Divorce. An ever-growing American problem that seems to have no solution. The cases for divorce are infinite, the consequences often disastrous for the individuals concerned.
But what must be considered one of the most prevalent causes for break-up of a marriage is sexual incompatibility, real or imagined.
The story of Mary and Don Randall is that of a couple whose marriage is on the brink of disaster because of Mary’s defilement due to a brutal rape. It is only a matter of time before she will lose her husband for good, but she is powerless to prevent his leaving her. Only another act of rape shocks Ann into the realization that sex with her husband is not what she really wants and needs to be happy.
WIFE TURNED ON — a serious story which lays open the lives of one couple teetering on the brink of disaster, providing an insight for all concerned.
I was coming home from the PTA meeting alone about ten at night, when the car brake down. The first thing I thought of was finding the nearest pay phone and calling my husband at home.
When the engine had started to sputter I’d managed to turn off the freeway. Now I got out of the car and started walking up the deserted, dark street. The neighborhood was totally unfamiliar.
I must have walked a quarter of a mile without seeing any phone booths. Briefly I considered going up to a house and asking if I could make a cell. However, when I took a closer look at the homes around me, I decided against it.
The neighborhood was at least half abandoned. At first I’d assumed that the absence of lights in so many of the windows meant most of the residents turned in early. Then, upon closer inspection, I realized that nobody was living in many of the houses. This was apparently one of those neighborhoods the newspapers placed under the heading of “urban blight”. For some reason the people who’d formerly lived there had been scared or pushed out, and now it was a no-man’s land.
Suddenly I felt scared. Crime was reportedly rampant in areas like this. From what I’d read and heard, clearly this was no place for a woman to be walking the street alone after dark.
Then, at last, I saw a phone booth. I ran toward it, somehow thinking that if I could just hear Don’s voice on the other end of the line I would be safe.
Clutching a dime in my sweaty palm I anxiously ran for the booth. When I slipped inside the narrow enclosure I could hear my heart loudly thumping from the exertion.
Wiping the perspiration off the dime on my skirt, I dropped it into the slot. My hand was trembling as I dialed our number at home.
I was so agitated that it took me several seconds to realize that I was holding a dead line to my ear. There was nothing but silence coming out of the receiver.
Finally I caught on and took a better look at the phone. The whole center of the box was missing. It had been ripped off by vandals and was a useless piece of junk.
Turning away from the phone to leave the booth, I found myself confronted with the very thing I had feared most for the past several minutes — a man.
He was standing right in front of the booth, blocking my exit. It was dark, but I could see the smile that split his unshaven face.
“My… my car broke down,” I nervously volunteered, unable to think of what else to do. “I’ve been trying to call my husband on the phone, but it’s broken.”
He said nothing. However, his smile became broader. Apparently he was amused by my plight.
We stood there, looking at each other, for a long, uncomfortable moment. The hair was standing on the back of my neck.
“If… if you’ll excuse me,” I finally stammered, “I… I have to go find help.”
I started to leave the booth, praying he would let me pass. However, he didn’t move.
“Please,” I pleaded with him. “I’ve got to go.”
His hand shot up from his waist and slammed against my chest. I could feel the fingers gouging into my breasts as he shoved me backward. When I looked down I saw that my blouse was torn.
I was cowering when he spoke for the first time. “You’re not going anywhere, bitch, until I’m through with you.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“What do you think?”
“I… I don’t know,” I lied.
“Yes, you do,” he rightfully insisted. “And I want to hear you say it.”
I shook my head. I felt that if I said it, I would somehow be sanctioning it.
“Say it!” he insisted again, only this time it was in a much tougher voice. For the first time I noticed how big he was. I didn’t stand a chance against him.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to answer him. Impatient with my silence, he slapped me across the face.
The blow sent me to my knees. Hemmed in by the phone booth, I was kneeling before him.
He was very calm about what he said now. Apparently he’d had a lot of experience at this. “I can just kill you and leave you here,” he informed me. “The cops don’t even come around here after dark. Unless I get what I want, consider yourself dead.”
There was no reason to doubt the truth of what he was saying. I knew I was at his mercy.
“You’re going to rape me, aren’t you?”
He nodded his head and unzipped his fly. “But first,” he said, “we’re going to have a little foreplay. You’re going to suck my cock.”
Then I was looking at it. It was thick and long and twitching as it suddenly loomed from his open trousers. It was the first erect penis I’d ever seen other than my husband’s.
On this man the male organ seemed like a weapon instead of the instrument of love that I was used to as a respectable married woman. It seemed to me that sucking it would be like putting the barrel of a loaded gun in my mouth.
He was eager to get started. The instant I parted my lips, he bucked his loins forward. Abruptly my mouth was filled with several inches of rock-hard phallus.
“I’m gonna fuck you in the mouth,” he said, his voice becoming raspy with excitement now that he was getting what he wanted. “I’m gonna come down your throat, and you can keep on living if you swallow every drop of it.”
He began grinding his hips, just as though he were engaging in a normal act of intercourse. His language was repulsive, but it accurately described what was happening — he was truly copulating in my mouth.
Don had always wanted me to have oral sex with him, but I had always resisted. Since he was a considerate husband, he had respected my wishes.
“This is the first prick you’ve ever tasted, isn’t it?”
How could he tell? Was my inexperience really so obvious?
“You don’t know how to use your mouth right,” he criticized my performance. “You’ve got to suction with your cheeks like your mouth was a pussy.”
Anxious to live, I followed his advice. Having a normal sex life, I was certainly aware of the way in which the woman’s vagina stimulated the man’s penis. I began to do my best to orally duplicate it.
“Mmmmm, that’s better,” my attacker passed favorable judgment after a few moments of my improved sucking. “I can feel it all the way in my nuts.”
I was sure he could. He was penetrating me to the hilt by now, and I could feel his testicles churning hotly against my chin. It wouldn’t be long before he was ejaculating in my mouth.
“Suck… suck… suck,” he rhythmically chanted as I worked my lips back and forth along his shaft. “Suck the cum out of my balls.”
I had never tasted sperm. But I was going to have to start now if I ever wanted to see my family again.
Desperate to survive, I began working my lips faster and faster along the expanse of his stiff cock. I just wanted to get it over with.
He began to moan. Then he grasped the back of my head and pulled my face into his musty crotch. Down my throat, the head of his cock seemed to suddenly extend another inch.
His orgasm came with a spurting eruption. The semen flooded like hot cream down my throat and into my belly. What I didn’t swallow filled my breathing passages until my nose was dripping with it.
By the time he pulled away, my face was a gooey mess. Kneeling in the grubby floor of the derelict phone booth, I must have resembled a cheap prostitute who’d just done a few dollars’ work.
I looked up at him through eyes filled with tears of shame. Even through the blur I could see that his erection was still as hard as ever. Obviously we weren’t through.
He pulled me out of the phone booth by my hair and swung me across the sidewalk and threw me into the gutter. Then, straddling me, he shook off a last drop of sperm. Only when it splatted against my bare breast did I realize that I was completely open in front. When he’d ripped my blouse, he’d also torn the cups of my bra apart. I was essentially naked from the waist up.
“Spread your legs,” he turned his attention to the lower part of my body. “I want to see your cunt.”
Terrified for my life, I complied. Parting my thighs, I could feel my crotch straining against my thin panties.
“Good, it’s a hairy one,” he said as he peered up my open skirt. “I like to stick my cock inside hairy pussies.”
“Then go ahead and do it!” I astonished myself by blurting. “Get it over with.”
“It’s not that simple. First you’ve got to tell me how much you want it.”
“But I don’t!” I protested. “I’m almost ready to vomit.”
“Bullshit!” he snapped, and then reached forward and slapped my face for good measure. “I saw the way you drank my cum. You want it, bitch, and I know it. I just wanna hear it from you.”
I tried to say something that would satisfy him; but my tongue was tied. I knew he’d only be content with the kind of filthy language that I’d never used in my life. Uttering obscenities seemed almost as repulsive to me as being sodomized and raped.
“Tell me your pussy is wet for my cock,” he leered. “How good my ten inches will feel in your hairy twat.”
“I… I can’t,” I whimpered.
But when he grabbed one of my exposed nipples and began brutally twisting it, I realized I could. The pain would have made me do just about anything.
“Okay, okay,” I called him off. “I’ll do it.”
“Then start talking or I’ll pull the Goddamn nipple right off your tit.”
“Fuck me!” I bleated it flat-out. “Stick your big, hard cock in my cunt and fuck me!”
“You want it bad, don’t you, bitch?” He grinned.
“Yes. I want to feel your prick in my pussy. I want you to come between my legs the way you did in my mouth. Make my cunt run with your cum.”
“Okay, bitch, you got it,” he hissed and then shoved his hand between my open legs. Seizing the crotch of my panties, he ripped the flimsy fabric from my body. Now my bottom half was as thoroughly exposed as my top.
I expected him to fall between my legs and begin raping me right away. To my surprise, however, after stripping me of my panties, he backed away. Apparently he still had some games he wanted to play.
“Now,” he said, “I want you to show me how much you want it.”
“How?” I asked. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Put your hands down there and spread your cunt open. Pull the lips apart and make your hole wide for my cock.”
Except for bathing, I rarely touched the area around my groin. The idea of manipulating myself in a sexual way seemed dirty and disgusting.
But then, of course, my life had never depended on it. When he repeated his command, I did as he asked.
However, even that wasn’t enough. Not only did he insist that I handle myself, now he demanded that I tell him about it. Describe it in words. Obviously he got a big kick out of hearing me talk dirty.
“My cunt is wide-open for your cock,” I heard myself describe the situation between my legs.
“How open?” he egged me on. “Stick your fingers inside yourself and tell me how far they go. Finger-fuck yourself and get your pussy ready for my cock.”
With no choice, I slipped one, and then two fingers in my gaping slit. When he snapped, “All the way,” I shoved them in to the last knuckles.
To my surprise it was wet and sticky in there. It was like putting my fingers into a jar of honey. My first inner touch of my pussy was a damp one.
“How is it?” he eagerly asked.
“My pussy is sopping,” I confessed in the gutter language he so craved. In truth, I was gradually becoming more used to it. The filthy words were starting to roll more easily off my tongue.
“Move your fingers around,” he ordered. “Fuck yourself with them.”
“Mmmmmm,” I moaned from the sudden spasm caused by my wriggling digits, “that’s what I’m doing.”
“Now find your clit and push it with your thumb,” he instructed. “Let’s see you really get yourself horny.”
My thumb slid up the side of my crack and parted the meaty folds at the top where the lips came together. A stiff nubbin of flesh popped out like a concealed doorbell.
Automatically I pressed it. The response was immediate and electric.
“Oh, my God!” I cried. “My cunt is on fire!” During the pause that followed I realized both of us knew that for the first time the rapist had nothing to do with my steamy remarks.
A strange, involuntary feeling had come over me. Although I recognized it as undeniably sexual, it was more intense than anything I had ever felt between my legs. Even making love with my husband had never produced this powerful a sensation.
I couldn’t stop masturbating. It was fantastic how I instinctively knew just where to touch. My crotch became wetter and wetter.
Whether I liked it or not, the dirty words describing my action came more and more naturally to me. Then, in a short time, they were joined by thoughts just as lewd. Incredibly, I was starting to see and think of my spread-eagled body as the rapist did.
I’ll spell it out to you. My breasts became tits. Rather than a vagina between my legs, I had a pussy — a cunt.
“Oh, my cunt is so tight,” I breathlessly told him between miniature orgasms. “I can feel the walls pressing around my fingers.”
“Wait’ll you feel my cock inside you,” he practically drooled.
“I don’t think I can wait!” I feverishly exclaimed. “Fuck me now — please, please!”
I pulled my hand out of my snatch and impulsively grabbed for his cock. My grip was slippery because of the pussy juice on my fingers, but once I had him he didn’t get away.
Now I began drawing his twitching cock toward my dripping, wide-open cunt. “Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me,” I was droning over and over again.
As the head of his prick slid between my pussy lips I forgot all about being raped. Instead of a victim, I’d become a horny woman dying for a long, deep fuck.
The rapist had mentioned that his dick was ten inches long. By my estimation that meant it was about four inches longer than my husband’s. This meant that when my cunt had been penetrated as far as it was used to, there were still four thick inches of prick remaining. I wanted them badly.
“Fuck me all the way!” I pleaded. “I want to feel your balls squashing against my twat!”
“Is this the biggest cock you’ve ever taken?” he asked as he drilled me with the final inches.
“Oh, yes, yes,” I whimpered from the full insertion. “It feels like the head of your prick is inside my womb. I’ve never been fucked so deep.”
“And hard,” he promised, beginning to plow away with deep, scathing thrusts.
“Fuck me harder, harder!” I screamed. “Fuck me until you split me in two with your huge cock!”
Automatically I wrapped my legs around him. Locking my ankles at the small of his back, I crunched him into me so that it really did seem as though his lancing tool were going to sever my body in two.
“God,” I shrieked uncontrollably, “your cock feels so good in my cunt! So fucking good! Is my pussy tight enough for you?”
He breathlessly agreed that it was. Incredibly, no compliment my husband had paid me had ever pleased me so. In my sexual frenzy, being told by a rapist that I was a good lay seemed like the highest praise I could receive as a woman.
We fucked so hard that we rolled out of the gutter and into the middle of the street. The rough pavement was scraping into my flesh, but I didn’t care.
All I cared about was fucking with his huge cock in my tight, wet cunt. The orgasms had built and built and built until I was coming so hard I felt like I was soaring through space.
“Play with my tits while you’re screwing me,” I urgently requested. “Suck my nipples.”
When he started doing it, I immediately became greedy for even more action. Taking one of his hands, I shoved it down to where our crotches met and guided the longest finger between the sweaty cheeks of my ass.
He immediately got the idea. After rubbing the anal ridges into flaming sensitivity, he plunged inside and began reaming me out.
“Finger-fuck me,” I moaned. “Finger-fuck my ass.”
He was an expert at it. Or at least it seemed that way to me as a woman who had never had anything more exciting up her asshole than a rectal thermometer. Almost immediately I began coming in my spasming anus almost as hard as I was doing in my cock-filled pussy.
The thrills had been maximized far beyond what I would have dreamed possible before this moment. With my tits, cunt and asshole being serviced, I was certain that I was orgasming in three places at once. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before.
There was only one thing left to make it complete. If I was going to come this hard, the man fucking me in the street had to produce with equal male intensity.
“When are you going to come?” I asked him. “I want your hot jizz flooding my pussy. Running down my legs into the crack of my butt.”
His hard-on grew that extra tell-tale inch I had previously experienced when I was taking it in my mouth. My heart jumped to my throat and stuck there from the excitement of anticipating his gooey explosion.
I swore I could hear the muffled hissing of his prick when he began spurting his cream within me. It felt like I had a garden hose shoved up my snatch the outpouring was so wet and continuous.
The spunk was already leaking from the sides of my twat and his ejaculation hadn’t stopped. Realizing my cunt had all it could handle, I decided to give another of my deserving erogenous zones a break.
Pushing his head from my chest, I pulled his prick from between my legs and had it spurt the remainder of its load all over my heaving tits. Then I smeared it all over. The excitement when I massaged it into my tender nipples with my fingertips was exceptional.
When I was through with my tits I began to suck some of the leftover goo from my hand like a kid tasting jelly from the jar. Now that I was used to it, his cum was sweetly delicious. In another world, I started wondering if it was possible for him to come a third time.
I was so up that when the blue light hit my face, I just assumed it was an orgasmic effect. I had already experienced so many sensual fireworks that anything was possible.
However, such was not the case. Seeing the sudden azure cast to my face, the rapist bolted upright and blurted, “Shit, the cops!”
I was hit with instantaneous fear. Confronted by the unexpected presence of the law, I was more terrified than I’d been when I’d first realized I was trapped in a phone booth by a rapist.
