Wedding time. Not Dan’s, of course, but that of Marc Chapman’s sister, Belinda. Dan and Marc had gone to college together, and he had gotten to know the Chapman family well during the summer months. Though Dan and Marc did not know each other in high school, they did grow up in nearby towns; as such, they saw each other frequently when they were home from school.
The actual ceremony was to be held in a Catholic church in Barrington, where Marc and Belinda grew up, with the reception to follow at their parents’ small estate, also in Barrington. Marc and Belinda’s aunt, Barbara Harrington, had offered to host the rehearsal dinner at the nearby horse ranch she and her husband owned.
Dan was not part of the wedding party nor was he family, but his relationship with Marc and the rest of the Chapman family was such that he was invited to the rehearsal dinner. He and Marc drove out from Chicago early on the Friday afternoon before the wedding, trying to avoid the traffic on the Kennedy. While Marc attended the actual rehearsal at the church, Dan remained at Marc’s parents’ house, showering and getting ready for the rehearsal dinner.
Marc’s parents dropped him of at their home after the rehearsal dinner, where he and Dan got in Dan’s car and drove the few miles to the horse ranch. As they approached the ranch, white fences lined each side of the road. Stretching beyond the fences on each side were acres of lush green grass, horses dotting the landscape.
“Take a right up here,” Marc directed. Dan turned onto a macadam driveway that, like the road before it, was bordered on both sides by white fences and rose gently from the road. They drove for a time under a canopy of trees that were rooted between the driveway and the fences.
“How far’s the house?” Dan inquired.
“Just over this hill. You’ll see it in a minute.”
As soon as Dan crested the slight hill they were ascending, the Harrington’s home came into view. ‘Home’ was somewhat of an understatement, though. It appeared closer to a manor, not quite a mansion, and probably approached 15,000 square feet. Gleaming white, the front of the house was actually the back of the house, while the back faced out across acres of horse country.
Dan also noted a number of outlying structures. Off to the left of the house were a large stables; several pick-up trucks and farm vehicles were parked neatly in front of it. Behind the stables was a fenced area, containing a dozen or so horses of various breeds.
To the right of the house was an Olympic-sized pool, a large, slate patio nestled between it and the manor. A hundred yards or so from the pool was a smaller structure that appeared to be a guest residence, or perhaps servants’ quarters. Its size was difficult to discern at this distance and angle, but it was larger than most peoples’ primary residences and was spread over two floors.
Just beyond the pool was a large tent, bustling with activity. The Harrington’s, unsure of what the weather would be like, ensured their guests’ comfort this evening by hiring a tent erection company to install the huge edifice in their backyard. Right now, caterers were busy setting up bars and ensuring that the tables were properly set.
“Quite a spread,” Dan muttered.
“Yeah, nice place they have. We used to come out here and duck hunt, but that didn’t go over very well with the neighbors. Also, not too many ducks,” he laughed. “My Aunt Barbara had a bunch of three wheelers for a while that we’d take out when we were growing up, but they scared the horses and Uncle Tom didn’t let us use them anymore.”
“What a shame,” Dan laughed, pulling up next to the Chapmans’ car in front of a four-car garage. “All this land and you can’t play.”
“That didn’t stop us. We just took the three wheelers over to my parents’ house. No rules there,” Marc replied, stepping from the car. Dan followed him into the house and out the other side. Marc’s parents and a few family members (from both sides of the bridal couple) had already arrived, and were sipping cocktails on the large patio. The sun had begun to set, and it cast a warm glow over the patio and a reflection across the pristine surface of the pool.
Marc’s dad introduced Dan to family members that had flown in for the wedding, and also to Tom Harrington, whom he had never met. Mr. Harrington appeared to be in his early- to mid-sixties, and was overall an imposing man; when they shook hands, Mr. Harrington’s engulfed Dan’s, gripping tightly. Close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair capped his six-foot-two frame, which resembled that of an aging linebacker.
A waiter in formal livery asked for their drink order as Dan and Marc took seats around the large table, listening as their elders spoke of politics and taxes, and argued (goodheartedly) between Republican and Democratic policies. Dan sat there listening dutifully, and took in the rolling meadow beyond the pool, and the activity within the tent. The caterers began rolling up the plastic sides of the tent in anticipation of guests arriving.
As one of the panels was rolled up, a striking woman in a pale yellow sundress strode from beneath the tent toward the patio. Dan put his glass to his lips as the woman approached the patio, her wavy, light brown hair blowing in the slight breeze, her large breasts bobbing rhythmically beneath the sundress. As she stepped onto the slate, the click-clack of her heels reached Dan’s ears, and he looked down, taking in her long, lean legs that ended with sexy feet encased in a pair of sexy Manolo Blahnik open-toed heels, her red toenails gleaming in the setting sun.
“We’re all set,” the woman announced to the gathered crowd on the patio, her striking smile lighting up a beautifully sculptured face. Her green eyes, set below trimmed and arched eyebrows, sparkled with life. A thin elegant nose led down to her enticing mouth, encircled by full lips smeared with shiny crimson lip gloss. “It’s such a gorgeous evening, I told the caterers to roll up the sides of the tent so we can all enjoy the weather.”
“Good job, Barb,” Tom Harrington said, rising from his chair. “Honey, I don’t think you’ve our man Dan, before. Dan was fraternity brothers with Marc at USC.” The Harringtons, like the Chapmans, were big USC supporters. As Dan set his drink on the wrought iron table and rose from his seat, Mr. Harrington continued. “Dan, this is my lovely wife, Barbara.” Dan was somewhat taken aback that this lovely creature was Mr. Harrington’s wife. She didn’t look any older than forty-five and, if Dan had guessed Mr. Harrington’s age correctly, that put she and her husband almost twenty years apart.
