The happiest couple on Sophocles Street were the Marples, a young couple that had quaint, old-fashioned ideas of living like Orson Marple mowed the lawn, cleaned the chimney, repaired the car and fucked around only with his wife. And like Ethel Marple cooked dinner, kept house, and clipped out sales coupons and only fucked around with Orson.
Yes they were a happy couple, or maybe they were only happy because they were the only ones with a sense of normalcy on Sophocles Street. They were unlike that unemployed Herbert Marcuse and his wife Marcie who lived two doors down from them. They sure as hell weren't like the niggers who lived next door – Christ, Orson didn't even know which fingers to stick into a bowling ball. And Ethel sure didn't act like that Miss America whom, Rachel Lindsay – for one thing Ethel didn't have tits like her nor did she keep a dummy in the house.
The only ones they usually visited was that Armenian couple – well, really only a half an Armenian couple, because Connie Balakian was half-Welsh, half-Apache but that was all right with the Marples because they weren't prejudiced.
The only times the Marples weren't happy was when they had to go to work. Orson always left home promptly at six-fifteen in the morning, Huxley tweed suit on, attache case in hand – the typical Madison Avenue executive look.
The only problem was Orson's official occupational title was Supervisor of Sanitation Engineers, Crew Ten – which in plain old-fashioned language meant that he was head honcho of fifteen garbage-trucking niggers. But, being as he lived in a fifty-thousand-dollar home in a well-to-do middle-class neighborhood on the north side of Waco, Texas, shit he couldn't very well tell all his friendly neighbors that he was a garbage man. So he told them that he was a meteorologist for IGY.
If Orson was embarrassed over what he did to bring the bacon home, Ethel always got twice as red when she told everyone that she was a fashion coordinator. Of course, everyone believed her because she was always dressed so nice.
When she'd leave at six-thirty, she'd have on her trim, well-tailored Dallas original design which was usually a dress that she bought for $1.95 at Woolworth's and added some lacy trim, a couple of extra big buttons, a couple of frills here and there to make it look like something that had to be specially ordered from Texas' most progressive city, Dallas.
Well, that was the image everybody had of Ethel as she left her home in the mornings – which she was off to another busy fashion day at the office. When in reality, Ethel would take their Ford Ranchero station wagon, park it at an Exxon station on the south side of town, change into denim shirts and Levi's and catch the first bracero bus to the Wild Pecos Prune Ranch where she would work for ten hours as the prune ranch's fastest prune packer.
But, overall the Marples were happy, even though they had to put up within five-day role so that everybody around them thought that they had a sense of belonging to the Sophocles Street society.
But today was Saturday, and Orson had finished trimming the Bermuda lawn, Ethel had just cleaned out the garbage disposal, and they were in the shower together acting more like teen-agers with the hots than people who had been married for five years.
Ethel was on her knees, bits of shower spray stinging her face. In her mouth was Orson's cock. In her hands were Orson's balls. She was so faithful to Orson that she had never had another man's cock in her mouth or another man's balls in her hands.
Which is a pretty rare occurrence in America today.
Orson's back was to the shower nozzle and most of the fine spray was buzzing against his spine. His hands were against the tile wall to support himself as he lunged again and again into Ethel's mouth, sinking his cock deep and true into her mouth and down her throat.
Orson loved Ethel. Ethel loved Orson. They were made for each other.
Usually they didn't indulge in freaky sex things like cocksucking, but Ethel knew that Orson loved to have his prick sucked every once in a while, and she was more than willing to perform the task because she loved him.
As her cheeks bulged with her mouthful of cock, Ethel looked up and winked at Orson.
Orson huffed and puffed as her mouth made delicious sucking noises on his cock. He winked back at her. He didn't mind having his cock sucked, but he knew that Ethel loved to suck his cock every once in a while and he was more than willing to perform the task because he loved her.
So, thinking only of each other's pleasure, cocksucking was something that both of them didn't want to indulge in.
Ethel grasped the shaft of Orson's prick and gave it a few hot and heavy jerks. Orson moaned, pretended to be pleasured. Ethel moaned, pretending that she wanted to gobble all of his prick when, in actuality, she couldn't wait to get his prick into her cunt.
