Chapter 1
"C'mon honey!" Said the sweet, melodious voice.
"It's time to go to work!"
The one thing which could he said about Beth Smith, was that she was an ideal housewife. She kept an immaculate house, liked to cook all of her own meals, and took delight in making the yard beautiful. Unlike a lot of modern women, she truly loved the role of being a housewife. She relished it. She'd been doing it for ten years, and would be happy to do it for the rest of her life.
"C'mon sleepyhead!" she called again. "Hurry! Get up! You're gonna be late."
"I'll be down in a couple of minutes, sweetheart," said Herschel, her husband.
She rushed back to the kitchen to see about the scrambled eggs. She prided herself on never burning anything which she cooked. Everything was perfect. Always. She wouldn't have it any other way. In fact it could be said that she had a perfect little home on a perfect little street in a perfect little middle class, Middle American neighborhood. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.
Even her body was perfect. She was tall, lean, well sculpted and beautiful. Many of Herschel's friends thought that she was the best looking woman in the city. Whenever they saw her, they frequently sprouted intense erections.
She never heard any of the comments which were whispered behind her back whenever she walked down the street. She was too busy standing straight and walking with her head held high-not because she was snotty, but because this was the perfect way for an attractive woman to walk. Of course when she passed a group of men-working stiffs and executives alike-they would mumble, "Mmmmm! I'd like to plug that lovely piece of ass!" or, "I'd like to fuck her every which way under the sun."
Nearly every able-bodied male in Parsleyburg felt the same way. Yes, if a man could develop a hard-on, he wanted to stick it in some orifice of Mrs. Beth Smith. Either her mouth, anus, or cunt.
But Beth had never had many hard-ons stuck in her. From all appearances, it looked as if she had the perfect marriage and a wonderful sex life, but in truth her perfect body was sexually unfulfilled. Oh sure, her husband fucked her every now and then in the missionary position, but it just wasn't enough. Twice a month left her yearning for more.
And his penis wasn't as big as she desired. Four inches might be fine for a budding adolescent who didn't know diddly squat about sex, but she was a fully grown woman who wanted things to be perfect. Heck, whenever Herschel stuck his tiny dick into her, she couldn't feel a thing.
But she wouldn't complain. After all, she must maintain the facade of having a perfect marriage. People would think less of her if they knew the truth. She would remain silent and work on polishing her image as the All-American Happy Housewife.
Yet, she was coming to realize that she truly did have sexual needs. Frequently during the day she would rub her thighs together and bring herself off. As she'd grown older she'd come to understand that her libido was growing stronger-not weaker! Yet Herschel seemed totally unaware of this slow transformation taking place in his wife.
"C'mon Herschel!" she called once more. "If you're not down here in five minutes, you'll definitely be late for work. Now hurry! Hurry!"
Herschel didn't want to get up. He wanted to stay beneath the covers and go back to sleep. He knew what was in store for him today. He would be laid off. It had been coming for weeks. Business had been slow, and his sales figures had been atrocious. His boss had only kept him on as long as he had out of mercy.
Herschel didn't know what his problem was. He rolled over on his back, looked at the ceiling, and began thinking. Here he was, thirty-six years old and about to be terminated from his job of the past fourteen years. Shit! The economy was slow and the likelihood of him finding another sales job soon was practically nonexistent. To make matters worse, he realized that he was married to the most beautiful woman in town, and yet he didn't seem to be sexually excited by her anymore. Could it that what they said was true? That familiarity really did breed contempt-or at least boredom.
He ran his hand over his whiskers and scratched his face. Maybe he would find her more desirable if she were more of a regular slob, instead of always playing Miss Perfectionist. Shit! A particle of dust didn't have a chance in their house. The instant it settled on something it was wiped up. Of course, he realized that if she didn't have so much free time on her hands, she wouldn't have the time to be the ideal housewife. She'd be worn to a frazzle like him.
He heard the footsteps on the stairs and heard her call one more time, "Honey! C'mon! C'mon! You don't want to be late."
He looked at their wedding picture atop the dresser. Ah yes! There she was, Mrs. Beth Smith. What an image of perfection. Moderate length blonde hair with every single strand in its perfect place, clear blue eyes set in perfectly white irises, perfect peach complexion kept in perfect condition with vigorous exercise and oodles of moisturizers, and a perfect body which rivaled the absolute best in the girlie magazines. And incredibly, she looked as good today as she did on her wedding day. Over the years the only physical change he had noticed was that her tits had gotten a little fuller. But that was okay, it actually looked sexier.
Yes, any man would be proud to be married to a woman like that. Any man. However, he never fully got to appreciate that beautiful body of hers. She was a blonde dream boat, but he didn't know how to row the oars. It wasn't her fault-it was his. He just wasn't much of a man. He lacked sexual self-confidence. Maybe a change of pace was necessary to rekindle the flame in the marriage.
