“We saw you from the window,” said Mrs. Jones. “We thought you might like some company.”
“Can we come in?” Mr. Jones’ big body blocked out anything else from sight.
The question confused her as did their friendliness. Given a choice she didn’t know what to say? They stood on the stoop, patiently waiting for her decision.
A minute went by. Then another. After the third full minute that Mrs. Smith stayed mute, they turned to each other. Both Joneses raised an eyebrow in silent communication. Mrs. Jones turned first, taking a step as though she were ready to go and head back over into her yard.
“No, please.” Mrs. Smith’s voice was loud enough for the neighbors across the street to hear. “Where are my manners? Come in.”
The two came crossed the threshold one after the other. Mrs. Smith closed the door behind them. The filled her large kitchen with their presence and it suddenly felt cramped.
“Those cookies smell amazing,” said Mr. Jones. He leaned down and took a whiff of the cooling treats on the tray. Then his gaze locked on hers. “Can I have some of your cookies, Mrs. Smith?”
“Yes.” Her answer was automatic and breathless.
He crooked his finger. “Come give me some.”
Mrs. Smith crossed to him on wobbly legs. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Mrs. Jones fingering her kitchen utensils. Mrs. Smith scooped a cookie of the pan and presented it to Mr. Jones. He looked at the brown disc. Then he looked back at her.
“That’s not the cookie I want.” He shook his head slowly from left to right. “You know the cookie I want. It’s pink and throbbing and dripping with sweet juices.”
On the other side of the counter, Mrs. Jones took out the French rolling pin Mrs. Smith had used on the cookie dough.
“Are you gonna share your cookies with us?” asked Mrs. Jones. She slapped the pin in the palm of her hand to punctuate the question.
It made Mrs. Smith jump, but it also made the sweet juices Mr. Jones referred to spill all over the lining of her panties. She looked between the two. She’d let them in now. She didn’t have a choice any longer. She’d have to give them what they wanted. It was now beyond her control.
Mrs. Smith reached up under her skirt and pulled her panties down. They were so wet that the fabric flapped against the warm skin of her inner thigh. Mr. Jones reached his hand under her skirt. He ran his fingers through her bare, swollen lips.
She trembled at his touch. She couldn’t help herself. There was nothing she could do to stop him.
When she felt his fingers leave her private flesh, she squeezed her thighs shut, but not in time. Mr. Jones withdrew his glistening fingers and put them in his mouth.
“Mmm,” he groaned. “Warm, and sweet, and moist. Just the way I like it.”
Mrs. Smith pressed her thighs together for a completely different reason now. There was no friction at the apex of her legs. Her skin slipped and squished from all the moisture leaking out of her. She gave a helpless yelp as she felt a tug at the back of her head.
“What time’s your husband get home?” Mrs. Jones asked. The other woman’s lips were pressed against Mrs. Smith’s ear as she held her head back.
“In an hour,” said Mrs. Smith. “He’s picking up the kids after work.”
“You better hope we’re done eating your cookies by then.” Mrs. Jones shoved Mrs. Smith down.
Mrs. Smith dropped to her knees from the force of the push. Her knee caps and palms planted against the cold linoleum. Her head dropped, and she stared at the two pairs of feet closing in on her. She looked up at the sound of a zipper being tugged.
Mr. Jones unzipped his pants. He took out that huge cock of his. On the tip, a clear dollop of his essence glistened like nectar on a blossom.
“Open,” he said.
Mrs. Smith did as he said. With his wife’s hands in her hair, yanking her head back, she didn’t really have a choice.
She opened her mouth wide. Her tongue slipped out in anticipation of that dollop of nectar. She didn’t want it to spill on her clean floors.
Mr. Jones shoved his cock all the way down her throat, skipping over the tip of her tongue. Mrs. Smith choked as her mouth, her jowls, her throat were filled. He didn’t pull out to allow her to catch her breath. He thrust deeper. She had to figure out how to relax so that she wouldn’t embarrass herself by throwing up and thus making an even bigger mess of her clean floors.
