Coach Crowley literally pounced on his wife when he got home that day. Shit, his balls were so uptight from remembering Marcia Moresby's hot ass sashaying around in the girls' locker room that he now knew what it felt like to have a case of "blue balls".
Delia had been washing dishes when Coach Crowley walked in through the kitchen door. The smell of roast beef wafted from the oven. The sports page was already set next to his plate on the table.
But he didn't want to read about the Buffalo Bills getting killed by the San Diego Chargers fifty-two to nothing. He didn't want to eat any of that two-dollars-a-pound roast beef. He wanted to fuck… now!
"All right, woman, let's get it on," Coach Crowley grumbled, unzipping his pants and dropping them to the linoleum.
Delia, a hefty mammoth-titted women, cursed softly. Shit, she didn't want any part of fucking Coach Crowley now. She had had a hard day. Her feet hurt, her arms pained her, the agony that spiked into her spine was pure torture.
There had been a ton of laundry; she had waxed every inch of the kitchen floor; she had picked up the dog-shit that her neighbor's basset hound had deposited on both front and back lawns.
"Samuel," Delia implored beseechingly, "I have a headache."
"You won't have a headache after you see what I got ready for you," Coach Crowley said as he jammed his cock against her ass, shoving her cotton print dress deep into her pantied ass-crack.
"Please don't, Samuel. I'm exhausted."
"Come on, Delia. You won't be tired when I haul your ass on the table and put the meat to your cunt."
Delia tried to rinse off the roast pan, but Coach Crowley's cock was digging harder and harder into her ass-cheeks, making her fleshy tits wobble in her bra.
"Come on, Delia. Let's fuck. Now!"
Delia knew she couldn't get out of performing her wifely duty. When Samuel Crowley got a hard-on, and when his balls were swollen with lust, some woman was going to get her ass fucked off.
"All right, Samuel, all right. Just take it easy."
"Come on, Delia, we ain't got all day. Get your ass on that table and spread wide."
Delia undid the apron, turned around to face her husband.
His face was sweating like a tenderloin cooked at high heat. He was holding his cock, the slit in the prick-head aimed right at her. A drop of cum appeared before Coach Crowley gave his porker a good shaking, the slimy sperm-drop falling on the freshly waxed floor.
"Shit, Delia, can't you see how hot I am?"
Delia nodded, lifted up her dress and dropped her panties.
"Please do it easy, Samuel. It really hurts when you dolt too hard."
"Yahoooo!" Coach Crowley shouted when he glimpsed Delia's hairy brown twat. "Boy, I can tell you're more eager than I am. Just look at your cunt oozing juice!"
Which wasn't true at all. Delia's pussy was as dry as the Sahara. Her cunt-lips weren't even open yet. She wasn't hotter than her husband, and she sure didn't want to fuck at five o'clock dinnertime. Christ, they should be feeding their faces instead of their lusts.
"Do we have to do it on the kitchen table, Samuel? That always seems so… so disgusting."
Coach Crowley sneered, jacked his prick a couple of times. "Delia, when people are as hot as we are, they fuck all over the place. Now come on, get on that fucking table and spread!"
Delia resignedly got her ass on the table – the fucking table – and spread. She was on her back, her ass pooched over the edge, her thighs spread so far apart that one knee touched Coach Crowley's dinner plate, the other his sports page.
Laid out wide like she was, Coach Crowley was drooling and more white cream was flowing from his prick-hole. Shit, she sure wasn't any Marcia Moresby. Delia was a hefty chunky woman whose best assets were her cooking and her tits.
"Ooooohhh, Delia, you hot-cunt woman! Here I come, ready or not!"
Delia Crowley was not a hot-cunt woman, at least not today, and she definitely wasn't ready to have her hefty ass fucked off by her swarthy, sweating husband.
Coach Crowley seemed to jump between her widespread thighs, guiding his prick into the heat of her pussy. He looked down, getting his rocks off at the sight of his bulging cock-head pushing Delia's puffy cunt-lips.
"Please, Samuel. Do it easy. It really does hurt when you do it hard!"
