Anyway, I was sitting there in the busy shop getting my
roots taken care of and my nails done and the thin
woman beside me, she was laid all the way back and
getting a wash and rinse, she started talking about the
boy that cut her lawn and then fucked her silly. Of
course she said he was hung like a horse; don’t they
always say that? She said she was sore for a week.

But it got my attention since I’ve been having a
terrible itch, a serious need, a real hunger, and when
she sat up with a towel about her head I introduced
myself and asked about the boy. She told me his name,
Billy Somebody-or-other, and said he was only fifteen,
but that he was absolutely tireless with a man-sized
root and very considerate manner. So I filed that
information away along with his phone number which she
got off her cell phone and when I got home I called him
and left a message, feeling foolish of course. Horny
but foolish.

Anyway, I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve been
married for three years and I love my handsome husband
dearly. He makes a lot of money, but he is a dud in
bed, when he gets there which is seldom. The man works
sixty or seventy hours a week and then he golfs and
plays tennis and has one night out with the boys, as he
calls them, probably fucks his bimbo secretary now and
then, and on Sunday night, if he remembers, he climbs
between my legs and pounds me for a couple of minutes
with his more than adequate weapon before he flops down
and starts snoring.

I’ve got some toys, including a battery powered one
with a clit feeler that’s great if a bit cumbersome,
but I need a real cock, and I need it badly and often,
and I certainly don’t care how old it is, seventeen or
seventy. I just need a man between my legs, a male
chest on my body, the smell and taste of an eager man.
Before I married Jim, I was what is usually called
sexually active which means I hooked up with men
regularly and enjoyed almost every one of them
thoroughly.

Anyway, in an hour or two Billy returned my call, and I
told him where I got his name and he said he could do
my lawn the next day, which was Friday, and I said
great and he said he’d be there about nine. After I
hung up, I got out my favorite toy and spent an hour or
so on my bed, moaning and gasping while I exercised my
mons, clitoral and vaginal muscles, getting ready for
action.

So the next morning I showered and shaved my legs,
underarms, belly and vulva, used some light perfume,
inserted my diaphragm, stimulated my clit so it stood
erect, fluffed up my hair and pulled on my brand new
babydoll pajama top. It was icy blue, spaghetti
strapped and just about transparent, very frilly at the
deep hem which reached about mid-butt and barely
covered my rounded ass and my needy pussy if I stood
still.

I got the strap to hang off one shoulder, baring the
tit if I moved. When I was younger, I was tempted to
have my jugs augmented, but they filled out nicely as I
matured and were now just about perfect 36C’s, high and
hard. I walked toward my mirror and watched a pale boob
appear and then hide. I got my feet into high-heeled
mules and was ready, more than ready, almost dripping.
I felt like I was going to the prom or something, like
a nervous teenager, hot to trot, my labia actually
fluttering. I had the urge to stick one of my big
dildos all the way in but somehow resisted. Even my
anus seemed excited.

So about ten of nine, here he comes, on a bicycle; I
was going to take a lover that rode to work on a bike.
I laughed at myself and felt my cheeks redden. He
knocked at the back door and I let him in, and he just
stood there gawking at me as I leaned back at the
marble counter and smiled at him, feet wide apart and
frilly little, transparent top barely hanging to my
excited nipples and flowing about my belly and hips. I
had posed before my mirror, and I knew what he was
seeing, my pink inner and quivering outer sex lips,
ready for action, my muscular legs, my jutting boobs,
my shaved mons dripping.

Anyway, he said something that sounded like “geeze,”
and I told him the lawnmower was in the shed. He just
blinked at me and asked was there anything I wanted
done first. His crotch suddenly bulged, bulged almost
frighteningly. I felt something very odd, something
sort of electrical, surge through me.

So I smiled, turned my back, wiggled my wide ass and
said, “Well, you might give me a sample, just a quick
one. Mrs. Hill said you were awfully nice to her.”

“Mrs. Hill,” he said as he closed the door and stepped
up behind me, putting a hard hand on my ass. I heard
his zipper go down as he stroked my hip. “She the lady
over on Maple Street?” He laid his massive member on my
crack. It felt like a baseball bat, heavy and thick, as
he grasped my butt with both hands.

I nodded and he pushed my feet farther apart and gently
filled me from behind, and when I say filled me, I mean
that exactly. In fact, over-filled might be more
accurate. I’m sure I gasped. He held me at the hips as
he pushed that huge thing of his into me, up into me,
all the way into me; its blunt head bludgeoning me
open, turning my labia inward, parting my yielding
flesh, crushing my clit. I could feel his swelling
balls pressing my slit as he rammed. In that hungry
monster of his went, in and in and then in some more,
tearing at my clinging flesh, stretching my latex cap,
threatening my womb.

I shivered and he asked if I was Ok, and I nodded and
bit my lip to keep from crying out as he kept pushing
this huge club up into me, inch by hard and big-headed
inch until his belly was firmly against my buttocks and
the head of his prick jumped and flexed, prodding at my
cervix and rubbing my inflamed G-spot, mashing my clit
into joyful submission. Then he exhaled and said,
“Ready?” I almost laughed as his rough hands came up to
my shoulders and pulled me to him, tightly to him.

“I think so,” I managed to say, feeling very odd indeed
because I had never had such a thing in me even when I
pushed my biggest toy way up there. It was frightening,
exciting but scary. I remembered what it felt like the
first time I turned my Rabbit on, how I screamed and
dropped it. Then his big rod jumped or flexed or
something, and I whimpered like a child. If he was
going to kill me, I would die happy. My uterus was
shivering I was sure and my nipples were poking out,
iron hard and super sensitive.

