Heather Brown - Wayward wife

I put a foot up on the dresser, pulling the folds of my cunt revealingly apart so I could see everything. The interior of my pussy was like an open tunnel in the mirror, the pink flesh teeming with the milkiness of the male come it had swallowed. My thighs were glazed with congealed sperm, resembling the glistening dough of fresh doughnuts in a bakery. My crotch was so battered and oozing and pulpy and moist that it looked like it had been chewed up and spit out, a masticated victual that would never be the same. I tried to be angry at the nameless salesman for callously abandoning me, but the only honest emotion I could summon was a yearning to have something like him happen all over again at the earliest opportunity.

I tried to deny it to myself, but something told me that that afternoon had changed my boring, humdrum life. I was never going to be satisfied with just George again. There were going to be no more boring afternoons if I could help it, of that I was sure.

I eased into the bath water, feeling its warmth envelop my bare skin. Looking between my legs I could see the starchy gobs of sperm being washed away from my flooded pussy. My cunt hair wafted snakily in the clear water, gossamer tendrils that seemed to be reaching out for something.

Gazing at my cunt in the clear water I suddenly and uncontrollably found myself turned on all over again. It seemed incredible to me that I could find myself so hot only a short time after such a thorough fuck. Once every two weeks from George used to be too much for me, and now all of a sudden I was turned-on for the third time today – once in front of the vanity-table mirror… with the brush salesman's huge cock pumping in and out of my pussy in three different positions… and now, totally unexpectedly, here in the bathtub with the warm water lapping against my cunt.

I didn't have to put my hand between my thighs and feel my clit to know that it was erect – a female hard-on – but I did anyway. The male come washing from my cunt was joined by the cloudy discharge of an instantaneous flow of pussy juice. I draped a leg over the side of the tub, spreading my snatch so I could see it all.

Below my cunt my asshole was clearly throbbing, seeming to call for some stimulation. I realized that I was going to have to do something about the inferno between my legs or I was never going to get the TV dinners on the table far tonight's supper. It was a case of making myself come again, or dinner would never be ready and I'd have to deal with a hungry husband and two starving kids. And when George didn't get what he wanted, when he wanted it, the bastard was hell on wheels.

Anxious to get it over with, I reached for the rubber bag with the tube connected to it that was wound around a hook on the wall next to the bathtub. I submerged the bag and filled it with hot water from the tub, reinserting the tube and hanging the bag above me as I prepared to give myself the enema I suddenly craved more than anything.

I rubbed the black plastic nozzle with a bar of soap for lubrication, and then pressed it to my anus. My asshole was puckering anticipation, quivering to be penetrated.

I shoved the hose, and as it passed a certain spot, my cunt started to tighten, and I knew this was going to be good. As my bowels filled with hot water, I thrust my hand into my open pussy mangling it with my gouging fingers. In an instant I was fingerfucking myself with half of my hand, and massaging my stiff clit with the rest of it, bucking my hips as my insides filled with hot fluid.

Then my hips jerked and the enema nozzle spurted from my ass with a torrential burst of water. At the same time, a whole new flow of pussy juice gushed within my cunt. I started to come in an absolutely terrifying fashion, in the pussy and ass at once.

The fact that the bathwater was darkening with my shit bothered me not at all as I writhed in the soup of my own pungent excretion, loving every sloppy minute of it. My cunt and ass seemed to fuse together in a singe incredibly palpitating organ of intense pleasure, the white heat between my legs melting any baffler between them. They constricted and spasmed, each tightening into a knot while my convulsing bowels depleted themselves and my fingers fucked my pussy all the way to the mouth of my womb.

As my body shook in the final throes of a twin anal-and-pussy orgasm, a last burst of hot water spurted from my asshole and bounced against the tub walls, almost seeming to be some sort of unprecedented rectal-come. Laying back against the rear of the tub and sighing in sensual exhaustion, I was sure that it was.

George was in the middle of some big insurance deal, and from day to day was hardly aware that I was alive. Oh, sure, he would have screamed plenty if I'd stopped washing his clothes and putting food on the table in front of him. But the same result would have occurred if he'd had a maid that quit unexpectedly.

As long as I didn't fuck somebody at the dinner table, George was too preoccupied to notice anything peculiar about me. Life with George could be handled with a few judiciously spaced "Yes dears," and that would take care of all the response he required or cared for from his wife. To George a wife was another utilitarian object like his car – as long as it didn't give him any trouble, he didn't pay any attention to it. He was the kind of man from whom indifference was a compliment, by his way of thinking.

Meanwhile, the children were giving me a wide berth as usual. They behaved like there were junior hotel guests, and I was the hotel management, desk clerk, chef, bellboy and chambermaid all rolled into one. Previously, the way my children ignored me had bothered me. But after the brush salesman helped me discover the fires raging within me, I started to see their indifference as a blessing, because it meant they would leave me alone to do the things I now realized I must do in order to keep my sanity.

Obviously, the only way for a housewife to keep from going out of her mind was through sex, sex, and more sex. The only way I could cancel out the humdrum nature of my lot as human dust mop for this family was to stop needlessly thwarting my sensuality, and start living out the fantasies that had been secretly brewing in the recesses of my mind for years.

I found myself craving only the most vigorous, stiffest cocks, pricks that could fuck me as long as I wanted without tiring. I'd had enough of popguns like George's that had one pitiful shot in them and then collapsed. To help satisfy my yearning I put an ad in the local paper for a teenager to mow our lawn, and waited with a chronic burning in my pussy for some results.

The day the ad appeared in the paper I stood on the porch of the house and looked at the empty street, hoping for the sight of a young man to take me up on my offer. I had no idea how long I stood there – time had a way of marching swiftly now that I was in the grip of cock-fever.

Then, just as I was getting ready to go back into the house, someone came weaving to the crest of the hill on a ten-speed bike.

He was blond, about five feet ten inches tall, and of medium build, brimming with the health and vigor of tireless youth, exactly what I wanted. As he strode toward the porch I sucked in air quickly. He had a decidedly sexy look about him that was quickly apparent to my yearning gaze.

He stopped just short of the first step of the porch, looked up at me and smiled pleasantly. He was, I thought, a very handsome teen. I tried my damndest not to let my mouth water so much that I'd scare him off.

"Hello," he said cheerfully. "I saw your ad in the paper. I'm looking for summer work, and mowing lawns is right up my alley."

I smiled down at him in just the right manner. Friendly without being too friendly… prettily without seeming too flirtatious… sensuously without permitting it to be brazen. "Come inside," I invited, trying to sound proper and conceal my churning, pussy-tightening emotions. "Let's talk about the terms."