0 comments/ 158779 views/ 14 favorites Soccer Mom Skank By: kc sinclaire Marty was less than enthusiastic about Joan's idea of a romantic weekend on the Oregon Coast. Vegas or Maui would have been his choice, but Joan was sold on the idea of a peaceful cabin by the sea. Two days in the boondocks probably wouldn't turn his wife into the wanton sex fiend that he desired, but at least it would be a break from the old routine. After a late start on Friday, they spent most of Saturday sleeping in, but by evening they were well rested and eager for something to happen. Dinner at the Oceanside Grill was better than either of them expected. Marty was on his third scotch and soda, and the mischievous twinkle in his eye wasn't lost on Joan. "What are you thinking," she asked slyly. Marty leaned forward and whispered. "I'm thinking that our waitress must have gone for a break. I just saw her scoot out the side door with a cigarette in her hand." "So? Do you have the hots for her or something? I didn't know you were into teenagers." "Why would I be interested in some skinny kid when you've got the perkiest pair of tits on the West Coast?" He wasn't kidding; fifteen years of marriage and the sight of Joan still turned heads. Even after having two kids, she still had the same lean, athletic swimmer's body that she had when they first met in college. "Okay," she purred. "So what do my tits have to do with our waitress' smoking habit?" Marty leaned back and took a sip of his drink. "Maybe because I have a raging hardon, and was hoping you'd get under the table and take care of it." Joan giggled nervously. "Marty…we're in a public place. I can't do that here – someone will see us." "No way, we're in a dark corner, there's no one around, and if the waitress comes back I'll tap you on the shoulder." Her playful demeanor turned to discomfort as she shifted in her seat. "I'm sorry Marty, but I just can't do that here - how about if I took care of you in the parking lot?" Disappointed, Marty downed the last of his drink. "Never mind, we'll just get the check and leave." Marty's hope of finding any real excitement on this trip was melting away. He knew Joan wasn't a prude, but her reluctance to try anything risky frustrated him. He knew she loved sex as much as he did, but the hang-ups instilled in her by her Methodist Minister father ran deep. After taking care of the check, his irritation with Joan's goody-goody habits compounded when she insisted on doing the driving. He handled his liquor well, but Joan was so paranoid about him getting a DUI, that there was no arguing over the matter. He just handed over the keys and got in the passenger side. The first few minutes in the car were quiet. She maneuvered the SUV cautiously down the narrow road back to the cabin. Normally it was only a twenty minute trip, but Marty figured it would probably take an hour the way Joan drove. "So, tell me…what sexual fantasy do you have that I can make come true for you?" Marty couldn't believe his ears. Was Joan – his Joan – asking this question? "You mean other than having my wife blow me in a restaurant?" He knew it was a cheap shot, but he couldn't help himself. After spending the last twenty-four hours alone with her in the middle of nowhere, she had gotten on his nerves. The incident in the restaurant moments earlier was just the tip of the iceberg. For years, she had been saying that she would be open to try anal sex when the time was right. Last weekend, he thought he might finally have his chance. She had a few drinks at the country club, and she was acting pretty frisky that whole evening. When he broached the subject on the ride home, she wound up giving him a self-righteous lecture about how that sort of thing was demeaning to women.   "Seriously, Marty…tell me your fantasy." Not being in a diplomatic mood, he thought he would push the envelope a little. She was just humoring him anyway, so why not go for shock value. "Well…I always wondered what it would be like to watch while you get fucked by another man. Don't worry; it wouldn't be anyone we already knew, just some complete stranger - some guy we would never see again." His attempt at striking a nerve seemed to have worked. There was a palpable tension in the air, as she pondered a response. "Alright Marty, If that's what you want," she huffed. "The next man we come across, we'll ask back to the cabin and you can watch him fuck me. Would that make you happy, dear?" "Great," Marty shot back. "It's about time!" He'd seen her like this before and he knew she was just being melodramatic. She knew the chances of them finding anyone wandering along the side of the road at this time of night were extremely remote. They were in the boondocks, and everyone for miles around were all safely tucked away in their beds so they could be up in time for Sunday