Ethel reached under and felt her pussy. Was that shower water or cunt-juice? Christ, the lips of her pussy were so slippery. Then she felt Orson's hands on the top of her head.
Was he trying to push her away because he was thinking of her?
She remained firmly in place, forcing more of his cock into her mouth until the big mushroom head touched the back of her throat.
Orson tightened his grip on her head. Was she trying to eat all his cock because she was only thinking of him and his pleasure? Oman tied to shove her head away from his cock.
Ethel fought him hard, her teeth coming into gentle play all around his prick.
They seesawed back and forth like that for almost ten slushy-noised minutes. He trying to shove her away, she trying to shove his prick into her mouth. What a lovely pair they made! Always thinking of the other's pleasure.
Orson could feel that wonderful sensation of pre-cum oozing out of his cock. Jesus, his wife didn't have to swallow that if she didn't want to. God, he wasn't a pervert or something – just a man who loved his wife and wanted to see to her needs.
Ethel tasted that droplet of cum-juice that leaked out of his cock. Gosh, maybe he wanted to cum in her mouth for the first time. Having Orson's prick shooting off in her mouth was okay with her as long as she knew it was pleasurable for him. She doubled her cocksucking efforts, urging more of his jism out of his cock. Her hands blurred on that part of his cock that she couldn't eat.
Orson was getting desperate. He didn't want to be one of those perverts like some of those niggers that he had to work with who were always bragging about how they shot all their jizz all over their mammy's face. No, he loved his wife, adored his wife. He would not be perverted.
He tried to pull his cock out of Ethel's sucking mouth.
Ethel bit down gently and looked up at Orson. No, she was determined to give him the pleasure that he so desperately needed – she wanted to have him shoot his jizz into her mouth because she knew that it would realty please him and it would help her to show him how much she really loved him.
Orson gripped Ethel's shoulders and tried to shove against her. But her lips were like glue on his prick. And every time he pulled back, her teeth would come down trap-like and catch his cockhead right behind the flaring ridge. Ouch!
Orson moaned, trying to hold back all that jizz that threatened to erupt from his balls and make an unholy bleach-white inns out of his loving wife's mouth.
"Oooooh, Ethel."
Ethel knew for sure now that what Orson wanted was to shoot off in her mouth. That was okay with her. And besides, she had her finger in her cunt as she was crouched before her husband sucking his loving prick.
Orson wanted to scream to Ethel, to command his wife to quit sucking his prick. But he couldn't, because he had never told Ethel or ordered Ethel to do anything for him. He had been the one who had always done as much for her as any idea husband could do.
So he was caught between a rock and a hard place.
Meanwhile, Ethel was caught between a prick that threatened to burst in her mouth and the cold tile wall that her head kept hitting as she backed off Orson's prick. But now she was doubly determined that her husband get his rocks off in her mouth. Stilt, she loved him too much to deny him one of life's greatest pleasures. Her cheeks hollowed, and her lips made obscene noises as her mouth moved back and forth, back and forth, on Orson's cock.
Orson held as still as possible, not moving a muscle – well, he did move one muscle but that was because nature made his cock vibrate and quiver and pulse. He didn't want to move because he was trying to think of knitting and sewing and crochet, anything to get his mind off what his wife's mouth was doing to his cock.
Shit, he loved Ethel too much to abuse her or degrade her by shooting wads of jizz into her mouth. God, but it was getting hard to think. In plain truth, everything was getting hard.
Ethel felt the throbbing pulse in Orson's cockmeat. She grabbed his taut asscheeks, pulled his cock deep, then deeper into her mouth. God, the pain in her throat was enough to make her gag. But she began to think about bowling, yesterday's hockey scores, the price of meat, anything that would take her, mind off that pressure in her throat that was making the bile rise in her stomach.
Orson couldn't stand it much longer. Something had to give.
Ethel was turning blue in the face by having so much cock rammed down her throat. God, hurry and come, Orson! Come, Orson come!
Rrrrriiiinnngggg!