She felt Mrs. Jones behind her. Mrs. Smith’s skirt was being rucked up. She felt the wooden pin being rubbed between her thighs. She wanted to protest. It was difficult to clean wood. But she thought better of it. Besides her mouth was otherwise occupied.
“Hand me the olive oil, will you, babe?”
Mrs. Smith felt movement over her head. Then she felt oil dripping down her ass. Hands parted her cheeks. A finger rubbed all down the crack of her. Mrs. Smith made to shove her legs together, but felt a crack on her ass.
She jerked and Mr. Smith’s dick slipped even further down her throat. Mrs. Smith decided to hold still instead of protesting. There wasn’t much she could do to stop them, anyway. She’d let them in.
But next, Mrs. Smith felt the rolling pin’s tip circling the opening at her back door. There was no way she could sanitize the device now. Especially, not when it breached her puckered hole. She squirmed.
“Calm down,” said Mrs. Jones. “I’m just opening your ass up.”
Mrs. Smith felt true panic, but there wasn’t much she could do. There was still a dick in her mouth and a pin was breeching her ass. She calmed when fingers rubbed the oil on the throbbing bud at the front of her legs. With the cock in her mouth and the fingers on her clit, the thing breaching her ass took a backseat.
“We gotta stretch this dough,” said Mrs. Jones. “Make sure your cookies are good and ready for us.”
Mrs. Smith’s climax happened just as the pin made its way past a burning ring. She couldn’t figure out which to focus on the burning in her ass or the ringing of her clit. She just let them both happen.
Then she felt air borne. Her face planted onto a hard, cool surface. She was face down on her counter top. One foot was on the floor with only her big toe to anchor her. The other leg was pulled up onto the counter so that she was spread wide.
She saw the pin hit the counter beside her. Mrs. Jones set the utensil aside and picked up the gnarly, thick zucchini Mrs. Smith had been preparing to cut up for her husband’s congratulatory casserole. Mrs. Smith felt the vegetable making its way up her ass.
Her chest was working overtime as the squash made its entrance. But she didn’t struggle. She couldn’t.
Mrs. Jones climbed onto the counter and sat down in front of her. Mrs. Smith wasn’t sure when the other woman had taken her underwear off. Perhaps she’d never been wearing any to begin with. Mrs. Jones yanked Mrs. Smith’s head up and planted her face in her pussy.
“Lick it while I work your ass.”
Mrs. Smith stared at the pink pussy in front of her. She had no choice but to dip her tongue into the wet folds. She licked and sucked as her ass was pumped with the squash.
The pain receded and was replaced with something… else. Mrs. Smith suckled Mrs. Jones’ pussy as she tried to determine what this sensation was. Her tongue licked up and down the other woman’s folds as the green cock probed deeper.
Mrs. Smith suckled Mrs. Jones’ clit as the squash retreated. She ran her greedy mouth all around when Mrs. Jones hit a particular spot that had her legs shaking. The orgasm took Mrs. Smith by surprise as her ass clenched around the hard vegetable, tenderizing the stiff squash.
“She’s such a fucking slut,” said Mrs. Jones. “I think she wants more.”
“Let’s give her more,” said Mr. Jones. “We wouldn’t be good neighbors otherwise.”
That’s when Mrs. Smith felt Mr. Jones’ thick cock at her front entrance. She squealed as the vegetable met the man’s meat at the center of her. Her cheek squished onto the pristine counter top as the cock
and the zucchini were pumped mercilessly in and out of her.
“Who told you to stop licking my cunt.”
Mrs. Smith turned her mindless tongue back onto Mrs. Jones. But her movements were uncoordinated as the twin dicks pumped her, coaxing another orgasm out of her. She didn’t know where it began? In her cunt or in her ass. But the sensations kept going round and round. She could do nothing but let it happen.
Mrs. Smith sucked Mrs. Jones’ clit hard as the sensations ran through her. Mrs. Jones threw her head back and groaned. Mrs. Smith felt the other woman’s pussy muscles clench around her tongue. Mrs. Jones rubbed her pussy all over Mrs. Smith’s face, along her nose, over her eyes, down her chin until cum juices dropped off her cheeks.
