Dear Dirty Diary Ch. 10

Dear Dirty Diary,

Over the rest of the visit, Louise and I wandered through the shops down in Huntingdon while Doug explored the area. He seemed infatuated with Lake St. Francis, I suppose because it was reminiscent of Lake Ontario. On our drive back home, he behaved himself admirably, deep in thought. By the end of the following week, he informed me everything was under control. The conniving old fool had talked our kids into moving into the Marina condo for the year. Erin had an opportunity for a good job with GM and Michael would be graduated from university and entering the work force after the New Year. When Louise confirmed she'd set up as an email address, I realized our lives had shifted to a new plateau.

Doug studied Louise's plans for our apartment and came to the conclusion all we really needed were our personal possessions and clothes, plus some furniture. Since the doctor suggested that the head of our bed be raised to help his condition, Doug decided to leave the waterbed behind and build a new bed himself for the apartment. He labored lovingly much of September, on building his king-sized captain's bed. However, all of that sawing and sanding left many little cuts and sliver rips on his soft hands. Every time he touched my tender bits, his fingers felt like poker-hot sandpaper sticks. Hand crème soothed his skin, but did little to cool down his touch.

Sorting through old keepsakes one day, I found my wedding dress. In a little plastic bag were my bridal veil, stockings, a spare garter, silky French-cut panties plus my sheer white nylon gloves. I decided for Doug that he needed a break from sanding the headboard, so I undressed and laid out my bridal accessories. I put on the gloves first so that I couldn't catch a run in my nylons and tugged them on. I still loved the sensual thrill of nylon stockings shivering up my legs, but with the gloves on, I couldn't feel the roughness of my nails or the heat from my fingers on my legs. My fingers felt cool and detached, almost like someone else was dressing me. I stepped into and slid up my shiny white panties. Then for the first time in twenty-six years, I felt a lacy garter squeeze up my thigh. As I smoothed out the wrinkles on my veil, dabbed some of Doug's favorite perfume in the usual places and called down to him. . Surprisingly, he was at the bedroom door in no time. He was puffing a bit from climbing all those stairs, but his eyes were sparkling in wonderment at the vision of his blushing bride. He was smitten by the time my perfume hooked into his nostrils. Entranced by my seductive spell, his eyes burned over every inch of my body, as he walked slowly toward me.

I held out one hand like a crossing guard, stopped him in his tracks and told him, "Not with those rough hands, Buster!"

I pulled off my left glove, guided it onto his scratchy fingers and stretched it halfway up his big palm. His expression was priceless but when I unbuttoned his shirt and tugged down his track pants, he was dumbstruck. However, when my trousseau-gloved fingertips glided across his chest, around his nipples and tickled down his belly, he shivered in delight. When he felt my silken fingers slip down into his under shorts and swirl all over his half-aroused penis, he immediately got the message.

Backing up, I enticed him along by ever so lightly kneading his penis. When my calves bumped into something behind me, my knees buckled and I fell right back into bed. Doug was laying beside me in an instant, polishing my breasts and coolly tickling my nipples blush pink with my glove. I saw his wide-open mouth lunge toward my left nipple and felt his cheeks suction my aureole between his teeth. As his teeth clamped tighter and tighter on the base of my teat, my clit tingled. I felt his quick, cool swirl shiver around my right nipple and then whisk up my neck to my ear lobe. It swept back down my chest and then gave my swollen teat a silken little twist. Next, I felt his fingertips fan down my belly, slip right under my panties' waistband and scoot over my pubes.

