Heather Brown - Wild housewife

"Oh fuck me, you big stud!" I groaned excitedly. "Fuck me in the ass!" Susan was just as demonstrative, but with guttural rasps and murmurs rather than words. As far as I knew, this was her first cornholing, but she was going at it like an old pro. My daughter never ceased to make me proud of her.

"Deeper, deeper!" I implored the cop pinioned beneath me. "Fuck my shit!"

I could feel the thick inches sliding within me. And when I looked over at Susan, I could witness them doing the same in her butt.

Then nuts were squashing against our grinding buns. Both cocks were in our rectums to the hilt. If my daughter was feeling what I did, the head of her cop's cock was blasting the chunks of crap loose from the walls of her spasming colon.

"Come, come, you bastard!" I cried. "Make me shit jizz for a week."

I reached down and grabbed his scrotum. Susan did the same to her man. We both squeezed for all we were worth. It's a man's world until some horny woman grabs hold of his nuts.

"Arrrrgggghhhh," was the first sound my victim made. Maybe it wasn't a word you can find in the dictionary, but its meaning was perfectly clear to me.

His balls were boiling.

Susan's prey put in his two cents' worth, too. Only he groaned, "Unnnnhhhh." The message, however, was precisely the same. Trust a woman to know.

Okay, time for the crunch. The vise-like sinews of the female asshole don't allow for much lingering. The friction they produce is so intense that no cock can go without shooting its wad for long. Buggery is guaranteed cummery.

I felt my cop's prick expand that tell-tale extra inch in my anal fuck-pit that always spells imminent ejaculation. When Susan rockily bumped, I knew she was experiencing the same sensation.

We squeezed their nuts one more time, just for good measure.

We may have gotten the drop on them, but our two crime-stoppers proved once and for all that they were no slouches when it came to the truly important things in life. Crooks may have had a better than even chance of eluding them, but a tight female asshole would have to take its medicine.

Thick, goopy medicine. Hot medicine. Cum on prescription!

The scalding jizz flooded both our colons. Then, when our bowels were compacted with liquid, the flow reversed itself. Now the spunk was squirting out of our asses as fast as it had poured in. The front seat of the car was suddenly a swamp.

My daughter and I were anally orgasming to beat the band. If a climax in a woman's cunt is dynamite, one in her rectum is a hydrogen bomb.

The ride to town? Well, after we were finished ass-fucking, Susan wanted to handcuff the cops with their own irons and make them think we were taking them into headquarters on a citizens' arrest for raping us. I, however, prevailed.

Tom and Harry, as their names turned out to be, courteously transported us to a garage, telling us about their wives and kids on the way. Harry, the one who had fucked Susan, had a daughter the same age as Susan, Never, before had I realized that policemen are people just like the rest of us.

Our van had developed burnt-out valves. It had to be towed in to be worked on, and on the way the idiot driving the truck ran over a pot-hole and bent one of the axles into a pretzel.

"Now, if it was just the valves," the mechanic told me, "we'd have you on your way in a day or so. But this axle… well, that's a different story entirely."

"Get to the point, mister," I snapped with exasperation, sensing I was being conned.

He stopped talking and looked at me as though I were an alien from another planet. Apparently garage mechanics aren't used to women talking back to them.

"Well?" I insisted.

He stopped looking at me like I was from outer space in favor of the kind of gaze one usually reserves for a fresh dog turd. "If you don't like it, lady," he bitingly chose his words, "find yourself another garage."

"But this is the only one in town," I protested.

"Then it looks like you'll just have to shut your trap and wait until we can get the parts for your car," he smirked with obvious pleasure.

"I see," I whispered.

"And the next time you start thinkin' you're so damn smart," he rubbed it in, "just remember one thing."

"Which is?"

"It's a man's world," he clucked triumphantly. "All this Women's Lib trash don't mean diddly-shit in real life. You'll know things have really changed when you run into a dame running a garage-and that'll happen about the same time hell freezes over and there's a lady Pope. Till that happens, just keep a zipper on your lip and do what you're fuckin' told."

I reeled under the impact of his brutal words. What bothered me the most was that there was no rational way to argue with him. He did hold all the cards.

What was worse, he'd started me thinking about the state of my life. What a fool I'd been to think that my daughter and I were free of the male influence.

I had to face it. Susan and I may not have had a man in the immediate family for over two years, but we were just as tied to the masculine will as we'd been when Ernie was supporting us.

We could run to the ends of the earth and the problem would still be there. When you're born without a dick between your legs, second best is automatically what you have to settle for.

In a very real way, this grimy garage mechanic was the king, and I was the slave. If I wanted my car repaired, I had to please him.

"Maybe there's something I could to hurry things up," I said.

"Hah!" he snorted contemptuously. "I've been a mechanic for twenty years. If there was one thing some broad could tell me about cars that I didn't know, I'd eat my wrenches."

"I'd never be so presumptuous," I replied as sincerely as I could. "I just meant… well, there are certain ways a woman can motivate a man."

"Such as?" he eyed me suspiciously.

"Oh," I obviously flirted, "a little favor here and there. You know, if I scratch your back, you'll scratch mine."

"Stop beatin' around the bush, lady," he snapped. "I'm a busy man. What're you gettin' at?"

"I'll let you decide," I cooed, provocatively undoing the top two buttons of my blouse.

By now even a guy this dumb could see what I was getting at. I wasn't wearing a bra, and he could see my bare tits by looking down the open flap of my blouse.

For the first time his dirty face lost its angry cast. Even though he was a man nearly as hard-bitten and tough as Duke Slaughter, the mechanic began to resemble a confused boy.

His response was my cue to unbutton the remainder of my blouse. Before his bulging eyes, my breasts bobbed completely into view. Through sheer willpower I had made the nipples as erect as miniature spikes.

"Want to fuck me? You can take me right here in the garage if you want to."

My hopes soared as he responded with incoherent stammering. Down below, the crotch of his filthy coveralls abruptly became taut with genital swelling.

"I'll bet you've got a big cock," I remarked on the obvious. "With my tight, wet pussy I could give you a fuck you'd never forget."

"I… I can get all the gash I want," he stammered, but he wasn't at all convincing. I was counting on the probability that his sex-life consisted of routinely plugging a beaten-down wife at home whose twat had dried up and grown flabby from having too many kids.

"You may have screwed a lot of women, but you've never fucked a pussy like mine. And if you turn me down, you'll always wonder."

He was back to stuttering again.

"Want to inspect the merchandise?" I poured it on. "I'll show you my cunt if you want me to."

Then, after a telling pause, I played the ace up my sleeve.

"But you have to beg me."

When he hesitated, I reached forward and stroked the throbbing bulge in his pants. Upon the initial touch it was easy to tell that his cock was as hard as a rock. If this guy didn't go ahead and agree to fuck me, his nuts would be sore for a week.