Services. As she slowed to take a bend in the road, Marty noticed two figures rooting through a dumpster at the edge of the brush. "There you go, Joan. I think I spied a couple of prospects! You can take your pick" Much to his surprise, Joan pulled over and hit the brakes. She craned her head and observed the two grubby tramps digging in the trash. "Is that what you had in mind, Marty?" He didn't say anything. "Hmmm…I can't decide which one I want, why don't you choose for me?" At this point, Marty wished she would just let it go. It had been a frustrating night, and the thought of a nice warm bed had become pretty appealing. However, as tired as he was, he wasn't going to give in to her. He was willing to keep up this little charade as long as she was. "I can't decide either. I guess you'll just have to fuck both of them." Joan rolled down her window. "Hey fellas, how would you like to make 20 bucks each for just a couple of hours work?" Both stared at her with looks of disbelief. Obviously, they didn't receive many job offers. "What do we have to do," asked a stick-thin black man with a matted afro who looked to be in his late forties. "Oh don't worry…nothing to strenuous," Joan replied. "We'll do it for fifty," shouted the other one, a balding, pudgy white man with a scruffy beard. "It's a deal – hop in!" "That's fifty apiece, right," chimed in the black man. "Sure, my husband's got plenty!" Marty's blood boiled as the two bums, reeking of alcohol and trash, climbed into the backseat of his brand new Jeep. If this is how she wants to play, then fine, he thought. I'll be damned if I'll lose the upper hand to her – I'd never hear the end of it.   Ten long minutes later, Joan ushered the two vagrants into the front room of the cabin. "Perhaps, you men would like a drink? Is scotch okay?" Both produced affirmative grumbles. "Marty, why don't you entertain our guests while I slip into something more comfortable." Before he could reply, she disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door. He was left alone with her guests, who had already settled in on the couch He poured each of them a tumbler of twelve-year old single malt scotch, and one for himself, too. He figured he'd let them have a quick drink, pay them their promised fifty apiece, and then chauffer them back to the dumpster. Without any prompting from Marty, the thin black one began to talk. He announced that his name was Leon, and his grubby friend's name was Earl. From there, he blathered on about how appreciative he was to make a few bucks - these bring hard times, and all. Marty was in no mood to listen to a bum's life story. It was time to put an end to this nonsense, now. They could finish their drinks in the car. Just as he was reaching for his wallet, he heard the bedroom door open. Apparently, Joan had decided that the game would continue a little longer. She waltzed into the room wearing a lacy, black camisole, and thigh-high black nylons. Leon stopped rambling and took notice. "Damn, you a fine lookin' woman." Earl nodded in silent agreement. "I'm glad you think so; an old married woman like me doesn't get to hear things like that very often," "She look just like Snow White," Leon added. Although, dumbstruck, Marty couldn't help but notice the irony. Snow White had been Joan's nickname when they met in college - as much for her goody-two shoes personality as for her dark hair and creamy complexion. A bizarre fascination overtook Marty as he watched his wife flirt with the two smelly lowlifes. So she wants to give the bums a boner – fine, he mused. "Do you mind if I sit with you two handsome men; this couch is soooo comfy?" To Marty's horror, Joan squeezed in between them on the loveseat. For added effect, she threw an arm around each of them and seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself. "I know I said it already, but I'm gonna say it again – Mister, you got yo'self one fine lookin' lady," Leon drawled without taking his eyes off Joan's chest. While Leon had emerged as the more personable one, Earl was definitely more intense. He rarely said a word, preferring to communicate mostly via nods and grunts. Marty noticed a trail of drool run down his rat's nest of a beard as he leered down at his wife shapely, stockinged legs. "Well, let me tell you folks somethin'," Leon intoned, his eyes still glued to Joan's chest. "It's been quite some time since anyone offered me up such hospitality. Ain't that right, Earl, my man?" "Um-hmm," grunted the bug-eyed troll. To his dread, Marty found himself aroused. Seeing his wife playacting the part of a boy-toy for vagrants had left him with a large and painful hardon. He didn't know why this excited him, but it did. "Oh, thank you," purred Joan as she accepted a sip from Leon's glass, "I'm so glad you two are nice and comfy. You see, my husband