Curt Aldrich - Deep Crotch Mother

“Mommy, can you figure out what’s wrong with it?” twelve-year-old Timmy asked as his mother bent over the fender of their ancient Ford and stared at the engine.

“Quiet!” said the lad’s twin sister, Beth. “Let Mama think.”

Marcella, hearing the approach of a vehicle along the back-country road, bent a bit farther and elevated her hips. The breeze, which had been gusting across the prairie, dipped underneath her light skirt and billowed it up above her bottom.

The approaching driver got a sudden, unexpected view of her generous buttocks, which packed and expanded the filmy fabric of her pastel panties. Her thighs gleamed, pale and smooth, above gartered stockings.

Rubber screeched.

Marcella waggled her bottom, causing her buttocks to wobble in her panties. The pink nylon shimmered in the late-afternoon sunlight. The crotch seam of her briefs pressed against the lush softness of her ass.

Finally she pushed her skirt down and turned to face the farmer in his rattletrap truck which had come to a skidding stop beside her. His gray eyes glinted and a grin came to his weathered face as he gazed at the pretty woman in her late twenties. She wore no makeup except for a touch of lipstick, and she had a fresh and wholesome quality that contrasted with her voluptuous figure. The breeze stirred her auburn hair against a cheek as she smiled almost bashfully.

“I seem to have some car trouble,” she said in a sweet voice. “I wonder… ”

The middle-aged farmer licked his thin lips. “Want me to take a look at it? I’m pretty good with engines.”

“Oh, would you? I’d be ever so grateful!”

“Sure. Just let me pull off the road.”

He guided his truck to a stop on the shoulder in front of the stalled car, and he walked back, a lanky figure in bib overalls.

“It just stopped,” Marcella said, and gave a little shrug. The large bulbs which filled her blouse shifted in a liquid way, making it abundantly clear that she wore no bra. Her plump nipples imprinted themselves on the plain white fabric.

“Let’s see now… “ the farmer said, and bent to look at the engine.

Standing next to him, Marcella bent forward also. His sneaky side-glance took in the tumbling beauty of her breasts. She wriggled slightly, causing her tittyflesh to tremble.

The farmer cleared his throat. A quick look told him that the woman’s kids were playing at the rear of the car and that there was no traffic approaching on the road. He reached up underneath her skirt and grabbed a handful of her panty-sheathed bottom.

She acted as if nothing had happened, except that there was a slight catch to her voice as she asked hoarsely, “Can you tell… what’s wrong?”

Standing at her right side, he squeezed her left buttock, his fingers extended along its quivery flank as his thumb pressed the fabric of her panties into the crack of her ass. Marcella squirmed more, making her fleshy mound vibrate in his grasp.

With his other hand he pretended to tinker with the engine. But his heart wasn’t in it. The fifty-five-year-old farmer had an iron-hard erection, such as he hadn’t enjoyed in years.

“Can’t quite figger what’s wrong,” he said huskily as he fiddled with the carburetor.

The tips of his fingers curled around the left leg elastic of the woman’s flimsy briefs, and he stretched the elastic toward him, at the same time gliding his hand inside her panties. He felt her soft and springy bottom, then let his fingers glide below her plump buttocks and into her hairy crotch. Her cunt lips were moist and pliant.

Still she acted as if he wasn’t doing anything to her, except that she was breathing hard and continuing to squirm.

A sound told of an approaching automobile. The farmer dragged his cunt-moistened middle finger a short distance up the narrow, deep crevice between the woman’s satiny buttocks, and he centered on the intriguing crinkled dimple that he felt there. The car came closer. Too involved in lust by that time to give up his lascivious plan or even to delay it until the car had passed, the rural lecher twisted his slippery finger at the woman’s forbidden aperture and… pop! Up her hot, tight asshole his impetuous probe glided.

“Ooooooo…!” Marcella moaned, and she bumped her bottom against his plunging finger, causing it to sink even deeper into her ass.

The earful of teenagers who were approaching saw the couple bent forward across the fender of the stalled car. The two boys and their Saturday afternoon dates were curious and looked closely. Though they approached the stalled car at forty miles an hour and quickly swept by, the glimpse that they got of the man in overalls and the youngish, well-built woman was frozen in their minds and memories like a snapshot:

Her skirt hiked by the man’s arm… her pink panties askew, his hand inside them… his finger between her buttocks, the panties having been stretched sideways enough to reveal the finger sinking in as it twisted, going right up the lady’s ass!

Not far down the road, the teenagers pulled off into a grove of scrubby trees and made out, all four in the car together.

Meanwhile, back at the side of the highway, Marcella twisted her ass while the farmer’s finger corkscrewed in her delightfully tight, elastic orifice. Her rubber ring clutched his finger and rippled across his knuckles as he pumped in and out.

“Hellfire!” he finally said, and pulled his finger from her asshole with a sucking pop. He let her panties snap back into place, and her skirt fell to cover them. “I can’t fix this blinkin’ car of yours, but I’ll drive you into town.”

“Thank you… very much!” Marcella panted. Her face was flushed.

“Ride in the cab with me and let the kids get in the back of the truck,” he said, and hurried to his vehicle, keeping his front turned away from her and the children so that they wouldn’t see the tent in his overalls.

He scrambled behind the steering wheel and, while waiting for Marcella to join him, grasped himself through the loose-fitting garment and happily stroked his vibrant bone, which made him feel like a youth again. He stopped stroking, but still had a splendid hard-on when the woman climbed into the cab.

He nervously put the truck into motion and gave her a tobacco-stained grin. “You ain’t from around these parts, are you?” he asked.

“No. My children and I have been on the road, searching for a sign from the Lord.”

The farmer did a double take.

“I now believe I have the sign,” Marcella added with a smile that seemed to emanate from her deepest being. “What’s the name of the town just ahead?”

“Jasper Junction. Ain’t much of a town, though.”

“That’s all right. It’s where the Lord wants me to settle. Otherwise He wouldn’t have stopped my car.”

“Funny, I didn’t figger you for a religious woman,” the farmer said, and squirmed uncomfortably. His hard-on persisted.

“Religion is my whole life, Mister uuh… ”

“Floyd Wilcox.”

“I’m Marcella Plummer, first deaconness of the Church of Holy and Mysterious Revelation. Our founder and pastor, Thaddeus Polk, sent me out in search of a site for a new congregation. He will be happy to know that the Lord has pointed one out to me. Aren’t you happy also, Mr. Wilcox?” she exclaimed, and gripped his thigh through his overalls.

He glanced quickly at her.

She maintained her grip, even inching it up his thigh a little, yet she still appeared perfectly innocent as she smiled in her childlike way and continued prattling about her religion.

His obvious confusion didn’t keep Floyd from taking advantage of what seemed like an invitation to have more fun with her. He slipped his right hand between her legs.