As I polished his corona shiny and purple, he went right in for the kill! I felt one fingertip plow right down through my furrow, then press firmly into my pussy. Ten seconds of steady pressure relaxed my vulva and I felt the silkiness sink into my little well. I felt a few raspy double-finger swishes froth me up and I quivered in delight as he mopped pussy juice up to my anxious little clitoris. Three or four more trips to the well had my clit slippery, slimy and screaming for salvation

I pushed those sweltering hot nylon French panties down around my thighs, dragged Doug over and under me by his penis and lifted my left leg up as far as my stretched underpants would allow. He squeezed under me and I felt it push against my vulva. There's no thrill in life like feeling a hot dry penis sear into one's tight but juicy pussy. With a few pumps and a few humps I was loose and ready for action. Somehow sensing exactly what would light my fire, he slipped his gloved hand under my raised leg to give me the old double poke. He pulled his penis back out of the way briefly, and I felt that stiff old index finger slide in. It swished around inside, sopping up all the juice it could find, then pulled out and smeared it all over my right nipple!

He seared his penis back in again, stroked me juicy again and then pulled out for another poke. The perfume of pussy was overwhelming as he spread my vaginal fluid all over my other nipple. He shoved back into me and pumped me creamy once more. Then Doug reached up, grabbed my right hand and dragged it down across my pubes. He guided my index finger with his and pressed it into my pussy beside his penis, then sloshed it around inside as he pumped.

I questioned the perversity of his newest unnatural intrusion but feeling his penis thrust away up inside me while our fingers mucked made me feel so wicked. Doug shoved our fingers in deep during an outstroke, then immediately thrust his penis back in. My shocked vagina squawked in protest for three agonizing strokes, then he mercifully withdrew both our fingers to end my pussy stretch. He guided my hand back up but when he noticed an obscenely gooey white vaginal discharge on my finger, he gathered some of it on his fingertip, licked some of it off with his tongue and then carried the rest down to my clit. As his finger rubbed my secretion over my clitoris, I closed my eyes and sucked the remnants off my finger. God only knows what it was but it surely must have been the true essence of lust.

Doug pushed his penis in as far as it would go and continued tickling the tip of my clit raw with his scratchy thumb. I was really tender and wanted to cum with the taste of lust fresh on my tongue, so I asked him if he was close. "Pretty soon," which really meant god knows how long, came from his lips as he ravaged my clit. I pushed his fingers away before he turned me right off, reached around and grabbed my trusty hand vibrator. Between the tangle of arms, legs and my knickers, I maneuvered it down and found my clitoris. It felt so good, but something was missing.

I slid it down a fraction, so the top edge of the knob shook the underside of my clit, while its bottom side rested on Doug's penis. I knew from experience this would speed his ejaculation. I moaned for effect, but with each thrust, the inside of his thigh plowed the vibrator down my slit. On one stroke, he drew back too far and his penis slipped out. The vibrator's head dropped for a second and must have caught that hyper sensitive spot on the back of his corona. The next thing I knew, I could feel hot semen spurting out all over everywhere! It was all over my slit, all over my clit and was running down the crack of my bum. It was all over my fingers, all over the vibrator and halfway up my belly. I was all splattered up and it felt absolutely wonderful!

Doug pushed his still-pulsing penis back into me in time for me to feel one last pump gush deep in my vagina. I planted the vibrator tight against my clit to finish myself off as he began to shrivel. However, the vibrations traveled through to him and it began to grow again. That amused me. But when he began to stroke again, that excited me! Doug must have seen my chest begin to flush and my nipples start to swell. My wave crested the second he reached over and grasped both my teats! My wave crashed into foam as I squeezed down hard on his fat penis!

I let Doug bask in his afterglow while I tidied myself up. Post-orgasmic reality crept in as his milt dribbled out of me into the toilet bowl. When I surveyed the mess I was in, I found that cooling sticky semen was splattered all over my pubes and down the insides of my thighs. What was so exciting four minutes before, now seemed so gross. I stared down between my ankles at my pristine panties and saw them all soaked with spent sperm. As my formerly innocent undies soaked with Zero in the sink, I stepped into the shower. Lots of soap and a thorough rinse made me feel squeaky clean and virtuous for a change. As my husband watched me dress, I asked him if he was 100% sure about moving to Quebec, just to satisfy my current cravings.

"If I thought living the rest of your life with a self-righteous motherhood complex were good for you, I'd question our direction," he replied.