“I… I thought you said the police never came around here after dark?” I muttered in shock.
“I did,” he said. “But I didn’t get to be a three-time loser by always being right.”
With that, he sprang from on top of me and fled into the night, trying to keep from tripping over his drooping pants. I still couldn’t believe it was over. It was like being jolted awake from a wet dream.
Then headlights illuminated the night. Brakes screeched. Doors opened and slammed shut. Somebody yelled, “Halt or we’ll shoot!” Gunfire followed. I held my breath, wondering if any of the bullets were accurate.
“Goddamn it, you missed,” I heard somebody curse. He’d gotten away safely.
I breathed a sigh of relief, but any good feeling was short-lived. Looking straight ahead, I gazed into a reflection of myself in the shiny grill of the police cruiser. My gaping cunt seemed to be winking at me as though it had just played a joke on me. In addition, it was drooling with fresh, white cum.
Seeing the image of my sopping, newly fucked pussy had a devastating effect on me. For the first time the true meaning of what I had just done hit me.
I had been raped and enjoyed it. Attacked by a stranger, instead of resisting to the end like a respectable woman, I had experienced orgasm after orgasm.
Even though I closed my legs before the two cops finally walked over to me, I still had f-u-c-k written all over me. Although the rapist had escaped unscathed, I had the terrible feeling that my punishment was yet to come.
“Why didn’t you scream?” one of the cops asked as I huddled under a blanket in the backseat of their cruiser.
“I did,” I lied. “But nobody heard me.”
“That figures,” the other one said. “In this neighborhood a cry for help is like an invitation. If she’d screamed, there probably would have been a line of hoods waiting to get in on the action.”
“True,” the first one agreed. “But what were you doing around here in the first place? You hardly find any decent woman walking the streets around here. Talk about your invitations.”
“I told you,” I protested, “my car broke down. I was on my way home to the suburbs from a PTA meeting.”
“All the way across the city?” one of them asked skeptically.
“Busing,” I explained. “My kids are bused across the city.”
“What did he look like?”
“Who knows. The night was dark, and so was his face. If he bumped into me on the street tomorrow, I wouldn’t recognize him.”
“Never mind his face.”
“I don’t understand,” I said warily.
“Don’t play with us, Mrs., uh… what did you say your name was?”
“Don’t play with us, Mrs. Randall. You know it wasn’t his face we expect you to remember.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“His cock, lady, his cock,” one of them said with exasperation. “What did his cock look like?”
“Oh,” I whispered in a small voice. “Well?”
“It was long and big,” I improvised the obvious.
“We know that,” one of the cops snapped impatiently. “Did it have any distinguishing characteristics? Could you pick it out in a line-up?”
“A line-up of men’s cocks?” I blurted incredulously, realizing too late that my gutter language was most inconsistent for a woman who maintained she was a respectable middle-class wife and mother.
They both turned around to face me and slowly nodded theft heads. They were both smiling knowingly.
Nervously I suggested that they return me to my car. When they reminded me that I’d said it was broken down, I asked them to take me to their precinct station so I could call my husband.
But the police cruiser didn’t move. Apparently my performance had satisfied neither cop.
“Mrs. Randall,” one of them finally said, “I don’t think you understand our position. As police officers, we can’t leave the scene of the crime until we’ve verified what happened. You say a man raped you — but you don’t seem to want to tell us anything beside the fact that he had a long, big prick.”
“But I don’t know what else to tell you,” I protested. “It’s all I remember.”
“Maybe we can jog your memory.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. While it’s still fresh in your mind we need to get an accurate description. Then when the next woman gets raped, we can match what she says with what you say. If we catch the guy we’ve got him on two counts with two witnesses.”
“But I told you all I know,” I squirmed.
“Maybe you know more than you think, Mrs. Randall.”
“Are you saying that I’m lying?” I tried to cover up the fact that I actually was.
They looked at each other and smiled. A communication was going on between them from which I was excluded. I suspected that I was about three jumps behind what was really happening.
“Have you ever heard of a composite, Mrs. Randall?” one of them asked.
“You mean where you put together familiar characteristics to make a description of someone?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ve seen it on television.”
“That’s what we plan to do here — right at the scene of the crime before your memory fades.”
“Simple, if we were to show you a couple of cocks right now, you could probably tell us which things about them were similar to the rapist’s.”
I wasn’t dumb enough to think they carried around mug-shots of rapists’ hard-ons. I knew that if I was going to be looking at any stiff pricks they would belong to the two cops in the car with me. Trembling with a sudden chill of terror, I realized that I had just made up the three jumps.
Their whole line of questioning had been nothing more than a trap. They didn’t care who’d raped me.
Of course there was no way I could protest. I was as alone with them in the urban wasteland as I’d been with the original rapist. If they intended to show me their dicks, it would be useless for me to protest. They had all the authority — I was just a helpless, naked woman they had found in the street in a neighborhood where I didn’t belong.
“All right,” I sighed, “I get your drift. Go ahead and show me your penises.”
“Penises, Mrs. Randall?” One of them raised his eyebrows. “Before you were calling them something else.”
“Okay,” I gave in, “cocks. If you show me your cocks, I’ll do the best I can.”
“That’s better, Mrs. Randall. You may have just saved yourself a lot of trouble.”
They unzipped their pants without further delay, getting to theft knees on the front seat and turning toward me. Suddenly I was staring at two pricks.
“Well, Mrs. Randall?”
“I… I can’t tell,” I stammered. “His was hard, of course.”
“Maybe you’d like to help us out with that.”
I didn’t want to consider the consequences if I didn’t. The cops had long since began to frighten me as much or more than the rapist.
I leaned forward and opened my mouth a couple of inches from the cock at the driver’s side. It was like diving into near freezing water, but after several moments of trembling hesitation I took the plunge.
I expected my willingness to cooperate to settle things down, but I was wrong. Even though I was now sucking cock it was still not enough to satisfy them.
“The blanket,” the one on the passenger’s side said impatiently. “Take the blanket off so we can see your body. We want to get as close to the alleged crime as possible to check out your story.”
Feeling I had no choice, I doffed the blanket as I was ordered.
“Now start sucking,” the one I was blowing snapped. “Really start fucking me with your mouth the way you said the rapist made you do it.”
My lips slid clown his thick shaft. His prick was hardening by the second. By the time my lips were nuzzling against his hairy balls, it was like steel.
“He fuck ed your mouth like this, didn’t he?” the cop on my mouth said, and began rolling his hips. “You could feel it all the way down your throat.”
Unable to speak, I nodded my head.
“Was his cock as long and thick as mine?”
I nodded again.
“Good,” he chuckled, “now we’re getting someplace. Now just keep sucking and you’ll remember a lot more.”
There seemed no other alternative but to obey. Closing my eyes, I really began to give him head in earnest.
“She deep-throats pretty good for a housewife,” the one watching told his partner. “You really think she’s telling us the truth.”
“I’ll tell you after I come.”
By this time I knew that anything I did would be held against me. However, I equally realized that the worst thing I could do was back off. If I let him spurt in my mouth and swallowed it, they might think I was a whore, but if I didn’t, there was no telling what they might do to me.
I forced myself to forget everything but the cock I was sucking. It started to seem sweeter and sweeter to me once I had made the necessary mental adjustment.
I began to actively slide my lips up and down the shaft engorging my mouth and throat. One moment I would have him all the way to the hilt, the next I would be tonguing only the throbbing head.
I was on my knees on the floor by now. That made it easy for the cop I wasn’t sucking to reach over the seat and begin feeling my bare tits. He went right to the nipples, twisting them the way the rapist had.
“She’s got hard tits,” he told his mouth-fucking partner. “Her nipples are like little dicks.”
“Why don’t you get in the back seat and suck them,” the cop in my mouth suggested.
“Yeah, that way I can check out her pussy at the same time.”
Before I knew it, he had joined me. While I continued to do the best I could on his partner’s throat-probing cock, he came up under me and pushed his face between my breasts while he pinched my turgid nipples.
I couldn’t help myself. Suddenly I knew that when he felt my cunt it would be soaking wet.
Like it or not, I was horny all over again. Even though I had been raped a short time before, I felt like I hadn’t had sex for months.
A hand slid between my thighs. Automatically, I opened them wide so my twat would be easy to get to. Right away I felt several fingers slip within me.
“Her pussy’s dripping,” my secret was let out. “This bitch likes it.”
Even if my vocal cords had not been stifled by a pumping hard-on, I wouldn’t have protested. The cop sucking my tits and feeling up my pussy was right — I liked it.
And not only did I like it, as each moment of stimulation passed, I wanted more. With my eyes still closed, I uncontrollably began to visualize myself provoking things until I was getting both cocks at once in tight, throbbing holes. I could no longer deny that I wanted them both to fuck me at the same time.
Opening my eyes, I surveyed the scene and acted accordingly. My actions were as smooth as if I’d made it with two men dozens of times.
Making my desire clear, I parted my knees so that my pussy was open and dripping between my thighs. Then I grabbed the cock in the back seat and began tugging it in the direction of my steaming crotch. When the head began rubbing against my pussy lips, I thought I would die from excitement.
I pulled the dick in my face far enough out to mumble, “Fuck me, fuck my cunt while your partner is fucking my mouth.”
Then, as I resumed deep-throating, the cop in the back scooted under my parted legs so I was straddling his loins. I looked down and watched his blue-veined hard-on begin to work its way inside me.
Easing myself down, I spread the folds of my cunt around the crown of his cock and made it penetrate me much faster than it would have been able to do on its own. It was even thicker than the prick down my throat.
Soon I was getting it in my snatch to the hilt, as well as my mouth. Both pricks were big enough that I halfway expected their heads to collide somewhere in the center of my body.
Then I discovered the seesaw effect. Because of the way in which I was positioned, by bobbing up and down, I could switch maximum insertion back and forth between my mouth and pussy. When one cock was in me to the balls, the head of the other was all that was inside me at the other end — then, with a quick movement, vice-versa. The double friction this created was fantastic.
My twat was lathering with its own juice, my mouth gurgling with spit. The two hard-ons were pistoning within me. I was fucking like a two-cylinder engine.
I wanted cum. Cum in my mouth and cunt. Had I been able to speak I would have screamed for it.
I was bouncing up and down like I was on a pogo stick. The chafing at both ends became harder and harder.
The cock on top lurched further than it ever had before down my throat. Sperm abruptly poured forth.
Then, with my belly suddenly full of jizz, I squatted down as far as I could go and repeated the same nut-sucking process with my tight cunt. The prick there duplicated the action of the first and was quickly spraying my interior all the way to my ovaries.
It was wonderful. I wished the gooey spurting would never stop. When it did, I immediately wanted more.
As the cocks wilted, unplugging themselves from my body in the gushing wash at both ends of my body, I fell to the floor of the car and spread my legs as far as they would go. One leg was hooked over the front seat, the other over the back. My pussy and asshole were throbbing between my wide-open thighs.
When the two cops saw my eagerness for more, they forgot all about the fact that they had just shot their wads. It was obvious what I wanted, and their newly hardening clicks showed that they were eager to give it to me. To my panting excitement, we were ready to start all over again.
“She wants it in the cunt and ass at the same time,” one of them observed. “Who gets which?”
“I fucked her pussy the first time, you can have it now. I want that round asshole. It looks tight enough to choke my cock off at the root.”
They clambered over the front seat and fell on top of me. Lying on the back seat and draping himself over my leg, the one who had previously fucked my mouth guided his rejuvenated boner between my legs and into my gaping cunt. Then the other wriggled underneath and shot the head of his prick against my pouting antis.
Not only had I never done anything like this, I’d never even thought about it. Until tonight, I had repressed all ideas of sex until I was in bed with the lights out and my husband wanted his conjugal rights.
Who knows where the desire came for me to now urge the two strange men above and beneath me to double-fuck me. Certainly there was no precedent for me to cry, “Fuck my cunt, fuck my ass! Split me in two with your big, hard dicks!”
The cock in my cunt was already pumping away. Then, inch by inch, it was joined by the first phallic penetration ever of my asshole.
I wriggled my butt like I’d been taking it in my shitter all my life. Instinctively, I knew just how to move my loins so the tight hole would suck up just as much cock as my more experienced pussy.
“Fuck us, baby, fuck us,” one of the men hissed. “Keep fucking us as hard as you can.”
“Your cocks are so big inside me,” I deliriously replied, and redoubled my efforts to give them both the lay of their lives.
“This bitch really knows how to fuck,” the other one panted. Since he was the one making the first phallic entry up my crap-chute, I felt an overwhelming pride in the ability of my body to come across.
We were humping so hard the car was bouncing up and down. I could hear the shocks squeaking from the constant up-and-down, in-and-out motion of our screwing.
The membrane separating my anus from my cunt became meaningless before long. The heads of both cocks were rubbing together in me like there was nothing dividing my two fuck-holes. Sparks seemed to fly off from their violent rubbing.
“Come in me!” I screeched. “Come in me at the same time!”
They both plunged in all the way, making their final strokes ones that squashed their balls against me. The barbed tips of their pricks were gouging into intensely pleasurable depths that I hadn’t known existed.
I reached down with both hands and grabbed each set of nuts. Squeezing them, I forced them to release their liquid treasure. I wanted every fucking drop both men had to give.
They both lurched and erupted at the same instant, just as I craved. To my orgasmic glee, their outpouring on the second go round was even greater than it had been the first time.
The jizz in my cunt was by now, of course, a familiar sensation. However, the spunk rocketing up my asshole was an entirely new experience.
When it mixed with the gurgling shit in my spasming colon, I went to the brink of unconsciousness from the breathtaking thrill.
I was limp with excitement by the time they finished coming. Moaning from, continuous orgasm, I collapsed like a rag doll when they finally pulled their dicks out of me. As I lay in a heap on the floor of the car, I could feel the cum gushing from my pussy and ass like I had a couple of faucets between my legs.
Their cocks were soft again and they were too exhausted to get them up for a third try. But I was still horny. My capacity for sex seemed endless.
Shamelessly, I began masturbating, servicing myself with my thumb against my clit and my pinkie hooked inside my jizz-soaked asshole. Of course I missed the hard-ons inside me, but it was enough to keep me going.
The cops returned to the front seat and watched me get myself off while they put their pricks back in their pants and cleaned off their uniforms. Their obscene comments kept me so aroused that it was impossible to stop fingering myself. I felt like nothing could make me stop coming.
However, I was wrong. Actually, all it took was one of the cops looking at his watch and saying.
“Almost midnight. Our shift is practically up.”
“Yeah, it is. Better get back to the precinct and report in.”
“What’ll we do about her? She’s a fucking mess.”
“Take her back with us, I guess, and call her husband.”
“I hope he’s willing to take her back after he sees her.”
By the time we reached the station house, I had completely come out of it. Reverting to my normal character, I felt ashamed and humiliated in front of a group of strange men, knowing they were fully aware I had just had sex in all three holes.
As if my scummy appearance were not enough, the two cops who had picked me up had made sure they told theft fellow policemen all the details. That is, all the details that made me look bad, such as that I’d been found spread-eagled in a slum street, raped in every orifice. It was necessary, of course, for them to make a big deal of my degradation in front of the others to cover up their part in what had happened to me.
Needless to say, it made me feel like a piece of shit.
While they contacted my husband, they sat me down on a hard wooden bench in a drab room where more of the vomitous green paint was peeling from the walls than sticking to it. The heavily made-up, revealingly dressed woman sitting next to me immediately took an interest in me.
“Say, somebody really did it to you, didn’t they,” she said. “You don’t look like you’ll be able to work again for a couple of weeks.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You know, turn any tricks,” she said matter of factly.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hey, you don’t have to worry about me. I ain’t no undercover cop. Don’t worry I’m a working girl just like you.”
“But I don’t have a job.”
