me.”

Staring at Frank curiously, Mandy sat back on her heels—the fact that she still straddled his thighs was irrelevant, even as he automatically reached up and starting playing her breasts as he murmured to her in a soft, seductive voice. “You can do so many things with apples—bake ’em, make ’em into pies, bake ’em in cakes, stuff one in a pig’s mouth—all of those things are interesting, and most of them are tasty, but sometimes you just want to grab an apple, bite into it, and eat it.” Frank smiled. “Raw.”

Mandy grinned at the image. “That’s a fun fantasy.”

“What’s your favorite fantasy?” Frank asked suddenly. “Something we haven’t done yet.”

Mandy could feel herself blush as the answer sprang immediately to mind. “I’d like to have another man join us,” she confessed. “I’d like have you fuck me while he fucks you. And the other way, too. And I’d like to see if I could take both of you at the same time.”

“One in your mouth, one in your cunt?” Frank smiled at the image, and Mandy could see his breathing start to quicken. She could feel his cock trying to stir beneath her, and raised herself to her knees to accommodate it.

“No … one in my cunt, one up my ass. Nice and careful and slow.”

The mental picture was enough for Frank’s needs. When Mandy sank down, she found a regular railspike of a hard-on waiting to impale her.

“Maybe we can do that sometime,” Frank conceded in a studiedly blas’ tone.

But he couldn’t quite hide that farmboy grin.

© 2005 Daphne Dubonet. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.