"However," he continued, "I have witnessed and read in your diary of a transition no man in his right mind would wish to reverse." Doug grabbed me by the shoulders, turned me to the mirror and said: "Look at you. Your lust and passion has made you a goddess in my eyes. Don't ever have second thoughts on enjoying Louise or that beautiful body you've been out of touch with for so many years. Without your lust, those tender bits of yours will shrivel up and die. And that would be a crying shame!" In return, I asked him if this life we were entering might be one he could feel good about. "Laura, in case you haven't realized, I've had more erections in the last year than the previous twenty combined and I'm hoping this is a trend that will continue," my husband stated with conviction. When I asked him if helping me stay hopelessly addicted to pleasuring my body was to be his main goal in retirement, he nodded and said, "I don't know if letting me watch you make out with Louise that night was the easiest thing on my poor old heart, but I'm sure watching you work out on that old exercise bike of yours would be excellent therapy."

This request was clearly, yet another invasion of my privacy and I wanted to punch him in the gut for being such a voyeur. But I remembered how liberal and supportive he'd been lately and settled for an icily noncommittal, "We'll see."

------------------------------------------------------

Dear Dirty Diary,

A week had passed and Doug announced the completion of our new bed. I checked out all its clothing drawers, the sliding compartments in the headboard and its bed linen bin at its foot. I ran my fingers all over its satin-finished pine and had to admit it was really handsome. My husband had done a beautiful job, but I was concerned with how we'd transport it to Quebec. He told me it was all assembled with deck screws and could be easily broken down into pieces. He said the drawers, filled with all our clothing and bedding could be stacked on top of the framework pieces. He assured me that we could get all our basic necessities to Quebec in our van on the first trip.

In less than twenty minutes he had it completely apart and stacked on the floor to prove his point. I had to admit, I was pleased. But I wasn't impressed with the mess he'd made of my workout room. We swept clean and dusted for two hours to make it usable again. As I put away my cleaning stuff, he promised to get my exercise equipment back out of the utility room. After a few minutes, he yelled up to me that he had to get some steel brackets at the hardware store and I heard the entrance door slam. In seconds, I was skipping down the stairs with my personal workout kit in my hand. With him home all the time, opportunities for a good thorough workout had been out of the question for weeks. I was giddy with excitement as I whipped off my clothes. I opened my kit, grabbed my essentials and headed toward my exercise bike.

Just as I noticed what appeared to be a truck mirror attached to its handlebars, the utility room door opened and Doug said, "As you can see, I've taken the liberty to make a few improvements on your bike."

There I stood in utter shock. I was bare-naked, holding a wrench in one hand, a tube of KY in the other, with my ugly penis sheath chomped between my teeth!

Doug smiled broadly at what I assumed was my classic "Deer in the Headlights" expression of terror, then resumed, " I kind of feel like that Q guy in the old James Bond flicks, explaining all I've done." He took the wrench from my hand and said, "An adjustment wrench is no longer necessary." and took the spongy dildo from my mouth. Out of his back pocket he produced a large knobbed, coarsely ribbed, dark brown dildo. He peeled off my gel seat cover and directed my attention to the now smoothly trimmed hole in the top of my seat.

As he reached into the opening, he continued: "If you turn this plastic soft drink cap counter-clockwise, you'll see this stiff coil spring it's epoxy-glued to, thread up from inside the seat post. After reading of your aggressive exercise program in you diary, I've been terrified you might slip and really injure yourself on that hard pipe, so I've installed this firm, but flexible spring to protect you from harm. As you can see, it can be adjusted to any height you feel comfortable with."

"Q" twirled the spring up about five inches above the seat and then pushed a small steel pin through a tiny hole under the seat, to lock it in place. He wound the hollow dildo down over the spring, well through the hole in my seat, took my KY from me and spread some all over my new Johnston.