Before he could reflect further, Barbara Harrington took two graceful strides and was before him as he extended his hand. “Nonsense, our man Dan,” she said, laughing. She embraced Dan in a friendly hug, her lustrous hair in his face, her delicious scent wafting through his nostrils as he inhaled. He could feel her soft, full breasts mold themselves to his chest.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Harrington,” Dan said, stepping back.
“The feeling is mutual, Dan. If you will excuse me for a moment.” Speaking to the crowd, she continued, “I’ll be right back. I need to make sure the valets are ready for when the guests arrive.” With that, the intoxicating Mrs. Harrington stepped from the patio and Dan watched her disappear through the extra-wide French doors that led into the manor. So as to avoid any impropriety, Dan tore his gaze from her slim bottom as it swayed from side-to-side, and rejoined the conversation.
Soon after, the guests began to arrive in earnest, and Dan and Marc mingled with the crowd during a cocktail hour held on the patio. Dan had met a number of Belinda’s friends over the years, and spent time talking with them and their boyfriends, fiancés, and husbands. He was also introduced to late-arriving family members. On occasion, he would catch glimpses of Mrs. Harrington as she, too, mingled. Once, he spied her on the other side of the patio. A champagne glass in her right hand, she brushed a few stray hairs from her face with the other; a four-carat diamond on her left ring finger sparked in the fading light of day. She then brought the glass to her shiny red lips and swallowed some of the sweet liquid, her crimson fingertips lightly holding the glass. Dan looked away too soon to see Mrs. Harrington’s gaze momentarily fall upon him.
As the sun passed over the horizon, a ringing of a chime called the guests into the dimly lit tent, where they found their assigned seats. Thankfully, Belinda was kind enough to seat Dan with Marc. He was afraid that he would have to sit with Belinda’s friends. They were nice enough, but he couldn’t imagine sitting at a table with them for a few hours, listening to all the talk of babies and weddings and such. How boring!
As they sat, Marc introduced Dan to the two or three family members at the table that he had not yet met. They sat back and engaged in the typical banter of family members brought together for such an occasion. Occasionally, Dan was brought into the conversation with questions about his career and how he knew the Chapmans.
At all other times, Dan listened attentively, laughing where appropriate. When the main entrée was served, causing a lull in the conversation, Dan cast his eyes around the tent and they fell on Mrs. Harrington. Sitting two tables over but facing in Dan’s direction, he watched as she brought a piece of lobster tail to her luscious red lips, closing them around the tines of the fork. Dan groaned inwardly, and his cock twitched. He had not previously realized how tan Mrs. Harrington was, perhaps too awe-struck by her exquisite beauty to notice. She turned her head in response to something that was said to her, and Dan caught the glint from a large diamond stud mounted in one of her ears.
Dan turned to Marc. “So, what does your Uncle Tom do? This place, and this party . . . it’s all pretty amazing.”
“Actually, he doesn’t do anything. He was a bond trader in the eighties, and made a killing. Now, he just travels and messes around in some small businesses.” Marc stuffed a piece of asparagus in his mouth and chewed.
“Have he and your aunt been married a long time?”
“Uuhh, I can’t really remember when they got married, actually. Probably fifteen years ago, I guess. I was still in junior high, so that’s about right.”
Marc leaned a little closer to Dan, so no one else could hear. “In case you couldn’t tell, Aunt Barbara’s a trophy wife. Don’t get me wrong; she’s a great lady and I love her, but she was around thirty or so when they got married, and I think Tom was almost fifty, if not over fifty. I guess he needed a looker on his arm.”
Dan nodded as he ate his lobster tail. ‘Well, he sure as hell succeeded,’ he thought to himself as he once again looked through the gaps to see Mrs. Harrington. Dan’s heart skipped a beat when she returned his look. Swallowing somehow elegantly, Mrs. Harrington flashed a wondrous smile at him, and gave a slight wave. Dan felt like he was blushing, but waved back.
Marc continued. “Neither of them spends much time here, usually only in the summer. They have a place in Aspen and another in Naples. Aunt Barbara usually spends the winter down there, and even parts of the summer.”
When the dinner plates were cleared, but before desert was served, Mr. Harrington rose to say a few gracious words to the guests, and introduced Jack’s dad, who gave a very touching toast to his son and future daughter-in-law. Midway through his speech, Dan looked towards Mrs. Harrington, and saw a long, manicured nail wipe a tear from her deeply tanned cheek. She again caught Dan staring at her, and sent a demure smile his way.
After Jack’s father concluded his toast, the wait staff served desert. Dan watched as Mrs. Harrington rose and walked toward the back of the tent and toward the house. She passed by him on her way, and placed her long fingers on his shoulders as she edged between Dan’s chair and the chair behind him. Dan closed his eyes and savored the touch and lingering scent of the alluring woman. As she continued between the tables, Dan turned to watch her go, and found her staring back at him, her shiny lips contorted in a sly smile. Inside, he shuddered.