and I are very charitable people. We like to go that extra mile when helping those less fortunate than ourselves. Isn't that right, dear?" It took Marty a couple of seconds before he realized, Joan was speaking to him. "Oh - why yes – that's true. In fact, my lovely wife and I would like to present you two gentlemen with the most generous kind of charity." The three stunned faces on the couch studied him. Clearly, they wondered what he meant. Leon broke the silence. "And what would that be – um that most generous kind of charity – if you don't mind me askin'?" "Well, my good man. My wife…" He paused, and took a sip of his drink for dramatic effect, "would like to throw you boys a nice fuck." He had thrown down the gauntlet. The ball was in Joan's court now. He had no intention of stepping in and stopping things - that would have to be her call. No one was more shocked than Leon and Earl. Their stunned expressions gave way to great big beaming smiles, followed by fits of raucous laughter. As the two bums at each side of her rejoiced, Joan stared at Marty in disbelief. He returned the stare with a cold look which let her know - you've made your bed, now lie in it. They held each others eyes for what seemed like a long time, before Joan snapped back into slut mode. "Okay, let's get down to business! Why don't you two big handsome men get naked?" Both of them immediately jumped to their feet and eagerly started tearing off their filthy duds. As bad as they looked fully clothed, they were even more repulsive naked. Earl was easily the hairiest man Marty had ever seen. His entire body seemed to be covered in a dense brown fur. Leon was no more appealing. His thin, wiry, frame was decorated by a variety of welts and scars, including what appeared to be three bullet wounds running diagonally across his left lower buttock. They stood before his wife, with their stiff, rigid pricks bobbing just inches from her face, impatiently waiting for what was next. Marty's cock felt as if it were going to rip through his slacks. Would she really do something like this just to spite me, he wondered. Joan smiled like a princess, and gracefully rose from the couch. Needing no more encouragement, Earl lunged at her, crudely grabbing at her butt and attempting to plunge his tongue down her throat. Momentarily startled, Joan recovered and to Earl's delight (and Marty's disgust), met his slimy darting tongue with hers. To Marty, the scene was surreal; it didn't really seem like it was happening. It was as if he was watching a movie. "Earl, my man, why don't you let the brother have a chance?" Earl shot Leon a demented look, but then reluctantly withdrew his tongue, and removed his grubby mitts from Joan's ass. Free of the troll's filthy clutches, she turned around and smiled coyly at Leon. "Brother Leon is a little more gentle-like with the ladies." The stick-thin hoodlum announced as he embraced her. He was gentle at first, but then pulled her close and grinded his cock against her hip. "Yeah baby - Brother Leon gonna give you what you need!" "Me first," barked Earl. "Gentleman, please," Joan announced. "Where are your manners? This is my choice and I think I'd like you both at the same time." She shot an icy stare at Marty. She took both men by the hand, and led them gingerly to the bedroom. With a mixture of disgust and fascination, Marty followed. Joan removed her camisole, but left the nylons on. "How fine them nice white titties are!" "Why thank you Leon, I'm glad you like them," Joan teased as she positioned herself on all fours atop the bed. A drooling, growling, Earl immediately took up residence behind her, while Leon staked out his turf at the other end and wiggled his long, dark cock in her face. "Yeah Snow White, you gonna taste some dark meat tonight." "This pussy is mine," barked Earl, and in one sudden, vulgar instant, the unthinkable had commenced. Joan let out a sharp squeal as Earl thrust himself into her. Her head jerked back as the hairy beast fixed a vice-like grip around her narrow waist and began pumping away like monkey fucking a football. "My God, she's really going through with this," Marty muttered under his breath. As Earl hammered away, Joan opened her eyes and gazed up at Leon, who was licking his lips. "Yeah – it's feedin' time!" Leon chuckled sinisterly as Joan clumsily took his thick black cock into her mouth. Marty was horrified, but couldn't look away. It didn't seem possible that the woman in the middle of this grotesque scene was his wife. There she was; Joan - a virgin when they married, the mother of his two kids, and a respected member of the School Board, being used as nothing more than a receptacle for the filthy, primal needs of two of the lowest members of society.   