"I installed this truck mirror at this exact spot on your handlebars, knowing you like to keep your eye on things. Now you can enjoy an up close and personal view of your progress," he pointed out as he helped me up onto the pedals. Q squeezed more KY out and spread some up into my pussy. With growingly annoying zeal, he finished, "Let me sit down underneath you, here on the floor, so I can watch your pussy do the new Johnston workout." I was about to tell him to stuff Johnston up his own ass for meddling in my fun, but in his own asinine way, I suppose he thought he'd done well.

With great misgivings, I lowered myself down ever so carefully. When I felt its surprisingly warm tip touch my crotch, I glanced down into his mirror. The firm brown dildo sported a formidable mushroom cap-like corona atop its roughly hewn tapered shaft. Oh my, he certainly was right about my weakness. Doubly blessed, I felt my vulva split and for the first time, watched that beautiful rubber probe slowly disappear into my pussy. The instant my bum touched down on the seat, I threw caution to the wind and started. For old time's sake, I stood up on the pedals and started to pump.

Q's jaw dropped open as I ever so slowly, began to pump, so I glanced over into the mirror to see what Miss Moneypenny's pussy looked like. As her body lifted, the dildo would pull out her vulva like a stretched pink rubber grommet. As her body fell, the dildo would jamb her lips back up into her pussy. One pump at a time, the image appeared fluid in motion, but as the pumps sped up, what I saw seemed kind of mechanical, like an antique steam engine in an old ship. Moneypenny's pussy looked so alive and flexible when she went slowly, but that's not what workouts are all about.

My eyes lifted and I looked straight ahead. I pumped and bobbed with concentration and conviction and felt that sumptuous brown dildo piston through my pussy. I felt my labia's hood jerk down on my clitoris on each push down and felt my lips flip out with each pull up. The staccato rhythm of my pussy slurps began to release endorphins and for a while I thought I'd found my Nirvana. The rush gave me stamina and boundless energy, but when the five-minute timer dinged, I lost all concentration. I glanced down at my husband and saw his red face.

Like Muhammad Ali, my wandering mind began to rhyme as I pumped and bobbed. "I watch as your eyes, stare between my thighs, as my pussy free-falls, and is impaled." flowed out smooth as silk from the recesses of my mind. I pumped for what seemed ages, then, "I moan lusty cries, and watch your dick rise, just aching to be jerked and flailed." completed the verse. I ran it over and over, but my concentration was done. In desperation, I slowed my pedaling to a crawl and recited my poem out loud. Doug looked up in wonderment as I lifted myself up off Johnston and climbed down from the bike. I couldn't hope to concentrate with him looking ripe for a stroke or another heart attack, so I grabbed the KY and some tissues. Straddling his outstretched legs, I kneeled down in front of him, tugged down his track pants and slimed his penis with lubricant. I gripped it with both hands like it was my favorite putter and then squeezed up and down its shaft. With my intertwined fingers clutching tight, I jerked and flailed his foreskin frothy with vaginal lubricant. Even his forehead blushed red so I asked him if he felt pain and needed some nitroglycerine spray. He shook his head No, but my anxiety continued until I felt hot fingers squeeze between my thighs and squish up into my pussy.

Content that his fingers were wet and mucking in me, I felt hot liquid spurt onto my wrist without any warning. I cupped my fingers over the end of it to block his squirts, but without the tissues on the floor, it was hopeless. Old Red Face's semen gushed in my hands and between the KY and his cum, my fingers were dripping in goop. Less than erotic notions filled up my head as I cradled his ooze in my hands. Watching semen spurt excited me immensely, but two palm-fills of it was disgusting. He'd ruined my PRIVATE workout and I was really perturbed. If I could have gotten to the kitchen that instant, he would have been sipping a special new creamer in his afternoon coffee! I did the only thing a girl could do. I wiped all the sperm I could in his pubic hairs. Make a mess of me, would he!

Within a week, we our van was loaded, we said our goodbyes to our children and we were on the road to Quebec. The drive was kind of sad, however. It was two weeks before Labor Day and we were venturing into the fall of our years.