He slid his rough hands down from where he had been
holding me while he impaled me, and he grasped my
breasts, firmly, and squeezed as he began humping me,
first these long slow thrusts with a frightening pause
between each, a pause in which the head of his huge
manhood seemed to jump as if taking a bite out of me,
but pretty soon he was really fucking, bringing me
right up off the floor, up on my toes, squealing every
time he rammed that big pole up in me and kneaded my
jugs, pinching my nipples. Our flesh smacked loudly
together, and he grunted and I sobbed with each
penetration as he mauled my breasts. His callused hands
set my hard nipples afire as he squeezed and twisted. I
could hear him breathing hard and my heart thumping
rapidly.

Anyway, he was exhaling loudly, and I was groaning and
gasping as he accelerated to about one a second, really
banging me. The boy slid one hand down and started
rubbing at my clit, pulling on a nipple with the other
hand and hitting my hot spot with almost every ram once
he was doing full-length thrusts, which I was sure were
at least six inches, six inches of copper-hard pipe,
six inches of blood-hot steel, six inches of blunt-
headed spear.

It actually felt as if his tool was swelling, getting
thicker when it already felt like a log. I came like a
crazy woman, screeching and jumping with this kid
holding me to his hard body and trying to ram his cock
up into my throat, snorting like he was running a race.
I had never, ever climaxed from coitus, not once in my
whole life, and the first time this young man plugs me
with his outsized horn I go off like a ten-cent
firecracker. My knees gave out. It was wonderful but
embarrassing as I slid down the front of the cabinets
and ended up on all fours on the floor with this
pitiless youngster squatting behind me, knees bent,
hands on my shoulders, tearing at my babydoll top and
drilling me for all he was worth, bent over me and
snorting with effort, banging his massive balls against
my soggy slit, grunting like a hog.

I had tried to count but lost track when I came and he
was well over a hundred rams then. I put my head down
on the tile floor and gasped, “Enough, enough,” and he
finally got the message, slowing his pile driving and
then stopped, his horn trembling deeply inside me,
pulled his thick spear out with a squishy plop and then
stood and washed it off at the sink while I stayed down
there moaning and oozing and drooling. I stumbled to my
feet and watched him, eager to see the thing that had
destroyed me, eviscerated me. It was as big as a
zucchini or cucumber and his scrotum was at least the
size of a baseball. I couldn’t believe it. He dried
them with the tea towel and smiled as he put his
adolescent equipment away.

He went out and cut the lawn, both front and back and
by then I had gathered my wits, had a stiff drink,
fixed my hair and make up and put on my new, white
babydoll top since the blue one was ruined, ripped and
stained, torn from my body some time during our first,
brief coupling at the kitchen counter and on the floor.
I looked at the clock as he went out to cut the grass,
and it still wasn’t nine o’clock yet. He had destroyed
me in about five minutes. I couldn’t remember how many
times I had come.

Anyway, he came in sweating and smiling an hour later,
his t-shirt in his hand, and I took him right up the
stairs and got into the shower with him. We have a big
double shower with a glass door, and I turned on all
four heads and washed him, got another good look at his
massive equipment in a more relaxed state and then,
once he was fully aroused and that thing was jutting
straight out before him like a tree limb, put my hands
on the cool tile walls, urged him to enjoy himself.

He pushed his huge member up into me again and humped
me until I made him stop, our skin squeaking as he held
me to him and just rammed upward, just upward, never
out just in and in, up and up, lifting me with every
thrust, with his huge sack tensed at the base of his
rod while he battered my slit and ravaged my hungry
vagina. He tried to twist my nipples off, and I must
admit I enjoyed that exercise as he stretched them out
painfully.

We rinsed, got out and eagerly toweled each other and
then I took him to bed in the spare room, and we romped
for an hour or so, exploring each other, trying
wonderful positions, snorting and heaving like animals.
She was right; he was tireless, and he certainly knew
some interesting variations. Somewhere during that
rutting, he ate me to another climax, nipping at my
clit while I begged him to stop, his head buried in my
groin.

When he was lying there beside me, getting his breath,
I stroked and kissed the limp rod lying on his flat
belly and then, despite having promised myself I would
never do it again, I sucked it right into my mouth and
soon was bobbing up and down on his revived male
member, using my tongue like a teen-ager and snorting
for breath which led to me climbing atop him and
sliding down his rigid pole and fucking him until I
came again and collapsed down on his lean body with a
cry of pleasure, crushing my breasts to his hard body.
He still hadn’t come, not in my mouth or in my body, as
far as I could tell. I couldn’t believe it so I asked
him.

“When I get close,” he said, “I just clamp down on it
with some deep muscles and hold it until it relaxes.
It’s a Kegel exercise.” He grinned.

“Let me have it,” I begged. “I want to feel you come
inside me.”

Anyway, he smiled, nodded, rolled me over, mounted my
sore pussy, eased his thick shaft back into me and
then, after about forty or fifty incredible thrusts,
gritted his teeth, arched his back and ejaculated three
times, melting my insides, and then squishing it out as
his big piston continued ramming until I asked him to
stop, sobbing with satisfaction. He dismounted,
dressed, said he had another lawn to do, and I found my
frilly top, gave him a hundred dollars and asked if he
could come next week. I ignored the stream of thick
stuff oozing down the inside of my thighs.

He smiled and said he would, at nine o’clock.

It took me about another hour to calm down, and I had
some lunch and then took a nap, my pussy sore and
puffy. Sunday night, when my husband did his meager
duty, I was still sore. I smiled to myself as my mate
got what he wanted and rolled away with a kiss.

Anyway, Billy was next.