Between her legs, at the front and at the back. Neither Jones stopped the work of pumping into her ass and pussy.
Mrs. Jones turned over on the counter onto all fours. “Lick my ass.”
Mrs. Smith had to think for a moment. Had she heard her right? When she looked up she was confronted with Mrs. Jones’ dark, puckered hole instead of the pink bud. But she’d never licked someone’s ass. She’d never even thought of it. It couldn’t be hygienic. It was an exit.
But she didn’t have a choice. She gave it a taste test. She didn’t quite care for the taste, but she did like the texture. She liked the way Mrs. Jones puckered and strained back into her tongue even more.
Mr. Jones switched the places of the zucchini and his cock. He shoved the zucchini as far up her pussy as it would go. Then he pumped mercilessly into her ass.
“She’s such a naughty little slut,” said Mrs. Jones. “Spank her.”
Mrs. Smith felt the cracks of Mr. Jones large hand on her ass. She felt him pump in and out and then a crack. Her pussy clenched around the vegetable. Her ass clenched around the thrusting cock. Her tongue flicked over the dark skin. Her mind reeled from all the sensation.
The zucchini was pulled out of her dripping cunt. Mr. Jones pulled his cock out of her ass. Mrs. Smith felt hollow with nothing grounding inside her. She was turned around and put back down on the floor on her knees.
“Finish me off.” Mr. Jones ripped off a condom and the eye of his cock stared at her. It was completely glossy with juices dripping all over it.
It had just been in her cunt and in her ass. But she didn’t have a choice. She opened her mouth, and he shoved it down her throat. All the musk and juices invaded her mouth, taking over her taste buds.
Mr. Jones pumped and pumped until he exploded all over her tongue. Mrs. Smith’s instincts were to spit him out. But she didn’t. Once his essence hit her tongue, she felt greedy. She swallowed every drop of him down.
When she opened her eyes, he was stuffing that glorious cock back down inside his pants. Mrs. Jones was arranging her sundress. Then she picked up two cookies from the pan.
“Thanks for the cookies,” Mrs. Jones said as she pulled open the back door. “Sounds like you’re family is pulling in.”
And then they were gone.
Mrs. Smith had just enough time to splash water on her face before her kids came running in the door. Her husband came in and put his suitcase on the counter.
“I’m starving,” he said. He looked at the cutting board where the discarded knife lay along with the zucchini. “Oh good, you’re putting zucchini in the casserole.”
The Ex
It had taken her two months to find him, but she always did. No matter how far Jones went she always tracked him down, always would. Each time he said it was over between them, she’d listen obediently, on her knees the way he preferred her. But as soon as the door closed behind him, she’d rise and start tracking him down.
When she got even a hint of a clue as to where he may have gone, she’d packed up her entire life and pick up his trail. She’d beg, barter, steal, and fuck her way across cities, states, and countries to be with him.
It had taken her three months this time. But she’d found him in this sleepy little town. And now she was at his door.
She’d gone to his office first. She’d thought it might be best to meet him out in public. It was simple to sneak in. Once she did she saw him. He sat behind a big mahogany desk with his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. Just the sight of his bare arms and long fingers nearly made her fall to her knees and wet her pants.
She’d come closer until she was within earshot. But then she overheard him talking to her on the phone. From the one-sided conversation, she deciphered that The Bitch would be out late and Jones would be heading home early.
Perfect.
The sun was setting on the quiet street. She walked up to the Joneses’ door and rang the doorbell. She could’ve broken in. It would be a matter of a hair pin and some patience. But the last time she’d done that it did hadn’t gone over well.
Sure, she’d been punished, and what a lovely punishment it had been. But after the sting wore off her ass, The Bitch had tossed her out into the street and not let her back in.
Of course she hadn’t left. She’d stayed on the stoop for days. The Bitch just stepped over her and went on with her day. Jones had come out and talked with, lecturing her on her naughty behavior. She had listened, but before she could show her contrition, they’d packed up and left.
