Alma Figger was a typical housewife – her home was spic and span, dinners were right on time, and she always wore sexy dresses whenever she made her husband's dinner.
Tonight it was spaghetti surprise, a meal that meant she had to wake up at three in the morning to prepare for that night's dinner. Which meant that she only got three hours of sleep since her husband had fucked her ass, her cunt and her mouth – in that order – the night before.
But Alma didn't mind because, as previously mentioned, she was a typical American housewife.
And as a typical American housewife, she was dressed super sexily while draining the four hundred macaroni noodles – it had taken her one hour to make sure that there had been four hundred noodles in the package. She was dressed in a lime-green chiffon dress that clung tight to her titties and tight to her ass. Earrings dangled musically, from her ears, mascara artfully done, perfume in all those pulsating places.
Alma was average height, average weight, average forty-inch titties, average hot cunt. It was easy to see her average assets because she had noticed her titties when she had held up her frying pan and caught her reflection in the bottom of the skillet – the chiffon dress was so skimpy and so see-through that her tits looked like two eggs, sunny side up, in the frying pan.
And to see her cunt was even easier. Just look at the sparkling floor wherever Alma stood. Sloppy, unaverage wives thought that Alma's kitchen floor was so clean you could have eaten off it – but whenever she was standing over, the linoleum, in her average pantyless, wide-legged stance, men would have gladly licked the reflection of her pussy.
But Alma never acted seductive toward other men. No, she was faithful to her husband, Emory, just like the majority of American wives. She wouldn't dare think about letting another man see her pussy, or feel her forty-inch titties. God! Infidelity was abominable – or as Emory put it, "Alma, don't you never fuck around with no other man or I'll cut your clit off."
But Emory didn't have to say that because Alma was a normal typical wife who never had thoughts about another man's cock. And even those men who would sidle up to her and tell, her that they thought about her all the time, Alma would just reply. "Oh, pooh! All you men think alike."
Yes, Alma was an average, typical, normal housewife who was busily preparing her husband's seven-course meal atop a red tablecloth that couldn't possibly slide because of the candelabras and champagne glasses that helped to hold it don.
Alma looked around. Everything looked normal, average, typical. Oh, she almost forgot the most important minute detail – her lipstick! She hurried to the bathroom.
The Lysol smell was strong enough to overpower a greasy hillbilly, but to Alma the fragrance was perfectly average for her bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, putting on the last touches of her lipstick when she heard husband Emory coming in the front door.
"Alma! Where the fuck are ya? Didya get my bowling shirt pressed? Christ! I'm fuckin' late already."
Alma scurried to the closet and took out the silk shirt that had tile words HARD HAT STRIKERS emblazoned on the back.
She kissed her husband dutifully as he lobbed his construction hard hat onto the sofa.
"Jesus, what a day, Alma! Old man Conklin nearly got killed in the outhouse today."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, Jamieson, the new kid on the crew, tipped the fuckin' thing over with the fuckin' bulldozer. Christ! They're sure hiring some dumb fucks today. Can't trust none of these new long-haired kids they hire. But I'll still take some dumb fuck hippie kid over a Goddamn lazy nigger any day. What's for dinner?"
"Spaghetti surprise."
"Aw, fuck, Alma. You know how I hate that Goddamn Wop food. It just ain't got enough meat on it. Christ! You gotta go looking for the meat through all the sloppy red juice and all them hundreds of limp noodles. You know I hate Wop food."
Alma nodded her head, her hands in her lap.
"Aw, did I hurt your feelings, Alma?" Emory said, then planted a kiss on her forehead. "Don't worry, after I fuck the living daylights out of the best wife in the neighborhood, everything'll be all right."
Alma smiled cheerfully.
"In fact," Emory said heartily, "let's fuck first, then eat a quick meal. Would ya like that, Alma?"
Alma smiled her Avon lips at Emory, batted her Maybelline eyes at him.
Emory stripped off his dirty work shirt, skinned out of his soiled Levi's. "Christ! I can't wait to fuck you, Alma. Well, don't just stand there gawking at me. Start taking off that fucking dress." Alma unzipped the slinky, lime-green chiffon dress and it slithered to the floor. There wasn't anything else to take off.
"Boy," Emory said, licking his lips and removing his mangy shorts. "I can tell you're hot to fuck. Just look at your tits."
Alma looked at her tits. It was easy for her to see her tits because they stood out at least a foot from her chest. There was nothing unusual about her tits, at least from what she could see, but that was why she thought her husband was so smart and observant, because he could tell when her tits were lustful-looking before she could.
Emory's fuck boiiinngggeeed out in front of him. His greasy hand gave it a few jack-off strokes.
"Well, come on, Alma. You know what to do. Shit, we gotta do this fast or else I'll be late for bowling tonight."
Alma smiled pleasantly and got down on her knees. Emory held his cock until his wife nudged them away.
Her Avon lips moved in.
Her Maybelline eyes looked up at her dear husband.
Emory grabbed her dangling earrings and pulled her head forward. "Goddamn, Alma! Will you quit fucking around and hurry up!"
