Chapter 4

By the time that oversexed Jennifer Standish had finished drying the dishes, her cunt was damp again. She grinned, amused by her capacity for passion. She stacked the plates and went up to the bedroom.

But when she started playing with her pussy, it didn't feel as lovely as it had the first time.

Damn, I wish I had a vibrator or a dildo, she thought, wanting some variety in her solitary sex-life.

She was sorely tempted to go over to Martha Jenkin's house, drop a few hints, and see if that friendly neighbor might offer to loan her a dildo.

But she was too embarrased about it. She could just picture the look that Martha would give her--that sly, knowing glance. She knew it would cause her to blush.

Maybe she could make a substitution.

She considered all the phallic objects that were available to her around the house.

The handle of her hairbrush was too thin.

The nozzle of her hair dryer was too short--although the thought of that hot air blowing up her cunt was exciting.

The big sausage in the kitchen was just the right size, but she didn't want to waste it--and it would be just too wicked to feed it to poor, innocent Timmy.

Her electric toothbrush would give her clit a lovely massage, but she was more interested in stuffing something up her cunt than in vibrating her clit.

Then she remembered the tool shed.

Along with all the other equipment that her husband had purchased--and never used--she remembered that there had been a garden hose, a fat rubber hose that, as she recalled, was just the right diameter to do service as a prick.

No sooner had she thought about that hose than she was filled with lust for it. She took her negligee off and put on a light cotton housedress. She didn't bother to put on any underwear, for she intended to fetch the hose back to her bedroom and use it on her cunt. There was no point in getting fully dressed for a quick trip to the tool shed.

She went downstairs again, very aware of the way her pussy was squishing between her thighs as she stepped down the stairs, and out the back door.

The boys were nowhere in sight.

That was good. It saved having to make up some reason for taking a hose into the house.

She crossed the lawn, heading for the tool shed. The door was closed. She had just reached for the handle when she heard Timmy say, " . . . sucking a dog's cock!"

Jennifer stopped dead.

For a horrible moment, she thought that her son was blowing a dog. She was filled with horror.

She slipped silently around the corner and pushed one eye past the edge of the window . . .

. . . and saw the two boys beating their meat with gusto in the tool shed.

For a moment, Jennifer was too shocked to react.

Then a sequence of emotions rushed through her in rapid order. The first was relief.

No matter what he was doing, it was better than blowing a dog, she figured.

Then came the realization that her son was thinking about her as he jacked off, filling her with a mixture of feelings that were so bound up together they were inseparable. She was stunned, shocked, ashamed . . . and she was thrilled!

She had just finished finger-fucking herself while she thought about Timmy and Jerry, and now she found that the two lusty lads were thinking about her as they merrily pulled their porks. Along with her horror, she felt a wash of vanity and pride at the knowledge that she could inspire such passion.

And she watched with fascination.

She saw the creamy loops and coils of jism that burst from the two bulging cock-heads and gave a little whimper. Despite herself and despite the incestuous nature of the thought, she found herself wishing that both of those creamy geysers had been spent in her body . . . one in her hot cunt and the other, at the same time, in her mouth.

Her cunt was streaming, juice pouring down her legs as heavily as the jets that were leaping out of the boys' cocks as they pumped wildly away.

Jennifer waited until they were finished.

Then, half-crazed by lust, she moved away from the window, her legs shaky, her snatch smoldering like a blast furnace demanding phallic fuel.

She was so hot now that she knew her hands would be useless, that she could not possibly finger-fuck herself well enough to slake that lust.

The garden hose was off limits now. She glanced towards Martha Jenkin's house.

It might prove embarrassing, she knew, but she was in no state to let such considerations hinder her quest for a cock-shaped object.

She set her jaw in determination. With her pussy screaming between her thighs, she headed for Martha's house . . .

t t -t

Jennifer Standish was not the only wife in that suburb who had the hots for young boys. So did Martha Jenkins. Nor was Jennifer's husband the only one who had found that gardening did not thrill him.

He had hired a youth to cut the grass.

But there the similarity ended.

Martha fucked the gardener regularly--and if her husband had proved a failed gardener, Martha was in no way a failed fucker, as the grass cutting lad was the first to admit.

Ralph Tucker was the same age as Timmy and Jerry, but he was from a working-class background. So, while the other two lads spent the summer vacation merrily beating their meat, Ralph did odd jobs around the neighborhood and only jerked off after dinner or during his lunch break.

Until he began cutting the Jenkin's grass.

After that he seldom had to pull his pork at all.

Ralph was a tall, gangly boy who usually wore overalls and a straw hat, and chewed on a toothpick. It was on the third occasion that he cut the Jenkin's lawn that Martha, unable to restrain herself any longer, had asked him to come in for a glass of lemonade.

He had taken his shirt off and was sweating. As Martha eyed his torso, naked under the bib of his overalls, she had begun to sweat a bit, herself.

She stood behind him as he sat at the table.

She began to rub his shoulders.

"You're hot," she said.

"Pretty hot sun, today," he said.

Her hands moved under the gaping bib and began to run over his smooth young chest.

Her belly pressed against his back and she began grinding slowly against him.