That really cracked her up. Then she settled down and asked me point-blank: “Say, how long have you been a whore anyway?”
She might as well have slugged me in the jaw. Reeling with embarrassment, I got up and went to the furthest point in the room away from her.
I was still cowering in the corner an hour later when Don finally showed up. I was such a mess that he didn’t even recognize me until the desk sergeant led him to me.
“What happened to you?” he gasped in astonishment.
I ran to him and held on for dear life. When he repeated his question, I took a deep breath and told him I had been raped.
Immediately I could feel him flinch. Instead of the reassuring hug and kiss I expected, I was pushed away to arm’s length.
“Didn’t they tell you?” I sobbed.
“No, no,” he muttered incredulously. “What were you doing — how could such a thing have happened?”
I tried to tell him about the car breaking down, but I just couldn’t seem to make sense. Finally I sank to the floor, unable to support my own weight any longer in my anguish.
Don didn’t know what to do. He stood looking down at me with disbelief etched in his face until we were interrupted by one of the cops who had picked me up.
“Hey, mister, you better get her out of here,” he said. “There’s nothing more we can do for her.”
Then he went on to explain that there was no need to make any sort of official report. “The paper-work would just be a waste of time,” he breezily maintained. “The guy got away, so what’s the point. If me and my partner stay late to fill out all the forms if she makes an official complaint, we’ll just have to take it off in overtime when we could be out on the streets looking for the guy who did it to her. Don’t worry, if you don’t interfere with police methods, we’ll have a better chance of catching the bastard.”
On the way home, I sensed that Don wanted a distance between us, so I kept as far away from him as possible. We didn’t speak a word to one another throughout the ride.
In the days that followed, the distance continued. Only now it was a lot more significant than just the space of the front seat of a car. Even though the rape was never mentioned, it was like a ten foot wall between us.
Our sex life had been a steady twice a week thing. But now it dropped to zero. Even though we slept in the same bed, we never touched. Then one night I woke up about three in the morning and discovered that things had deteriorated even beyond that — I was alone in bed. When I went into the living room, I discovered Don sleeping on the couch.
“Which one would you recommend?” I asked after I’d inspected several examples.
She looked at me kind of funny. It was almost as though she were more interested in reading my mind than in selling me brushes.
Her blue eyes met mine and seemed to peer into my soul. Despite my sudden uneasiness, I couldn’t look away.
She was the hone who finally broke the gaze. Reaching into the sample case, she picked up a brush and said without conviction, “This is a nice one.”
Anxious for something to do that would relieve the tension I felt, I began brushing my hair. However, my hand was shaking so much that the brush fell to the floor.
“Here,” she said, reaching down to pick it up, “let me do it for you.”
As she leaned over, I found myself inadvertently looking down the front of the scooped neckline of her summer blouse. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and for an instant I could actually see her nipples.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked when she caught my roving eye.
“No, nothing, nothing,” I protested a little too much.
She smiled in reply and then got up, walked behind me, and began brushing my hair. As I felt the stiff bristles massaging my scalp, I wondered what she was thinking.
“You have beautiful hair, Mary,” she said.
“Thank you,” I answered. However, although it was the first compliment I’d received since the rape, my mind was elsewhere. It had returned to the image of Ann’s firm breasts and nipples.
Then, as if on cue, she came around in front of me so I could see how her loose tits jiggled under her thin blouse. The nipples were pointing through the fabric. I couldn’t take my eyes off them.
Her strokes with the brush became longer and longer. Since my hair was down to my shoulders, the bristles were touching my neck and arms on the down sweep. They tickled, and pretty soon it seemed like she was doing it on purpose.
“Feel good?” she asked.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Good,” she whispered huskily. Then, continuing to stroke, she bent over so I had a perfect view down the scoop of her neckline. Suddenly I could see her nipples again, and this time it wasn’t for just an instant.
Her breasts seemed perfect. So completely feminine. I started to wonder if she had a man in her life who ran his rough hands over them.
“Are you married, Ann?” I impulsively blurted.
“No,” she answered tersely, continuing to brush my hair and show her tits.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“But you’re such a beautiful girl,” I tried to make some sense out of my rudeness. “Surely…”
Just like that she stopped brushing my hair and walked away, taking the sight of her gorgeous breasts away from me. I was certain I had offended her.
There was a long pause. If she was upset I didn’t know how I would handle it.
“Mary,” she finally said, comforting me somewhat by continuing to use my first name.
“Yes?” I responded anxiously. “Can I trust you?”
She looked at me long and hard as though she were making a final evaluation of my trustworthiness.
“I’m a lesbian,” she said.
My gasp was audible. I’d heard and read about women like this, of course, but had never actually met one.
“Are you shocked?” she smiled. “No,” I lied.
“Yes, you are,” she said, but there was no bitterness in her accusation. “I knew you would be, but I decided to tell you anyway. You know why?”
I dumbly shook my head.
“Because I saw the way you were looking at my tits. I was hoping that if I told you the truth, maybe you’d want to touch them. Play with them.”
“You mean, make love to you?”
Before I could think of what to do or say next, she took the initiative. Suddenly the blouse was off and her bare breasts were bobbing only a few feet in front of me.
She came even closer and took my hand. Suddenly my palm was rubbing one of her nipples and then the other. I found myself panting with excitement.
“Does feeling my tits make your pussy wet?” she asked.
Automatically I pressed my thighs together. They were wet and sticky.
“Yes,” I admitted. “It’s running down my legs.”
“Me, too,” she grinned. “I’ve been horny ever since I first noticed you looking down my blouse. I was hoping you’d feel the same way.”
She eased down, sitting on my lap. While I continued fondling her tits, she began unbuttoning my blouse. When she reached around and unhooked my bra, I was naked from the waist up.
“Mmmmm,” she cooed, “your nipples are like spikes. Can I suck them?”
As though she had me hypnotized, I said yes. Dropping her head to my chest, she closed her mouth over one of the turgid nipples and began touching it. Between my legs, I could feel my pussy beginning to gush instead of merely leak.
While she sucked my tits, Ann slid her hand under my skirt. The feel of her probing fingertips through the saturated crotch of my clinging panties was electric. Then and there I knew there was no turning back — we would make love.
We went to the bedroom to do it. By the time we got there, we were both naked. I was the one who got in bed first on my back and spread my legs as far apart as they would go.
“Love me,” I moaned, pleading for the intimate kind of affection I had been robbed of since my rape. Make me come.
Ann dove for the mossy crux of my thighs and began eating me. Her teeth, lips and tongue were heaven against my cunt. And things got even better when she penetrated that drooling slit.
“Eat me… eat me… eat me,” I chanted repeatedly. “Shove your hard tongue all the way up my pussy and fuck me with it.”
I had started coming almost immediately. The more Ann tongued me, the harder I came. By the time she was orally probing me to the hilt, orgasm was shaking me like a leaf.
While she ate my cunt, her hands roamed over my tits. My nipples were erect at least an inch apiece, and crimson from the constant stimulation.
Before long I realized I could no longer wait to taste some pussy myself. Ann recognized my desire instinctively and asked if I wanted to sixty-nine. Of course my answer was yes.
Quickly repositioning ourselves so that our faces were buried in each other’s hairy cunt, we began chewing each other out. I couldn’t believe how exciting another woman’s pussy tasted. If it was always this good, I could see why Ann had turned lesbian.
My tongue’s first trip up a tight female fuck-hole is something I’ll remember until the day I die. The combination of the jellied sweetness and squeezing muscles was something every woman should experience. Making love to someone of my own sex seemed like the most natural and beautiful thing in the world.
Instead of rising and then falling, my orgasmic response just kept building. I wanted more and more of my female lover, and she obviously felt the same way. We must have swallowed a pint of each other’s pussy juice.
And it still wasn’t over when we stopped sixty-nining. Ann asked me if I wanted her to fuck me.
“Of course,” I eagerly answered. “But how?”
“With that long-handled brush you picked,” she giggled. “It’ll fit just fine inside your cunt, and I’m just the girl who knows how to make it move. When I’m through with you, you’ll wonder why you ever bothered to fool with a real cock.”
She left the room to get the brush. Believe it or not, I was so horny that while she was gone I finger-fucked myself. I didn’t want to lose a precious bit of the tremendous climax raging within me.
When she returned, she was holding the bristle end of the brush against her crotch so the handle loomed from her loins like a hard-on. I could hardly wait for her to slip it inside my cunt and start pumping. I’d soul-kiss her and play with her perfect tits while she was doing it.
“Fuck me, Ann, fuck me!” I cried, pulling my hand from between my legs and opening my snatch to my cervix.
She came to the bed, climbed aboard, and kneeled before me. My pussy was steaming with anticipation.
Expertly guiding the brush handle, Ann lowered her tawny loins toward my open honey-pot. Operating in a no-nonsense fashion, she made her first thrust a deep and probing one. All of a sudden my twat was engorged with her hardness.
Just as I’d planned, I seized her breasts and covered her mouth with my lips when she started screwing me. Making total love with another woman made fucking my husband seem tame indeed.
The springs in the mattress squeaked like a rusty gate in the wind from our furious humping. The end of the brush felt like it was in my womb, and then it seemed to penetrate even beyond that.
This was fucking. Real fucking. Had I known about this kind of sex when I was growing up, I might never have married.
Wrapping my legs around Ann’s slim waist, I drew her tighter and tighter into the grip of my thighs. We were both generously endowed with pubic hair, and now, with the welding of our groins, it had combined into one enormous tangle.
Then our pussy lips melted together. Even our cuts. Our cunts were one. One pulsing, dripping, spasming organism of sensual female lust.
It was only natural that eventually I would take the brush out of my twat, lick my own juice off the handle, and then begin fucking Ann back with it. It turned out to be as much fun doing the fucking as receiving it.
We must have switched places five or six times before we were finally exhausted. Then we got under the sheets and just curled up against each other’s naked bodies, luxuriating in the afterglow of perfect love-making.
Eventually dozing off, my dreams were wet. When I awoke, I told Ann about it and she laughed and said the same thing had happened to her. After trading details we were so turned-on that we started sucking and fucking all over again.
The second time around we gave the long handled brush to each other in the ass as well as the cunt. Also, we licked and ate everywhere — tits, pussy, ass, belly-button, armpits. As far as I was concerned, every part of Ann was sweeter than the last part I’d tasted.
It finally had to and just before three o’clock because I realized the kids were coming home from school. We had been in bed with each other for almost five solid hours.
For the first time since I had been raped, I felt good about myself. And for the first time in my life, I felt like a total woman.
As I reluctantly said goodbye to Ann, I suspected that things would never be the same.
Of course, I began seeing my female lover during the day as much as I could. Her Avon sales were falling off drastically, but she didn’t seem to care as long as she could kiss me, and feel my tits, and get inside my pussy and asshole.
However, all was not perfection. I still had to cope with Don. While my lesbian love life was booming, my marital situation was deteriorating faster than a piece of bread under water.
I had no patience with Don any more. His presence around the house seemed an intrusion to me. I wished he would just leave for work one day and never come back.
Maybe if I had said the hell with it, and just gone ahead and left him, perhaps what happened next could have been forestalled. Believe me, had I known how things were going to turn out, I would have been more courageous.
Ann lost her job because she was spending so much time during the day in my arms and between my legs. Her sales had fallen to nothing. And since she had no husband to support her, she had to do something quickly.
“What are you going to do?” I anxiously asked when she told me the bad news.
“I don’t know,” she answered, “but I’ll have to decide right away. I only have a little money in the bank — not even enough to pay my rent.”
I wanted to offer her everything I had, but reality forced me to say nothing. Everything I had was under my husband’s thumb. As much as I wanted to, as long as I was married, I could not help her.
That day when we said goodbye it was the first time we had not made love. In tears when she left, I chillingly suspected that things would never be the same between us.
I was right. The crushing blow I expected came in the form of a letter the next day. Its message was like a gunshot to my heart.
“Dearest, Mary,” she wrote. “I am going to Chicago. I have relatives there I can stay with until I find work. I know this will hurt you, but it’s the only way. I’m sorry I couldn’t work up enough courage to tell you in person.”
Her name was signed with love, and that was it. I had never felt so let down — so alone and abandoned.
I fell into a depression that closed in on me like a vise. I felt like I was living in a world where quicksand was the only element.
Surprisingly, it was Don who came up with a suggestion that might help me. My moping around had even gotten to him.
For the first time in weeks, he came into the bedroom at night. At first I was afraid that he’d gotten horny and wanted to fuck, but he said he just wanted to talk.
“We can’t go on like this,” he bluntly stated. There was nothing I could do but agree with him.
For an instant I was on the verge of opening up to him, telling him everything — that’s how desperately lonely I was.
But when I looked into his face, I couldn’t do it. My own husband seemed like a stranger to me. He would never understand.
So I just sat there in bed, not speaking, waiting for him to make the next move. He did with a firm sureness that indicated he had carefully planned what he was going to say well in advance.
“I want you to see a psychiatrist,” he laid it on the line. “It’s covered in my company health insurance, so there’s no reason for you not to go.”
“And if I don’t?” I got up the nerve to challenge him.
“I’m seeing my lawyer and taking the kids to stay with my mother,” he replied in a chilling voice. “You’re no kind of wife like this, and no kind of mother.”
“Please don’t leave me!” I blurted, ignoring the fact that I had felt nothing for him for weeks. I was so insecure that life on my own seemed unbearable, even if it was with a man who had spitefully withheld his love and support from me in my time of greatest need.
“Okay, then,” he said with enough trace of smugness to suggest that he had counted on this reaction from me. “I’ve made an appointment for you tomorrow with a Dr. Higgins downtown. If you go, I’ll give you another chance.”
Nothing in my anticipation prepared me for Dr.
Bob Higgins. When I was introduced to him, I initially thought some kind of mistake had been made. I had never expected such a young, handsome, friendly man to be a member of such a forbidding profession.
Right away he insisted I called him Bob instead of doctor. By the time I lay down on his couch and began answering his sympathetic questions, I felt more comfortable than I had at any time since Ann had left. He had a way about him that put me completely at ease. After a few minutes of his compassionate approach, I was ready to tell him all.
“I was raped.” I finally got to the heart of my problem.
“And ever since, your husband has treated you like damaged goods,” Dr. Higgins, or Bob, completed the sentence for me.
“How did you know?”
“It’s very common,” he explained. “There’s just something in most men that makes it difficult for them to accept that a woman could be an innocent victim of sexual assault. Most guys assume that any woman who’s raped must have been asking for it.”
“But I wasn’t,” I wailed.
“I know that,” he gently supported me. “However, on the other hand, everybody’s not a psychiatrist. For example, what does your husband do for a living?”
“He’s the manager of a fast-food franchise.”
“Well, there you have it. The clientele your husband serves is probably composed mostly of teenagers.”
I nodded my head that he was right.
“In other words, your husband is probably exposed to a parade of young women all day long — scantily clad in the summer — who seem to be flaunting their firm, young bodies. They seem to be asking for it. You know, a lot of these girls nowadays don’t wear any underwear. If a man catches them in the right position he can see everything.”
“But what does that have to do with me?”
“It’s simple,” he said. “Day after day, through no fault of his own, your husband sees attractive young females apparently flaunting their bodies. Without the background to temper his judgment, it’s only natural that he starts to believe that this is typical.”
“You mean,” I caught on, “that he assumes all women really are asking for sex.”
“Precisely,” he nodded. “And as a matter of fact, I’ll bet he’s broken up plenty of incidents in the parking lot that tend to confirm his impression even more.”
“But I’m no teenager,” I pointed out.
“But you probably were when you and your husband met.”
I agreed that this was true.
“So it’s not surprising that he still thinks of you in this way.”
“In other words,” I followed his line of thinking, “my husband thinks what happened to me was the same as what he sees every day.”