It didn't take long for Earl to come, a sick piercing shriek came from deep within as he climaxed. As he stumbled back to withdraw, a sticky stream of cum trailed from the end of his prick to Joan's pussy. Having finished his filthy business, his knees buckled and he collapsed on the floor. Leon, who had been taking his time, couldn't hold out much longer. As Joan's head bobbed and bounced on his long, shiny cock, he got more aggressive. "YEAH, YOU LIKE IT, DON'T YOU, BITCH – DRINK EVERY DROP, YOU NASTY HO!" Joan's face twisted into a grimace as Leon grabbed two fistfuls of her hair and pumped her head violently up and down on his cock. She hacked and gagged as he erupted into her. His spunk bubbled up out of her mouth and dribbled sloppily down her chin. As pulled away, streams of cum shot across her face, decorating her cheeks and hair. "YEAH BITCH – NOW YOU HAPPY!" Now that it was over with, a numb Marty wanted nothing more than to get those two scumbags out of his life forever. "Okay, the party is over, guys - time to get your stuff together and go." They both looked at him, and wordlessly stumbled back into the front room. Marty turned to follow, but turned back for one last look at Joan. He barely recognized the sweaty, cum-covered heap as his wife. "Joan…are you okay? Honey, are you okay," he asked with the sound of the two bums fumbling around for their clothes in the background. "Just get those filthy bastards out of here," she spat without looking up at him. Having nothing to contribute, Marty closed the door. "Hey, are we still gonna get paid," asked Leon as he pulled up his pants. Marty took out his wallet and handed each a crisp fifty dollar bill. As he hustled them out, Earl grabbed the bottle of scotch off the coffee table. Marty didn't bother to make a fuss. It was trivial in light of what had just gone on in the back room. The eight mile journey only took a few minutes, but seemed like an eternity to Marty. He gritted his teeth and listened as they passed the bottle back and forth, and graphically recounted what they had just finished doing to Joan. When he finally got them back to their destination, Leon sarcastically thanked him for the hospitality. Marty took his time driving back to the cabin He wondered what he was going to say to Joan. He wondered if this might be the end of their marriage. He parked the car and walked slowly back inside. When he got through the door, Joan was there to greet him. She had put a robe on, and sat on the couch with her arms folded, her lipstick smeared, and dried splotches of Leon's cum still fouling her cheeks and hair. Having no clue as to what to say to her, he was relieved when she spoke first. "Tomorrow morning…we'll go back home…to our kids and our comfortable middle-class life in the suburbs." Her voice quivered. "And we'll pretend that none of this ever happened." "I – I think that's a very good idea," Marty stammered. "But until then, we still have one more thing to do." Marty stared at her with a puzzled expression. "I know you enjoyed this little game. Don't bother lying to me - the bulge in your pants speaks volumes. You stood by and watched as that hairy animal fucked my pussy, and I sucked that hoodlum freak's cock, and now… you've got to finish this!" "Joan honey, what are you talking about?" "You've got to fuck my ass, Marty. That's what you want, right? Well, that would complete my night of total degradation, wouldn't it?" Without waiting for a response, Joan jumped up from the couch, whipped off her robe, spun around and bent over. "C'mon Marty – I'm ready! I already went to the trouble of lubing myself up while you were driving those pigs back to their dump." His heart pounded as he stepped forward. He stared down at Joan's tight puckered browneye – wet and shiny from the liberally applied KY Jelly. He undid his belt, his slacks fell to his knees and his throbbing cocked bobbed free. "C'mon, baby fuck momma's ass," Joan pleaded with an angry edge to her voice. He felt her tense up as he gently worked his cock into her virgin asshole. She was so tight, and even with all the lubrication, it took him longer than he expected. Eventually, the head of his cock fought its way past the taut muscles of her sphincter. Joan let out a gulp as Marty plunged deeper. The soft warm interior of her asshole gripped snugly around his cock, and he couldn't help thinking about that night fifteen years ago when he broke her cherry on their wedding night. From the tension in her body, it was clear that Joan was not enjoying herself. However, Marty worked slowly and gently and it wasn't long before he felt her discomfort melt away. To his surprise, Joan began bouncing in tandem to his thrusts. She wriggled, squirmed and emitted a shrill, sing-songy moan. She steadied herself on the armrest with one hand and the other disappeared between her thighs. "OH – YES, BABY – YES –YES – YES – YEEEE –ESSSSSSS," she