Being from a working-class family, Ralph was not taken aback by this behavior. He had heard many times that the rich were amoral and, although he had never benefited from that lack of morality in the wealthy, he was more than willing. Not absolutely sure of her intentions, he said nothing, just sipped the lemonade and waited.

His lusty young prick hardened in his overalls.

He spat out the toothpick.

Her hands moved down his belly, gliding, caressing. She blew her hot breath into his ear.

"Do you know what I want?" she whispered.

"I got an idea," said the lad.

Her hand dipped down and cupped his prick.

"Oh, my . . . is that some gardening tool?" she had asked him, playfully. "No, Ma'am."

"Is it a plow, maybe? A rake?"

' 'Ain *t no rake, Ma 'am.''

"Do you use it to dig holes, Ralph? Ummm? Do you use it to sow seed?"

She was pulling his dick and it was as hard as a rock and starting to smoke.

"What do I have in my hand, you naughty boy?"

"Seems to me it's you as is naughty, Ma'am."

"Oh, yes ... I'm very naughty."

"Well, happens it's a cock," he said.

"Ummmm. Do you know what I like to do with a young boy's cock, Ralph?"

"I guess maybe you like to fuck 'em, huh?"

"Yes. And suck them, too."

Ralph stiffened all over at that. He had not realized that the amorality of the wealthy was so varied.

"Have you ever had a woman suck your sweet prick, Ralph? Ummm? Have you ever put it in a girl's mouth?"

"Nope."

"Would you like to?" "I sure would."

"Shall I suck your cock for you, you dear boy? Shall I suck it for a long time . . . and let you come in my mouth . . . and swallow your delicious jism?"

"Jeez . . . won't it make you throw up?"

he asked.

Martha giggled. "I love to drink cum," she said.

"Well, if you want to ... " "Very much."

Martha pulled the straps off his shoulders and let the bib of his overalls fall into his lap. She knelt beside him. He turned away from the table and stretched his legs out. He was bemused, but more than eager.

She opened his fly, reached in and hauled out his big, hard prick, holding it in her hand as if weighing it, gazing at it with fascination. It was a fine prick. The lewd housewife's mouth began to water.

She leaned down and ran her tongue over the tip, tentatively at first. He shuddered and his legs extended as far as they would go as he pushed his loins up into her face. Martha began to lave his cock-head, tonguing all over the head and then slurping up and down the stalk. She pulled his bloated balls out and licked them for a moment, then moved back up to the knob. Taking it into her greedy mouth, she began to suck vigorously.

Ralph was whimpering, his eyes glazed.

Martha lingered over this tasty feast of cock-meat, wanting to make it last as long as possible. Although she was hungry for his cum, she was in no hurry to satisfy that hunger, preferring to savor a nice long feed of meat before she drank the creamy culmination.

She paused, letting his dick cool for a moment as she gazed lovingly up into his stunned face.

Then she began again.

She sucked with her lips, pulled with her cheeks, and used her nimble tongue to lave all over his cock-head and shaft--blowing, sucking, playing up and down his rod as if it was a fleshy flute.

His balls were swollen like over-inflated balloons and she knew he was going to shoot soon.

She was ravenous for his jism.

With the end in sight, she began to work towards it with lewd efficiency. She cupped his bloated balls in one hand, squeezing gently as if she wanted to pump the jism out of the sac. She folded her other hand around the root of his stalk and began to frig him up and down. Her head went down, her lips meeting her fist as it skimmed up, and she took his cock-head right into her throat, fairly inhaling it.

He humped up from the chair, fucking into her face.

"Gonna come ..." he gasped with some idea that he ought to warn her, just in case she didn't really want to get a mouthful of slime.

But Martha sucked even harder. Howling like a beast in torment, Ralph blasted his spunk into her gullet.

He came with spurt after spurt. She gulped it down voraciously and sucked for more, until she had drained his cock and balls to the dregs.

Then she used her clever tongue to gather up a few errant drips of cum that had overflowed her lips down onto his now-empty balls. She put his cock-head back into her mouth and sucked it so clean that it looked as if it had been polished. She could see her face reflected in the purple head as if it had been a crystal ball.

She gazed up happily at him.

"Was that nice, Ralph?"

He nodded enthusiastically.

"I'll do that for you every day, if you like."

"Can we fuck, too?" he asked.

"I certainly hope so."

And, although he'd just poured a bucketful of jism into her gullet, the randy lad's dong snapped right back up into a brand-new erection.

Martha, delighted by the potency of youth, saw that there were many benefits to having a young lad as a lover. She took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. In her husband's bed, she fucked him to a frazzle.

That had been the first time.

Since that memorable day, young Ralph had cut the Jenkin's grass at least three times a week, whether it needed it or not, and Martha's husband had been so pleased by the gardener's diligence that he gave him a bonus.

Sometimes Martha sucked him off.

Sometimes they fucked.

Frequently, they did both.

And so it was that, with the shortest grass in the city, Martha no longer had much use for her dildo and was going to be quite willing to lend it to Jennifer.

But that came later.

For, as horny Jennifer resolutely marched up to the Jenkin's house, Martha was just about to give Ralph a fuck . . .