“Yes, after you were raped, it just confirmed it to him — to use the slang of today — that you were just another horny chick on the make. A cheap tramp.”
I’d never thought of it this way. For the first time I could understand Don’s point of view. After all, I’d seen those teenage girls the doctor was talking about. Some of them had their cut-off jeans stuck right up in their tight cracks. I told the doctor this, and he was pleased with my insight.
“What’s more,” Bob continued, “I’ll bet when you’re around the house you are frequently as provocative as the girls your husband sees all day long.”
I’d never thought about that, and expressed my apparent naivete.
“You won’t deny that you have on occasion rim around the house scantily clad,” Bob pressed the point.
“Well, yes, in my nightgown,” I confessed, squirm mw on the couch from the anxiety caused by this revelation.
“And sometimes in short skirts with no panties underneath,” he suggested. “Perhaps leaning over the kitchen sink with your dress hiked up in back so that plenty is showing.”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Well, now we’re getting someplace,” he said, getting up front behind his desk. “I’m guessing that a look up your dress is not much different than looking up a cute teenagers.”
“I… I wouldn’t know about that,” I stammered, suddenly feeling anxious as he came to the couch and loomed over me.
“I’ll tell you what,” he suggested. “Imagine I’m your husband. Roll over on the couch and throw up your skirt and act like you’re reading a magazine or something. I’ll pretend I’m your husband walking into the room and finding you this way. While I’m looking at you, I’ll share my feelings with you, and perhaps you can understand where you’re husband is ht.”
“Do… do you want me to take off my panties first,” I stammered, my skin feeling hot and prickly.
“It would be better,” Bob said. “And in fact, to make the situation even more realistic, I’ll go out of the room so you can prepare yourself to look as natural as possible. When I come back in, you’ll be essentially nude from the waist down, and we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
It was only when I began to roll my panties down my thighs that I noticed the wetness. When I got the panties off and looked at their crotch, there was a fresh stain. Spreading my legs, I looked down into my cunt and saw that it was glistening with moisture.
I started to hesitate. But when Bob inquired through the door if I was ready, I lost my nerve to resist. I convinced myself that he had a lot more experience than I in these matters and that the only intelligent thing was to do as he said. If there was a logical reason for my pussy being wet, I was sure he had it.
Rolling over on my stomach, I bunched my skirt up around my waist and started to pretend I was reading a magazine. Then, just to make it more authentic, I languidly parted my thighs and flashed my pussy from the rear. Even though I had been nervous up until now about showing myself, once I was in the position Bob had suggested, I felt surprisingly comfortable. When he finally walked through the door, I didn’t even flinch.
As I went through the charade of ignoring him, he came over to the couch and looked down at me. Even though I realized he was staring straight at my open pussy, I had so much confidence in him by now that I wasn’t disturbed. In fact, my self-consciousness had abruptly dissolved to such an extent that I even wiggled my ass a little bit, pretending that I was reading something exciting in the non-existent magazine.
The doctor started talking after looking me over for several moments, giving me the benefit of what goes through a man’s mind when he unexpectedly comes upon the hairy essence of a woman revealed.
“Look at her cunt,” he rasped in a low, throaty voice. “It looks like she’s ready to fuck any man who comes along. She’s showing her pussy like a Goddamn whore.”
His explicit comments immediately set the wheels spinning in my mind. The imaginary magazine I was reading became one filled with erotic content. While Bob was talking to himself about my twat, I supposed I was reading a detailed description of a sexual encounter.
When Bob rasped, “Her cunt is dripping. I know she wants a man’s cock in it,” I made myself believe those were the words before my eyes. Then, as his description of his thoughts became more and more frank, gradually the story became one of a psychiatrist seducing one of his female patients.
When he said that his prick was hard, the words changed to pictures. I could see an immense cock in a full state of erection before my eyes in vivid color. When I felt the wetness around the outside of my mouth, I realized I was licking my lips.
“I’d like to fuck that cunt,” he said, “but I’m afraid it’s dirty from other men. All women are really whores — if they get the chance they’ll fuck anybody in pants. Who knows how many pricks she’s taken between her legs? I might get the clap.”
“No, you won’t,” I heard myself saying like I was a character in the imaginary story. “My pussy is clean. If you fuck me, you won’t regret it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’ll show you,” I said, and rolled over on my back. As he looked down, I parted my legs as far as they would go and opened my twat to him from the front. It was so juicy, I could feel the goo leaking down into the crack of my ass.
For the first time since we had begun our role playing, I could see his face. The expression on it was one of pure lust. Playing to it, I flexed my crotch upward, spraying a fine mist of juice in the air.
But, to my surprise, he did not respond as I’d hoped he would. Instead of pulling out his stiff cock and ravishing me, he actually backed off a step.
“Why won’t you fuck me?” I gasped. “You know you want to.”
“I can’t trust you. You’ll have to show me you’re not a cock-teaser by taking my prick out of my pants and sticking it in your cunt by yourself.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” I answered, immediately sitting up so I could grab for his bulging fly.
At least he didn’t resist when I pulled down his zipper. And by the time I was extracting his thick meat, he was starting to get positively cooperative.
His cock was huge. Whew I had it securely gripped in my hands, over ten inches in front of him, I knew the game was over. I was going to get fucked for real. Dr. Higgins’ pulsing horniness wasn’t just some part he was playing.
“Get down here,” I said firmly, “and start fucking me.”
He had no choice but to climb on the couch and crawl between my open legs. When the throbbing tip of his prick was but inches from my hungrily awaiting twat, I gave him a big yank. The head of his dick went right where I wanted it to go.
My cunt was so lubricated with horny arousal that he slid easily in. There was no trouble in enclosing at least two-thirds of his cock’s ten-inch-plus length on a single try.
The core of my being was abruptly filled with hot, throbbing prick. I bucked my hips, my body rhythmically grinding in the classic fucking motion.
Undoing his belt, I pulled his trousers and shorts down to his knees and slid my fingers into the crack of his ass. Immediately, I found the hot pucker of his asshole and penetrated it past the third knuckle.
His shit-pit became gooey as I really reamed him out. My fingertip became like a nail, gouging into the throbbing lump of his adjacent prostate gland.
The finger-fucking I was giving his ass only made his cock work harder. It reached excruciating depths, surging the final inches to the hilt within my spasming pussy.
There was only one thing left to do to make my rapture complete as my psychiatrist fucked me. With my free hand I groped for his balls, squeezing them firmly. In my grip I could feel them tighten every time I jabbed his ass and constricted my cunt. His entire reproductive system knotted into an elongated fist of passion.
And then, just when I thought I couldn’t take any more without coming so hard I’d shatter, both of us went into high gear, moving together in perfect rhythm. It was incredible, as though we had been lifted into space and there were no restraints of gravity to inhibit our fucking.
“How do you like it?” Dr. Higgins whispered hotly in my ear as his prick surged further than ever before into my jack-knifed body.
I answered with a thrust of my impossibly contorted pelvis. The penetration was deeper than I had thought humanly possible.
When hooked between my thighs, I saw nothing but a tangle of his pubic hair and mine. Even the rapist hadn’t pronged me this deeply.
I was creaming and creaming. But even though my cunt was a swamp of passion, the friction from the huge, pumping cock inside it was still sensational. Although things got wetter and wetter, they also got tighter and tighter.
Eventually I became impatient coming by myself. I wanted my box filled with hot jizz, and I wanted it now! Instinctively, I knew exactly what to do.
As though I were pulling a cork from a champagne bottle, I crooked my finger like a corkscrew in his ass and twisted it out. There was a loud, wet pop and I braced myself for the inevitable result. Instantaneously, the doctor’s cum shot from his cock into my pussy, bathing my thirsty fuck-hole with a spurting ocean of sperm.
The flow of his jizz was more than the limit of my pussy could take. As he kept erupting, I could feel the wondrous goo sliding out of my box, glazing my thighs, and trickling onto the couch.
The combination of fresh cum and the slick leather upholstery made us slide on the couch as we orgasmed in tandem. My body seemed to be going every which way, only my cunt anchored by the psychiatrist’s heavy, spearing, ejaculating prick.
“Let me lick the rest of it off,” I panted to him, wanting to taste his cum before my pussy swallowed most of it and the rest dribbled to the couch and floor. “Pull out and lay back so I can suck your prick.”
I was pleased to see that his prick was still oozing spunk as I sat up and gazed hungrily at his jerking crotch. It was amazing he was still so stiff after all the fucking we’d done, and even more astounding that there was still some cum left to spill from his love-stick.
I began licking at the base of his balls, knowing that I would immediately taste cum no matter where I started. His crotch was just covered with the stuff, both male and female cream drenching his loins.
The exquisite taste of pussy juice mixed with sperm made my nostrils flare as I lapped his nuts. I put one of them in my mouth and dissolved the stickiness, and then the other, finally taking both of them at once. When the cum was gone and I released him.
My tongue worked around the well of his groin, lapping the cobs of sperm and cunt juice from his thickly-matted cock hair. When the strands of pubic floss caught in my teeth; I sucked them up and swallowed them in the continuing river of heavenly juice.
His prick stood straighter and straighter as I scaled it with my tongue. Not only was it not wilting after a long, hard fuck, it was actually becoming more rigid. It was hard work licking him clean, so enormous was his cock, but it was worth it. The sperm and pussy juice sticking to his prick was thick, rich honey.
The veins of his cock throbbed against my tongue and lips, telling, me that the fires of excitement were raging near peak fury again within his tireless instrument. By the time I reached the head, his hips were propelling his prick in a renewed fucking motion.
His pelvis started to grind just as violently as when he had come in my pussy. Now I joyously realized that if I kept sucking, he would erupt a second time within minutes — this time in my mouth.
I licked the last of the old cum off the crown of his dick, wiping his manhood as clean as a whistle so I could start anew. Not swallowing his whole prick, I just kept the knotty end between my lips while my stroking fingers did the necessary work on the shaft.
Jerking his meaty foreskin back and forth along the expanse of his big cock, I jacked him off with all the inventiveness I could muster. I would let my lips droop just enough to rush his loose cock-skin inside my mouth, holding it there until I abruptly yanked it back out in the open with a tug of my hand. His whole body shuddered from the friction. In the meantime, I did wonders with my tongue.
Driving its pencil-sharp tip into his slit, I actually fucked the vertical smile at the end of his prick. The tissues of his urethra sucked against my taste-buds like a tiny cunt, begging to be stimulated.
The longer I had to wait for his ejaculation, the more excited I got. Finally my arousal was so great that I had no choice but to abandon tantalizing him.
From this point on it was hard, fast, merciless mouth-fucking. No frills. I was whacking his meat with my suctioning mouth the way a horny teenager would use his hand to jack-off while drooling over a “Hustler” centerfold.
To hasten matters further, my finger plunged into his asshole again. His anus was gooey but tight, spasming from the oral laceration his prick was taking. Kneading his enlarged prostate, I brought him closer to the brink of the second coming.
In my excitement, I stuffed a second finger in his butt… and then a third. When there still seemed to be room, I added my pinkie and thumb, creating a tremendous knot at the core of his maleness.
Then I upped the ante even more. Railing my fingers into a fist within his rectum, I marveled at the elasticity of his sweet shit-hole.
I began pumping my wrist, making my knuckles slide up his anus. In front, the action made his prick pitch like falling timber in my mouth.
From the way he was shaking now I knew he was ready to come a second time. My mouth twitched as it waited to be filled with fresh cum.
Paving the way for the eruption I craved, my fist bashed into his colon. Then I abruptly retracted it, sliding out with a deafening pop from his bunghole. The sensation must have been five times greater for him than when I had pulled merely one finger out of his ass before when we’d been fucking.
Dr. Higgins yowled like a wounded animal as my fist came ripping out of his crap-chute; and then spilled his load at last into my mouth. The cum flowed down my throat like hot lava — I felt like I was sucking on a miniature volcano.
I threw my hands to my face. My fingers pressed to my mouth, trying to hold in the streaming jizz that was already oozing out.
My cheeks were taut with the constantly expanding volume of cream inside. My face felt like a balloon.
I gagged and choked and sputtered. Because of his constant spurting there was no way I could swallow fast enough.
Finally the pressure was too great for me to endure. My mouth erupted as though I were vomiting. The doctor’s prick came out first in the rush, followed by a mouthful and a throatful of steaming sperm. It splattered all over both of us, soaking through my blouse and drenching my tits, and swamping crotch.
I scooped up the spunk by the handful and rubbed it all over my face and hair. By the time I was finished, I was a sticky mess. I looked like I had fallen into a vat of marshmallow.
It was only when his cum had cooled off and started to congeal that I noticed the doctor’s cock had finally collapsed. Not only that, so had the rest of him. The poor dear was finished for the afternoon, practically unconscious from carnal exhaustion. I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d do about his next appointment.
Over at his desk I found a prescription pad and wrote him a note. “Dear Bob,” it said. “See you same time next week. I think you can really help me with my problems.”
My weekly sessions with Dr. Higgins did wonders for my spirit. His brand of therapy was just what I needed. Even though Don was still as cold as ever; I was still convinced things were improving.
However, all along I was riding for a fall. In the psychological rebuilding process I had allowed myself to completely ignore the fact that I was still dependent on my husband. Don was paying the bills, and if he decided I had had enough psychiatry that was the end of it.
Looking back, I can see how naive I was. It was stupid of me to expect that Don would keep pouring money into my doctor bills, no matter how much I felt the psychiatrist helped me, when he couldn’t see any direct benefits for himself.
It was certainly true enough that Don had been the one to insist that I see Dr. Higgins, however that hardly meant he was at all sophisticated about psychiatry.
Dr. Higgins charged $75 an hour. Considering the low esteem in which my husband held me since I’d been tarnished in his eyes by rape, there was no way he was going to think I was worth that kind of money.
Perhaps if Don had just come flat-out and told me the news, I might have been able to accept the end to my therapy without an extreme reaction. However, such was not the case, and the way in which I learned the news was devastating.
“It’s as simple as this, Mrs. Randall,” I was told when I reported for my weekly session. “I’m not running a charity clinic here.”
“But, Bob,” I protested, shaken by the fact that he hadn’t called me Mary as much as anything.
“Dr. Higgins,” he sternly corrected me, bringing me down even more so I felt about the size of an ant. “I can only be on a first-name basis when I’m getting paid. Otherwise, I’m afraid a more formal approach is necessary — that way the former patient won’t get any incorrect ideas about our status.”
It was chilling the way he pronounced the word “former”. He made it sound like he was not a psychiatrist talking to a patient, but a judge passing sentence on a criminal.
For several moments I was speechless with shock. During that time I mentally reviewed everything that had happened in the office in which I suddenly felt like such an intruder.
“But the love-making…” I blurted when I could no longer stand the pressure in my skull. “How can you just throw it all aside?”
“You’re forgetting that any intimacies we’ve shared are merely part of the treatment,” he replied coldly. “Obviously, there’s no way such therapy can continue without proper payment.”
I reeled from the impact of his words. The only way I would steady myself was to get angry and blurt: “In other words, no money, no fucking!”
“My professional ethics prevent me from putting it that way, Mrs. Randall,” he answered smugly, not in the least affected by my ire. “But you have hit the nail on the head.”
“Then you’re saying I’ve meant nothing to you except $75 an hour.” I dared to speak the ugly truth.
“I am the doctor and you are the patient,” he said, starting to sound like a cash register instead of a person to me. “Like it or not, psychiatry is just a business like anything else. You wouldn’t expect your plumber to give you service without proper payment, so there’s no reason why, you should expect the same from your psychiatrist. Good afternoon, Mrs. Randall.”
There was no point in arguing with him. It was over between us. In fact, I suspected that had I continued to protest he would have signaled to his receptionist to call the police.
Somehow I managed to hold my tears until I hit the street. However, once I was outside the tears flowed uncontrollably. Passers-by were looking at me like I was some kind of freak. Needless to say, nobody bothered to stop and ask if they could help.
