Chapter 5
Seeing the green sedan again, and the possibility of having Gordon Wilson back in the sack so soon made Margaret Anson tremble all over.
As she was driving by, Mrs. Anson noticed that her lover was pulling a bicycle out of the trunk for the Jackson girl. Oh, he'll be here any minute, she thought, barely able to control herself. The car weaved back and forth across the road as Mrs. Anson fought the steering wheel and her own pent up desires.
She managed to park in the driveway without smashing anything into bits and hurried into the house. The bedroom was a mess and quickly she straightened the sheets and blankets. It wouldn't do to greet her man with rumpled bedding. At least not to Margaret Anson's way of thinking.
While she waited, Margaret stripped off her clothes and jumped into the shower. The stream of hot bath water felt sensational on her ripe, gourd shaped breasts. It felt even better when she bent over so the water could wash down her butt and warm the nice wide cunt pelt of fur covering her twat. She turned slowly underneath the torrent of water spurting from the shower head. Thick clouds of water vapor billowed in the tiny bathroom.
She was excited, terribly so and the minutes dragged by like hours as Margaret waited for Gordon to return. Stepping out of the shower and reaching for the thick thirsty towel, she rubbed her milky white skin dry, then looked into the mirror. Her hard, red colored nipples jutted out all swollen from the hot bath water.
She wiped the fog from the mirror. Her breasts were swelled up and the dull throb of pleasure was coursing through her melon sized glands and out the ends.
"Damn," she exclaimed. "Where is he anyway?"
It was not hard to draw up a mental picture of Gordon Wilson standing there in the bathroom. His broad muscular shoulders, thin waist and long protruding cock meant one thing to her: sex. One look at his obscenely large pecker was enough to turn her iron will soft as jell-o. Margaret's friends on the PTA would have been astonished to learn of their friend's rampant sexual fantasies. Margaret, to most of the public, was very quiet and reserved.
She was known as a pillar of moral rectitude in the community, a leader and upholder of decency in the school system. So to see Margaret squirming between the sheets, gingerly licking the large, purplish knob capping Gordon Wilson's pulsating cock was wild beyond belief.
As another five minutes passed, Margaret's impatience turned to anger. The bastard wasn't coming. She felt her hands fumbling for her clothes hanging on the hall tree in the bedroom. Her expectations had brought her to the peak of excitement and now nothing to show for it.
Her mind raged with jealousy. Gordon was dropping off the kid's bicycle but now she could remember tiny bits of information that at the time seemed unimportant. Why had he turned his head as when she drove by. What was he trying to hide. Perhaps, it was her jealousy that made her think the unthinkable.
But quickly dressing she had to find out. Margaret didn't know Sherry's mother very well. But if Gordon was two timing her, Margaret was not above revenge.
Margaret's pink nipples rubbed against the sheer material of her blouse and suddenly expanded to sharp points that dragged back and forth causing electricity to shoot back through her chest. The adrenaline was pumped into her muscles as she jumped into the car. Sex was a strange force, she thought. She was strong as an ox and mad enough to kill and all because she felt jilted by a man. "The bastard," she mumbled.
Margaret's temper had a short fuse. And when she saw the green car parked out front of the Jackson's house and the bicycle propped up against the picket fence, she exploded. Screeching her car to a halt, Margaret leaped from the driver's seat and charged the front door.
A thousand thoughts of betrayal coupled with the deep longing for sex made her crazy. The front door was unlocked and twisting the door knob, Margaret was inside the house, bent on revenge. She had hoped to find the two love birds caught in a rapturous embrace. Whoever this Kate Jackson woman was, she was not going to get away stealing her man.
Not knowing where to begin in the strange house, she stormed into the kitchen, then turned glancing at the living room, before planning her assault on the bedroom.
That's when she saw them hunching against the floor. Her lungs drew in a deep breath then she stopped cold in her tracks. Underneath Gordon Wilson's flexing rump was a woman all right. A compact version of what Margaret had expected to be the older Kate Jackson.
Time seemed to stand still. Margaret shouted out something, but already she realized the mistake. Because the shock of seeing Sherry hunching, her androgynous body underneath all that strength and muscle was too much.
He's fucking a child! The lewdness of the position the poor girl was in brought a lump to Margaret's throat. Her knees went slack, buckled under her weight, and Margaret collapsed to the floor unconscious.
On the floor, the up angle shot of Margaret magnified the woman's size. And when she fell, it was like a giant redwood crushing down in the forest. Only this was no tree, it was Margaret. And it didn't take a genius to figure out the trouble he was in.
His sperms had filled the virgin sleeve of Sherry's cunt and now dribbled through her slit and down the plump cheeks on her butt to the floor where a small puddle formed. It was wicked but he didn't have a worry now that it was all over. If only Sherry had worn panties to the game; if only she had not found shelter behind that tree to scratch her pubes, then this never would have happened.
He put his hands on either side of Sherry's hips and pushed himself up. His spent cock, limp as a noodle, retreated from her cunt hole, wiggling like a worm.