Samuel did it hard, really hard, getting all of his two hundred fifty pounds behind the heaving shove of his hips. His cock bent slightly then straightened out as it shot deep and him into Delia's dry cunt-hole.
"Aaaaiiieee!! Oh, Samuel! You're hurtin' me! Please dolt easy! Don't do it hard!"
Coach Crowley grinned at Delia. Grinned lasciviously. "Aw, don't feed me that horse-shit, Delia. All women like getting fucked hard and [missing text]."
"Please, Samuel. Do it easy."
Coach Crowley was withdrawing his prick, getting ready for the next cavalry charge into her pussy. Bugles seemed to blare and the sound of someone screaming could be heard somewhere behind the back of his mind. Hog-fucking shit! It sure felt good to ram and jam his cock into a tight, hot cunt!
"Aaagggghhh!" Delia moaned. Christ, his cock was killing her. She didn't want to fuck, didn't want to have his prick in her cunt, just didn't want to be penetrated to the womb by the thunderous dong that filled her cunt when Coach Crowley was coming. The whole fucking neighborhood knew when Coach Crowley was coming. He was bellowing like a boar getting its nuts crushed by a vise.
"Aaarrrrggghhh!! Oh, fucking Lord! So good! So fucking good!"
Delia was writhing in pain, her thighs slapping Coach Crowley's hunching hips with sweaty slaps. Shit, it felt as if Coach Crowley were trying to stuff a football into her cunt – lengthwise. But at least be was coming, spurting the final drops of jizz into her cunt.
Coach Crowley pulled out as soon as the last of his fuck juice emptied out of his prick-tube. He gazed down at the mess between Delia's thighs. Her cunt looked bruised, puffy-like, dribbling white streams of jism all over the fucking kitchen table.
"Not bad, eh, Delia? Now, come on and get up. I sure am hungry after a hot fuck like that."
Delia got up, her dress sliding back into place. She bowlegged it over to the kitchen sink, cum-juice tracks trailing after her.
Coach Crowley began devouring the roast beef. Shit, it was cold and tasted flat. And as he gobbled down huge slices of meat, thoughts of Marcia Moresby's hot ass-cheeks clouded his mind. Shit, he sure could use a piece of that.
As he swallowed the meat, washed it down with beer, he vowed that if he couldn't fuck Marcia's ass by the end of the semester, he would at least go back to fucking Connie Ryan – in the ass, the way she really liked to get fucked, just like the way his wife liked to be fucked in the cunt.
Shit, women sure were particular about where they got cock.
They always fucked in the dark, because it was only proper and Christian to fuck in the dark. And they only fucked when they wanted to make babies, and that was why there were thirteen little Worthingtons running around Weedville.
Now, they were trying to make the fourteenth little Worthington. A very solemn occasion, considering that in fourteen years of marriage Reverend Jordan Worthington had only fucked his wife thirteen times.
He looked forward to creating the fourteenth Worthington.
The pious Elizabeth Stanton Worthington dreaded the act of sexual congress. She couldn't understand why God couldn't have devised a better, more decent way of creating angelic girls and devilish boys. Why couldn't He have made it so that in a handshake a couple would create their children? Nobody would think that a handshake was a nasty thing. The child could then just pop out of the woman's wrist. Presto! Another wonderful babe produced by the joining of hands. How wonderful it would be.
She shushed herself; she had no right questioning the way God had devised for a man and woman to make babies – filthy, sloppy and nasty though it be.
"Are you there, Elizabeth?" Reverend Worthington called as he stepped into the pitch-black bedroom.
"I am here, Jordan."
Reverend Worthington was naked. Of course, his wife wouldn't know that he was naked until she touched him.
Elizabeth Worthington was naked, too, shivering in dread anticipation atop the sheets, the blankets neatly piled by her spread-apart feet.
Jordan Worthington touched her feet.
"Oh there you are, Elizabeth."
His hands were resting on her feet, and he was trying to figure out how high up on the bed he would have to crawl before his cock got into her cunt. He started crawling.
"Please be kind and gentle, Jordan."
Reverend Worthington was trying to be as kind and gentle as he could. But it was so damn ridiculous trying to find her cunt in the dark. He knew it was around here someplace.