Embarrassed by my breakdown, I ducked into a mid-town alley so I could escape all the cruelly prying eyes. The environment in which I found myself perfectly matched the way I felt — crummy, bleak and uncared for.
Leaning with my back against one brick wall, I looked through tear-tilled eyes at the graffiti streaked on the wall opposite from me. Trying to compose myself, I forced myself to concentrate on the crudely scrawled messages.
They were all obscene, of course, further proof of what a down-at-the-heels, sleazy place the inner city had become. It seemed like everybody with a piece of chalk in their pocket or a can of spray paint had a dirty mind.
For some reason the item that eventually caught my attention was not a worded construction, but a drawing. Some amateur pornographer had recorded his impression of two people fucking. Needless to say, there were no faces — just a huge cock buried two-thirds of the way within a spread-legged pussy.
Considering my devastated state, I was abnormally attracted by the obscene drawing before me. Even after I’d stopped crying, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, and couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The drawing seemed not just chalk lines but practically a reflection of the real thing. In fact, the cock actually seemed to be moving up and down in the cunt. I watched it and watched it as though I eventually expected cum to fly before my eyes, the way it had when I had watched myself in the mirror being fucked by the psychiatrist I had so depended upon to make me feel like something more than a piece of shit.
I was so absorbed that I didn’t even hear the voice from the street until its owner walked into the alley. It was only when I heard the scuffling of footsteps through the rubble in the alley that I turned to my right and realized that I was not alone.
“Hey, lady,” a young sailor said, “what’re you hanging around here for?” The way he said it I suspected he had already drawn his own conclusions.
I didn’t know what to say. I thought of just leaving, pushing past him and getting out on the street where there were a lot of other people and he wouldn’t dare try anything funny with me.
However, when I took a step I abruptly froze. The wetness I felt when my thighs scraped together was so shocking that my determination dissolved. Like it or not, the dirty drawing on the wall had made my pussy soaking wet.
The sailor laughed when he saw me stop in my tracks, as though he knew the reason for it. An eerie feeling came over me that I was no longer in control of either the situation or myself.
“How much do you want for a blow-job?”
Realizing he thought I was hanging out in the alley because he thought I was a whore, I was speechless.
“I’ll give you ten bucks if you cop my joint,” he said breezily. “Five more if you swallow my cum.”
I started to back away. But when I did, I heard my cunt squish and I stopped. It was so loud the sailor couldn’t help but hear it too.
“If your pussy’s wet, I’ll fuck you too,” he grinned. “The way your box sounds maybe you ought to pay me.”
Then, as I stood transfixed, he began rapidly undoing the buttons on the fly of his uniform. All of a sudden I found myself gazing at a big, stiff prick, already drooling with a glob of cum.
Closing the space between us, he shoved the head of his cock into my stomach like a knife. Then, without warning, he delivered a karate-chop to the back of my neck. I fell to my knees like I’d been shot.
“Suck, baby, suck!” His boyishness turned to growling meanness. “I’m not used to being teased by whores.”
When he raised my hand again, I feared my neck might be broken if I didn’t cooperate. There seemed no choice but to do as he said. Obediently I closed my lips over his hard prick.
“Okay, bitch, that’s better,” he rasped. “Now take me all the way down to my nuts. Deep throat me or I’ll leave you lying here like the rest of the trash in this alley.”
Fearing for my life, I began to fuck him with my mouth the way I had originally learned from the rapist. A stranger to cock-sucking until a few months ago, now I was able to take one all the way down my throat.
I tried to hate what I was doing, but factors beyond my control were conspiring against me.
Having involuntarily become horny before the sailor ever stepped into the alley, I was unable to restrain my runaway senses from responding with twitching excitement to over ten inches of male meat. A prisoner of my female reflexes, I couldn’t help but suck his big cock in earnest.
By the time my lips were nibbling against his balls, the pussy juice was streaming down my thighs. My cunt was so wet it was as though my panties weren’t even there. Glancing downward, I saw that the ground was getting damp from the constant dripping between my legs.
Because the sailor was young, perhaps not even out of his teens, he was as randy as a stallion. He was ready to come only seconds after his prick was hilted in my mouth.
Slamming his pelvis into my face, he shot his wad without further delay. The steaming ball of his molten cum hit my stomach like a meteor.
He was by far the youngest man I’d ever blown, and the taste of his jizz showed it. Much sweeter, thicker and voluminous than either the rapist’s or Dr. Higgins’, it broiled in the pit of my belly with the raw energy of youth.
When he pulled out, his cock was as hard as ever. I’d read about the capacity of young men to tirelessly perform, and now I was obviously going to get a first-hand demonstration.
“Are you ready to fuck me, baby?” he leered, proudly stroking his stiff, dripping tool.
At this point I felt utterly defeated. Totally intimidated by his sexual vigor; I nodded my head.
“Then get on your hands and knees,” he directed. “I want to fuck you like you’re a bitch in heat. The way the animals do it on the farm back home.”
When I hesitated, he pushed me down. Groveling on the filthy ground, I avoided his kicks only by raising myself to all fours and distracting him by pointing my ass in his face.
“That’s better,” he said, leaning over to lift up my dress. “Now spread your legs so I can get to your pussy.”
I could feel my twat burning like a huge sore as I parted my thighs. His fingers slipped under the crotch of my ruined panties and tore them away like tissue paper.
“Will you look at that!” he enthused. “That’s gotta be the hairiest, wettest pussy I’ve ever seen. No wonder you became a whore, with a snatch like that.”
Then he stopped talking and started fucking. His cock’s aim was true and swift and soon the throbbing head seemed to be reaming out my womb.
While he screwed me from the rear, he clawed his hands under my torso and ripped my blouse and bra away. Seizing my drooping tits, he squeezed them like he was milking a cow back on that farm he’d mentioned. I was certain they’d be black and blue tomorrow.
His prick was sticking me so deeply that it seemed to engage a whole network of nerves devoted entirely to fucking. Just as my reflexes made my knee jerk when it was hit, I now began to automatically wiggle my ass. An orgasm was starting to uncontrollably build at the crux of my being.
“Boy, you really wanted it, didn’t you?” he panted, as he pounded away. “I’ve never been with a whore who needed to fuck so bad.”
There was no way I could deny the truth of what he said. I began to accept the fact that my subconscious must have lured me into the alley, knowing that eventually some man would assume my body was for hire.
Even the part about me being a prostitute seemed pointless for me to defend myself against. After all, wasn’t I acting just like one?
“Fuck me, fuck me,” I gasped. “Fuck me harder… harder. Make me earn my money.”
There was no doubt that he intended to. His cock was screwing me to the hilt, his balls churning hotly against my clit because of the upside-down position of my body. My pussy was being stimulated to the maximum, both inside and out.
Still, I was greedy for more. In having sex with this anonymous sailor, I felt I was proving something to all the people who had used me and then rejected me lately.
The rapist, those two cops, my husband, Dr. Higgins — they’d all taken advantage of me. Then they’d abandoned me once I was no longer of any use to them.
Even Ann in her own way had been an offender. In the final analysis, she had put her own needs before mine and left me.
But in the alley with this teenage sailor I felt like I was in charge. I had something he wanted and he had to pay for it. The money he was going to give me for fucking said to me that my cunt could still be under my control if I just set my mind to it.
Of course, when he had no more cum to shoot, the sailor would leave, too. However, that would be because I was through with him, not vice-versa. He’d leave the alley with a drained set of balls — and I’d leave tingling with the afterglow of orgasm, and several dollars richer.
Therefore, in light of my mental state, it was no wonder that I kept urging him on to screw me harder and harder, deeper and deeper. His hard, straight cock in my cunt seemed to prove to me that I was capable of being a hot-blooded woman, if I put my mind to it, rather than a doormat.
Responding to my greedy lust, I urged him to remove one of his hands from my tits and take care of my ass. “Finger my butt,” I urged. “Stick as many of them as you can inside and ream me out.”
It was easy for him to do because in my kneeling position my anus was gaping. Not only that, it was wet inside, its walls oozing like those of my pussy. The way I felt, if I had a hole, it had to be penetrated by something, or I’d walk away from the encounter feeling cheated.
Fortunately, the sailor’s fingers were long and slim, and their owner was eager to handle some juicy ass. He got three digits in with such ease on the first try that it seemed only natural for me to encourage him to insert the last two.
“Your whole hand,” I groaned. “Fuck my asshole with your whole hand.”
After he did as I asked without too much trouble, I still wasn’t satisfied. Even though I’d never even fantasized about such a practice, it now seemed perfectly natural for me to beg him to fist-fuck me. I wanted those tough, young knuckles all the way up in my shit-gurgling bowels.
Now he was plugging me in both of my tight holes — his cock to the hilt in my cunt, his fist to the wrist in my butt. I was having orgasms in both canals, not to mention the electric tingling from his gouging caress of my hanging tits.
When he came, it settled nothing. As his scalding spunk spewed to the center of my being, I immediately became interested in how I could take advantage of his youth to make him do it a third time.
I’d had his dick in my mouth. Then my cunt. Wasn’t it time for some male juice in the tightest hole of all?
“Switch!” I cried as he squeezed off the last flood of jizz in my pussy. “Put your fist in my cunt and your prick in my ass.”
Still as hard as a rock, his boner pulled from my twat and raised its throbbing sights a notch. Then his fist came ripping from my crap-chute with a deafening pop and the transference was taking place.
Steely cock-head crushed against the ridges of my anus, knuckles against my pussy lips. “Push, push!” I squealed.
He did. Penetration in both holes was instantaneous. It felt even better this way.
Even though my asshole had been thoroughly widened from the previous arrangement, the sailor’s cock was still a tight fit. And his pumping fist in my cunt was brutally divine. It seemed incredible to me that I had had these two holes for so long and had never employed them to the maximum until now. Even my bye affair with Ann had not seen sex this raw.
Within me I could feel his knuckles moving upward in my cunt colliding with his prick moving downward in my ass. When they chafed together through meaningless tissue my climax accelerated to new heights. I felt like I was flying.
I waited until he was in both holes as far as he could go, then began undulating my hips and begging for a third ejaculation. “Come in my ass!” I screamed. “Make my ass as sticky and wet as you made my mouth and pussy!”
He grunted like an enraged bull making a deadly pass at a matador. Then he gored me with liquid — the liquid of his third eruption of cum. It was even hotter, thicker and grosser than either of his previous two eruptions.
Shit had been boiling in my colon all along. Now it seemed to catch on fire, ignited by the molten results of the sailor’s spurting prick. There was just so Goddamn much male lava!
I was thrilled to know I’d be crapping male goo for days. When I put the toilet paper to my ass after my morning bowel movement, there’d be as much creamy white stuff as stinking brown stuff.
And what made it best of all was that the spermy condition of my rectum would be my secret. I’d say so long to this sailor and never see him again. After he was gone, out of my life forever, his cum would belong to me alone.
To hell with the rest of them, I thought, as one gloppy spurt after another filled my colon. I’d get this guy’s juice, his money, then I’d walk out of the alley a free and independent woman.
Up until this affair in the alley, I’d always assumed that whores were fallen women. However, with a trick’s jizz spurting up my anus, and the remains of two previous outpourings sticking in my craw and cunt, it seemed to me that the cheapest hustler had more say-so over her life than the most respectable wife and mother.
When the spurting in my ass had stopped and the sailor’s prick had gone limp, the power of my body abruptly ceased. Getting to my feet to receive my money, I found myself facing an entirely different person than the eager teenager willing to give me anything I wanted.
The guy who had fucked me in three holes had suddenly become a man. A hard-bitten one more concerned with male dominance than in rewarding me for the pleasure my willing body had provided him.
“Where’s my money?” I asked when I realized he wasn’t coming across with it.
“I don’t pay for it,” he coldly said.
Suddenly I felt like a silly fool. There was no point in even protesting. How could I have been so dumb?
The fist that had so joyously reamed my butt and cunt became a weapon. Leaping from his side, it closed the gap between us in a blur and cracked against my jaw bone.
With my senses an instant jumble, I crashed to the ground. Then the bastard took ahold of his now wilted cock and pissed all over me.
I’ll never forget the last words I heard from him before I mercifully passed out: “If I get the clap, I’m coming back to find you. You better hope you’re clean because I’ll beat the slit out of you, you filthy pig.”
My experience with the sailor was an abrupt turning point for me. It damaged my confidence so severely that I decided to permanently swear off sex. Whore or wife, I was convinced that I couldn’t handle it.
Making a hundred and eighty degree turn, I decided to turn all my attention toward my family.
Given my new state of mind, the fact that Don refused to enter the bedroom except to change clothes seemed like a blessing. Without the distraction of sex, I was convinced that I could concentrate on being a good mother.
After all, there was no doubt that I’d been neglecting the kids lately. So why not give them the attention they deserved, while at the same time getting away from the curse of the flesh that had been making my life miserable since I’d been raped. I could do worse with my life, I convinced myself, than being a full-time mother.
What they needed was someone giving them guidance not a mother that was interested in satisfying the neurotic yearning between her legs.
By coincidence, summer arrived at the time I made my decision, so the kids were home from school. This gave me the perfect opportunity to throw myself into being the kind of mother I knew I could be. It was time to forget about my own needs and concentrate on raising my children.
However, it was not as easy as I thought it would be. I quickly found out that kids are a lot more complicated nowadays than they’d been back when I was a girl. As a concerned mother, my work was more than cut out for me.
The first issue that presented itself was that Gwen, in her teenage years, was boy crazy. Here I was, wanting to pass along the traditional feminine skills of housekeeping, sewing and cooking, and all she seemed interested in was running after every pimply faced string bean in sight.
One day I told her that I would teach her how to prepare the family’s favorite dish, tuna casserole. She, however, in a burst of rebellion, informed me that she couldn’t be less interested.
I tried to soft-soap her, but our confrontation over the tuna casserole soon flared into a heated argument. Finally I was defeated and she stomped out of the house, saying she was going over to see Billy Preston, because at least he appreciated her for what she was, instead of what somebody wanted her to be.
“I want to do my own thing!” she yelled defiantly just before she slammed the door.
Things were not working out. In her bedroom at the time of her departure, I sat down on her bed and began to cry at my failure to communicate when I had wanted to so badly.
It was then that I discovered that Ted was still in the house and had overheard everything. He came into the room and watched me for several minutes before I noticed him.
When our eyes finally met he came over and sat down on the bed beside me. “Gee, Mom, I’m sorry,” he said. It was the first kind thing anybody had said to me in along time.
“Don’t worry,” I responded, “it isn’t as bad as it seems. Gwen and I will work it out. She’s just growing up.”
“But — what about you and Daddy?” he proved himself wiser than I’d thought. “You seem to have trouble getting along with everybody.”
I was so upset that I admitted he was right. All of a sudden, in the face of his compassion, I felt like I was the child and he was the parent.
“What should I do?” I wailed.
“Don’t cry, Mom,” he tried to console me.
But the sobs became more intense. I had completely broken down in front of my son.
When he saw that I wasn’t going to stop crying, he put his arms around me and hugged me. It seemed like the kindest thing anyone had ever done for me. Looking, back, I think I was afraid that if I stopped bawling, Ted would stop holding me. In my anguish that seemed like a fate worse than death, so I continued to cry.
With my body wracking with sobs, I lost my ability to sit upright and gradually slid over onto my side. Following my descent, Ted slipped into the curve of my fetally positioned body and began wiping away my tears.
Eventually, when I still didn’t stop crying, he began kissing me. They were small innocent kisses at first, a sons last resort in telling his mother that at least one person cared deeply about her. However, when I began to respond to his soft lips with kisses of my own, they became something more.
Finally he kissed me on the mouth. When he did, I automatically parted my lips and sucked his tongue inside. Before I knew it, my son and I were soul-kissing.