He chuckled slightly into his pillow. "Change of pace. Shit!" he whispered. "When I tell her I've been laid off that will be a real change of pace. When I tell her she's got to find a job, that should throw some sparks into an otherwise dull marriage."
Beth was placing the scrambled eggs on the table when Herschel finally came downstairs. "Well, there you are, sleepyhead. I thought you'd never get up. C'mon! You've got to eat," she said in a motherly tone. "We've got to get those calories in you. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know. Now, eat up. I've made you a nice hearty breakfast."
That she had. There was enough food on the table to feed several man twice his size. Oh well, it was better than not having any food at all on the table. That was probably the worst thing that his friends, Sam and Fred had to put up with. From the way they talked it sounded as if their wives never got out of bed and didn't give a shit about domestic chores. Fred's wife, Cynthia, sounded as if she couldn't even keep her knees together. The woman was like a cat in heat who was ready to hump every night of the week-a real true to life nymphomaniac.
Of course, the same could be said for Sam's wife, Donna. From what Sam had said, it sounded like that good-looking brunette liked sex better than life itself. One day in the men's room he turned to Herschel and said, "My wife drinks at my fountain at least three times per night."
"I don't follow," said Herschel.
"You know, we have intercourse at least three times every evening. I'd do it more but I can't get the damn thing up more than that," Sam said with a ribald laugh.
Although Herschel was bored with his marriage, he was certainly glad that Beth wasn't like either Cynthia or Donna. He wouldn't know how to behave if she was. Heck! With his low self esteem he could barely get it up twice a month as it was. Goodness knows what would happen if he had to perform more than that.
Unlike Beth, he was actually quite pleased with the sex in his marriage. He was glad that he had married a beautiful woman with a low libido. It made it so much easier in the long run.
He sat down to eat his breakfast and watched his wife busy herself cleaning up the kitchen. He never understood her passion for cleanliness. It bordered on being a mania. A speck of dust didn't have a chance in the house. He remembered going over to Fred's one night for dinner. Cynthia not only didn't dust-she could give a shit if it piled a quarter-inch high. Apparently what Fred said about her was true. She truly did like to spend all day in the sack.
Of course, Cynthia worked nights. She'd been employed as a waitress at the Kitty-Kat Club for several months now. He asked Fred how she enjoyed it and he replied that she made good money, but was always exhausted when she got home.
"How good of money?" asked Herschel.
"Real good money. Sometimes she makes more in one night than I make in one week."
Herschel kept the details of that conversation in mind. After all, he knew that things were not going well for him at his place of employment. If he were laid off, it might be necessary for Beth to get a job at the Kitty Kat. From what he understood the only requirement was that a woman had to be beautiful in order to be a waitress there. His wife was certainly that. Wherever she went, she made men's heads turn.
Beth quit dusting for a moment to say, "Hurry up and eat, honey. You're going to be late for work."
"I know sweetheart," he said between bites. "But I'm going to have to leave these eggs. Thanks." He got up from the table, grabbed his coat from the closet, and rushed out the door.
"Wait a minute, darling. Give me a good-bye kiss," said Beth as she rushed to the door. Just as she pecked her husband on the cheek, she saw the large black mailman waking up the sidewalk. She quickly turned and asked, "Leroy, would you like to finish my husband's breakfast? He didn't eat it all."
"Why sure," he said with a bright smile. "I'd love it."
Herschel rushed by Leroy and went on his way to work. In the meantime the mailman walked to the front door and Beth closed it behind him.
"Step into the kitchen. It's through those doors."
He would have much rather been led to the bathroom. Without a doubt Beth Smith was the best looking broad on his route. There wasn't another lady who could compare. She had all the features that he loved in a woman. Large breasts, narrow waist, shapely hips, long legs, and an innocent face. Wow! He'd love to fuck the living brains out of her the way he'd been doing that redhead, Cynthia Jones, who lived over there on Adams Street.
Mmmm! Now there was a woman who knew how to fuck. And she didn't mind the fact that he was black one iota. In fact, it seemed to turn her on that much more.
Donna Wallace was also a great fuck. That shapely petite brunette seemed to have a cunt which was a milking machine. She just couldn't get enough of his long black spear. Many times he would hurry to finish the first part of his route so that he could spend more time on McKinley Street balling Mrs. Wallace. Yes, she was a hot number.
But Beth Smith was without a doubt the one that he wanted to screw the most. There was something especially delightful about watching a beautiful blonde take black cock into her gorgeous cunt. And Mrs. Smith had that much more appeal because she seemed so refined-so innocent. She had that girl-next-door quality about her. When she was in high school she was undoubtedly the girl that every boy wanted to date, feel-up, and fuck. She probably had those great legs and those same full breasts by the time she was fifteen.