Mrs. Harrington returned to the tent five or ten minutes later, as the wait staff was clearing the guests’ desert plates. A small band behind a make-shift dance floor struck up a tune, and people began to dance. Dan and Marc made their way to the bar, and ordered a few drinks. A few songs in, Marc wandered off to talk to his grandmother, and Dan spotted some of Belinda’s friends’ husbands sitting at a table, talking. Apparently, the women were in conclave with Belinda. He pushed himself off the bar to make his way over to the table, but was intercepted by Mrs. Harrington.
“Care to join me on the dance floor, our man Dan?” she flirtatiously asked, a champagne glass gripped in one manicured hand. Without waiting for an answer, she extended her free hand in the hopes that Dan would take it. Not having much choice, and in any event not inclined to decline the offer, Dan led her to the dance floor, pausing to allow her to drop her champagne glass at a floor-side table.
Once on the dance floor, Mrs. Harrington moved into Dan, and he placed his hands in the appropriate places, his left hand in her right, and his right chastely on her left hip. Having been exposed as a child to charity events and black-tie balls, Dan moved the elegant Mrs. Harrington gracefully across the dance floor. Dan could feel the warmth of her radiate through the pale yellow fabric that covered her hip.
After they had established a rhythm, Dan looked down into her darkened face. “Fabulous party, Mrs. Harrington.”
“Why thank you, our man Dan. We wouldn’t have it any other way for our Belinda. She’s the only niece, you know. Aside from her and me, all the Chapmans are men.” Mrs. Harrington’s eyes sparkled, exuding a confident flirtatiousness that was difficult to miss.
“Hmmph. I hadn’t noticed.” Dan continued to move Mrs. Harrington around the dance floor.
“Why do they call you ‘our man Dan’?” she inquired. Her left hand, which had been resting lightly on Dan’s shoulder, slipped a little to cover his shoulder blades and then the middle of his back. She pulled herself a little closer to Dan’s body, her breasts touching the top of his stomach.
“I have no idea. The first time I ever heard it was this evening.”
“It’s a rather interesting sobriquet, don’t you think?” she lilted. Dan could feel the fabric of her sundress rustling against the front of his pants and shirt.
“Not really. I think its part of the old school fraternity thing, that’s all.” Dan spun Mrs. Harrington in a tight circle, their hands and body parts again meeting where they ought to, except that Mrs. Harrington’s crotch briefly bumped up against Dan’s. Her bright green eyes closed at the contact, feeling his semi-erect cock press against her taut stomach. Dan took the opportunity to look further down her body from her face, and marveled at the tanned cleavage that presented itself from the loose-fitting neck of her sundress. “I get the impression that Mr. Harrington is one of those old-school types.”
Mrs. Harrington’s eyes slowly opened and she almost snorted at that, adding with some derision, “You don’t say. You should be here in the fall during the college football season. It’s all ‘USC this’ and ‘Southern Cal that.’ It gets a little monotonous.”
“I’m sure. In any event, I think the ‘our man Dan’ thing comes from that.”
“Well, as fitting as it might be, I think you’re better suited to ‘my boy Dan.’ How does that strike you?” As these words tumbled from Mrs. Harrington’s crimson lips, she again bumped her crotch and mid-section against Dan, though purposely this time. He felt his cock stiffen further, and he stared down into her teasing eyes.
Dan smiled back at her. “I haven’t been called a boy in ages, Mrs. Harrington. But I suppose I could get used to you calling me your boy,” he teased back.
The band was winding up the song, and Mrs. Harrington was quick to get in the last word. As their bodies parted, maintaining contact only through his left hand and her right, Dan saw her delectably shiny lips move, and then the sounds reached his ears. “Maybe ‘my boy-toy’ is more appropriate then.” But with that, their hands parted and Mrs. Harrington sauntered from the dance floor, leaving Dan standing there, stupefied. He heard her heels crack across the wood dance floor, and watched her delightfully firm ass swing back and forth as she joined her husband at the bar.
Dan collected himself, and moved toward the other bar, where he found Marc talking to the husband of Belinda’s maid-of-honor. Ordering another drink for himself, he joined the conversation. No surprise at this time of year, they were talking about the Cubs chances at a pennant victory. A few other men soon joined the group.
“Blah, blah, blah,” a slightly inebriated Marc said. “It’s the same old thing every year. ‘The pitching staff looks good. The line-up is strong.’ Only this year, they’re without Sosa, which makes it worse than last year. All I can say is this: at the end of this season, we’ll all be saying the same thing we say at the end of every season – ‘maybe next year.'”
Dan added his own two-cents to the conversation, but is eyes drifted across the tent to Mrs. Harrington, now seated at a table with her husband and a few others. She was already looking at him. When their eyes met, Mrs. Harrington’s eyebrows arched, she shot a furtive glance toward the bar closest to her, and rose from her chair, staring pointedly at Dan.
He took the hint, and excused himself from the conversation. He nonchalantly eased his way through the tables, taking a circuitous route to the bar on the other side of the tent, where Mrs. Harrington had just received another glass of champagne. Dan ordered a Ketel One and tonic, and as the bartender prepared it, Mrs. Harrington said to him, sotto voce, “So, have you been given a proper tour of the grounds yet?” her eyes turning to fall upon Dan coquettishly.
“I don’t believe I have, Mrs. Harrington, though I was able to see much of the property as we drove in.” The bartender returned with Dan’s drink, and moved off to take another order.
“Still, you really should see everything up close. Mr. Harrington has done wonders with this property.”
“I’m sure he has,” Dan said moving away from the bar to let others in.