Now, at last, the crying ceased. My son’s body next to mine and his tongue down my throat were like tranquilizers.
Automatically my hands began to roam all over him. Immediately, I was surprised how muscular he had become. He had developed into a real man.
When I ran my hand under his t-shirt and rubbed his belly, he sucked in his breath and opened a temporary gap between his jeans and his waist. Falling into the open space, my fingers plunged inside his pants.
He wasn’t wearing any underwear. I’d scalded him about this many times before, but I had no criticism now. Not when, suddenly, I could feel the burning flesh of his cock and balls.
He was stiff, his prick much larger than I’d ever imagined it could be. “Is it all right if I play with you?” I asked, as I began slowly jacking him off under his jeans.
Rather than answering with words, he answered with his hand. Slipping it under my dress and between my thighs, he told me that what I was doing was fine with him by beginning to finger my pussy.
Soon I had his pants unbuttoned and down around his ankles, while he was rolling my dripping panties down my thighs. Then together, we kicked the garments from our bodies sand quickly began removing the rest of each other’s clothing.
When we were nude, we briefly pulled apart so we could look at one another. We were both impressed — he by the lush ripeness of my mature body — I by his hard slimness and rippling energy.
“What do we do now?” he asked. Perhaps if he had shown the slightest bit of nervousness, I’d have backed off. However, he was as calm as he could be, making our nude confrontation seem perfectly natural.
“Would you like to eat your mother’s pussy?” I matter-of-factly offered myself to him.
“If you could do something to me while I’m doing it to you.”
“I’ll suck your cock,” I said without hesitating. “I’ll bet it’s a sweet one.”
“Gwen says so,” he made me come up short for the first time. “She thinks it’s as groovy as Billy Preston’s.”
“What?” I blurted incredulously. “Did I hear you right?”
I had. Without a trace of self-consciousness, he informed me that his sister had dared him to take off his pants about six months ago, and when she had seen how developed he was had immediately gone down on him. They had been sneaking into each other’s rooms ever since and having sex.
“Did your sister teach you how to make love?” I stammered.
“Yes, she taught me how to fuck, if that’s what you mean,” he said as he began slipping his face down between my thighs and working his stiff prick toward my mouth. “She’s been doing it with the guys at school since she had her first period.”
For two years my daughter had had an active sex life while mine had finally come to nothing. Life is full of ironies and surprises, but this took the cake.
“Is your sister a good lay?” I forced myself to ask the unthinkable.
“Yes, she’s a terrific fuck,” he said, his face now so close to my pussy that his breath wafted against the fluttering lips. “But I’ll bet you’re better, Mom.”
Whatever resistance I had felt vanished with that statement. The fact that my son had such confidence in my ability as a woman completely disarmed me. I couldn’t wait to have sex with him so I could live up to the confidence he had in me.
From this point on, prolonged conversation would only confuse things. I wanted Ted’s cock more than I had ever wanted anything in my life, and he apparently felt the same way about my hairy snatch. Our positioning completed, we began a long, writhing, slurping sixty-nine.
Ted had apparently done more than just fuck his sister because he knew exactly what to do with his tongue. Making it rigid, he split my pussy lips and sent it into my gooey depths. At the same time I swallowed his prick whole and began deepthroating it for all I was worth.
The best cock I had ever tasted had been the sailor’s in the alley. However, Ted’s had at least eight years on that one and was twice as sweet. It was too delicious for me to feel any guilt.
And what he was doing to my cunt — Jesus, it was fantastic! Not even Ann had been able to orally get me off as well as my own son was doing it.
His tongue seemed to know just where to probe. Points of pleasure were being stimulated within me that I had not even been aware that I possessed. I was coming over and over again.
To show my appreciation, I sucked his cock with more creativity than I’d ever applied to the male organs to which I’d given head before now, its comparative smallness seemed a virtue because I could get his nuts inside my mouth along with the rest of it. I was determined to drain him dry.
It wasn’t long before his hips started bucking uncontrollably. He was going to come in my mouth and my heart was beating wildly in anticipation. To make it happen faster, I shoved my hand between the cheeks of his ass and found his puckering anus. Making the inevitable digital insertion, I gouged downward in the tightness toward his blossoming prostate, knowing the act might increase his manufacture of sperm by at least two-fold.
Then I pulled the plug.
He moaned in my crotch, his prick grew an extra inch, and he exploded. Hot, fresh cum cascaded in a torrent down my throat and filled my stomach, it seemed like a hefty dose of Gelusil must to an ulcer victim in crisis.
There was so much spunk that I couldn’t drink it all. While he still spurted, the excess began backing up and saturating my breathing passages. It began dribbling from my nose as though I had sneezed while eating oatmeal.
When the creamy flood finally stopped, I had an anxious moment wondering if I had taken too much out of him and spoiled him for immediate fucking. But, no, to my glee, his prick remained as hard as steel. He was ready to keep on going.
“Fuck me!” I pleaded, pulling away from his mouth and opening my thighs to the ultimate. “Stick your cock between Mom’s legs and spray her cunt the way you sprayed her mouth.”
He scrambled into the crux of my loins and pressed his dick against my throbbing cunt. Obviously this was the hairiest twat he had ever had access to, and he liked the mature flossiness.
“I don’t see why Dad sleeps on the couch,” he said. “if I had a cunt like this I could fuck, I’d be doing it every night.”
Then he penetrated. Immediately he was banging away to the hilt. His sister had taught him well.
I wrapped my legs around him, drawing him even nearer. The action was so hot it felt like our loins were melting together. This was fucking!
“Harder, harder,” I moaned. “Your cock feels so goooood in my cunt. Is my pussy tight enough for you?”
He breathlessly informed me that it was. It made me feel terrific, knowing that I could make my cunt muscles do the job at my command.
He came after only a short period of fucking. The second time was even richer than the first. What my snatch couldn’t hold creamed down my thighs and trickled into the crack of my ass.
However, when he was through shooting his wad, Ted surpassed himself. Without even stopping for breath, he started screwing me even harder than before he had come. His stamina was incredible.
“Keep fucking me, keep fucking me!” I implored. Needless to say, my urging was far from necessary. My son took to screwing his mother like a duck to water.
As for myself, all of my separate orgasms had melted into one. My senses were like a snowball, gathering force and volume as though hurtling down a steep hill. Before long I would be the victim of an avalanche.
His cock snapped in my love-hole and exploded again. The third time actually surpassed the first two efforts. By now the womb that had nurtured my son into life was full of his cum.
And, when it was over, his cock was still as hard as ever! Both of us were more eager to keep on fucking than we had been before.
Because my twat was so full of slippery cream, any more friction there was impossible. If we were going to keep on making love, we’d have to shift operations to a fresh, dry hole. Both of us knew what that meant.
“Fuck me in the ass!” I cried, but my words were beside the point. Ted had already pulled his prick from my cunt and was moving it down a notch. My asshole was waiting for him with ridges flared.
Oh, God, it was tight as he shoved it in. “More, more, more!” I screamed until he was in me to the hilt. His beautiful balls, were wedged between my buns and churning with what would be his fourth load of spunk.
I wanted his latest outpouring even more desperately than I’d wanted I he first three. Cum to me was like heroin to a junkie — the more I got, the more I wanted.
He fucked my ass harder and harder until I could feel the jerking impact all the way up in my intestines. The shit was bubbling in my colon, waiting to be joined by a blast of scalding male juice.
Anally orgasming already, I wiggled my butt like somebody had poured gasoline all over my tail and lit it on fire. I was consumed by, the flames of incestuous passion.
It took him a little longer to come this time, since, after all, this was his fourth time at bat. However, the wait was worth it because it meant the divine friction was prolonged. I’d never felt anything as exciting as my son’s hard-on pumping up my tight asshole.
Then, after several minutes of furious pistoning, he gasped. His prick lurched so the head reached the mouth of my bowels. His pelvis cracked against my thrusting crotch.
“Come in my ass!” I screamed. “Fill my ass with your jizz.”
At long last the eruption occurred. I’m not exaggerating when I say that this time it was like a miniature volcano. There was no difference between his spunk and molten lava.
The cum rushed into my colon and blasted my crap from its moorings with its pressure. The center of my being felt as though I’d swallowed a time-bomb, digested it, and had it go off before I could defecate it. Jack-knifing from the explosive liquid thunder within me, I pitched around on the creaking bed like a ship in a violent storm. Carrying Ted between my locked legs, I rolled us over several times until we reached the edge of the mattress. There, we seemed to hover in mid-air for several seconds until we finally fell.
When we toppled to the floor, his prick came shooting out my asshole and fell back against his flat belly, still dribbling goo. Throwing myself at his beautiful crotch, I hungrily licked up what was left. Because he had no pubic hair, nothing was there to get in my way and every remaining drop was mine.
When I was finished, his groin and cock and balls were inflamed to scarlet from the constant chafing of my cunt, ass and mouth. He would be sore down there for days. Everytime my son got up or sat down he would think of his mother.
I can’t tell you how much the thought of that pleased me.
After what happened between Ted and me, I started to see my children in an entirely new light. And it wasn’t just the sex I’d had with my son which was responsible for this.
Remember that Ted had told me some things about his sister which were most surprising, indeed. Even at the height of my concern about Gwen’s boy-craziness, I had never speculated for a moment that she might be doing anything more than a little making out. That she had not been a virgin for some time was the one thing I’d never considered.
Of course, now that I knew, I began to nervously wonder about all soils of things no mother can ignore when she knows her daughter is sexually active. A son’s participation in sex is one thing, but a daughter — well, it’s a lot different. First and foremost, she can get pregnant.
And a pregnant daughter was a heavy matter. What’s more, Don would be certain to blame the whole thing on yours truly.
Realizing I had to pay more attention to Gwen’s activities, I began to keep tabs on her.
Oh, why beat around the bush. I began spying on her.
I convinced myself that I was perfectly justified. After all, among other things, I now knew that Gwen had been having sex not only with guys from school, but with her own brother. What if she became pregnant and it was Ted’s child?
However, even this was not my greatest concern. If Gwen was capable of making it with her brother, who knew where else her hornily warped judgment might lead her. She might even be fucking someone of another race.
Increasingly, when she left the house, I followed her. More often than not the trail led me to Billy Preston, the kid Ted had mentioned.
At least, I consoled myself, Billy was a well-brought up guy who came from a nice, middle-class family. If my daughter was going to have sex with anyone, I preferred that it be with someone whose parents I knew.
There was only one catch, though, and it was a big one. I could never catch Gwen and Billy in the act. I started to wonder if perhaps Ted had been lying to me in order to cover up his own sexual precocity.
Then one day something happened that shook me to the core. Surprisingly, it had nothing to do with discovering Billy and Gwen naked in one another’s arms.
Gwen had said that morning that she was going to play tennis with Billy. She looked so cute in her summer garb of cut-off jeans with no panties, and a bra-less t-shirt. I was sure if there was really something between them beyond puppy love, Billy wouldn’t be able to resist making love to her and I’d catch them fucking at last.
However, to my surprise, when I drove by the tennis courts, Billy was there playing with another guy. Stunned, I sat in the car and watched them play for over an hour before I realized that Gwen was nowhere around.
Then, when I was getting ready to leave, Billy and the other guy finished their game and walked off the court. Seeing that they were going to a secluded area that was concealed from passers-by, I decided to eavesdrop on them with the idea of obtaining a clue as to my daughter’s whereabouts.
The conversation I overheard had the effect of answering questions I had been asking myself for days, while at the same time raising a legion of entirely new ones.
“What time are you supposed to meet Gwen today?” the kid whose name I didn’t know asked Billy.
“Around four,” Billy answered. “She’s going to be on the road all day.”
The road? Where was she traveling on a hot summer day like this one in those scanty clothes she was wearing?
“That Gwen is really far-out,” the other kid said.
“Yeah,” Billy sighed, “she never says no to anybody. She’s really got balls.”
“Don’t you mind Gwen using you for a cover-up for what she’s doing?” Billy’s companion wanted to know.
“Naw, why should I?”
My feet started moving backward as I recoiled with shock. The mystery was starting to clear up with the impact of a punch to the jaw. However, being a glutton for punishment, I lingered just long enough to have my suspicions definitely confirmed.
“Does she make it with everybody who picks her up?” Billy’s friend asked.
“The horny little bitch can’t get enough,” Billy laughed.
Instinctively I looked at my watch. It wasn’t even noon yet. There was still plenty of time before the four o’clock deadline.
By the time I’d reached my car, I knew exactly what was what. Gwen’s sex-life was so promiscuous she didn’t even want her brother to know the truth. The stuff she’d told Ted about Billy Preston was merely a cover-up for something far more shocking than a little experimentation. As hard as it was to accept, my daughter was spending her days hitchhiking for sex.
The instant I turned the key in the ignition and the motor rumbled, I knew what I was going to do. If Gwen’s rendezvous with Billy was at four, I had several hours to track her down.
All I had to do was drive and keep my eyes peeled — sooner or later I was confident I’d find her. When I stopped to give her a ride, the little slut would get the surprise of her life.
It didn’t take long. A sixth sense directed me to the outskirts of the city where a multitude of gas stations meant that rides would be easy to get. She was standing several hundred feet from a station, looking sexy as hell in her cut-off jeans and tight t-shirt. Even through the hazy smog, she stood out. I stopped several hundred feet in front of her so she wouldn’t recognize the family car right away. Honking the horn like I was ready to play her game, I slumped down in the seat so she couldn’t tell if I was a man or a woman.
She got right up to the door before she got wise. Then, with a kind of perverse satisfaction, I watched her eyes bug out of her pretty little head when she realized what was happening.
She started to run forward, but I drove the car right along beside her. When she switched direction, I just threw it into reverse. I was determined not to let her get away.
Finally she gave up. However, if I thought she was defeated, I was wrong. Her expression quickly changed from a confused girl’s to a hardened woman’s.
By the time she got in, I felt like I was the one on the defensive. “Okay, Mom,” she snapped, slamming the door behind her, “if you wanna give me a ride, you’re gonna have to do things my way.”
“W-what’s that supposed to mean?” I stammered nervously, having second thoughts about all this. All of a sudden I wondered if I had bit off more than I could chew.
“Start driving and I’ll show you,” she coolly replied.
When I hesitated, she slammed her foot down on mine, sending the accelerator to the floor. The car lurched forward and it was all I could do to keep from avoiding an accident. It was several seconds and several near collisions later before I was able to look her way again.
“Well, how do you like that?” she said smugly. She had removed the t-shirt and I was looking straight at her bare tits.
I was speechless. By the time I regained my equilibrium two more wrecks had been narrowly avoided.
“Pretty neat tits, huh, Mom?” My daughter grinned at me. To emphasize the frankness of her statement she had her hands cupped under them, pushing them out from her chest. The nipples were erect.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” I stuttered shakily.
“Maybe this’ll give you some ideas,” she leered, dropping her hands to her waist.
In an instant the cut-off jeans were open and sliding down around her honey-colored thighs. The triangle of her pubic floss was there for me to see.
While I kept driving, she kicked the shorts off altogether and parted her legs, putting an ankle on the dashboard for a maximum spread. Her pussy was so open I could look right up into her body.
But it was whiter in there than the customary pink. My nostrils flared from an immediate fishy odor.
“How do you like the smell?” she asked.
There was no way I could ignore it, of course. It smelled like an open can of tuna that somebody had left out in the sun.
“It’s cum,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve already been fucked by six guys today and haven’t had a chance to get to a john yet and clean myself out. Pretty raunchy, huh, Mom?”
I looked away, knowing now that the whiteness choking my daughter’s cunt was the congealing sperm of a half-dozen strange men. However, she was not willing to accept my timidity and snagged a big glob of it and thrust it in my face.