"Sure is a beautiful morning," he said as he followed her into the kitchen.
"It sure is," she said with her lovely smile. "Would you like any orange juice to go with your breakfast?"
"If you're offering, I'm taking," he replied with a smile of his own, attempting to score as many points as possible as rapidly as possible.
She walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. She bent down to pick up the pitcher. As she did, her magnificent ass was thrust outward in his direction.
Leroy licked his lips. This woman had one of the best asses of any female on his route. He could tell by the way the bathrobe material clung to her buttocks that she was fit and trim. Mmmm, he would love to rush over, raise the hem of that garment, and ram his black prick into her pink snatch. Well, if he played his cards right, he might get to do that in the not too distant future.
She stood up and returned to the counter. Her robe had ridden up slightly and was stuck at mid-thigh. He could see that she had a beautiful pair of legs-better than Cynthia's even. The calves were well-sculptured, the knees were smooth, and from what he could tell, the thighs appeared to be magnificent.
As she stirred the pitcher of orange juice he could see her breasts shake. Good! That meant that she wasn't wearing a bra. He might get a chance to get a close-up look at those knockers of hers. They appeared to be a size thirty-six C. The perfect pair.
The only broad he could think of who had a set as good was Cynthia Jones. He would like to get the two women together and make an up close and personal comparison.
"Here you go," Beth said, bringing the orange juice to the kitchen table. "By the way, how are the eggs?"
"Everything's fine, Mrs. Smith," he said with a gentlemanly nod. "Just terrific. However, I could use a little butter for the toast."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said apologetically, almost ashamed of herself for not doing something perfect. "I already put it up. I'll get it for you immediately."
He really didn't want the butter. He just wanted to see the shape of her ass again as it pressed outward on her bathrobe.
She walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door, and bent down once more. Oh! It was a beautiful sight. There wasn't a more glorious visage in all of North America than that of a well-shaped female thrusting her derriere outward. And to make things even better, she had to stretch herself forward that much more to retrieve the butter, thus thrusting the buttocks outward even more enticingly.
"It was a long way back there, but I got it," she said as she stood up. She walked back to the kitchen table, sat down, and smiled.
"Aren't you a bit early on your route today?" she asked as she smoothed the robe down her legs.
"Actually I am. I like to hurry things along so that I can get off earlier at the end of the day." He didn't want to tell her the real reason he was rushing. He didn't think that Mrs. Smith would understand his need to knock off a piece of ass over at Cynthia Jone's house before noon. Cynthia was promising to perform the Thailand basket trick today.
"I think that's smart to do that," said Beth as she took a sip of her coffee. "Sometimes I wish my husband didn't work such long hours. It would be nice to have him home early once in a while."
Leroy decided to take a chance and make a suggestive comment. "Do you mean for a little afternoon sex?" he asked with a smile.
She spilled some coffee and blushed deeply. She quickly wiped up the spill with a napkin and said, "No silly. I didn't mean that. I meant that it's nice just to have him around. It's nice to have company."
Leroy decided to play it cool. He didn't want to press his luck by pursuing the conversation beyond normal parameters, so he simply asked, "How long have you guys been married?"
"About ten years now. Our wedding anniversary is on the fourteenth of this month."
"That's nice," he replied while glancing down to check out the sweet curve of her large breasts pressing against the material of the robe. They were certainly a magnificent pair all right. He would love to get a close up view of them. A real close up view.
She saw where he was looking and blushed again. Over the years she had gotten used to men looking at her, but that was usually when she was fully dressed. Leroy's admiring glances was throwing her off-balance because she was only wearing a bathrobe. "Have you ever been married?" she asked, trying to divert his attention from her body.
"Twice," he replied with a cynical tone. "And I don't ever want to go through that aggravation again."
"That bad, huh?" Beth asked with a knowing smile.
"The worst. Even worse than the worst."
"What do you mean?"
"My former wives were dirt. They never did any housework. They never kept the house as neat as this. The whole time we were married they never even made me breakfast - not once. Never. But this," he said, pointing to his eggs, "is truly a royal treatment."
"Why thank you," she said, beaming, deeply appreciative of his nice compliment.
What he was saying was a pure pack of lies. His former wives weren't dirt. They just couldn't stand his constant philandering. They got tired of coming home and finding him in bed with various women. His first wife, Mable, came home and found him in bed with two dark-skinned beauties.
"What's this?" screamed Mable at the top of her lungs.
Leroy lifted his head from between Ginger's thighs and said, "It's called cunnilingus. You really ought to try it some time."
With that, Mable stalked out of the room and straight to the courthouse, filing for divorce within the hour.
Several years later his second wife, Ginger, came home and found him in bed with Laureen, her best friend.