Alma quit fucking around and hurried up. Her lipsticked lips kissed the hot and taut glans of his prick. Then, in little romantic nibbles and love-bites, her mouth moved down the shaft of his cock. His cockhead bounced off the roof of her mouth before it angled down toward the basement of her throat.
Emory loved it. Christ! What average husband wouldn't like having his average beautiful wife blowing his cock every night before they sat down and gobbled down their spaghetti surprise.
"Oooooooh, Alma! Jesus! You can still cocksuck with the best of them! Oooooooh, Alma!"
Alma was pleased. Her titties did feel a little lustier now, just like her husband had told her they would.
Alma ate his cock with a ravenous hunger. Her head bobbed up and down, her lips were making lewd sucking noises, and his cock was shaking and quivering and growing harder and harder.
She looked up at her husband as his cock filled her aching jaws. Oh, what a beautiful man she had married. So wise, so wonderful.
Faster and faster her face moved, and if her face moved that fast, naturally her lips were moving just as fast as they sucked and nibbled and bit and blew and suckled and did everything that an average beautiful American housewife's mouth was supposed to do on her husband's prick.
Emory was getting more active. Christ, he had to hurry or he would have to miss dinner to keep that appointment with all those ten pins down at the bowling alley. And he knew that if he didn't eat before he bowled, he'd lose his hook, his high average and his prestige with the other guys on the HARD HAT STRIKERS team.
Holding her dangling earrings, Emory shoved all of his cock deep into Alma's mouth and watched her Maybelline eyes pop open with her gag reflex. Ooooooh, how beautiful she looked when she sucked his cock!
He moved back, his prick withdrawing from the tight suction of her vacuuming lips. Another pull on the earrings, and another cock-shove, brought another beautiful, angelic look to her face – her eyes were popping out, the gagging sound was very audible, her earlobes were stretched like some Ubangi's – African tribe that stretches their noses and ears with sticks and stones – yet, she looked so absolutely sensuous. Gash, he was glad he had married a hot-blooded girl.
Alma was going to vomit if Emory didn't pull his cock out of her mouth and release her earlobes. Aaaaaaaahhhhh, thank God. His cock pulled away and slushy noises accompanied the slow withdrawal.
Alma knew that Emory really loved her because of the intense and passionate way he always made love to her. Although, Emory always put it a different way: "Goddamn, Alma, if you don't give me the fucking hot balls everytime I lay eyes on you."
Alma knew she'd have to hurry. Emory had to eat, keep up his strength so that he could make that bawling date.
She did what Emory had taught her to do on their first date, which was before they were married. She fondled his balls as he shoved his cock down her throat again.
He had big balls, huge and hairy nuts that felt so deliciously good when she rolled them around like he had taught her to do at the drive-in on their first date.
Then, as Emory withdrew his cock from Alma's cocksucking lips, she inserted her right index finger – the only finger that she did not keep sharpened daily nor did it have fingernail polish like her other nine talons – into his asshole and finger-fucked his prostate while her left hand fucked around with his balls.
"Oooooooh, Alma! God, you gotta be the best learner that I ever taught!"
Alma tried to smile, but as most cocksucking girls know, it's very hard to smile when a fat cock is making an oval out of her mouth.
Alma sucked harder, finger-fucked his faster, fondled his balls furiously. Her tits were jumping around like crazy, and Emory was doing his own wild gyrations to the tune of a different mad drummer.
There she blows!
Sperm! Delicious oil of man! Cream a la carte! Ambrosia of the Gods! That's what Alma fantasized everytime Emory shot wads and wads of jizz into her gulping throat. It was so romantic, so thrilling, so deliciously sensuous and lovely.
Sperm! Cum! Jizz! Cockjuice!
That was what Emory called it as the delicious feeling of coming over powered his cock and overflowed her mouth.
"Aaaarrrcgghhh! I'm cooommiiinnnggg! Cum! Drink that jizz! You wonderful whore of a wife! Suck that sperm! Eat it, Alma! Eat every drop of my cockjuice. aarrggghh!"
Alma couldn't smile like she wanted to do but her eyes expressed a lot – she was batting them like crazy, trying to get Emory's attention.
But Emory's head was tilted far back as he tried to get that last hunch-shove of his cock into her throat. Then he went limp, his body, his mind, and his cock – and it was the latter that gave Alma room to breathe, to suck in air and cum juice at the same time.
Emory fell backwards, his cock plopping out of Alma's cum-drenched mouth. Her finger was almost broken in half, and Emory had to turn on his side on the couch in order for Alma to get her finger out of his writhing asshole.
"Aaaaaaah, Alma! What a wife! What a beautiful wife!" Emory would have kissed her then, except he didn't like to taste his own cum. He tasted hot sweat as he pecked her forehead.
Alma smiled, and this time the effort was not hindered.
Emory patted her on the head.
"Well, hurry up and get dinner on the table. I'll go wash up, then we'll eat, then I gotta get my ass down to the bowling alley. Christ, we got off against the Mannington Truckers tonight!"