Coughing from the reek, I temporarily lost control of the wheel and just missed a truck coming from the opposite direction. The danger she had caused didn’t seem to bother Gwen in the least. While the horns were blaring, she smacked her lips and calmly sucked the jizz from her fingers like she was eating a melted candy bar.
“I’ve fucked so many guys already today,” she said after we were safe, “that I was hoping a woman would pick me up this time. There’s nothing like a pair of tits and a nice soft pussy after all those hard, hairy cocks. Know what I mean, Mom?”
I tried to react as though she were speaking a foreign language and I didn’t understand a word she was saying — but, of course, it was no use. Her beautiful naked body spoke volumes that I could not ignore.
Then, to make matters worse, she grabbed my hand and shoved it between her wide-open legs. Suddenly I was feeling her cunt, and it was as wet as it looked.
Now she closed her thighs so I could not get my hand free, even if I should want to. “Finger-fuck me,” she ordered, “or I’ll put my foot on the gas again, and this time I’ll kill us.”
Feeling I had no choice, I extended my index finger into the gooey mass of her twat. Despite the swamp of male cum that drenched her box, the tightness I felt inside was incredible. Her pussy muscles were in perfect tune, and she knew just how to use them.
We drove like this for several miles. Gradually two other fingers joined the first in her snatch and I was moving them. From the way she moaned it obviously hit the spot for her.
“There!” she exclaimed when a dirt road appeared ahead of us. “Turn off there and drive into those trees so we can really get down to business. I’m so hungry for some pussy I could scream.”
The spot she’d picked was completely isolated.
Anything we did there would be just between us. The privacy was a turn-on in itself.
A cool breeze was blowing from the south and there was soft grass on the ground. In other words, it was a perfect location for love-making.
Gwen’s toughness seemed to fade when we got put of the car. There was no denying that she was an exceptionally beautiful girl. With the peaceful backdrop of nature softening our confrontation, I began to feel erotic eagerness build within me to uncontrollable proportions.
She detected this and began to undress me. I was too far gone to resist.
Soon she had me stripped and was fondling my tits. Her knee had forced its way between my thighs and was pressing against my pussy. Expertly, she stoked my sensual fires until I was breathless and my heart was beating like a jungle drum.
Gradually we slumped to the grass. By the time we were lying side by side, she was no longer doing all the work. It was I who initiated the first kiss, and it was a long, deep one with my wriggling tongue stuck down her throat.
Rolling over on top of her, I squashed her breasts with my mature tits. It was an erotic act in which only two females could engage, and it was wonderful. Since Ann and I had broken up I’d forgotten just how satisfying the body of someone of my own sex could be.
Down below, our cunts lathered from the rubbing of our thighs. The pleasure was uniform and constant because one woman instinctively knows just exactly where to touch another woman.
By the time we had broken the kiss for air, I was the one who was, the aggressor. Giving up to parental authority, Gwen was now willing to let me call the shots. Only my imagination and middleclass inhibitions stood in the way of perfect love-making, and my lust was doing its best to make certain they were not negative factors.
Just like anybody in their right mind, I began to explore Gwen’s mouth-watering charms the way a military strategist pours over a map of contested terrain. Each new part of her nubile anatomy was more delectable than the last.
Sliding my tongue from her face, I lapped just about every square inch of her vibrantly pink flesh from her neck on down to her waist. Her firm, young body was a smorgasbord of carnal delights.
Her blossoming tits were like delicate blossoms of firm flesh. Her nipples like petals of an incredibly sturdy flower. Her navel a miniature pit of tongue-tingling sweetness.
Then I moved down to her waist and it was so slim. I explored its svelte diameter remembering when I was her age. How lonely I was — how unsure of myself. I was convinced I was gawky and unattractive. If only someone had let me know that I was on the verge of becoming a woman, maybe I wouldn’t be so neurotic today.
I think about what it would have been like if my mother had stopped keeping house and yelling at me long enough to make love to me the way I am doing to my daughter.
When my Gwen moaned, “Eat my cunt, Mom,” it seemed to me in my fantasy as though it was I saying it to my mother.
I did what I wish my mother had done to me. I stuck my tongue into the gushing crack and began to lovingly taste my daughter’s sweet cunt.
It was fantastic. We couldn’t have been closer. Isn’t this the way God intended mother and daughter to be?
“Sixty-nine, Mom,” Gwen urged. “Eat my cunt while I eat yours.”
It was the perfect suggestion. My pussy was blazing, and a tongue inside it sounded like a wonderful idea.
Slipping into position, I closed my thighs around my daughter’s face. At least she had the pleasure of tasting her mother’s twat. To this day, I can’t even remember what my own mother’s looked like.
We went down on each other then. Deeper and deeper we orally probed. The female juice gushed without restraint. Mother and daughter… sucking cunt.
I was coming so hard my body was shaking.
And, to my extreme satisfaction, the same thing was happening to Gwen. Especially when my tongue strayed from her snatch and licked her spotless asshole as well.
She sampled anus too, of course. Maybe it was older and showed more signs of use than hers, but it was just as sensitive.
We were rolling all over the grass, orgasming as though our locked bodies were a single entity. Our moans filled the balmy summer air. We were a study in the glory of nature.
This was perfection. Then, wise beyond her years, my daughter improved on perfection.
She got off me. Then, while I lay on the grass with my legs spread, Gwen slipped her slim trunk down between my thighs. She was facing me in the same position that a man would use to fuck me.
I got the idea immediately. “Fuck me!” I cried. “Fuck me with your cunt!”
Instantly I could feel the scalding wetness of her spongy little pussy pressing against my larger one. She began rubbing her hard crotch against mine. Our shared climax was unbearably wonderful.
With our pussy lips and clits intermingling as one, our oozing discharges mixed. There was a mutual friction that felt as exciting to me as any cock that had ever fucked me.
My daughter. Fantastic!
Our hands reached out to each other’s tits. We stimulated our erect nipples while our twats ground into one another.
“Wrap your legs around me, Mom!” Gwen gasped.
My ankles locked around her shoulders, as we pumped at each other even more furiously. The feeling was so intense that I felt as though her clitoris was actually penetrating me.
I was already on an orgasmic plane of unparalleled elevation. However, after a couple of minutes of trading and sharing mother-daughter pelvic thrusts, I felt as though I had been launched into outer space. I felt like I was discharging quarts of pussy juice and being drenched by similar amounts of the scalding contents of Gwen’s over-active cunt.
“My God!” I screamed. “I’m in orbit!”
“Welcome aboard,” my canny daughter replied as our bodies locked even tighter. We seemed welded together in a journey into sexual infinity.
Later, as we lay on the grass together listening to the birds sing, Gwen gently stroked my tits, while I placed a hand in her warm, moist teenage cunt. It was the most tender moment I had ever shared with anyone.
“I love you, Mom,” whispered Gwen.
For the first time in my life I felt I understood what being a mother was all about.
My sexual experiences with my kids gave me a whole new perspective into the joys of family life. Even though their father and I were like strangers, our marriage a wreck, I had a new reason to hang on. Don’s hostility didn’t bother me as long as I was getting such spectacular fulfillment from Gwen and Ted.
Did the three of us make it together?
Of course we did.
I know you want to hear about it, so I’ll give you a typical example. Believe me, you’ll enjoy it.
I was lying in bed about nine in the morning, enjoying the warm glow of the sun flooding through the bedroom window, I pulled off the covers so the warm glow could bathe my naked body.
My hand dropped to my cunt and I began fingering myself, making myself horny for what I knew was to come. We had been doing it every day now — making love, just the three of us.
My fingers plunged deeper and deeper into my twat, and I practiced tightening the muscles down there. Both Ted and Gwen appreciated a tight cunt between their mother’s legs.
Then I heard them stirring. I heard them making breakfast — filling their hungry stomachs and fixing something to serve me in bed. It was a loving ritual we went through every day.
Then their bright faces appeared at my bedroom door, Gwen holding a tray of goodies for me to eat.
But, of course, the real goodies were their naked bodies. Ted’s cock and Gwen’s tits and her cunt. You could be sure that I’d eat them before the morning was over.
While I wolfed down the toast and jam, the kids took the open jar of jam and began smearing it all over my naked loins. By the time I had finished my breakfast, my crotch was sticky and crimson with strawberry preserves.
“You kids have enough to eat this morning?” I slyly asked.
“No.” They both giggled. “We’re still hungry.”
“Want some strawberry jam?”
“There’s no more toast.”
“Are you going to let that stop you?” I chuckled, opening my legs as far as they would go and thrusting my goopy crotch in their faces.
They never tired of this game and their faces beamed. Their mother knows what her kids like.
“Eat me,” I proclaimed the obvious. “Eat your mother.”
They shoved their noses into my snatch like hungry little piglets pushing their snouts into a trough, the busy smacking of their lips filling the room.
I writhed in ecstasy. After the jam was long gone, they still lapped away. Apparently they found their mothers thick, sweet cunt juice even more delicious than anything that comes out of a jar.
Both their tongues wiggled within my pussy. Each was responsible for a side of my spasming gash. They were experts at driving me wild with desire.
The cunt-eating went on for several minutes. During this time I came harder and harder.
Then, Gwen crawled up on my chest. Straddling me, she sank her juicy twat over one of my tits and inserted the stiff nipple inside her. She began grinding her narrow hips, literally fucking my breast. It is a thing she does so well.
When Ted noticed what was happening; he decided he wanted to perform one of his specialties, also. His cock was hard and he knew how to use it, so he started fucking me.
Ted’s only got six inches, but they’re better than twice as much from a grown man. He knows just how to move his body against mine in order to get the most from his penetration. I could feel it as deeply as I’d ever felt anything.
While I moaned, “Fuck me… fuck me,” Gwen slid her cunt up toward my face to get back into the center of attention. I loved the way brother and sister were so competitive.
Suddenly I got a mouthful of my daughter’s sweet teenage pussy. God, that kid can turn on the juice!
Her brother sensed how much wet fun I was having upstairs. He decided I would have some below as well.
He slammed his loins into the well of my crotch.
His cock grew a temporary eight inch, bigger now than his father’s ever was. He was getting ready to come in my cunt.
Gwen sensed that she was about to be outdone. Somehow she managed to open her twat even farther than before so my tongue was all the way into her developing womb.
Ted lurched and the jizz flowed from the exploding head of his cock. But, incredibly, Gwen did just about as well cream-wise with her spread pussy in my mouth.
Both holes wallowed more sex-juice than they could handle. The excess built up and then poured out.
Cum sprayed from the sides of my cunt. Girlish goo foamed at the corners of my mouth and leaked down my chin. I was blessed.
I came and came along with them. Because there were two of them, I had to come twice as hard to keep up with them, but I was more than up to the task.
When they were finished, and I was a dripping mess at top and bottom, I got an idea. “Let me watch you fuck each other,” I suggested.
They were anxious to do it, of course being the tireless teens they were. When he was naked, Ted never seemed to lose a hard-on, and Gwen had a non-stop cunt. And they knew how their mother liked to watch them do it — how proud of them it made me feel.
I prepared the beautiful little Gwen by laying her on her back. Then I took both pillows and slid them under her ass, propping up her sweet crotch for maximum exposure.
Placing my hands against her firm thighs, I gently pried them apart. The pungent reek of her cunt as it opened to its fullest made me smile.
I rubbed her pussy lips and clit, agitating them so they became turgid with engorged blood. By the time I was finished, her wispy pubic hair stood up on end, teased so it was just as erotic as the rest of her twat.
Then I went to work on Ted. His dick couldn’t have been any harder, of course, but I stroked it anyway. There’s something about jacking off that seems to bring out the best in a guy, sexually speaking.
I also played with his balls, tickled his asshole, and rubbed the bulge of his prostate between his nuts and anus. When he started sweating down there, I knew he was ready.
Gripping his prick, I guided it toward his sister’s wide-open cunt. With my free hand, I spread her pubic petals and inserted the phallic head in her slot.
I wasn’t going fast enough for Gwen, and she moaned, “Hurry up and fuck me. I need a cock in my cunt sooooo baaaaaad!”
Going around in back of Ted, I placed my hands against his ass. When I gave him a big shove, Gwen had her wish. Her brother was in her to the hilt on the first thrust and then his hips rolled in the classic screwing motion.
“Fuck me harder… harder!” Gwen cried.
Ted did his best to accommodate her. He loved fucking his sister — especially under the watchful eye of his mother.
With glowing satisfaction I watched my son’s balls squash against the door of Gwen’s cunt. He really reamed her cunt out that morning.
I get such a charge out of watching my kids fuck. Even though I’m approximately three times their age, I feel as young as they are when I’m exposed to their limitless sexual energy.
In other words, now that I’d gotten them solidly doing the number, it was time for old Mom to get in on a little of the action.
While Ted was fucking his sister, I pulled apart the cheeks of his ass and zeroed in on his anus.
Before I settled down to rimming him, I slid my tongue up and down his perspiring crack. Nothing tastes as heady as the sweaty ass of a young man.
My oral strokes gradually shortened until the tip of my tongue tickled Ted’s bunghole. The sensitive nerves there picked up everything and he moaned as much from what I was doing to him as from what he was doing to his sister.
I wash Ted’s underwear everyday, and when I do, I always shake my head at the dried shit crusted at the crotch. However, when I’m licking his asshole, it seems like the sweetest thing in the world.
After several moments of rimming, sucking and licking, I finally achieved penetration. The tip of my tongue wiggled inside the tight chocolate eye, tasting the rectal sugariness.
Then I reached between his haunches and grabbed his balls. They were churning already, but after I’d squeezed them unmercifully, they were in a state of upheaval.
Eventually Ted’s breath came in shorter and shorter gasps. He was getting ready to conic and neither his sister nor I could wait.
While Gwen begged for her brother to fill her cunt with cum, I shot my hard tongue up his tight asshole all the way. Then, after some deep reaming, I abruptly yanked it out, orally pulling his plug.
Ted grunted like he’d lifted something awfully heavy, slammed his pelvis into the well of her thighs, and came. I swear I could hear the hissing of the spurting release of his masculine liquid, even though it was taking place a half a foot within his sister’s fuck-hole.
Moving around between them, I gloried at the sight of my son’s cream brimming whitely at the corners of my daughter’s cunt. Soon her normally tan thighs were white with spunk.
But still they kept fucking. These two kids could screw forever if they set their minds to it.
While I licked up the leaking cum, Ted screwed his sister without missing a beat. He’s so strong that the first few ejaculations are just foreplay to him.
While Ted and Gwen fucked, I rimmed her cunt. She wiggled her ass in excitement from the oral stimulation I applied to her pussy lips and clit.
Then I swung my trunk over her body and straddled Gwen’s head with my spread flanks. Mom’s hairy cunt was dripping in her face.
My daughter gasped fox me to stop teasing her and sit on her mouth. Her tongue reached up and tickled the outer folds of my snatch, indicating how hungry she was for pussy.
Lowering myself, I spread my lathering gash right where she wanted it. She inserted her tongue and began pumping. It made me spasm all the way from my pussy lips to my ovaries.
All the while I was busily licking the union of the kids’ fucking. In addition to the delectable flesh; cum and cunt juice was all over the place. My stomach would be bloated with the combined discharges of my children before I was through.
Through it all Gwen and I were orgasming constantly. Meanwhile, Ted was working up his third ejaculation within minutes.
I switched my tongue from pussy lips to balls, teasing Ted toward that third explosion that we two females craved so desperately. Slipping my lips around his nuts, I enclosed them in my mouth and suctioned them like I was trying to turn them inside out.
But even nut-sucking didn’t satisfy my maternal urge for total sex. I took my finger up the crack of his ass and plunged it inside his anus. It was hot and sticky and spasming in there. Every fiber of my son’s being was working overtime, preparing Ted to come again.
I sucked his balls harder and harder, reamed his asshole deeper and deeper. Gwen was eating my cunt down to the bone. For his part, Ted sent thrust after thrust to the depths of his sister’s twat — the friction must have been maddening.
