by Unknown
BB-6565 DEEP CROTCH MOTHER by Curt Aldrich
The juices in her pussy gushed. Her body throbbed. She sucked her son’s prick heatedly, rubbing her fingers across her clit and between her slippery cuntlips.
Dear God! She knew it was a sin. She knew it. But she couldn’t stop playing with her son’s dear, sweet body while her crotch cried out for satisfaction.
CHAPTER ONE
“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 pussy 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 pussy-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.
“Yes, Lord!” Marcella exclaimed, shutting her eyes as she wriggled.
So excited that he could scarcely keep his truck on a straight course, the farmer felt his way up her stockings until he reached her smooth, warm thighs above the gartered tops of her hose. She gradually spread her legs wider apart, to grant him greater access.
Floyd’s pecker stuck straight up in his overalls as he petted the pretty woman’s pussy through her sleek silken pants.
“My children and I badly need a place to stay until our leader gets here and makes arrangements for us,” she said. “Do you suppose that you and your wife… that is, if you’re married, could see your way clear… to take us in?” She was panting heatedly by that time as she wriggled against the farmer’s intimate caress.
“Hellfire!” Floyd said again, and stretched the left elastic of her panties once more, this time away from her cunt.
“Oooh, nooo — not hellfire!” she passionately corrected. “It is the power of the Lord!”
Amazed by what he was hearing, but even more impressed by what he felt, Floyd tickled her hairy cuntlips with his middle finger.
“Yessss!” she hissed hotly, and threw her hips forward with a corkscrew twist.
The farmer’s finger was entrapped — not as tightly as the finger of his other hand had been, but tightly enough, as it sank deeply into her moist, warm snatch.
Marcella bounced her bottom on the truck seat while he stroked his upward-curling finger in and out of her slippery channel, across the throbbing tip of her clit. From the corner of his eyes, he looked down and watched the bobbing of the large, creamy swells inside the neckline of her cotton blouse.
“Will you… take me in… Mr. Wilcox?” she asked gaspingly.
“I don’t know…” he said, breathing hard. “Ain’t got much room.”
Marcella’s hand moved to his lap and unzipped his overalls. Floyd fought to keep the truck on the road as she pulled his erect, heavily veined penis out of his pants and began to stroke the throbbing column in the curve of her thumb and fingers.
Her hand felt delightful as it glided slowly up and down on his cock. She gripped his shaft just hard enough, and his leathery foreskin unrolled and rolled back again across the ridge and bulbous swell of his corona. Each pumping, clasping stroke of her loving hand gave him added pleasure, jacking him toward heights of passion which he hadn’t reached with his frumpy wife in years.
The plunging of his curled finger up into her crevice increased in tempo, and she got slicker with every stroke until it felt to him as if he were sticking his finger into a slushy, overripe fruit which had been warmed by the sun. Her passionate writhing had worked her skirt high on her lap, and he stole glances at her lush thighs which were half-clad in sheer stockings. Her pale skin was marvelously enticing above the brown, expanded stockingtops. White garter straps pressed against her flesh. The leg elastic of her pink panties bit into the back of his wrist as his hand rapidly churned, hidden from view, obscenely stretching her silk briefs as his finger plunged up and down inside her.
Just as stimulating to the middle-aged farmer was the sight of his own prick standing proudly in the circle of the woman’s pumping hand. His veins throbbed with vitality which recalled his youth, and his cockhead swelled like a ripe tomato.
“Uuuuh!” he rasped. “Yeah! Keep doing it!” he begged, fearing she would stop just before he reached the payoff.
But Marcella didn’t stop. Her pumping of his prick grew even faster and more fervent, in time with his diddling of her flooded twat.
She squirmed frantically, finally crying out, “Ooooh, Jesus!” and her cunt seemed to gulp at the farmer’s finger.
Floyd’s cock, straining mightily, twitched in her tenacious grasp. His bulbous knob pulsated, sending a geyser of thick, whitish sperm spurting up past the steering column and all over the dashboard of the truck. Floyd’s garishly swollen cockhead ballooned visibly again and again, spitting out the product of his over-stimulated balls.
He groaned, his hands jerking as they gripped the wheel, and the truck snaked back and forth across the white line of the highway. Fortunately there was no other traffic.
“Goddamn!” Floyd said, still obviously finding it difficult to believe what had happened to him out of a clear sky on that lazy summer afternoon.
“You must not take the Lord’s name in vain,” Marcella cautioned in full sincerity as she stuffed the farmer’s softening sex organ back into his clothes. “God is good. He reveals to us what we should do and guides us in the completion of our work.”