"What's this?" screamed Ginger at the top of her lungs.
Not knowing what else to say, Leroy simply kept pumping away while he replied, "It's called 'Knocking off a Piece of your Wife's Best Friend'."
With that, Ginger stalked out of the room and dashed to the courthouse, where she promptly filed for divorce.
After two failed marriages he had learned that a woman liked to be appreciated. Thus, if Beth went out of her way to do chores, she should be told how special she was. Unfortunately many men overlooked this important aspect of a relationship. They took their wives for granted. That's why the good women usually always left.
"Mmmm! You make the best tasting eggs," Leroy said with a smile. "They're absolutely delicious."
Beth leaned forward and tapped her knuckles on the table. "It's so nice having a man around who appreciates things!" she exclaimed. "Herschel never pays me a compliment about my cooking. Never. Getting a compliment out of him is like prying with a crowbar."
As she leaned forward, Leroy took the opportunity to glance down at her cleavage. Mmmph! He could tell that she had magnificent tits. Gosh! He wish that she would open the top of her robe so he could feast his eyes on their resplendent beauty. He bet she had nipples the size of silver dollars, and colored a sweet pink strawberry. He would like to lap with his tongue for a few hours.
"How far over does you route extend?" asked Beth, trying again to divert his attentions from her body.
He glanced from her cleavage to her face and replied, "I've basically got all the streets named after presidents. All the ones from Washington to Truman."
She paused for a couple of seconds and said, "You must be the mailman for a couple of my friends."
"Probably. What are their names?"
"Cynthia Jones and Donna Wallace."
He almost choked when he heard their names. "Er ... yea ... I know them. I didn't know that they were your friends."
"Well that's understandable. You and I have never taken the time to chit-chat before."
He decided to play a little game. He scratched his head and said, "Or at least I think that I know them. What color hair does Cynthia have?"
"She has beautiful titian-colored hair."
"Forgive me," he interrupted, "but I only have a high school education. I don't know what 'titian' means."
"It's sort of a golden redhead."
"Well, I know that I deliver the mail to a redhead who lives over on Adams Street ... "
"That's her! That's her! I'll be darned. I'll have to tell her that I have the same mailman. And of course, that means that you deliver Donna Wallace's mail as well. How about that!"
He smiled in return. Yes how about that. He had three of the choicest looking cunts in town on his route, and he was currently fucking two of them on a regular basis. Hell! If he added Beth to his list, he'd have to start his route at four o'clock in the morning.
A smile crossed his face. He wondered what it might be like to fuck all three of them on a single day. A blue-eyed blonde first thing in the morning, followed by a brown-eyed redhead, followed by a brown-eyed brunette. With three beauties like that a man could develop calluses on his pecker. But what a wonderful way to go.
"Anyway, Cynthia and I have been friends for a long time. We go way back."
"Yea, I think that she's married to a fellow named Fred, right?"
"That's right. He's one of my husband's best friends. They work together."
"And this Donna is married to a fellow named Sam, right?"
"Right again. He also works with my husband. I think that this is so neat. Everybody knows each other."
"Yea, it happens once in a while," he said as he shoved the last spoonful of eggs into his mouth and chewed them. "I thank you for the meal, Mrs. Smith, but I've got to be on my way."
"Please call me 'Beth'," she said with a smile. "I feel that mailmen should be on a first name basis with their patrons, don't you?"
He looked at her and smiled. "You betcha." Shit! He wished that he had another hour to kill. If he had a chance he knew that he could get this woman into the sack before the morning was out. He would love to spread her thighs and try her on for size.
As Leroy walked to the door, Beth couldn't help noticing how handsome he was. She had never reacted that way to a black male before. But then, she had to remind herself, that she had never been around that many blacks. The only ones she ever saw in person rode on the back of the garbage truck, or worked in the supermarket or at the post office like Leroy.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Smith." He stepped forward and planted a kiss on her left cheek. "That's an appreciative kiss for the wonderful meal and the nice company. You sent this mailman away happy for the remainder of the day. I just wish that everyone were as sweet as you."
She blushed deeply. "Goodbye. Have a pleasant day," she waved.
He kissed her, fully aware of what kind of effect it would have on her. He chuckled to himself as he walked away from the house. The poor bitch was probably go out of her mind with lust right about now. After all, her husband was the homeliest looking son-of-a-bitch he had ever laid eyes on. Leroy couldn't figure out how a beauty like that wound up with a wimp like him. Boy! Did he look like a loser.
Meanwhile, Beth couldn't get over the fact that the entire lower portion of her torso was aflame with lust. As she closed the door she reached between her thighs and stroked her vulva. "Oh wow!" she said breathlessly. "Why am I so sexually turned on this morning? I haven't been this aroused in ages. I better go take a shower to cool down."