“Unfortunately, there is staff running all over the main house, so I can’t really give you a tour of it. And one of my brothers and his family is staying in the guest house, and I wouldn’t want to intrude on their privacy.” Mrs. Harrington paused and brought the glass to her shiny lips, taking a dainty pull of the champagne. The dim lights in the ceiling of the tent caused a flash from the diamond on her finger as she did so. Dan’s cock, which had deflated after his dance with this captivating woman, twitched inside his boxers. “I’ll tell you what, though, the stables are impressive. I think we’re boarding upwards of twenty-five horses right now, and they really are beautiful creatures.”
“Well, I’d certainly like to see them, Mrs. Harrington. But aren’t the stable hands around? I wouldn’t want to get in the way of their work.”
“No stable hands, Dan. They have the night off. Why don’t you give me about five minutes, and meet me in the stables. Then I’ll give you the tour. How does that sound?”
“Perfect, Mrs. Harrington. I can’t wait,” he responded, a gleam in his eye.
She was about to move off, but paused and looked back at him. “You sure do use my name a lot during our conversations, Dan.”
“It’s a beautiful name, Mrs. Harrington. I like the way it rolls of my tongue.”
“We’ll see about that,” she retorted, and walked off to join her husband and others at the table.
Dan made his way back to Marc and the others, who were still discussing the upcoming baseball season. When he saw Mrs. Harrington lean into her husband and whisper something in his ear, Dan asked Marc where the bathrooms were, his eyes still on Mrs. Harrington’s supple body as she cupped a hand on Mr. Harrington’s face and kissed him on the cheek. She then quickly departed the tent.
Dan followed Marc’s directions to the bathroom, which was located in the main house, and relieved himself. But when he stepped back onto the patio, instead of walking straight out toward the tent, he turned sharply left and circled around the back of the house. When he reached the other side, he located a gravel path, bordered on both sides by the same white fencing that otherwise occupied the estate, that led out a few hundred yards to the stables.
Bright stars from above illuminated the otherwise darkened path, and the sounds of the band and the party quickly receded behind him. Halfway out to the stables, he stopped and looked behind him, but saw no one, and continued on his way toward the stables.
Several open doorways led into the interior of the stables, revealing rows and rows of stalls. He heard the whinnying of the horses, and saw a few equine heads jut from their stalls, but no sign of Mrs. Harrington. As he continued along the front of the stables, a single light above a window-paned door was lit. Looking in, Dan discovered the tack room. Mrs. Harrington was leaning against a work table, a glass of champagne dangling in one hand, an unopened bottle of champagne in the other. A single industrial light mounted to the side of the table provided the only illumination in the room.
Before entering, he paused for just a moment to take in her figure. She still wore the open-toed heels that highlighted the well-toned musculature of her long, tanned legs. Leaning against the table as she was, her pale yellow sundress was pushed up a little on her hips, wrinkling the fabric across her crotch. She turned a little to her left, away from Dan, to place the champagne bottle on the table behind her, the movement causing the fabric of her dress to stretch across her large breasts. Her nipples visibly tented the dress, and it appeared to Dan that she may have removed her bra (if she was ever wearing one in the first place).
His cock began to lengthen in his pants, and he could feel the heat from its head against the inside of his thigh. Dan knocked slightly at the door and pushed it open. Mrs. Harrington turned toward him, taking a sip of champagne from the glass still held in her right hand. “I’m glad you found me, our man Dan.”
Dan stood in the doorway. “‘Our man, Dan’? I thought it was ‘my boy-toy Dan,’ or something to that effect.”
Mrs. Harrington merely smiled, and took another shot of champagne down her elegant, tanned throat. “Did you see the horses in their stalls on your way in?” she asked in a soft voice, brushing her long brown hair from her face, the diamond on her finger sparkling in the dim light.
“Then you’ve seen most of the stables. I could show you the hay loft, but there’s nothing really to see up there. The only thing left is the tack room, and here you are.” Mrs. Harrington shifted slightly, turning her enticing body toward him.
Dan looked around, taking it all in. It was a large room, probably twenty feet wide by thirty feet deep. Saddles – both English and Western – were mounted along the walls, along with reins and helmets and other accoutrements for horse-back riding. There were three or four stands upon which were mounted saddles, presumably in the process of repair. A number of worktables were placed about the floor, some empty, others holding a saddle or a stack of horseshoes or covered in horse brushes. One of the tables, of course, held a bottle of champagne and the lovely Mrs. Harrington.
She pushed herself away from the table and crooked a manicured finger at Dan, beckoning him to follow. “We keep all the equipment in here. Saddles and reins and such,” she said, beginning to circle the room, a long manicured finger pointing along the walls. “The stable hands use these tables,” she continued, gesturing, “to repair saddles and reins, or to pound out horseshoes.” Dan followed Mrs. Harrington as she circled the room.
She came to a stop along the wall opposite from where Dan had entered, and he came up behind her, placing his hands on her hips. A low moan escaped her throat, and she leaned back into him. Dan’s hands moved around her and his arms encircled her, resting across her firm stomach. Mrs. Harrington rested her head on his shoulder, tilting it away from him and exposing her tanned neck. He leaned down and placed light kisses along it.
“Mmmmm,” he heard her moan. “That feels delicious,” she said, almost under her breath.
Dan continued to kiss Mrs. Harrington along her neck, and his hands rubbed light circles over her taut stomach. He could hear the rustle of his fingers across the fabric of her sundress as his hands traveled up her stomach and bumped against the underside of her heavy breasts. She lifted her left arm and placed it behind Dan’s head, pulling him closer to her neck. He could feel her long, manicured nails as they massaged his scalp.