bellowed. Soccer Mom Skank Ch. 2 Chapter 2: In the Gutter Joan couldn't wipe the smile off her face, even after Marty angrily threw her down on the bed. It would remain until the back of his hand landed sharply across her cheek. "My God, what's going on with me," she sobbed into her hands. "Tell me now – what the hell happened," he thundered "I-I just don't know, Marty." "Why don't you just tell me what happened after you left the School Board Meeting!" His voice was shrill with rage. Joan closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and began. "After leaving the Meeting Hall, I got on the highway and was taking my usual route home. I was listening to the radio, and I guess I got a little distracted and wound up missing my exit. I'm not familiar with that side of town, and now I know why. There was nothing around but boarded up storefronts, and dingy, rundown apartment buildings…" She took a tissue from the box on the nightstand, daubed at her eyes, then continued. "I drove around for a few minutes trying to find my bearings, but I just got more and more lost. I was desperate to find a gas station or someplace to get directions. About a block in the distance I saw a line of people filing into a building. Initially, I thought it might have been a movie theater, but as I got closer I saw that the men where all dirty and ragged. Then I saw the sign above the doorway, and it said – it said…County Men's' Shelter!" Her voice quavered, and trailed off. Overcome, Joan curled up on the bed and sobbed loudly into the pillow. She waited for a reassuring hug from her husband, but Marty was in no mood to play the part of an understanding spouse. "Joan, pull it together and tell me what in blazes happened!" "Seeing where I was brought back that whole, terrible night in the cabin - those two filthy pigs - and YOU STANDING BY – DOING NOTHING - AS I WAS FUCKED BY THAT SMELLY BEAST AND MADE TO SUCK THE COCK OF THAT GRINNING THUG!" Her mood had shifted from shameful to bitter. The rush of anger at Marty gave her energy. Not wanting things to turn confrontational, she composed herself, and went on. "I must have snapped or something. I was sitting in the car in front of this Homeless Shelter, and I just started crying like a baby. I don't know how long I was bawling, but when I looked up, there was this black man knocking on the window of the passenger side. The sight of him frightened me – he must have been 6'4", very large, and with a shaved head. I was going to drive off, but he seemed very concerned about how I was. He told me his name was Cyrus, and he seemed very concerned. Before I could object, he had opened the door and was sitting next to me." At that point, Joan knew that the next part of the story would be very difficult. She looked up at Marty to see if he wanted her to continue. There was anger in his eyes, but she knew that he was prepared to hear the whole ugly story. "The next thing I remember is that we were in the back seat, and he was reaching up underneath my skirt and tugging down my panties. Joan elaborated; recounting how Cyrus bent her over and rode her doggie style. What she didn't say was how good it felt when the stranger grabbed her hair like a set of reigns and plunged his enormous cock into her so hard she thought she would split in two. And Joan also left out the part about her screaming 'FUCK ME – FUCK ME – FUCK ME', so loud that it attracted the attention of a number of the shelter residents who hung out the windows hooting and cheering. "It was then, that this other bum jumped behind the wheel of the car and drove off - with that man and me in the back. He was holding me so tight I couldn't get away." Once again, several important details were omitted. She couldn't get away because she didn't want to, and that it was on her request, that man, a friend of Cyrus' named Paco, took the wheel and sped off. "This man stopped the car in some garbage strewn alley. I was lying with my face down in the backseat, and I could feel this big black man ejaculating all over my rear-end. Everything happened so fast! I couldn't move and then suddenly the man who was driving was in the back! He flipped me over and was shouting something at me in Spanish…then he ripped open my blouse, and grabbed at my breasts…" Joan got wet recounting these details. Not wanting to give away how much she enjoyed her journey into the gutter, she continued with the charade of victimization. "His face was right in mine and his breath stunk of cigarettes and wine. He laughed like a hyena as he took his turn with me." Joan ended the story there. She felt it wouldn't be a good idea to describe how she pulled her knees back to her ears so Paco could pound away with greater ease. Marty would never know how many times she climaxed when Cyrus was taking his wild ride in the backseat, or how she licked