Ah! There it was. He had brushed it with his knee; he had moved too fat up the bed. He backtracked, placed his kindly hands as gently as possible on Elizabeth's trembling hips.
Reverend Worthington could feel her legs start to move up: she was ready to receive his seed.
His cock was ready: shit, it had been ready for this occasion for the last three weeks. Ever since the last time be had been over to Connie Ryan's place, fucking and sucking the shit out of her cunt. He thought of Connie Ryan now. Imagined that it was Connie Ryan be was going to screw.
His cock was quivering, the tip exuding droplets of pit-cum on Elizabeth's pussy-mound.
"Eeeeekkk!" Elizabeth shrieked. Why did sex have to be so nasty!
Jordan had almost jumped out of the bed when she shrieked. "Are you hurt, Elizabeth?"
"N-No, Jordan. Just nervous, I guess." Elizabeth bit her lower lip. She could feel that drop of sperm winding its way through the hairs of her pussy, sliding oozingly through the slit of her cunt, finally resting wetly in the crack of her ass. She tensed her body. Prayed to God.
"Are you ready, Elizabeth?"
"Y-Yes, Jordan. I am ready to receive your seed." Why did sex make her feel like she was lying in hog turds?
Jordan lowered his body atop his wife's trembling flesh. His prick-head grazed against the lips of her cunt, and Elizabeth jumped as if someone had shaved a douche nozzle up her ass. Naturally her hips lunged in the wrong direction – towards Jordan's ready-to-burst prick.
The prick slid in; the full knob of his cock was inside her pussy.
Elizabeth jumped again. Fear was commanding her movements. She didn't want that prick up her cunt, but she was becoming so anxiety-ridden that every movement she made was forcing her cunt onto the shaft of Jordan's prick. God worked in mysterious ways.
Blood oozed from her lips. Tears were beginning to sting her eyes. Jordan's body was shaking so hard on top of her that she thought she could hear his bones rattling.
Of course, Jordan was shaking because he knew he couldn't bring himself to fuck his wife like he wanted to. No, he would have to fuck his wife like God intended. Not with lustful, open-mouthed roars that spewed spit across the sheets; not with hammering hips that would aggravate his hernia condition; not with his cock jabbing quickly in and out of Elizabeth's dry snatch while he thought of Connie Ryan's hot cunt devouring his prick.
Jordan slid his prick into Elizabeth's twat as kindly and as gently as he could. Now his balls fitted easily between the gap of her ass-cheeks.
Elizabeth was ready to faint. Endure. Endure. Endure.
Think of how sacred this act was. Think of how holy this union was. Think of the children that this would create. Don't think about the pain that stabbed viciously into her cunt, that seemed to rip through her pussy like a branding iron when in actuality Jordan had slipped his prick in as easily as putting on a glove.
Jordan drew back, his haunches tense, the muscles of his ass feeling like steel cords. Then, slowly, back into her cunt, his cock separating her pussy-lips, opening up her inner twat tissues, fighting desperately to get as far up into her pussy as it could.
Sheeeeiitttt! He was ready to cone! In one sacred stroke he was ready to seed the furrow of her cunt.
He came.
In holy streams.
Hot and steamy sperm that had been lying dormant in his balls for three weeks.
He couldn't help it.
His prick and balls couldn't help it.
Nature couldn't help it; she was making him ejaculate wads of sperm into his wife's tight pussy.
Even God was on his side, or so Jordan thought. He had never come so hard in his life, as the spurts of jism pulsed from his flaring cock-head.
Elizabeth said: "Eeeekkkk!" as if his prick were a mouse.
But Jordan's prick wasn't a mouse; it was a rat because the owner of such a boner was thinking all the time about Connie Ryan's pussy and how it would be grabbing his prick and shaking every drop of spunk out of it, not like his wife's pussy was doing now. Shit, what a dead cunt, like fucking left-over meat that had been in the refrigerator for two days.
Jordan couldn't wait to get back to the old regiment of fucking Connie Ryan once a week. He had put off seeing her for three weeks because he had to show Elizabeth his faithfulness to her by fucking her as if he hadn't fucked in a year.
He thought he had done a pretty good job.