The scent of her had Dan’s cock throbbing in his pants. It had thickened and lengthened such that it was now uncomfortable. “You taste wonderful, Mrs. Harrington,” he whispered in her ear, blowing hot breath as he did. Dan’s hands moved up further on her torso and cupped her firm breasts, squeezing them, before running the palms of his hands across her erect nipples.
This stimulation caused her to increase the urgency with which she massaged Dan’s scalp, pulling his face tighter against her neck. Needing to relieve the uncomfortable position of his cock, Dan lightly rubbed his crotch against Mrs. Harrington’s backside, hoping to coax his shaft into a better place.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, quickly breaking his embrace and turning around. Mrs. Harrington threw her arms around Dan’s neck and pulled his face into hers. He saw her shiny red lips part before they disappeared from his view, and then felt her hot, wet tongue dive between his lips, exploring the interior of his warm mouth. Their lips mashed together, leaving streaks of red on his, smearing the red on hers.
Mrs. Harrington let an arm drop from around Dan’s neck, but kept one hand on the back of his head, ensuring that their lips remained in contact, their tongues dueling out of sight. Her now-free hand dropped between them, and quickly found Dan’s stiff shaft. She rubbed it a few times through the fabric of his pants, and groaned into his mouth when she felt it jump in her hand. “I need this thing inside me,” she moaned, the words muffled through the seal of their lips.
Her long fingers found first the belt buckle, then the button, and then the zipper of his pants, moving frantically from one obstacle to the next, easily overcoming each. Dan kicked his shoes off as Mrs. Harrington dropped his pants and boxers to his ankles. All obstacles to his cock now removed, Mrs. Harrington’s cool fingers gripped the shaft tightly, tugging it to and fro, as Dan eased her back against the wall, between two stacks of saddles on their mounts.
When Mrs. Harrington’s back hit the wall, Dan reached down and roughly pulled the hem of her sundress up and over her hips. With his fingers he sought to move the cloth of her panties or thong aside, but found that Mrs. Harrington was without. “No panties, huh, Mrs. Harrington?” he breathed into her mouth, their lips still locked in passionate embrace, tongues sliding over one another.
“Didn’t want them . . . to get in the way,” she panted back. Dan cupped his hand, and lightly rubbed Mrs. Harrington’s hairless vagina. Fluid leaked discretely from between her labia, lubricating Dan’s efforts. After a few strokes, her labia parted, and a surge of juice covered Dan’s hand and fingers. Mrs. Harrington was breathing heavily into Dan’s mouth now, and her lips and tongue seemed to have lost their rhythm. Dan allowed a finger to slip between her labia and into the overheated confines of her vagina, and she gasped, tossing her head back against the wood-plank wall with an audible crack.
When Dan removed his finger, it slid upward along the lips of her vagina and passed lightly over her exposed and now-engorged clitoris. Mrs. Harrington’s head lolled from side-to-side and Dan planted wet kisses along her collar bone and at the top of her cleavage. “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted as Dan’s finger continued to manipulate her clitoris. “Put it in me, Dan,” she whispered. “I need you to fuck me.”
Dan’s finger slipped from her clitoris, and he leaned down and grabbed the back of Mrs. Harrington’s thighs, lifting her from her feet. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs spread involuntarily, and Dan moved between them, pinning her against the wall of the tack room. He felt the shaft of his cock slide against her wet vagina as Mrs. Harrington’s legs locked behind his back. She reached between them with one hand and positioned Dan’s cock vertically so that it was nestled in the folds of her bald pussy.
When she had put her arm back around Dan’s neck and was secure in her embrace, Dan thrust up and down several times, ensuring that his shaft was fully lubricated in Mrs. Harrington’s juices. His hands slid up to her ass, cradling it in his palms. In this position, Dan was able to hold her steady, and he pulled back a little. His cock slid down her slick vaginal lips and paused at the entrance to her pussy. “Please, Dan,” she whimpered. “Slide it in me. Fuck me with your young, fat cock,” she begged.
Dan slowly pushed his pelvis forward, and felt the head of his cock part Mrs. Harrington’s saturated pussy lips. “Uuuggghhh,” she breathed, and Dan’s lips again found hers, pressing hard against her, his tongue invading her silky, champagne-tinged mouth. He pulled back once again, and this time pushed forward with more force. The head of his cock burrowed further in Mrs. Harrington’s hole, and with a few more shoves, she was impaled on him to the root, his pubic hair tickling her exposed clit.
Mrs. Harrington’s eyes eased open as Dan again extracted his cock from the tight confines of Tom Harrington’ wife. “Oohh, ggodd,” she moaned into his mouth. “You’re stretching me, Dan.” Her tongue struck fiercely within Dan’s mouth, moving all about.
Pounding back into her, nailing Mrs. Harrington’s naked ass to the wall of the tack room, Dan pulled his mouth from hers. “I thought . . . it was . . . boy-toy . . . Mrs. Harrington,” he breathed.
Dan slowly withdrew his cock again, pulling the outer folds of her cunt lips with it. “Oh, fuck,” she murmured. “That’s exactly what you are.” Dan slammed back into her, crushing her exposed clit between their pelvic bones, causing her to squeal in delight. “Aaahhhhhh,” she almost screamed, her head rolling from side-to-side in obvious ecstasy. “Fuck me . . . my . . . boy-toy . . . Fuck my . . . tight . . . hole,” she managed to sputter.