We were moving, grooving, fucking and sucking three ways. The bed bounced up and down from the action, its squeaking springs as loud as our slurping and groaning.
Ted came. For the third time his cock struck like a rabid cobra in his sister’s pussy. His effort was so great that his balls pulled out of my mouth and jumped to each side of his prick.
While he was still spurting, I removed his hard-on from Gwen’s cunt. Then she and I scrambled to go down on it, mother and daughter lapping up little brother’s endless cum in tandem.
By the time we had devoured every drop, Ted was really exhausted. Lying on his back, he caught his breath while his cock wilted at last.
While we were waiting for Ted’s cock to get hard again, Gwen and I made quiet love, gently stroking each other’s tits and pussies. Too bad the male of the species can’t stay on a continuous orgasmic high like we girls.
Yes, it had been a typical morning. I thought as I lovingly caressed my beautiful daughter that life couldn’t be more perfect. My troubles were as far away as they could be.
But then there was an interruption. Someone was knocking at the door.
We ignored it at first, however whoever it was persisted. “Maybe you’d better answer it, Mom,” Gwen said. “By the time you get rid of them maybe Ted’s cock will be ready to fuck again.”
Since she put it that way, I decided to go ahead and see who it was. I put on a bathrobe, left the bedroom and crossed the living room toward the front door.
When I opened it, there was a man there I’d never seen before.
“Mrs. Randall?” he asked. “Mary Randall?” I nodded my head that I was she.
“I have something for you.”
He handed me a sheaf of papers and then left like he didn’t want to be around when I read them.
Suddenly I was frightened. Even without reading them I knew these papers were bad news.
Finally I forced myself to look at them. The first thing I saw was the official seal of the Superior Court.
“In the action of Donald T. Randall versus Mary F. Randall,” I read aloud in a trembling voice; Don had filed for divorce.
With the abruptness of a tragic accident, my life plunged into despair. Not only was my husband cutting me loose, I quickly learned that he was determined to gain custody of the kids.
His lawyer put it to me with brutal clarity: “Your husband feels that you’re a changed woman since your rape. Not the woman he married and who mothered his children.”
“But,” I protested, “it wasn’t my fault somebody raped me.”
“Try convincing a judge of that,” the lawyer smiled. “As an attorney, I can assure you that the burden of proof is on the woman in these cases. And from what my client tells me, you’ve come up far short in this area.”
“I thought the wife automatically got custody of the children,” I said.
“If she’s a woman of good reputation,” the lawyer rejoined. “The taint of rape, however, automatically changes all that.”
“It’s not fair!” I wailed.
“Let me ask you something, Mrs. Randall,” the lawyer calmly said. “And if you don’t mind, I’m going to be brutally frank.”
“Go ahead,” I sighed, knowing in advance that what he was going to say would be devastating.
“Suppose that you were a man,” he began to spin his web. “A hard-working man, putting everything you had into providing for your family. Working long hours so your wife and children can live in suburban comfort.”
“Yes, go on,” I allowed him to continue.
“And then the wife for whom you’ve provided so many benefits becomes intimately involved with another man.”
“But I was raped!” I excitedly pointed out for the umptenth time.
“Rape is another word for fucking, is it not?” the lawyer delivered the brutal frankness he had promised.
“Yes,” I was forced to admit.
“Another man achieved an erection because of your body and then, inserted it between your legs, didn’t he?”
The wind out of my sails, I sadly nodded.
“A man other than your husband — a man who contributes nothing to your support — put his stiff cock in your cunt and fucked you, Mrs. Randall,” the lawyer explicitly went over the obvious. “Are you going to deny that?”
I silently gestured that I could not.
“Another man’s cock was in your cunt and he kept fucking you and fucking you,” the lawyer poured it on like he was cross-examining me in a courtroom. “The friction built and built. The man’s cock got harder and harder in your cunt. Then, after several minutes of hot fucking, he came.”
I automatically nodded.
“Your cunt was filled with cum. A stranger’s cum. Your husband had given you two beautiful children, yet here you were with your pussy filled with somebody else’s seed.”
I felt like he was beating me with his words. His fists could not have done as efficient a job at pummeling me.
“Tell me, Mrs. Randall,” the lawyer knifed to the core. “Couldn’t you have resisted him? You know that has to be the question that’s been haunting your husband. When he’s at work, valiantly trying to live up to his responsibilities as a husband and father, you know he’s thinking about it. Tell me, Mrs. Randall, how can he do his best when he’s thinking about his wife’s cunt dripping with another man’s cum, knowing that she didn’t have it in her heart to stop this man from fucking her?”
The way he expressed it there was no doubt about my guilt. As a divorce lawyer, he was an expert at making a wife feel like a piece of shit.
“And the children,” he continued. “What about the children? What kind of mother can you be to them with this cloud hanging over your head? Suppose the rapist were caught and brought to trial — the testimony you’d be required to give in court would be a matter of public record. Don’t you agree that it’s best they be spared from such stigma?”
He’d beaten me down so thoroughly that I had no choice by now but to passively agree with everything he said. When he gave me some papers to sign, promising that my signature would solve many of the problems he had outlined, I affixed my name without even bothering to read them.
To make a long story short, in my grief I agreed to give up my rights to practically everything associated with my family. The kids, the house, the joint bank account — all of it went to Don. In addition to total isolation, what I received as my part of the bargain was one of the cars and a weekly check — yes, Don was willing to pay to get rid of me.
A defeated woman, I moved into a furnished room in a seedy part of town, the only thing I could afford. My new circumstances were degrading after a lifetime of middle-class comforts, however they were what I felt I deserved. In the final analysis, my rape had eventually robbed me of all my rights and dignity.
At first I longed to see the kids, but letters I got from them changed that. Their messages brimmed with happiness. They were obviously easy prey for the goodies their father was heaping on them to win their loyalty. It wasn’t long, of course, before the letters stopped and all contact ceased.
It would have been stupid of me to think I couldn’t be replaced in the lives of my children. Ted and Gwen were both such attractive teens that they could find all the affection they needed, if you know what I mean.
Logically I knew that I should find a job, but it was so hard to get up off my butt and face the world. I was so down that I preferred to lie around in bed all day smoking cigarettes, drinking gin and tonics, and watching game shows on television.
Then Don started being late with his weekly support checks. When I complained to his lawyer, I was laughed at.
“If you don’t like it,” the attorney sneered, “hire your own legal representation and take my client to court for contempt.”
That was about like telling me to fly myself to the moon using my arms. Lawyers cost money, and I didn’t have any. In other words, the only way I could force Don to live up to his legal responsibilities was for him to finance the litigation.
Then my landlord raised the rent. He, too, told me that if I had any complaints I should take them to court.
The handwriting was on the wall. However much it pained me to venture into the cruel glare of the outside world, I had to find a job.
My vocational problem was, needless to say, apparent. After years of being a wife and mother, I didn’t know how to do anything.
My spirits sank so low that I even thought about prostitution as a career. After all, I did know how to fuck.
Then I remembered my one experience in that line of work. That sailor in the alley. In terms of getting any money, it had been a total flop. Given my ability to stand up to men for my rights, I could see myself getting VD or beaten to death long before I paid my bills.
It became clear that my only hope for a job was to be willing to volunteer for something nobody else wanted to do. Something most people would consider beneath them.
Well, how does cleaning up animal shit sound to you? Would you do it? I had to.
A veterinarian advertised in the paper that he needed somebody. After the ad appeared in the classifieds for several days running, I reasoned that the work was unpleasant enough that I might qualify for it.
For once I was right.
“It’s really very simple,” Dr. Greer told me when he interviewed me. “Your duties would consist of all the tasks relating to animal care that I certainly didn’t have to go six years to the university to learn. Do you follow me?”
“Cleaning up after them, I suppose,” I figured it out. “Taking the dogs for walks.”
“Precisely,” he said. “No thinking involved — just simple maintenance work.”
Since my private life was one of isolation, to begin with, the animals I cleaned up after became my major contact with the world outside of my furnished room and the game shows. The fact that they liked me was just about the only source of satisfaction in my life.
Because I took them out for nightly exercise, it was the dogs I became closest to. There were always a lot of them in Greer’s kennel. Pretty soon I started to relate to them almost as I would to people, except they were superior because they never criticized or betrayed me.
Since nobody was around, I would frequently read their charts. I came to worry about their various ailments, and although I was always sorry to see a friend leave, I was always glad they had recovered enough to go home.
Thor and Spike were different, however. The two Great Danes were not hospitalized because of anything wrong with them — in fact, quite the opposite.
They belonged to some lady living in the poshest part of town who complained that they were spoiling her furniture and carpets with their instinctively masculine habit of staking out their territory by pissing all over everything. Dr. Greer had advised her that this could be halted by having them neutered.
In other words, castrating them. Chopping off their balls. They were such magnificent beasts that it pained me to know they were about to be robbed of their masculinity.
Their operations were scheduled for a Thursday.
On the Wednesday evening before, I went to their cages as though to console them. I felt like a chaplain visiting a couple of prisoners on the eve of their execution.
I was broke. Down and out. Completely without self-respect.
In order to pay my rent, I was forced to sell my only contact with the outside world, my car. However, the few hundred dollars it brought only delayed my descent into the bottom of the barrel of life by a few meaningless weeks. By the time my wallet was empty again, I was even worse off than before.
Even before I lost the ear, looking for another job seemed out of the question. Who would ever hire someone who radiated uselessness the way I did?
Holed up in my room, and drinking more everyday, I even gave up the game shows I had habitually watched. The happy faces of the winners were too much for, me. It hardly seemed fair that other people could experience joy when my life was so utterly lacking in it.
Day after day I stayed in bed, getting drunk, staring at the wallpaper and counting the repetition of its rosy design. My mind was saturated with unpleasantness and depression.
Of course, the more I thought about my plight, the more it all came back to that fateful night the car had broken down after the PTA meeting. The rape.
The rape was the beginning of all my bad luck. The opening door to the ruination of my life. My degradation as a woman.
Before the rape, my life had been peaceful and happy. There were no peak moments of exhilaration, but, on the other hand, no spirit-sapping lows either. Just an even keel that a person of my middle-class background was conditioned to expect.
Considering its pivotal position in my life, I was condemned to mentally re-live the rape over and over again. And, needless to say, the same issue came up repeatedly.
I had not resisted.
Don’s lawyer had been right — I had let the rapist fuck me.
This was the key. And it went even beyond such elementary guilt. Even in his brutal accusations, the attorney still had not gotten to the truth that only I knew.
I had come.
Not once, but several times. What’s more, I had actually begged for more.
Then there’d been those two cops who’d found me in the street with my throbbing crotch leaking all over the pavement. Not only had they assumed I was an easy piece of ass, I’d performed like one.
Then, of course, after the night of the rape I’d gone wild.
Having lesbian sex with the Avon lady, screwing my psychiatrist, whoring in an alley with a sailor, making love with my children.
Needless to say, this was not the Mary Randall who’d previously devoted her life to being a respectable wife and mother and upholding middle-class values. No, this was a degraded woman. A tramp. Damaged goods.
It was no longer surprising to me that my husband had filed for divorce. After all, when spoilage develops, you have to cut it away to protect the rest of the organism. He had to get rid of me to save the family.
As you can see, I was of the frame of mind that I deserved whatever had happened to me.
And, it had all started when I’d spread my legs and let the rapist fuck me. Had I fought for my virtue I would still have my self-respect.
But then, when I would get to the depths of despair, I would begin to rationalize. It was the only way I could save myself from suicide.
In an abrupt change in point of view, I would say to myself: the rapist’s cock was so big. Could any woman have resisted it?
After all, Don’s tool was only six inches long, even at its hardest. The rapist’s had been almost twice that — and, brother, did he know how to use it. When he’d fucked me, all of my past sexual experiences had faded into insignificance. Suddenly I’d wanted more, more, more!
I had to face it. My rape had opened sexual doors for me that I hadn’t even known existed. Following the experience, my libido had gone berserk. Far the first times in my life, I had not only participated in, but sought out, such deviations as adultery, lesbianism, prostitution. In the course of a few months, I had lived a lifetime of thrilling sex. And it had all started with rape.
Yes, rape had become the common denominator of my life. Like it or not, it was now the well-spring of my existence.
After repeatedly reaching this conclusion, I realized what I must do. When a certain point is reached, one can no longer despair over how they became the way they are. Regret eventually becomes a kind of illness, and the only cure is to accept reality.
Reality for me was that I was debased beyond redemption. As a woman I’d fallen to the point where I was only good for one thing — sex.
I might as well forget about being a respectable woman — a wife and mother. From now on, I was nothing but a cunt.
One night, after thinking about it all day, I finally accepted my fate, the inevitable.
Getting out of bed, I had decided to live my life as it was instead of depressing myself about what it had been. I was what I was, for better or worse.
Having no money for a cab, I walked all the way to the deserted neighborhood where it had all started. By the time I arrived, it was after midnight. I prayed I wasn’t too late.
The same phone booth was there. Since I’d been there last, the telephone had been entirely ripped out, but I stepped inside anyway.
After all, it wasn’t making a call I was interested in, but in giving the appearance of being trapped.
Nothing happened at first, but I would linger as long as I had to. I wanted to be brutalized. God, how I wanted it!
Then, after about twenty minutes of anxious waiting, I heard the footsteps I craved. Because of a fog that had rolled in, their owner was shrouded, adding to the excitement.
My breath caught in my throat as the footsteps came closer. I could feel my pussy getting wet. Since I was wearing no panties the juice immediately began pouring down my thighs.
I couldn’t see him until he was at the door of the phone booth. Then the shock of recognition shot through me like an orgasm.
The leering smile, the unshaven face. It was the same guy.
He pulled his cock out of his pants without saying a word and I immediately began to slobber over it.
“I knew you’d be back,” he smugly said. My answer was to slump down in the booth, spreading my legs under my upraised skirt. My bare cunt popped out into the open, throbbing with desire.
“Rape me,” I begged.
He laughed triumphantly and then grabbed me by the ankles. Pulling me out of the phone booth like a sack of garbage, he skidded my bare butt across the pavement until I was deposited in the stinking gutter — the perfect position fat a fallen woman like me.
He fell to his knees, pushing his pants down so his entire hairy, flexing crotch was showing. Even in the fog I could see all of his throbbing male equipment as though it were high noon.
What a cock! It was made for my cunt!
“Rape me! Rape me!”
Of course he was perfectly willing — but not without the rapist’s foreplay. No, first he had to slap me around. Rip open my blouse and sadistically twist the nipples of my braless tits. Make me suffer.
In my physical agony, I loved it.
Then, at last, he got down to the main business of planting his cock in my cunt. The instant the head of his prick slipped between my pouting pussy lips I knew that this was the moment I’d been waiting for ever since it had happened the first time.
With my ass drenched with sewer water, I threw my legs around his waist and drew him into me. Inch after inch of phallic steel plunged like a sword up my tight cunt hole. At last we were fucking!
I was doing the number with the man of my dreams. Raped by the thug of my nightmares.
With his cock brutally fucking my cunt I felt like I had come full circle. Now the ordeal I had endured since our first encounter made sense.
He pounded away inside me. My pussy got tighter and tighter and his prick surged deeper and deeper. Finally his balls were churning against the lips of my cunt, rubbing them raw.
I started to come. Rape-orgasm was like a laxative, purging the last of the middle-class guilt from my system and washing it away.
I was free. Free to fuck. To be nothing but a cunt.
With my legs wrapped around the rapist, his cock in my pussy to the hilt, I was the woman I was born to be. All of the acquired characteristics I had accumulated over the years were gone.
The rapist was Adam and I was Eve. The gutter was the Garden of Eden. It was the beginning of time for me.
Source: Bbw sex