Curt Aldrich - Deep Crotch Mother

Any town in the Bible-belt offered an opportunity, he had learned.

He toured up and down the four-block stretch of Main Street, looking for a newspaper office. He found none. He stopped at the drug store and perused the stands in front of it. They bore city papers only. Jasper Junction was without its own periodical, it seemed.

Thad’s next stop was a real estate office, which appeared to be the main-or perhaps the only- one in town. He opened the front door and walked in.

The little office was deserted.

Thad stood between two desks, one with papers on it and the other bare, and his nostrils flared. Like a wild animal sniffing the wind for evidence of possible prey, he detected something. It was not a smell, literally speaking, but an intuitive feeling. Thad’s intuition, along certain lines, was highly developed.

He stepped to an open doorway at the rear of the office and found he was looking into the living quarters of the real estate broker. He boldly walked through the kitchen and into the bedroom beyond, his intuition giving positive guidance.

Another door stood partly open, a shaft of light slanting out. Thad stepped to that doorway and pushed the panel open fully.

He stared at a woman who was seated on a John, her skirt pulled up around her middle, baring gartered stockings and pale thighs. Blue panties were wound about her knees. She gasped.

“Oh,” Thad smiled, “I beg your pardon!”

Just then a splash told him that the woman had deposited a turd into the toilet bowl. Blushing furiously, she quickly grasped the flush-handle and yanked it.

“How dare you walk in here!” she exclaimed, and pulled her dress down as far as she could. But the hem wouldn’t quite reach to her expanded brown stockingtops which were pulled into peaks by her garters. Her briefs remained exposed.

“Sorry,” Thad said easily, his confidence unshaken. “But the door to your apartment was open.”

“Well, get out!” she cried angrily as the toilet gurgled.

“Wouldn’t you rather have me help you?” Thad asked.

“What!”

The woman wasn’t bad looking, though she was a bit older than Thad liked them-pushing forty, he judged, with hair that was dyed jet-black, heavily made up eyes, and false lashes. She was the vamp of Jasper Junction, he speculated-a widow or divorcee who had landed there in the hopes of using what was left of her physical appeal to charm the rubes into buying real estate from her.

“Stand up,” he said, “and I’ll wipe your bottom.”

Her mouth dropped open and she stared speechlessly at him.

“I’ll bet you’ve never had a man do that,” he opined.

“You are something else!” she said, as if awestruck by his utter nerve.

“Mm-hmm. Stand up.” Thad snatched some toilet paper off the roll.

The woman’s knees seemed to tremble as she rose, her blue panties forming a silken figure-8 around them, and she held her skirt at her waist. Thad noted that her pubic hair wasn’t as dark as the hair on her head, confirming the dye job.

“Bend forward,” he instructed, “and stick your little po-po this way.”

She did it. Her po-po wasn’t little, especially when spread and thrust upward by her bent pose. It wasn’t very dirty, denoting that she’d had a neat passage.

Thad wiped the crack of her ass, centering on her anus to remove all the brownish stain. He dropped the soiled paper and snatched some more.

“Use the Wet Ones in the cabinet,” she said tensely.

Thad knew she was enjoying herself in a perverse way.

After wiping her cute little shit-hole for the second time with paper, and dropping the tissue into the pot, he found the moist wipes she had mentioned, yanked one from the receptacle, and set about to make her anus squeaky-clean.

“I like fastidious women!” he said, dropping the wet-wipe into the pot, then giving her a slap on one flank of her quivery rump.

She straightened and pulled up her panties. She was blushing intensely. But she also smiled.

“You’re not from around here!” she said. “You couldn’t be!”

“Right you are. Pastor Thaddeus Polk is the name, founder of the Church of Holy and Mysterious Revelation… at your service.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!” She was no longer blushing so hard. Mostly she seemed amused… and stimulated.

“Call me Thad. What do I call you?”

“Dotti. My name is Dorothy Fenster, like it says out front.”

“You know, I didn’t even notice the name. A sixth sense brought me to you. Do you believe that?”

“Ill believe anything now.”

“If you want to go out front, we can talk some business,” Thad suggested.

“I’ll talk business,” she replied, her dark eyes alight. “But not out there. Why don’t you go lock the front door? Turn the sign around so that it says Closed.”

Thad smiled and went on the errand. When he returned to the bedroom, he wasn’t surprised to see Dotti standing in her stockings and blue underpants, next to the bed, her brown-nippled titties bare.

They weren’t among the best tits he’d ever seen or played with. They were rather hangy, which was to be expected at her age. But they were full enough to give her a look of mature voluptuousness.

The rest of her wasn’t bad-a trim waist, sleek white thighs, shapely legs in sheer nylons.

“Another thing I like about you is that you wear stockings and garters,” Thad said. “I certainly prefer them to pantyhose.”

“Don’t all men?” she asked, batting her long lashes.

Thad began to take off his clothes.

“Are you doing any good with the shit-kickers around here?” he asked.

“You’re remarkably earthy for a man of the cloth!” Her amusement obviously continued.

“I don’t believe I have to put on an act with you,” he said, stepping out of his pants.

Her smile faded. “I’m not sure I like that. I’m not trash.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you were,” Thad said, unbuttoning his shirt. “But you’re smart and sophisticated, and a man can come on straight with you, I judge. We’ve both been around enough to know what the world is like.”

“That’s true,” she agreed, and stripped down her panties.

Thad removed his shorts.

“Ooooh, my!”

“Like it?” Thad asked brazenly as he lifted his lengthy, semi-firm sausage and waggled it at the lady broker.

“Let’s just say that it looks like it can do the job.”

“It can tickle your tonsils,” Thad bragged.

“Do you need, uh, some special stimulation to get it up?” she asked, moving to him and raking her blood-red fingernails through the black hairs on his chest.

“No,” Thad replied. “But if you enjoy sucking cock, don’t let me discourage you.”

“You have a way of laying things on the line,” she said.

“I try to be honest-when I’m not preaching, that is.”

“No kidding, are you really a minister?” Dotti asked, reaching down to fondle his cock.

“Yeah, and I’m looking for a location here. That’s the business I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Well, first things first, honey,” she said, and sank to her knees.

His manly pride was half-elevated by that time and it waved twitchingly before her. Her red lips parted, and her rosy tongue came out.

Thad thought, as he frequently did at such times, about all the men in America who ached to have their cocks sucked but were married to women who wouldn’t do it… and he felt sorry for the women. He knew from experience that most women wanted to suck and only had to be given the right kind of encouragement, from a man who took charge. They had to be made to feel it was all right, that it was something taken for granted-no big thing. Then they would get down and love it.