What am I going to do? he thought. Margaret is passed out on the floor. What is she doing here? And what about Sherry? God, I'm in the deep shit.
Sherry squirmed and raised up on one elbow. She was wet and greasy and exhausted. She had expected a lot more blood than the few drops that splattered her thighs. His cock had hurt like hell all right. It burned her flesh all the way up to her head and down again. But the fucking had been sensational. She had responded eagerly like a real mature woman once she had gotten over her fright of his erection. Now looking down at the flaccid, sperm coated pecker, she felt very strange. The cock was only half the size of the throbbing fuck rod that had pushed a path through her fiery loins. Wiggling down through his legs so her face was once again underneath his tired cock. Sherry was alarmed at Mrs. Anson's appearance, but not shocked beyond words as Gordon was. Her little mind was focused totally on the wilted cock pipe. A low grade orgasm continued to thrill the sperm coated walls of her twat. It was a feeling that was numbing and yet exciting. So looking up, Sherry watched his prick with awed fascination. She didn't have to be told what to do. She raised up, opened wide, and in went the dripping sex pipe between her lips. The knotty end slipped between her lips and filled her mouth easily. Even limp, his cock was still thick around as a bat handle and long as a Havana cigar. She sucked out the salty fluid from the end making sure to drink it down. His balls wagged back and forth while her lips tugged on his pecker and that only made sucking that much more enjoyable. She sucked and suddenly his cock stiffened up, ready for a few more thrills.
"Ohhhh, that's goooood," groaned Gordon. It was a nice feeling, a very soothing wonderful sensation really, and one which he did not want to stop.
But what was he going to do about Margaret. She was just laying on the floor, collapsed like a beached seal. He had to help Margaret. It was only right, even if she ratted on him to Sherry's mother. His pecker continued to flex, now semi-erect and growing in Sherry's licking, sucking mouth.
Margaret took that moment to groan. Tossing her head, she started moving around trying to get up. In a second, she would have recovered and he would be forced to face Margaret. It was terrible. What was this woman doing inside the house anyway?
Margaret lay like a crumpled sack of laundry. Her legs sprawled at awkward angles and her tits hung slack across her chest. The pretty, willing housewife who squatted so cheerfully on her husband's bed while he slammed home his cock was in reality, just one more jealous bitch.
A secret smile spread across his lips. Down at his groin came the slurping sounds of Sherry's mouth cleaning his fuck pipe. He was hard again, an amazing feat of strength considering he had fucked Sherry half to death. He reluctantly pulled out of her mouth and rose up on unsteady legs.
He had a plan. It was crazy perhaps, but then the whole day had been like that. And he didn't have much to lose, not anymore.
"Where are you going," asked Sherry. Her mind had been set on sucking his funny shaped tube. Maybe it might spurt in her mouth the way it had down between her legs. But that possibility was not in the cards. Because Gordon was advancing on Margaret Anson, his pecker waving like a baton.
"Get away, you pervert," snapped Margaret. "I saw you. Now leave me alone."
He circled Margaret working the knotty end of his cock with two fingers. Quite unexpectedly, he grabbed Margaret under the arms and pulled her to her feet.
"This is ridiculous," she snapped, still groggy.
"You're going off the deep end." Gordon was half listening.
Margaret wore a frilly cotton blouse that was so thin you could see her jiggling breasts underneath. Gordon gripped the garment at the collar and in one downward motion, tore the blouse off her back.
"Gordon!" she exclaimed.
But he was already at her pants, popping the waist button and tearing the fly apart. It happened so fast, that Margaret's pants were lying in a pile at her feet before she could do anything.
"Spying cunt!" he sneered. Anger pulsated through his arteries. He felt an unfathomable loathing for this woman. He was burning up, a cauldron of molten violence.
Margaret's breasts heaved up and down. She felt stupid standing virtually naked before Gordon and the girl. Her feet were trapped by her pants, and she was unable to move. If he touches me I'll kill him, her mind screamed. But she wasn't so sure now.
Suddenly his hand lashed out. Margaret shrieked when she felt her panties stretch, then ripped away from her crotch. Her knees shivered as she realized how defenseless she was. And how violent her lover had turned out to be.
"Come here," he snarled. Throwing an arm around her middle, Gordon carried Margaret into the kitchen like a sack of potatoes. On the table were piled the dirty dishes from breakfast. Here, he pushed her face down on the table so her body was bending over the table. Dishes went flying everywhere as Gordon positioned himself behind Margaret, whose flesh trembled all over.
"This is for spying," he bellowed. Raising his hand, he looked at her flawless skin, curved buttocks and then brought his open palm down on her skin with a whack.
"Yaaaaa!" Margaret screamed.
A red mark the size of his palm appeared on her butt cheek. He looked down the dark black line that split her rump cheeks and felt a knot coil in his stomach. Up came his hand again, then down hard on her butt. Again and again he walloped her behind until her buns were lobster pink and Margaret was bawling like a baby.