every drop of cum off the head of Paco's cock when he was through fucking her. To Joan's surprise, Marty was beside her - hugging her. In his mind, she wasn't some demented, cock-crazy skank but his poor, sweet wife victimized by two animals. If anything, she sensed he felt partly responsible. Wasn't it he who introduced her to this with his sick fantasy? "We've got to call the cops and find those bastards!" "No Marty, please I just want to put this behind me and move on! Please Marty, don't involve the police." Joan knew Marty seethed with rage, but she also knew he wouldn't force the issue. Knowing him as well as she did, she was certain there was part of him that was relieved she didn't want to make this a criminal matter. "Alright then Joan honey, but tomorrow we're going to get you to a doctor, okay? I'll take the day off work. We'll get through this together." After another warm hug from Marty, Joan went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She removed her clothes, and gingerly stepped into the warm pulsing stream. Almost immediately, her hand moved down between her legs. That night in the cabin had flipped a secret switch inside her. Something very deep within her had been stirred. Ever since she was a little girl, her preacher father thundered that sex was dirty - an animal side of our natures that must be tamed. For most of her life, she had heeded his advice and kept the beast locked away. She also knew that her father wasn't entirely wrong. Yes, sex is dirty – the dirtier the better. As Joan rubbed herself toward Nirvana, her mind drifted back to a long repressed memory. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and she was about seven. While her father was locked away in his study preparing his sermon, she skipped down to the church where her mother was busy handing out bags of donated groceries to the the local down-and-outers. This was something Momma would do on the last Saturday of every month, and for whatever reason, always forbade her from tagging along. However, the sun was going down, and she figured Momma would probably be done by the time she finished walking the half-mile to the church. She snuck in the side entrance hoping to surprise her mother. As she tiptoed her way to the back kitchen, she heard some very strange noises. Little Joan paused at the side of the doorway – afraid to look in. However, curiosity eventually trumped fear and she craned her neck for a peek. What she witnessed frightened and confused her. Momma was lying on the floor - her legs straight up in the air, her dress bunched up around her waist. Even more shocking, Old Julius Emmons was on top of her - his pants down around his ankles and his pimply, naked rear-end bobbing up and down. He grunted and wheezed like a pig, while Momma's head lolled from side-to-side as if in a trance. "OH MY WORD – OH MY WORD – JULIUS YOU DIRTY DOG – OH MY WORD!!" Joan ran in terror from the church and didn't stop until she reached her home. What was her mother doing on the floor with Julius Emmons -the town drunk – a filthy draft dodger? Not wanting an answer to this question, she pushed it down into the dark recesses of her mind. Now she knew what motivated her dear mother to such a perverse extreme. The lure of the gutter was powerful…and it called her too. The following day, Marty took her to the doctor for a thorough check-up and full battery of tests. The news was good. Other than a very sore crotch, a few bruises, and friction burns on her knees and butt, she was fine physically. Thankfully, her desecrators didn't leave any permanent mementos of their good time. They both knew things had to change. On Marty's insistence, Joan slowed down the pace of her life. She resigned from the School Board, cut back many of her social activities, and attempted to dedicate herself exclusively to being a good wife and mother. Joan loved her husband, and was dedicated to her two children, Jennifer and Marty Jr., but she knew that alone wasn't enough. Since that night at the shelter, sex had been nonexistent in their relationship. Joan didn't know whether Marty was disgusted by her or whether he thought she was still traumatized. Whatever the case, she missed it and wanted it. She continued to fantasize, but the longer she went without dick, the more twisted her fantasies became. Something had to give. Things would come to a head on a lazy Sunday afternoon. She, Marty, and the kids were attending a barbecue at a neighbors' home. It was a typical boisterous late summer party; there was music, beer, and plenty of laughs. Jennifer and Marty Jr. were having a great time laughing and playing with the other children. Everyone seemed to be having fun, except Joan. There was a time when she would've been in her element at an event like this, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. These