She knocked a second time, her patience quickly fleeing her. But she folded her hands demurely into her lap instead of searching out something she could pick their lock with. She was trying to show Jones that she’d taken some of his words to heart. So she didn’t break the lock. She rang his doorbell a third time and waited like a normal person.
The door swung open. He filled the frame. The sun shone on his rugged good looks like his home was the stage and he was in the spotlight. She sighed at the sight of him. He sighed at the sight of her.
She lowered her gaze trying hard to look penitent. When that didn’t work she opened her trench coat. Aside from her heels, she was completely bare under there.
He sighed again, but there was no bite this time. He opened the door wider, and she quickly ducked inside.
“I’m surprised it took you this long to find me,” he said as he closed the door behind her. “You know you’re going to be punished.”
She dropped to her knees. Partly out of respect. But also because her knees went weak with those words she’d been dying to hear for the past 98 days. She would chase this man to the end of the earth to get his brand of discipline.
Jones came over, his bare feet sounded like a thunderous march in her head. Her heart kicked up like drumsticks beat out a rhythm inside her chest. Jones ran his hands through her hair. His thumb caressed her cheek. Her breathing sped up in anticipation.
He was not a gentle lover. Not with her. His fist gripped her scalp until it scalded. He wrenched her head back.
“Unzip my pants.”
She did. Her eager fingers took the time to feel up the bulge behind the zipper as she unclenched its teeth.
“Open your mouth.”
She did, trying to keep her breathing even. She also had to swallow a few times least she drooled on his feet. And then Jones shoved his glorious cock down her throat. There was no easy in. He never allowed her the easy route. No, he shoved himself completely in her mouth. His pubic hairs tickled her nose. His cockhead touched her uvula. His dick had long since beaten her gag reflex out of her. So, she tilted her head back angling to get more of him.
“Good girl. On your feet.”
He pulled his dick from her mouth and she whimpered at its loss. But she obeyed.
“Yes, Master.”
“Down to the basement.”
She tried to keep the pep out of her step. This was a punishment. But she loved being punished.
She didn’t know this house, but she knew which door to head for. The door to the basement was painted red. Every house he bought with The Bitch they put in a sex dungeon and painted the door red.
The door opened and the lights nearly blinded her. Her eyes focused on everything, wanting to try ev
ery new toy. But her Master brought over rope.
She offered her hands, and he tied them. Tight. The rope chaffed the tender skin at her wrist. He shoved her back on the bed. Her ass landed on the soft cushion with a hard thump.
He was on her before she righted herself. His knees pinned her arms down as he tied each of her bound wrists to the two top end posts. Then he reached down for her ankles. He bent her right ankle to her thigh as though she were kneeling, but her knees pointed up as she lay on her back. He looped the rope around her thigh, binding her ankles to each of her thighs. Then he tied the ends of those ropes to the same posts that held her wrists.
She was, in effect, spread eagle on the bed. Her pussy was wide open for his use. So too was her ass. Each of her holes clenched at the air, hungry to be filled by anything he would offer her.
“What did I tell you the last time?” he asked.
“Don’t follow you.”
“And did you listen?”
“No, Master.”
He slapped her ass. One smack on each side. She was already rising off the bed even though she was bound.
He ran his fingers over her bared cunt and she moaned. He reached under the bed and pulled out a thick paddle that looked like a spatula.
He tapped it on her bared cunt. It made squishy sounds more than it made smacking sounds because she was so wet.
“How many times have we been through this?” He tapped her pussy with the paddle as he spoke.
“I… I…” She couldn’t focus with that paddle tapping at her cunt.
“Count with me,” he said and then gave her a whack.
That whack permeated her juices and made a sound that cracked the air. She gasped and reared off the bed.
Whack. “Florida, that was one.”
“Yes, Master. One.”
“Texas,” he whacked, and she screamed.
“Two, Master.”
Whack. “Colorado.”
“Three, Master.”
He whacked her five more times for each place she’d turned up on his doorstep after he and The Bitch had left her behind on purpose. The pain of the last whack had her clit humming. She couldn’t stop shaking, but neither could she close her legs to assuage some of the sensation.
Keeping It Up with the Joneses Page 8
