Ellen had been a model for beachwear, cosmetics, and fashion until we married. Her measurements are the same now as then. She’s 5’8", has shoulder-length black hair, the rare color of brilliant, gray eyes, and a figure that turns the heads of both sexes. Here, in her white string-bikini, she looked even more appealing.

The car now shined like new. I was lifting the portable vacuum when we glanced toward a young blond man walking up from the beach, a sketch pad beneath an arm. He was wearing a light blue button-down shirt with epaulets and khaki safari slacks. Introducing himself as Greg, an art student at a local college, he asked directions to a nearby diner. Greg was 24, 5’11", with a lithe body and tanned face. He looked more like a surfer than an artist.

Ellen bent to pick up the chamois and her white hip-length terry robe. Stretching just beyond his vision, she smiled, tossing me a quizzical nod. I picked up her cue, smiled, and told him, "We haven’t eaten either." Turning to Ellen, I blurted, "What would you think about having a starving student over for dinner?"

Ellen beamed as she agreed, enthusiastically, "Terrific idea," and turning to Greg to appraise him, offered, "How about lobster?"

He declined politely, but upon Ellen’s urging, decided she was sincere, and grinned, "I love lobster, thanks." I walked behind Greg, his gaze following Ellen’s tall beach-robed figure up the flagstones to the back door. In the kitchen, Ellen slipped on a pair of white, high heeled pumps, accentuating her long legs.

Greg turned frequently to look at her as she prepared dinner. He was living with two roommates in a rented duplex two blocks from the college. He knew little about sports, and I knew little about art, so the conversation was strained until Ellen joined us. After dinner, Ellen took a shower, then returned in a long, low cut blue robe to sit on the floor between me in a chair and Greg on the couch. She was wearing nothing beneath the satiny material that clung to her body, contouring her nipples.

I set chips and dip on the rattan coffee table and opened a bottle of white wine for Greg and me and a diet drink for Ellen.

There was no mistaking the sexual electricity radiating between them. Their eyes locked as they exchanged stories of their lives before Florida. His gaze fell now and then to her bared leg and to the smooth, midnight blue material that exposed the pale sides of her breasts.

Occasionally a word would catch in their throats. Both swallowed in excitation when their hands brushed as she offered him potato chips, her hand lingering to touch his. Because Greg was lean and hardened, I doubted that he usually ate snacks; still, he didn’t refuse any, allowing him another opportunity to caress her hand.

She asked him to teach her some basic sketching rules, suggesting that they do so in the "Florida room." In Long Island, we’d have called the room a den. She preceded him into the room, tuned the stereo to a soft FM station, then came out to search for a bottle of champagne and two glasses. She whispered her plan, then returned to Greg, closing the door.

As she suggested, I slipped out of the house, drove the car a block away, locked it, and sprinted back to an area between the darkened hedge and the Florida room’s broad shuttered window. All other lights in the house were now turned off. The summer heat had allowed us to keep the glass shutters open, so I could hear everything they said.

Ellen was curled alongside him on the couch. A half hour later, their conversation diminished to whispers and soft laughter. She glanced beyond the window but was unable to see me in the darkness. Turning back to Greg, she pursed her lips and inquired, "Do you like to dance?" When he murmured something about not knowing how to "slow dance," she playfully offered to teach him "as payment for the art lesson." He accepted, his speech slurring from the wine’s intoxication.

She turned the dimmer switch until a soft glow bathed the room, then held our her hand, beckoning him. They melded together, swaying, her cheek gently brushing his.

He stroked her hair. He held her for moments after the second song had ended, then turned away to drink the last of the champagne from his glass. Ellen’s face was flushed, her soft lips trembling with fear and passion.

Now, as Ellen danced slowly with Greg, she swallowed nervously, glancing to his engorged manhood surging beneath his slacks. Another melody drifted from the stereo. She closed her eyes as he reached for her. The tips of her fingers traced a sensuous path down his neck. Her tremorous mouth formed an "oh" as her lips touched his. Ellen’s hips gyrated in eager passion.

Greg opened her robe, sliding it from her shoulders. Her nipples were erect. Her body trembled in excitation. Greg shuddered as the robe fluttered to the floor. She blushed as he pulled her to him, his lips crushing hers.

Ellen’s hands tremored as she removed his shirt. Her legs shaking, she sank to her knees to unbuckle his belt. She pulled his slacks down his long legs, her full lips brushing his chest and stomach.

The largest member she’d ever seen burst free. She gulped fearfully, her eyes widened in disbelief.