people who she considered her friends now all seemed so dull and predictable. Joan watched Marty clustered with a bunch of other men near the grill gabbing about fluctuations in the commodities market. Perhaps it was the crushing boredom, but all of a sudden she just started feeling tremendously horny. She wanted sex – filthy sex - and wanted it immediately. Marty was heading in the direction of the cooler when she found her opportunity. She waylaid him and discretely led him into the house. "Joan, what's up? Are you having a good time?" "Marty – let's fuck!" Marty looked over his shoulder to see if anyone overheard. "Joan, honey – we're at a party; there are people everywhere," he whispered. Joan wasn't going to have it. She dragged him up a flight of stairs, and pulled him into the first door, she saw. By chance that happened to be the bedroom of a little girl. There were dolls and stuffed animals everywhere, and the pink walls were festooned with posters of boy bands, and Pokemon characters. "Joan, I don't know if this is the place," Marty pleaded as Joan dropped to her knees and undid his belt. She knew his cock would be hard, despite his protestations. Her assumption was correct - and she gobbled him up immediately. While Marty stammered weak objections, Joan sucked and licked his pole like a child with an ice cream cone on a hot day. However, this would merely be an appetizer. Moments into the frenzied slurping session, Joan sensed Marty was going to spurt prematurely. Fearing a wasted opportunity, she ceased immediately and jumped to her feet. "Fuck my ass!" Marty was aghast. "Joan please, we're in a child's bedroom! W-w-what if she comes in?" Her poor husband may have been anxious and confused, but his cock was hard and high. Joan tugged down her panties, turned around, bent over, hiked up her dress, and invitingly wiggled the luscious white moons of her butt. "C'mon - fuck my ass – I need it," she pleaded. Realizing she wasn't going to give in, Marty grabbed her waist and plunged in. It was a rough and invasive penetration without any lube, and Joan winced in pain as her husband's cock stabbed into her browneye. Normally a sensitive lover, Marty kept pounding. "Is this what you want," he sneered. Joan winced at the searing pain but quickly recovered and embraced it. "OH YEAH – MOMMA LIKES IT!" Afraid, someone would hear, Marty grabbed a small stuffed bunny rabbit from the bed, reached around and crammed it into Joan's mouth. Far from being satisfied with only a cock up her ass, Joan snatched hairbrush from the floor at her feet, and began working it in-and-out of her dripping pussy. Desperate to bring his crazed wife's perverse need to an end, Marty quickened his pace. "UNH-UNH-UNH!" He came hard with a series of violent, angry pumps. Immediately, he pulled his cock from the viselike grip of Joan's sphincter. She released a muffled wail of pleasure through the stuffed bunny, as streams of cum shot across her quivering butt cheeks. Marty released the grasp on her waist and Joan dropped like dead weight to the floor. Her head hit the carpet with a disturbing thump. Undaunted, she continued to writhe at his feet, still deftly working the hairbrush in and out of her cunt. "Joan – get a grip," he barked, and hastily pulled up his pants. An oblivious Joan heard nothing. "OOOOOO – I'M COMING!" "Finally," hissed a relieved Marty as Joan's body spasmed, heaved, and ultimately collapsed with a sigh. Marty gave her no time to rest in the afterglow. He pulled her to her feet, and slapped her hard across the face. "We are going back downstairs, we're going to get the kids, and go home!" A limp, glassy-eyed Joan said nothing as Marty dragged her down the stairs. In the kitchen, he leaned her against the fridge and ordered her to wait for him as he dashed out to the yard to fetch the kids. When he returned with Marty Jr. and Jennifer in tow, Joan had pulled herself together enough to chat with a friend. "You look kind of tired, Joan. Maybe you should have a seat." "No – I'd much rather stand." After a polite but awkward goodbye, Marty marched his family out to the car. The kids whined in the back, as Mom and Dad sat up front without speaking. Once home, he sent the kids to their rooms, threw Joan on the couch and read her the riot act. "I don't know what's happening to you – you've completely lost your mind. You need help, and until you get it, you're not going to be left alone with my kids! They'll be at my sister's place until a decent shrink can figure out what the hell is wrong with you!" All conversation after consisted mainly of a tearful Joan pleading for forgiveness, and an angry, unmoving Marty shouting her down. Two tense weeks passed and a shamed and penitent Joan worked hard to appease her husband. Skeptical, he had taken his vacation to stay home and