!ADULTS ONLY! DIRTY PARTS!

fought off the gag reflexes natural inclinations to dislodge the massive invader.

      And Balliwick wasn't just moaning now. He was A-MOANIN'! if you get the drift, and his legs shook like a rubber goose's. They had started this involuntary wobble when she had reached inch five on the penis-shaft scale, in case you're interested and must know everything.

      When her lips pressed against his curly pubic hairs, at exactly ten and one quarter inches-- remember?--he let out a "Sooey!" that would
have called any hog, even a stone deaf one, down
to dinner! It felt so good he did it again. "Sooey!"

      So there they were, this mismatched pair, doing what is being done in millions of bedrooms every night of the week. Yeah, we all wish.

      He moaned and "Sooeyed" as she worked at what her late husband considered to be sick, depraved, unnatural--icky-poo!-- and a sin in the eyes of God. You watching this, old Welly? she thought, You seeing your old Henny in a new light?

      With this thought in mind, she moved her mouth back up to the speedbump and without so much as a bye-your-leave, took the plunge again, going right down, as some say, to the fur, in less time than it
takes to say Old Welly. Balliwick yelled, "Sooey! Sooey!" Spin, spin, spin, old Welly.

      When his climax came, it came with a deluge. Balliwick held her head fast and withdrew his penis to where just the plum-like head remained in her mouth. He then let out another "Sooey" that was probably heard in all neighboring counties, and he unloaded.

      His first spurt hit the back of her throat with enough force to remind her she still had a gag reflex. Many spurts soon followed and flooded her mouth with sperm as thick and lumpy as yogurt--no fruit on the bottom though.

      She swallowed audibly, and more spurts refilled her. She swallowed again. And, as she felt the throbs that took place under the thumb she held at the base of his penis, she knew more was on its way. And more was. Jiminy Cricket, she thought, it's like being force-fed from a damn fire hose!

She swallowed again--Refill please! Thank you!-- then she swallowed for the fourth, and last time. Her Bertie, it seemed, was now fully drained. Finally, thank you. Spin, spin, spin!

      He withdrew his penis from her mouth and, to her utter amazement, and very unlike old Welly, he was still hard, erect, woodified, call it what you will. The damn thing still looked ready for more action. My,
my!

      "Ma'am," said Balliwick, a moon-eyed look on his puss. "That was unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable! So unbelievable! Thank you, Ma'am. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ma'am! Unbelievable!" He looked dreamy-eyed at her, having left no unbelievables or thank you's for anyone else's future use.

      Still on her knees, with her hand at the base of his unWelly-like pole, she looked up at him.

      "You may not believe this, young man," she said. "But that was my first time ever doing that." she paused and ran her tongue lightly over her lips.

      "And my first time ever tasting sperm, mark my words! Very Strange taste it has, it does." She licked her lips again. "Sorta reminds me of salty onions!"

      Then they looked directly into each other's eyes and laughed. That sweet, gentle kind of laugh, the kind shared by lovers everywhere. Spin! Spin! Spin!

      And Henrietta now added salty onions to the very short list of her favorite things. Right up there with large-pricked plums and hairy, oversized nuts.

      "Now," she said. "How's about I rustle you up something real good to eat?" She stood up and gave his--amazingly, my, my!--still hard penis a playful squeeze. He moaned.

      "And my sweet Bertie, I want you to show me
later just how well you can use this precious thing
of yours . . . in the normal way," She bent over and planted a smooch right smack dab on his indented little, inny-like pee hole. "OK?"

      "Your wish," he said, "is my command!" He gave her one of those drill sergeant's dream salutes, the kind with a right smart snap on its tail end . . .

Short explanation: Detective Clu Sniffer, our hero, is enchanted with the sweet-as-punch school teacher, Ms. Pooty Prissyfoot, a witness to a kidnapping. As he interviews her for details, he is unaware of what
took place on her honeymoon night when she married the owner of a donut shop, Mr. Earl Doody.

Chapter Heading: "Just how checkered is your past?"

rom the git-go, Earl senior had enchanted her. Though exactly twice her age, he cut a dashing, man-about-town, man-of-the-world figure. Money didn't matter to Pooty, but Earl had tons of the green stuff. And he lived all by himself, if you subtract the butler and maid, in a big house on a big hill.