On her knees, cringing in terrified awe as Greg’s long cock swayed before her, she looked like a sacrificial virgin worshiping at a serpentine alter.

Shuddering, she licked her crimson lips. Her full pale breasts were rippling with passion. I could feel the desire radiating between them as her mouth strained to encircle his shaft that was curving up from the tuft of blond pubic hair. Ellen was moaning; her hips were rolling back and forth like waves softly advancing on the sands, then retreating from the beach.

Greg gaped at his glistening manhood as the fullness of her lips glided along its length. As he glanced to the pulsing blue numbers of a shelftop’s digital clock, he tremored, "What if your husband returns early from work?"

She muttered, her soft voice quaking, "He won’t. He works near Tampa Bay and won’t be home until eight in the morning."

Effortlessly, he lifted her from the floor and lowered her to the couch. Tasting her melon-like breasts, he sucked each firm, reddened nipple until they stood out like spikes. Her face was burning, her breath hissing out like a radiator about to burst.

Ellen pressed her breast’s soft ripeness against his face, her cries of pleasure piercing the room’s air. She squeezed his cock, its purple, bulbous head surging inches beyond the breadth of her small fist. Now, mewing in ardor, she had forgotten that I was watching.

I envied Greg’s length. My shaft was now as hard as his as I unzipped and pulled it from my slacks. I began pumping slowly, watching the scene play out before me.

He pushed her trembling legs apart. I realized then that she’d shaved her pubic hair while in the shower.

His lips grazed her swollen clitoris, causing her body to shimmy as she rotated her smooth mound against his mouth. He moved up her body until his tongue was twirling against hers.

Her body shivered, her eyes following the slow downward path of his extended shaft as he mounted her. Her eager cunt quivered upward to touch the intrusive member. She moaned, tears of pleasure pooling in her eyes as his broad cock-head pushed through her creaming cuntal folds. Her fervid tunnel now engulfed his shaft as she hissed, "Ohhhhh, GREG, I’m on FIRE! It’s all FOR YOU! For YOU!"

And then, she was wailing with lust as he pistoned deep within her. Ellen thrashed her head from side to side. Her hips swirled as she reveled in his heated fucking. Swinging her legs around his shoulders, she pressed her back against the cushions, squealing, her eyes glistening with tears. Her face registered surprise with each steaming entry of his massive cock as she cried, "Oh god! GREG! I’ve never FELT like this!"

Thrusting into her quaking pussy, Greg was emersed in the culmination of their lust. His jaw slackened. His chest heaved as he looked down on her rolling eyes. He moaned unintelligible noises I could remember making as a young marine with women who were never as gorgeous as Ellen! I couldn’t have imagined fucking a woman that beautiful! A MARRIED woman!

Her body shimmied. Unable to take her eyes off the monstrous cock ramming into her shaved pussy, she cried, "Oh, Greg, I LOVE your cock! God HELP me! I LOVE FUCKING YOU!"

I was drugged with a time-stilling sensation as she rolled, pulling Greg beneath her. Straddling him, she slowly impaled herself on his cock, her fiery well of passion sucking in his long, steaming poker.

Gaping at her cuntal folds enveloping his firm manhood as she bucked against him, Greg murmured, "Yes, Ellen, I love it too! I love fucking YOU!"

I now leaned against the window so closely, I could smell the perspiration steaming from their enflamed bodies. I was stroking my elongated member in rhythm with my heart, which was thumping like a sledgehammer.

Greg disengaged, pushing Ellen to her knees on the carpet, mounting her from the rear. She reached behind, allowing her trembling fingers to stroke his length. Feeling his enormous hardness, she cried out in yearning!

Bracing her arms against the carpet, she spread her knees to accomodate his large tool as it entered her cunt. She gasped. Her mouth and eyes widened as he pushed deeper. Ellen shuddered, aflame with desire. Her voice quaking, she pleaded, "Oh, Jesus, Greg! GIVE it to me! I NEED your cock!" With tears streaming down her cheeks, she pleaded for every inch of his monster, slowly thrusting its way deep within her lubricated pussy. And although he was entering her for the second time, she cried out, "Oh, GOD! You’re splitting me apart!" Her eyes were wild, her body flaming in a crimson blush. But when he had sunk his shaft its full length, she wailed, "Oh, YES! Greg! YES-S-S-S!"

Now, as they united in blazing passion, she was sobbing. They were thrashing about like hellish demons. The yolks of her eyes rolled. She fucked back against him wildly in long strokes, his large balls slapping the mounds of her buttocks. I’d never seen Ellen so overcome with lust!