Dan again thrust into Mrs. Harrington’s tightly gripping vagina, but this time did not let up. He pistoned his cock roughly in and out of her, feeling her legs tighten around his waist, her calves and heels bouncing against his bare ass. Her moans alternated between “aaahhhs” and “ooohhhs” and “uuummms.” Every three or four thrusts, Dan held his cock deep within her, grinding his pelvic bone against her throbbing clit. Mrs. Harrington began to sweat profusely. It collected at her collarbone and dripped between her still covered breasts. He felt it sliding down her back and lightly covering her firm ass, almost causing him to lose his grip on her tight cheeks.
Not wanting to drop her, Dan slowed his onslaught and withdrew his shaft from her slippery pussy. “Noooo!” she whined when she felt Dan’s cock pop from within her. “Put it back in,” she begged. When Dan lowered her to her feet, still clad in the sexy Manolo’s, she pulled him tighter against her lithe body, nearly humping one of his thighs, one hand encircling the shaft that was soaked in her juices, brutally stroking it. Her tongue found his, and she moaned into him. “Why . . . did you . . . pull out?” she whimpered between tongue slashes. “I want you . . . back in . . . my cunt . . . fucking me,” she mewled, her voice cracking.
“Over here, Mrs. Harrington,” Dan ordered, pushing her toward one of the freestanding saddle mounts. She eagerly complied, and Dan followed her across the room, her heels clicking along the hardwood planks of the floor. When she reached the saddle mount, she turned around and, placing her lean hands on the Western-style saddle, lifted herself up.
When Dan approached, Mrs. Harrington went to pull him into her, but Dan moved quicker, instead gripping one of her lean thighs in his hand and swinging it over the saddle so that she was sitting backward in it. Her sundress bunched up around her trim hips, and her bald cunt left a trail of feminine juice along the tan leather surface of the saddle. “Climb on, boy-toy,” she trilled, trying her best to vamp it up.
Dan unbuttoned the top two or three buttons of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Discarding it on a nearby worktable, he swung a leg over the saddle, settling down so that he was facing her, the head of his cock resting against her tan belly. “Like this?” Dan responded, wedging each of his knees beneath her own so that she was almost straddling him.
“No,” she said, again throwing her arms around his neck. She pulled herself up and lifted her ass off the saddle so that her hairless cunt hovered over Dan’s erect cock. “Like this.” Mrs. Harrington moved her hips down, feeling the overheated head of Dan’s cock bump against her pussy lips, and then readjusted so that the shaft would part her tender folds. When she was positioned just right, she dropped her hips and threw her head back as she impaled herself on Dan’s shaft in one, swift stroke. “Aaahhh, just like this.”
Mrs. Harrington tightened her grip around Dan’s neck, shoving her large breasts in his face. He licked across the top of her cleavage, leaving a wet trail of saliva on the soft, darkened skin. As Mrs. Harrington pulled herself up and off the invading phallus, Dan ducked his head and his lips found a distended nipple through the pale yellow fabric of her sundress. He kept his lips locked on the nipple as she once again skewered her sopping cunt on his cock, one hand firmly gripping the breast, the other behind her, squeezing her ass. “Yyyeeesss,” Mrs. Harrington hissed. “Sooo . . . fucking . . . ggoooodd.”
Wanting to feel the growing nipple in his mouth sans sundress, Dan removed his lips from it. “Pull this thing down, Mrs. Harrington,” he barely managed to croak out. With Dan holding her lithe little body in place, she quickly pulled a strap off one shoulder and then the other, leaving the entirety of her sundress bunched around her waist.
She leaned back, placing her small hands on the front edge of the saddle, her sexy body arching up and down as she rode Dan’s thick cock. “Jesus Christ,” Dan muttered, his eyes locked on Mrs. Harrington’s 36-D breasts. They were full and firm, yet somehow soft nonetheless. They barely wobbled on her torso, moving in rhythm to her own lust-filled motions. Thick, pink nipples topped them off, jutting one-half to three-quarters of an inch from the areola. Unlike the rest of her body, the skin of her breasts was bright white, surrounded by a crisp tan line. But like the rest of her, her tits shone with a heavy sheen of sweat; rivulets of it ran through the valley formed by her mesmerizing tits. “Fucking amazing, Mrs. Harrington,” he muttered.
When he tore his gaze from her bobbling tits, Dan found Mrs. Harrington’s dazzling green eyes staring directly at him; the lust behind them was unmistakable. “You like . . . calling me . . . Mrs. Harrington . . . don’t you?” she asked through almost clenched teeth, her cunt still stroking on Dan’s engorged cock.
Dan returned her stare. “Yes,” he managed to grunt.
“Why?” she groaned in return.
“It . . . it excites me.” Dan leaned into Mrs. Harrington, his hands cupping her shaking tits, his fingers playing over her nipples. Shifting like this, Mrs. Harrington’s cunt was now beneath him, and Dan assumed the burden (if one could call it that) of thrusting into her.
“Because I’m . . . an older . . . woman or . . . because I’m . . . married?” Mrs. Harrington’s shimmering eyes remained locked on his, and she jammed her pelvis back against him.
“Both,” he sputtered, his cock twitching inside her, his fingers tightening their grip on her pulsing nipples. Mrs. Harrington took a sharp breath as Dan’s fingers twisted her nipples in opposite directions.