"Whaaaa!" she cried. Her legs kicking up and down as her plump rump, used to tickling and caressing, was now absorbing the bone jarring smack of Gordon's open hand.
Gordon merely chuckled at Margaret's plight. The girl had a lesson coming to her anyway. When he finally stopped his hand tingled from making contact with her ass and he could only guess at the feeling on her buttocks.
"Dirty bastard," Margaret cried. She clutched a butter plate and threw it behind her missing Gordon by inches. Bent over the table so her legs were barely touching the floor was a lewd, humiliating position. She hated Gordon from the bottom of her heart. Margaret felt betrayed. Having opened her heart to this man, having cheated her husband so this man could feed cock up her slot meant nothing to this bastard. He treated her like a common slut. Her breasts lay in a sea of half eaten eggs, cold coffee, and orange and broken dishes of butter and jam. It wasn't even her house!
"That was a nice throw with the butter," Gordon chuckled.
"Oh shut up," snapped Margaret. She was trapped as securely as a rat in a cage. She wasn't going anywhere. How she could ever have loved a man like him was behind her.
Gordon's chuckle turned into a belly laugh. He was looking at the nicest ass he'd seen in quite some time. The gash running through her thighs was nice, wet pussy. He straddled her legs and slipped his hard cock between her thighs and spread them wider and plunged it up her pussy.
"Aaaargh!" Margaret moaned. Despite herself, she couldn't hate his warm, hot, surging cock. The round bullet head rammed through her cheeks up into her cunt sleeve in a single movement. The hairy puckered cunt lips parted open, then slammed shut swallowing his shaft. The stimulation was sizzling. Her cunt was like an oven-and he was only halfway inside!
"You ain't bitchin' no more," Gordon said with a smirk.
Margaret replied by wiggling her loins back against his crotch.
When this is over, I'll get even, thought Margaret. No one treated her like dirt. But at this moment, she couldn't berate anyone. That cock felt like a Roman candle going off in her twat. She twitched her hips and enjoyed the feel of the fuck stick corkscrewing her cunt hole. She spread her hips, relaxing her butt muscles and concentrated on inching her cunt channel back on his fuck stick. His bristly pubic hair tickled her rump. And her wiggling hips were doing all the work, coming down on him instead of the other way around. It was like jamming a wrapper back on a wet popsicle, but feeling the throbbing shaft inside her was well worth the effort.
"Hmmmmmm," she murmured lovingly. "Do it. Fuck me now. Fuck me hard!"
Well, he was doing just that. His fuck stick was all wet and sticky from the juices flowing from her pussy. His foreskin was lubed and ready. And Margaret was one piece of ass that was hard to turn down. When she ground her hair pie against your groin and wagged those luscious hips back and forth squeezing and fondling and cajoling your cock to spurt away, well, it was hard to say no.
But that's exactly what he did. In a sudden backward movement, his dick popped out of her hole. He looked down at his glistening shaft and saw the arteries pulsating with blood. He was thoroughly lubricated, but he wanted more action than her pussy. He wanted Margaret's tight asshole surrounding his pecker and that meant lots of grease wetting the skin.
He reached for a plastic tub of raspberry jam just as Margaret started to gyrate.
"Don't stop on me, you bastard," she demanded hoarsely. "You have me. I'm yours. Now fuck me. Damn it, fuck me. Fuck my cunt!"
She closed her eyes and laid on the table waiting for his penis to fill her slot once more. What she felt was warm jam being spread around her asshole. She wondered for a minute what the hell Gordon was up to. Then his finger pushed against the sphincter muscle to drill a nice, pathway into her ass channel. And then she knew what Gordon was up to.
"Ahhh!" she screamed.
Gordon didn't wait for her to finish, but plowed a furrow through her cheeks. Her butt fought back, but even her tight asshole was no match for his jam coated penis. The muscle opened up and his long hot torpedo slid nicely into her rump.
"Ghhhhaaa!" she cried. Her eyes were closed as streaks of pain and pleasure flashed like sparklers on a moonless night against the sky. Her hips erupted sending her belly banging on the table top. She felt his cock surging in and out, throbbing like a thumb smashed by a hammer, and she cried.
Tears dribbled from her eyes and down her face. His thundering cock went in and out. Sweat mingled with her tears. Her whole backside was being forced and pushed around like a toy sailboat on rough seas. She was thoroughly humiliated. Every muscle in her body cried out for help. And there was none coming. His dick grew bigger and bigger. How her virgin butt could take so much cock with so little effort was beyond comprehension. He was such a bastard! Her hands balled into fists which she beat on the table like a spoiled child.
Gordon of course didn't give two shits. His dick was swelled out to cannon size ready to explode. The woman's shrieking was lost on his ears. Her resistance had melted away like the raspberry jam used to lubricate her butt hole. She was soft and pliable, ready to be molded to his needs.
His pecker went in. It slid in like a telephone post going into a greased hole in the ground. He was ready to come. But suddenly he got an idea.
"Sherry," he shouted to the little girl on the floor. "Get the hell over here. Right now!"
And she did.