Orson opened his straining eyes. What was that?
Ethel's mouth retreated an inch off Orson's cock. Was that the telephone?
They raised their eyes heavenward and thanked the Lord.
"I'll get it, Ethel," Orson said hoarsely, slipping his cock gently out of Ethel's tight mouth.
"No, no," Ethel said, getting to her feet and taking in gusts of oxygen. "I'll get it… you stay here and shower up. Maybe we'll continue after I see who it is."
Because they only thought of each other, both made a mad dash out of the shower stall, both telling the other that they would answer the phone and that their mate should stay in the shower and relax.
"Hello," Ethel said in the hallway phone.
"Hello," Orson said in the bedroom phone.
"Hello," said a twangy Texas voice. "Is this the Waco fish market?"
"I'm afraid you have the wrong number," Ethel replied at the same time that Orson was flying, "I'm afraid you have the wrong number."
To which the Texas twang replied, "Sorry 'bout that, folks. Say, you better hare your phone checked out 'cause it sure sounds echoey."
"We will," Ethel and Orson replied simultaneously.
They hung up the phones.
In their hurry to get back to the shower and show each other how much they loved each other, they bumped nakedly in the bedroom, tit to chest, cock to cunt – God has a funny way of making the two sexes conform figuratively.
They kissed… lovingly. They embraced… adoringly. They squirmed… sweatingly. They fucked… lustfully.
Ah, what impromptu lovers this star-crossed pair had become. From cocksucking in the shower to fucking in the bedroom – it was so natural and graceful and lovable.
Ethel laughed. "I love you, Orson." Then giddily, she fell back on the bed, spreading her thighs wide and opening up her pussy for Orson.
Orson couldn't see why Ethel was laughing while loving him – but what he could see was one of the reasons why he loved Ethel. Christ, her cunt looked so oozy and juicy and walnutty odors were wafting to his brain. God, how he loved Ethel.
Orson smiled, gave his cock a few tugs.
"Here, Orson," Ethel playfully chided. "Let me do that for you." She grabbed his cock and tugged him gently to the side of the bed.
Oh, no! He didn't want Ethel to start sucking his cock and making him go through that wet scene in the shower again. No way. Not this time. They were going to fuck – and he was going to do his best to make sure Ethel fucked his cock instead of sucked it.
Naturally, Ethel didn't want to put her lips on Orson's prick because somewhere in the back of her brain her father's Protestant voice rang crystal clear. "Re to love your husband, Ethel – but do not lust for him."
Was cocksucking lustful? Well, of course cocksucking's lustful. That was why whores charged so Goddamn much money for it. That was why porno movies always showed it. That was why the Bible was against it. Sure it was lustful, but then again Ethel loved her husband so much that she didn't mind doing whatever lustful thing he wanted her to do.
And Orson loved Ethel so much that he never wanted to violate her pureness by letting lustful thoughts like cocksucking or assfucking or dry-humping enter his mind.
That was why Orson moved his cock away from Ethel's gripping hand. That was why he knelt on the bed and got ready to fuck his lovely wife in God-inspired missionary fashion.
Ethel moaned, "Ooooooh!" when Orson's cockhead touched her cuntlips. Then she said, "Aaaaaahhhh!" when the first couple of inches of his cock slid into the guts of her pussy. Then she gasped, "Wow!" when all his six-inch prick slid home, balls-deep, clear to the bone, in to the hilt.
Orson couldn't believe how much heat and moisture and meatiness was gripping his cock as he felt his balls nuzzling her juicy asscheeks. Ethel was so perfect for him – her pussy was always so lovingly hot and comfortable and homey. Christ, it never felt like he was fucking his wife when he was fucking his wife. Fucking his wife felt too heavenly even though it was noisy and sweaty and smelly and hairy and so unlike anything lovely.
"Oh, more, Orson. Give me more!"
See, even the way she talked had such a romantic quality, such intimacy, such love. No, it wasn't fucking that he was doing. It was, to Orson, the act of getting very close to the woman he loved.