“Yyyeeesss,” she hissed, her lips twisting themselves into a lustful snarl. “Twist them, boy-toy! Punish my nipples!” Dan twisted harder, nearly cranking his wrist one-hundred-eighty degrees, and Mrs. Harrington’s head fell back. A guttural scream spilled from her smeared lips: “Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!!”
When Dan release her nipples, allowing them to return to their natural shape and position, she again raised herself above Dan, and began violently slamming her tight cunt onto his piercing cock, grunting every time she felt his pelvic bone smash into her inflamed clit. Dan’s hands circled around her, grabbing the firm cheeks of her ass, pulling them apart. He dipped his head and pulled a thick nipple between his lips, his teeth scraping across the sensitive flesh.
“Oohh, ggaawwdd,” Mrs. Harrington breathed. “I love . . . your teeth . . . on my nipples . . . . Bite ’em.” Dan’s teeth clamped lightly on the distended nipple, and she shuddered above him, chills shooting up her spine and into her brain. She ground herself even tighter against Dan’s invading shaft, feeling his pubic hair crinkle and crush against her engorged clit.
Dan, for his part, began thrusting back at the rutting woman. He wasn’t fucking her, and she wasn’t fucking him. They were fucking each other, their pelvic bones crashing into each other with such force that the impact brutally crushed Mrs. Harrington’s fiery clit between them, causing her to wince each time. She was not wincing in pain, but in that unique pleasure-pain that can be found only with acts of sexual depravity.
“Fuck me, boy-toy! Fuck Mrs. Harrington’s wet hole!” she wailed. Dan hammered his cock into her yielding cunt so vigorously that Mrs. Harrington realized they were inching toward the front of the saddle. One thrust, two thrusts, a third, and she felt the saddle horn press against her exposed asshole.
Her eyes shot open at the foreign intrusion. “Stop,” she gasped, slowing the movement of her hips. “I’m almost . . . on the horn. . . . Move back,” she whispered. Instead of moving back, Dan jammed his cock into her as hard as he could, watching Mrs. Harrington’s gorgeous face as she was pushed harder against the saddle horn. “Oh, god,” she cried out. “What are you . . . you doing?”
Dan’s hands, still on her ass cheeks, pulled them further apart, shaking them. Sweat rolled off her body. Mrs. Harrington felt the rough leather of the horn tickling her crinkled anus. Dan’s teeth on her nipple, now raw, left her breathless. He slammed into her again, pushing her body up on the horn. As tight as Mrs. Harrington’s asshole was, it couldn’t hold her weight, and she felt the scarred leather part her anal ring, and she let out a shriek.
Dan slowed his thrusting to an easy rhythm as Mrs. Harrington hovered on the abyss of double penetration, inanimate as half of it might be. “Want me to pull you off, Mrs. Harrington?” he taunted the middle-aged wife, removing his teeth from her abused nipple.
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Please take it out.” But when the fingers of one of Dan’s hand gently massaged the ring that the horn was about to fully violate, Mrs. Harrington’s eyes closed, and she let a low moan escape from her throat. Dan slowly – agonizingly, in her view – slid his cock from the tight sheath of her cunt, leaving only the tip ensconced between the tight but slick folds.
“You sure?” he teased with short, staccato jabs of his cock. Mrs. Harrington hesitated. “Tell me what you want, Mrs. Harrington,” he whispered tauntingly.
“I . . . I wanna feel it,” she almost sobbed.
“Feel what, Mrs. Harrington?”
“Two cocks . . . your cock in me . . . and another in my . . . in my butt.”
“In your ass, Mrs. Harrington? Is that what you want?” Dan asked needlessly, slamming the length of his cock back into the married woman’s cunt, grinding his pelvic pone against her pulsing clit.
“Yyyeeesss,” she hissed again. “Jam my ass . . . on the horn . . . boy-toy.” Mrs. Harrington glared at him, but her feigned anger was easy to see through. She was overcome with lust, and silently begged herself to allow this. She begged herself to be double penetrated by this young man and the saddle on which she sat, thrusting away at his invading phallus.
Dan quickly complied, sliding his cock from the scorching confines of Mrs. Harrington’s cunt, only to slam it back in her. The force of his forward thrust caused the horn of the saddle to break through her puckered anal ring. The horn was only three or so inches, so it didn’t have far to travel before Mrs. Harrington’s asshole was fully violated. She grunted at the intrusion, but did not otherwise show any signs of discomfort. Dan took this to mean that this was not the first object to enjoy Mrs. Harrington’s anus.
Dan felt the horn through the thin membrane that separated Mrs. Harrington’s cunt from her asshole, and his cock lurched. He couldn’t believe the decadence of this otherwise classy woman, allowing herself to be double penetrated by a man half her age and an inanimate object. With renewed vigor, he began hammering his cock between the elastic lips of Mrs. Harrington’s cunt. Looking into her stunning face, Dan saw only pure lust behind her eyes. Her lips curled into a shameless sneer, hiding whatever discomfort was caused by the expansion of her asshole.
Overcome with sexual hunger, a young cock banging away at her front hole and a leather knob stretching her rear hole, Mrs. Harrington leaned into Dan and sank her hot, wet tongue between his lips, swirling it around the inside of his mouth. She could sense his breathing increase, matched only by her own.
“Happy now, boy-toy? You like feeling that horn in my asshole as you fuck me?” she taunted, grinding herself against him, her clit manipulated by his pelvic bone.
“Fuck, yeah,” she heard his muffled reply.
