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.
CHAPTER FOUR
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.'
'You mean I'm hired already,' he said with a surprised grin. 'Great!'
Tingling from his enthusiasm, I opened the door and beckoned for him to follow me into the house. I was glad that the air conditioning was on because it gave me a reason to close the door behind us, creating the privacy I craved for what I had in mind.
'Why don't you have a seat,' I said to him, gesturing to a chair directly across from the sofa.
After he was seated I settled on the couch, taking care that my skirt crept up my shapely thighs so he couldn't help but get a good look at my charms. I was pleased as I took note of the quick movement of his eyes toward my legs. Then he flushed and breathed deeply, obviously conscious of the goodies I was just beginning to flash at him.
'Did you want me to work one day a week, or what?' he asked, apparently making a strong attempt to look me directly in the eyes and not permit himself to steal another glance at my exposed thighs. I thought he was too cute for words.
'Why don't you see how things work out today, and then we'll take it from there,' I said. I kept my voice pitched low and alluring, sounding just inviting enough to keep him interested in more than merely mowing my lawn, but not attempting any out-and-out sexual innuendoes just yet. There were a few things I wanted to find out about him first before I came on so strong there would be no turning back.
He was nodding his head as he leaned forward, resting his tanned arms on his widely spread legs. Yes, there was more than a faint bulge in the crotch of his faded jeans. 'I'd be glad to work as much and as often as you want me to, ma'am.' He coughed slightly, obviously nervous. 'I'll do anything to you, ma'am… Er, excuse me, I didn't say that right. I meant I'll do anything for you.'
I leaned forward on purpose, carefully gauging my movements to slowly turn him on. It was a move designed to make my skirt creep up even higher on my thighs, and it worked. My skirt was now about as high as it would go. And since I had purposely left off my panties when I had dressed this morning, I knew the guy could see the beginning suggestion of my hairy, sopping cunt. It was just a matter of time.
From the expression on his face, he was not only aware of my bare pussy, he was quite excited about having seen it.
I teased him a little. 'Is there something wrong?' My eyes were riveted on his. Then they slid down to the well of his crotch. His jeans were bulging more than ever.
'Uh… uh, no, ma'am,' he stammered, fighting to keep himself under control. 'Uh, by the way, my name is… my name is Ron Manning.' He looked completely bewildered.
'Oh, forgive me for not introducing myself,' I apologized. 'I'm Mrs. Fredericks. Alice Fredericks.'
He smiled nervously, revealing a sparkling row of white, healthy teeth. 'I'll do a good job on you… I mean on your lawn, Mrs. Fredericks.'
I pondered his two apparent slips of the tongue. Maybe he was sharper than I was giving him credit for. Was he perhaps playing a little game, too… with me?
I decided to find out. I'd make an overt statement, one that I could draw back from if necessary. 'Ron,' I