Never mind that the stench of hot cunt was filling the room – to Orson, it was the draft of love. And those hairy, greasy cuntlips gripping his cock as he slid away – oh, no, to Orson, they were clingy peach halves that had been covered with fur. And that slushy, squishy, squeaky noise that came from the direction of his cock as be forced his prick into her cunt was like a musical elixir, champagne music, bubbly and frothy like a Lawrence Welk polka.
And for Ethel, fucking was not at all like what her mother had told her it would be: "It'll hurt like all hell broke loose. Then again, sweet Ethel, it all depends on how you're built down there."
No, all hell didn't break loose when Orson fucked her so lovingly. It was like heaven, like having somebody pour Jergens' baby lotion all over her body and rubbing in oily love. Yeah, that's what she felt when Orson gave her cunt a good reaming with his bloated cock.
And now that bloated cock had added a fraction of an inch to the taut, plum-shaped glans.
"Oh, Orson, your love for me is so huge! You feel so deliciously good inside of me! Give me more, Orson. Please!"
Orson gave as good as he got – which is only fair, considering they loved each other mutually.
Whenever he shoved into Ethel's hot pussy, her hot pussy would shove back at him. And somewhere in the middle they met – or rather, they were grinding away at their crotches so hard that their pubic hairs were mingling and his cock was being eaten alive by a cunt that loved every inch of his fucking.
"Ooooooh, Ethel! My God! I love you – feel how much I love you!"
Oooooooh, God! Could Ethel feel how much Orson loved her! Christ, she'd have to have a numb cunt not to feel his big prick growing and enlarging and erecting even harder as he slammed and thrust and barreled his way into her pussy. And Ethel knew he was going to shoot his jizz – well, her mind didn't tell her in those exact words. What her mind told her was that all the sweet love of her husband was coming out for her. Which made Ethel return her love. She fucked Orson like she had a Goddamn vibrator stuck in her ass – shoving and twisting her cunt like a tornado around his prick.
And Orson felt her pussy. Boy, did he feel her pussy just oozing and lightening up with all that delicious love juice! And that made him fuck his wife faster… and harder… but more lovingly.
Ethel was screaming out her love for Orson, couldn't keep it in her soul, had to voice those words that have broken many a spinster's heart and countless eternal triangles, "I love you, Orson! I love every inch of you, Orson!"
And Orson was going to say the same thing, but he couldn't. His eyes were bulging out, his forehead felt as if it were in a sauna, and what he felt the most was what was happening in his prick. He was coming! Coming with delicious exudations of love! Corning with aromatic fervor! Coming with creamy-hot jizz that spewed out of his prick in torrents.
The first splatter of love raced out of his cock and Ethel screamed, "I love you, Orson! More, give me more of your love!"
Orson gave her more. Lots more. Stilt, there was so much love stored up in his balls he could have started his own harem. He gave her another taste of his loving cum – another rip-roaring torrent of pasty-white ball-juice smashed into Ethel's over loved cunt.
Ethel went bananas. Her thighs were riding high on his haunches, getting him to come as close to her as any man has ever been close to a woman. And her cunt was going wild with wetness, creamy with the dreamy shots of love potion that Orson kept feeding her hungry, hairy maw of a cunt.
Another shot heard round the world of ecstasy and passionate love – jizz good old-fashioned, ever-loving jizz streaked out of Orson's cock like it was shot out of a cannon. And Orson was so close to Ethel now that he felt as if he would become one with her.
Ethel shuddered when the insides of her lovable pussy felt that ball of jizz being shot into her ravenous cunt. She couldn't help feeling it because her hand was on his balls, helping him to squeeze out more love juice, more of that same sticky, white goo that foamed and spewed from his cock.
God! Orson hurled his last shot of jizz into Ethel. God! He was so thankful that he loved Ethel.
And Ethel felt the same. Thankful that she loved Orson. Loved him like no other woman could love the man who had so much love stored up in him.
Now, as Orson's cock became wiener-limp, and Ethel's cunt contracted as if releasing the afterbirth – they separated soggily and lay in each other's loving arms.
Of course, being normal, they only had one problem. They were so full of love for each other that every once in a while they wondered if their mate loved them.