John Friday: Raped wild wife

Grant Dunlap worked the four-to-midnight shift, but as usual, he'd gone in early, leaving his wife alone and restless in the middle of the afternoon. Veronica paced back and forth in the kitchen of their modest tract home, fuming with rage and frustration. He hadn't fucked her in almost a month.

Everyone said Grant was a good cop. One of the best! His personnel folder was full of commendations for the tough cases he'd cracked, for bravery under fire, for being wounded twice in the line of duty and still getting the job done.

"Yeah, you're one hell of a good cop," Veronica said aloud. "But as a husband, you're a worthless piece of shit!"

The rattle of a lawnmower in their backyard accented her feeling of agitation. It criss-crossed the small patch of lawn as she paced the kitchen floor, left to right and back again. At least Billy Chapman accomplished something in his travels, cutting the grass that Grant hadn't had time for since winning a promotion to the Detective Division six months ago. He was so happy to be working in plainclothes at last.

"Big deal!" Veronica snarled to the empty room. "I like you best with no clothes at all!" But Grant had no more time for her than he did the lawn.

Last night, when Grant came off his shift, Veronica practically begged him to fuck her. She wore that pale blue baby-doll nightgown that he used to love. The lacy fringe barely covered her rich, dark spread of pussy hair.

She poured him a beer, and she stroked his cock while he drank it down. But nothing happened. Nothing at all! He pushed her hand away from his prick and said: "Get me another beer."

"What's the matter?" she moaned.

"You don't know, do you?" Grant bolted upright in his chair, every muscle in his body tense and hard except the one in his cock. "I'm on the Vice Squad, remember? I picked up three whores during my shift. The oldest girl was just a kid. One had her front teeth knocked out. The second one had cigarette burns on a pussy barely old enough to grow hair. And the third one took a flying leap out of a fourth floor window rather than let some old bastard ram his fist up her ass. His fist, damn it. His whole fucking fist! She was blonde, she was naked, and I think once she was very pretty. But it's hard to tell when you scrape the pieces off the sidewalk and pour them into a rubber bag."

Veronica felt her gut wrench. "That's not my fault! Damn it, I didn't want you to be a cop in the first place. My father will give you a job tomorrow that pays more."

"What? In his fucking furniture store? Tracking down people who won't pay for the plastic-coated crap that he sells on credit for two or three times what it's worth?"

"Oh, God – Grant!"

"If I worked bunko instead of vice, I'd have your fucking father's ass in the slam."

Veronica shuddered and slumped against the kitchen nil just thinking about last night. Then she gulped a breath and straightened herself. "You can wallow in shit if you watt, Grant Dunlap… but you aren't going to drag me down!" she cried in a voice shrill with desperation.

Outside, the lawnmower was still clattering back and forth. Veronica walked to the window and looked out. Billy Chapman's T-shirt was damp, clinging to his body with sweat. His rippling muscles bulged hard beneath the frail web of knit cloth.

In the crotch of his faded blue jeans, she could see an enormous cock bulge. It seemed to swell with each step he took, pulsing with the same kind of restless frustration that she felt.

Veronica was thirty, almost old enough to be Billy's mother. He was just a kid, but already a criminal in Grant's eyes. He didn't even want the kid to mow their lawn. "He's been busted twice for car clouting," Grant had told her. He checked everyone they met through R and I – Records and Identification. "The last timer they caught him with a fucking closet full of tape decks and CB's!"

"Give him a chance!" Veronica roared back. "What harm can he possibly do mowing our lawn?"

"He could break into the house and rape your ass, that's what he could do! He had two busts for assault before he was out of the fucking fifth grade?"

Veronica smiled and pulled open the back door. "Billy?" she called. "Hey, Billy."

"Yeah?" The clatter of the lawnmower stopped abruptly. The boy turned and saw her leaning out the backdoor. Her tits bulged out of her skimpy halter-top, and her ass was packed into a pair of tight shorts.

"I thought you must be getting awfully hot. Would you like something tall and cool to drink?"

I'd like something tall and cool all right if you weren't married to the toughest fucking cop in the whole damn town! Billy Chapman didn't care shit about mowing lawns. The money he made was a joke. He could do better in two minutes popping hubcaps off the right kind of car. But it kept his juvenile probation officer happy, and let him meet a lot of bored wives who wanted more than their grass mowed down.

He ambled toward the door with his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. So what if her old man is a fucking tough cop? He thought. That just makes her a nicer prize. "Maybe I'm hotter than I thought," he said.

"I have a big pitcher of iced tea," Veronica said. She brushed back a strand of hair that tumbled over one eye. It was deep-brown and glistened like mink!

"How about a beer?"

"Oh, Billy you're too young for that."

"Bill," he said, stepping upon to the porch. "I hate being called Billy."

"All right… Bill. But no beer."

"Maybe you'd rather I get right down to it and start sucking on one of your big beautiful tits?"

"I'll get you a beer!" she said quickly.

Veronica had a feeling that she'd done the wrong thing. But it was too late now. Billy… Bill was already in the house. He pushed the back door closed and leaned against it, leering when she bent down to pull a frosty bottle of Grant's favorite beer off the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.

She wrenched off the cap and handed it to him, smiling weakly. If Grant caught them like this, he'd break the dark bottle over the boy's head and probably ram the jagged neck of it up her ass.

"This is good stuff," he said, after rolling a big gulp around in his mouth. "But I see something I like even better."

"NO!" Veronica backed away, raising her hands, wishing they were large enough to cover her heaving tits. Even with her fingers interlaced, the soft cleft between her tits remained in plain view.

"What's the matter? Isn't that why you invited me in?"

"Yes… no. Oh, shit – I don't know! Don't touch me… Grant will kill us both!"

"Only if he finds out, and I've been dodging the cops for years." He snaked his arms around Veronica's slender waist and pressed her against the cock bulge between his legs.

"Hhhuuuunnngh!" she gasped, but she rocked her hips, teasing his monster cock with the soft, pliant dome of her pussy mound.

Bill's cock stiffened inside his jeans. "You want my cock, don't you, baby? You want me to fuck you with my big prick."

"No!" She made a half-hearted attempt to break out of his grasp. "Grant carries a Magnum. If he came home now, he'd splatter your ass all over the wall!"

"But he ain't coming home, is he? He's out prowling in that unmarked car that any stupid shit head can spot four blocks away."

Bill tugged at the knot binding her halter-top and jerked it away. He let the cloth drop and leered at the woman's naked tits, wetting his lips with a teasingly slow swipe of his tongue. "Now there's a real pair – double D. Double deluxe tits with nipples that look like hubcaps off a truck!"

"You bastard! Get out of here!" Veronica tried vainly to cover her tits. They were huge, and the nipples that held his steely glare were already taut with an odd mix of fear and desire.