“Am I nasty enough for you?” Her long red fingernails found Dan’s nipples and lightly pinched them. “You did it, boy-toy,” she grunted. “You got into the pants of Tom Harrington’s wife.” Dan pistoned his cock faster, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. “How’s it feel? How does it feel . . . to know your cock . . . is buried in someone . . . else’s hole?” Mrs. Harrington twisted one of his nipples between her manicured fingers, intense pain shooting through his brain.
“Ooohhh, fuck,” Dan barely managed, his voice cracking. He couldn’t last much longer.
“Come on, boy-toy! You wanted . . . to fuck me . . . so do it!” she snarled. “Stretch my unfaithful cunt! You aren’t . . . the first . . . and you won’t be . . . the last.” Dan’s eyes flew open at Mrs. Harrington’s admission. She laughed. “What? You actually thought . . . you were special?” she mocked between grunts at Dan’s rapid pummeling of her cunt. “You are . . . special, boy-toy . . . but only because . . . you have a young . . . thick . . . punishing . . . cock,” she spat out. “I love . . . taking young cock . . . in my married holes.” Dan’s thrusting came to an abrupt halt, and his eyes screwed shut.
“Oh, shiiiitttt!” he groaned. “I’m gonna cum, Mrs. Harrington,” he whined. Barbara Harrington quickly dismounted – both the saddle and her young lover’s fat cock – and bent over, taking the pulsating shaft in her left hand, pointing it toward her face.
“On my face, boy-toy,” she hissed. Mrs. Harrington’s left hand brutally tugged Dan’s cock, aided by the lubrication deposited on his shaft by her own secretions. “Shoot your sperm all over my pretty face.” She was looking up into Dan’s hooded eyes, her own emerald orbs sparkling in the faint light of the tack room. “Come on, boy-toy, shoot it! Cover my face!” Watching her long manicured fingers, adorned with the huge diamond, shucking up and down his cock, his ears assaulted by her filthy mouth, Dan could take no more. He thrust his pelvis against her tightly gripping hand as she squeezed, and his cum spewed forth.
The first shot ejected across her stroking hand, saturating the skin, platinum and diamond surfaces. The second was much more forceful, and arced from the tip of his cock through the air before landing just below Mrs. Harrington’s long, thin nose. A third shot joined it there, a little to the left, and together they dripped over her shiny lips and down her chin, collecting there, threatening to drop to the leather surface of the saddle. Before that could happen, Mrs. Harrington swiped her left hand across her chin, and brought the collected mass of Dan’s cum to her mouth, licking her delicate hand clean. With Dan’s clouded eyes on her, she paid special attention to her ring, making sure her wet, pink tongue, streaked now with his cum, scoured the crevices to remove all traces of her boy-toy’s sperm.
Dan, leaning back now on his hands, watched Mrs. Harrington in amazement. When the remains of his cum dripped from his wilting cock onto the seat of the saddle, she moved closer to him. Lifting his cock out of the way with her left hand, feeling it pulse at her touch, Mrs. Harrington leaned down and licked the remnants from the leather. Happy with her work, she dropped Dan’s cock, and it slapped audibly against his thigh. She reached behind her for her champagne glass, and took a long swig of the sweet drink.
As Dan’s breathing returned to normal, Mrs. Harrington again mounted the saddle, hanging her lithe legs over his. She cupped his face in her sensuous hands, and brought his lips to hers. Sinking her tongue into his mouth, allowing it to play with his lips and tongue, Mrs. Harrington moaned into his mouth. Her hands slid from his cheeks down to his chest. Dan could feel the back of her wedding ring catch on his nipple as her hands slid down further to grip his now limp shaft. “Thanks, boy-toy,” she sighed into his mouth. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”
“Any time you want, Mrs. Harrington,” he replied, breathlessly, as she dismounted the saddle. She pulled her sundress down over her bottom, and up to cover her sweaty tits.
“I want often, Dan,” she said, adjusting her tits and smoothing her hands over the sundress. Picking up her glass and the still unopened bottle of champagne, she turned toward the door. “Come on. Too much longer, and we’ll be missed.” Dan followed her, and she paused before opening the tack room door. “We wouldn’t want Mr. Harrington to get suspicious now, would we?” she teased, again slipping her warm, agile tongue into the mouth of the young man who had given her such pleasure. “Stay here for a few minutes, and then walk back. I don’t want anyone seeing us coming back together. Besides, I need to go to the house to clean up a little. I’ll slip you my cell phone number a little later. But don’t leave without it, okay?” When Dan nodded, she kissed him hard on the lips, and moved through the door and into the dark night.
Dan waited about five minutes, then lit a cigarette for his walk back to the party tent. The band was still playing and people were still dancing. Marc and the same group of guys were still at the bar, but when Dan joined them they were talking about how poorly they each had done in the brackets for March Madness. “Where you been?” Marc slurred during a break in the conversation.
“Just went to the bathroom, and then took a quick look around the property.”
“Pretty impressive, huh?”
“You could definitely say that,” Dan answered as Mrs. Harrington re-entered the tent. Her hair was back in place, and her crimson lips shone in the overhead lights of the tent. There was not a smear on her lips, a hair out of place, or a wrinkle in her pale yellow sundress.
About ninety minutes later, most of the guests had departed, and Dan and Marc were on their way out, too. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington escorted them to the front door of the manor. As Marc hugged his Uncle Tom, Mrs. Harrington did the same to Dan, slipping a piece of paper in the pocket of his sport coat. “Call me, boy-toy,” she whispered hotly in his ear, sending chills up his spine and causing his cock to stir once again.