Floyd quickly zipped his fly and stared at her. “Did you mean it about wantin’ to move in with my wife and me?”
“Oh, I certainly did!”
“Okay. Sarah might have a fit, but I reckon I can handle her. But I gotta warn you, we ain’t got a very big house. It’s gonna be crowded.”
“My children and I can sleep in the same bed,” Marcella replied.
“Huh? Why, they’s nearly teenaged, ain’t they?”
“They’re twin twelve-year-olds,” Marcella said proudly.
“Well, ain’t that a little old for a boy and girl to be bunkin’ together? Or for a boy to be bunkin’ with his mama?”
“Mr. Wilcox, my children and I are pure in the sight of the Lord.”
“Yeah. Well, what do you figger the Lord would think about what you and me just did?”
“Why, He wanted us to do that!”
Floyd blinked. “How do you know?”
“Because He told me so. I am in constant communication with Him.”
“Hellfire…” the farmer muttered to himself in consternation.
CHAPTER TWO
“So you see how the Lord constantly takes care of us?” Marcella said to her children as she walked nearly naked across the guest room that they occupied in the Wilcox farmhouse. “We had no money, and no place to go, but the Lord directed this nice man to take us in.”
Timmy and Beth were already snuggled into bed, and they gazed at their mother who strutted before them in her stockings, garters, and pink pants. The lad’s small dick was stiff as he stared at his mother’s bare titties. Perfect plump orbs they were, bulging with bouncy firmness, their rosy nipples cocked.
Timmy wriggled beneath the covers, and his sister gave him an inquisitive look. That funny thing, which she had noticed a few times, was happening to him again, she suspected. It seemed to happen when he looked at his mother, or at her, without their clothes on.
Beth wondered what it was all about when her twin brother’s pee-pee stuck straight up against his belly, exposing the small sac that hung at its base. She wondered what was in that sac and why boys needed such a thing. Of course, Timmy’s pee-pee was to pee with, but she couldn’t figure out why it sometimes stood up, stiff as a stick. Their mother always noticed when it did that, too, and she made little remarks about the Lord’s power and patted Timmy on the head.
Mama certainly has a big behind! young Beth thought as she watched her mother standing before the dresser mirror, wiping off the small amount of lipstick that she wore.
Marcella’s ass, while undeniably large, was nonetheless firm and shapely. Her panties were stretched to near bursting, the pink nylon drawn taut and thin around her lush buttocks. The lower portions of the pale hemispheres had escaped from her panty elastics.
Her thighs, above her stockings, were wide, promising a warm saddle for a man to sink into. But her children didn’t think anything about that, because they didn’t know about such things. Never having gone to public school or had any friends of their own age, because they were constantly with their mother and had spent their
entire lives moving from place to place, they knew only what she had taught them.
She turned to face them, stretched the waist elastic of her panties, and stripped the pink silken undergarment down, exposing her dark-brown, glossy muff.
Beth studied it with interest. Her mother had explained, in response to her question some time ago, that Beth herself would have hair down there when she got older. But she didn’t know if she really wanted to have any or not. It seemed kind of strange. Her mother had said that Timmy would have hair around his pee-pee, too.
Marcella bent forward, letting her breasts swoop and hang down while she ungartered her stockings. Beth knew, from the commercials on television and ads in the paper, that most women wore something called “pantyhose”, which came all the way up their legs and around their hips, in one piece. She had asked her mother why she didn’t wear pantyhose, and the answer had been the same as her mother’s answer to many other things: because the Lord wouldn’t like it.
Beth couldn’t quite figure out why the Lord cared what a woman wore underneath her skirt. But it seemed that He cared about lots of things — and what He wanted was what Beth’s mother did.
Young Timmy had his own thoughts as he watched his pretty mama, bent forward, unfastening the garters from her stockings. As she turned slightly to reach the different snaps, and as she moved her arms, her dangling, full breasts quivered. That made Timmy think about what a thrill it was when she lay in bed beside him and pressed those soft, smooth things against his face.
Sucking his mama’s titties gave him more pleasure than anything else in the world.
Marcella peeled her stockings down and off, hopping from one foot to the other, her breasts bouncing. Then she took her garter belt away.
She turned off the lamp, opened the window drapes to let some fresh air and moonlight into the room, and walked to the bed. She climbed in next to Timmy, as always, so that the lad was sandwiched between her and his twin sister.
The three of them had to lie very close to one another, since the bed had been designed for only two persons. Timmy faced his mother, who faced him, and Beth cuddled up to her brother’s back.