keep a watchful over her. He arranged to have her see a highly regarded psychiatrist, and diligently drove her to her twice-weekly appointments. True to his word, the children would stay with his sister indefinitely. Joan's efforts to rid herself of her destructive urges were sincere. She was profoundly disgusted with herself and desperately wanted to change her behavior and save her marriage. With bills to pay and no vacation time remaining, Marty reluctantly returned to work. The children, however, would remain with his sister until he was absolutely certain Joan was free of all deranged compulsions. That morning, Marty didn't bother to kiss her goodbye when he left. It would be a long day for Joan, made even longer without the kids to look after. There was little else to do other than curl up in bed with a book. She grabbed an old, weathered copy of Anna Karenina from the bookshelf. It was one of her favorites back in college, and she figured it was as good a time as any to reread it. After about an hour, Joan gave up; she didn't even have the energy to read. Depressed, she tossed the book aside and went back to bed. Around noon, the sound of someone at the front door stirred her from an uneasy sleep. Probably Marty, home for lunch, she assumed. Not in the mood for another pious lecture, she lingered in the bed for a while before making her way downstairs. When she reached the top of the stairs, she heard the low rumble of conversation coming from the kitchen. Did Marty bring a friend home - another shrink to look me over, perhaps? Still a bit groggy, she descended the stairs and shuffled to the kitchen. As she approached the doorway, she stopped dead in her tracks. A familiar face greeted her, but it wasn't Marty's. "There's the freak!" Cyrus sat at her kitchen table picking over last night's leftover fettuccini. He didn't come calling by himself. Across from him sat a young girl eating Raison Bran from the box. She looked to be about eighteen or nineteen, with bright orange hair and skin as white as a snow. There were tattoos up and down her arms, and her nose sported a small, silver ring. "Freak-baby, I'd like to introduce you to my friend Tasha - she a runaway, and I'm lookin' out for the poor chile." Though shaken, Joan somehow mustered the strength to speak. "I-I'm sorry…b-but…y-you'll have to leave." Cyrus threw his fork down on the plate. "Damn bitch, is this how you treat company? You actin' like you weren't expectin' us! You must have known, I'd be paying you a visit when I took your wallet!" Joan's heart skipped a beat when Cyrus hoisted his massive frame from behind the table and walked toward her. "I think I know what you need," he said with a sinister sneer in his voice. "I think maybe you need a little bit o' lovin'." Joan turned away. She wished she was a million miles away but there was no denying she felt a rush. Once again, terrible urges beyond reason would take control of her. I can't do this-I can't do this-I can't do this! The thought ran through her mind like a mantra. As soon as his hot, fetid breath hit her neck, her defenses crumbled. She offered no resistance when Cyrus pulled her blouse up over her head. "Hey Tasha – don't them titties look nice all scrunched up in that sexy little white bra?" Tasha didn't say a word and kept on picking through the cereal box. "Now that we seen the titties, we gots to have a look at that fine butt!" Joan was in the grip of the fever now. She didn't need to ask what he meant; she just undid her slacks and let them slide to the floor. Cyrus spun her around, and brought his open hand down hard on her rear end. "That's some Grade-A butt -almost as nice as yours, Tasha!" Cyrus cackled and smacked her ass again. The sound of his laughter echoed off the walls of the kitchen. "Oooooh – those are some pretty, little panties," the orange haired nymph finally spoke – more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Tasha pushed away from the table and tossed the cereal box on the floor - spilling the contents everywhere. "Let's take her up to the bedroom, Cyrus. I wanna see if this Wonder-bread-eating bitch is as nasty as you say she is." "C'mon baby, Tasha here is just as big a freak as you are – and I know she wild for some stank right about now!" It was an offer, Joan could not resist. These two lowlifes would give her what she had been craving. "The bedroom is just up the stairs…follow me." Joan couldn't help but anticipate whatever debauchery they had in store for her. Like an servant, she led them up the stairs. Cyrus chuckled with glee, and Tasha made a point of knocking over every picture, nick-nack, and glass figurine she passed along the way. "This is my bedroom," Joan calmly announced while shutting the door. Cyrus jumped on the bed cackling like a loon. "Yeah – this is big enough for all three of us!"