      His ex-wife, Cluce, had her own house, fully paid for by him, on a smaller hill. She lived with little Earl, Jr., who bounced back and forth between the two hills.

      Pooty and old Earl had a head spinning, whirl- wind courtship, which culminated three months later when Earl proposed as he stuck a glazed donut on her ring finger and asked for her hand. Why she said yes, she couldn't now tell you.

      Perhaps it was his resemblance to her father. Or how much of a gentleman he was. Why, he hadn't even so much as tried to cop a feel here and there from the virginal kindergarten teacher. Whatever.

      Maybe her prince hadn't come along but he was an Earl. And she was enchanted with him.

      They married that very afternoon in the offices of the Justice of the Peace. Old Earl even had the ring ready, as if he knew she'd say yes.

      In spite of the long, long kiss they shared when JP said they could, it went downhill from here. But not right away.

      Earl promptly took her back to his mansion. His man would see to her clothes and such later. This was their Honeymoon, dontcha know? He gave the maid and the butler the night off. After a quick celebratory small drink of cognac to toast the nuptials and four or five hearty swigs by Earl straight from an Old Granddad bottle, he fairly rushed her into the master bedroom.

      He seemed like a thirsty man who had discovered water was now at hand and he was to have his fill. It scared her somewhat, but she also felt wifely. Now if she could only chase away how she felt like the lamb
being led to the slaughter.

      In the bedroom, Thirstyman became Lecherman. He stood her at the front of the bed and said, with both hands on her shoulders, "Now, Missus Doody, I'm gonna show you what you've been missin' all your life!" He eyed her body up and down, licked his lips, and looked demented and lascivious at the same time. It frightened her somewhat. But she still felt wifely.

      "Now Darlin,' I'm gonna peel these here
clothes offa you and see if I can't get your sweet honey-motor started." She stood there unable to
speak.

      He took her clothing off, piece by piece, and very slowly, as if he was unwrapping a present and wanted to delay the surprise, for his better overall pleasure.

      She trembled. His hands trembled while he worked. Then he kissed her with each new article he took off and tossed carelessly to the floor. His kisses were sloppy wet, hot, tongue-probing, and delivered
nervously. Spittle ran down his chin. He smelled of booze. It mixed with the overall smell of his heated muskiness.

      For some strange reason, she didn't protest, argue or get angry. Perhaps she thought this was only a man's way to get through the Honeymoon jitters. Whatever the reason, she just stood there. And tried, unbelievably, to respond mentally positive to what was taking place.

      When she was finally nude, he stepped back for a better overall look-see. She stood there before him, nipples rigid from the cool air. Her eyes looked slightly down. Her hands were placed primly in front of her groin area. Waiting. For whatever he decided to do next.

      And as weird as she felt, as she stood naked before him, she also felt stirrings within her. As lecherous as he looked, she also felt greatly
desired by him. He was her husband now. She his wife. For better or for worse, isn't that what the JP had said? Absolutely. No argument about it.

      And she knew, and she thought, that in mere moments from now, she would be getting fucked. Wifely fucked. Her first fuck. And the thought of being fucked by the man, now her husband who drooled and salivated just by looking at her, somehow hit her twinkle buttons. Her honey-motor.

      She now wanted him to fuck her. To take her and ravish her, just like in the gothic novels she so loved to read. In any manner and fashion he chose. She was now a wifely slave to her new drooling, twice- her-age master. Who reminded her of Daddy.

      "Honey, you have," he said, "the most loveliest titties I ever laid my old, sorry eyes on!" He reached out with his hands and tweaked both of her nipples at once. This sent a shiver through her body. "They make my ex wife, Cluce, look like a cow by comparison!"

      He pinched the nipples again then squeezed both of her breasts, his hands a-tremble noticeably. Then he pushed the pair of ample bosoms together. He kissed and sucked on each nipple in turn. Then he buried his head into her cleavage and kissed and licked.

      "Mmm, mmm, lushus." he said. She felt more stirrings take center stage inside her. Goose pimples broke out all over her body. She felt warm . . .