Jack and Mary Nobbled Pt. 02

Chapter 18.

On the contrary: Mary worked every day. Other than that, the only tangible difference, between her and a twenty year old counterpart, was that Mary had a clout the size of a Clydesdale horse- collar following birthing, whereas the twenty year old's vulva was tighter than Dick's Hatband, not to mention that her tits sagged down around her midriff nowadays, whereas - annoyingly - the twenty-year-old's rack seemed to defy gravity itself - nipples at 11 O' clock high! Take cover...!

If only Mary had gotten the cesarean like Jack told her to - think of all the power, over men, she would have at her fingertips right now. Why, she would have a different one - or two - hanging around, decked-out in crisp, white linen Greek leotards, massaging her feet, and buttocks whenever she wanted, and she would insist that they remain always at the ready to lick her ass clean following an impromptu shit, or lap up residual love juice and sperm from her open-legged vaginal lips after she had ordered one of them to fuck her. These schema of power and glory over men dominated Mary's dreams of a night, and were mainly responsible for the rather odd somnambulist events where she would unconsciously rise from the bed, and rub her open-legged cunt, and pouting asshole, over Jack's face until she came and pissed on his head - all done with zero recall on her part, in the morning. Jack quite liked it.

With the power of a young pussy Mary would have surrounded herself with a troupe of gigolos, pretty pretty boys and groveling lap-dogs. She would have seen to it that they would fight and quarrel with each other - at her amusement - to lick her quim and ass-hole out; whilst others, lesser in favor, would have to be content with sucking her toes and drinking her piss, when, on occasion, she was just too engrossed in her soap-opera to make it off her throne, and go to the bathroom herself. Why should she, when her surf could go for her, and she imagined pissing into their drowning faces - into their gulping mouths - like a wild racehorse - whilst all the time, slowly devouring soft-centered strawberry frappe' chocolates, one after the other, and never, ever, flinching - never once -from the goings-on on her telly.

Chapter 19.

During exceptionally lazy, languid, days Mary would order a batch of her concubinus - all naked, except for the tassels and sleigh bells tied around their scrotum; she didn't want her entourage wasting their sexual energy beating off, or buggering each other when her back was turned. Any bell-ringing or scrotum-swinging in Mary's chanticleer clique was, strictly, to be done by her, and only between her elevated, legs-akimbo.

A brace of surf would be directed to lift her gams, gently, by the ankles high above her shoulders, whilst a further duo pulled the remainder of her buttocks apart, exposing her reddish brown, hair-encircled - bulging - puckered coal-chute. A fifth would be ordered to cup his hands under Mary's kaleidoscopic garbage-hole, and wait patiently for a delivery. Mary, whilst nibbling at seedless grapes, still on the vine, fed her almost apologetically, by one of her erection-ridden attendants, the sprig of fruit draped luxuriously over the turgid cock-head of the sixth peon - mouth, full to the brim of chewed fruit: Hands wantonly yanking his rock-hard bell-end toward her grape-filled mouth. She...would allow him to fill her oral void, with spurt after spurt, of his tepid seed, tugging, and squeezing his ball-sack, one finger knuckle-deep up his anus, frantically massaging his quivering prostate, eager to drain every last iota of cum out of his shuddering, aching body, and into the suckling vacuum of her bobbing head, and as she swallowed her fruity semen-cocktail, she would open her rot-hole, and give birth to a bouncing, pound and a half, Christmas log - minus the icing, with as much care, as an attendant nurse conveying a premature infant to the oxygen tent. The only difference being that the turd be thrown down the John, and flushed, whereas baby is administered warm milk, wrapped in coddling clothes and urged to keep quiet - for Heaven's sake! The pre-chosen surf, then, allowed an opportunity for advancement, pre-designated to transport her steaming brick to the bathroom with his bare hands, and upon disposal, was mandated to return promptly to the bung-hole for clean-up and licking duty. If he excelled, then advancement to licking her slimy groove was on the books for him.

Once gobbled clean, Mary would have the remaining five minions, whose balls were still full of cum, to fuck her in every hole of her body; eventually, shooting their loads down her throat, and into her belly, before being tightly tucked into bed, to take a well earned afternoon nap - satiated, fed and burped, she would at last stop complaining...about her lot, and about - everything else in her.

Once asleep; Mary's gigolos tip-toeing out of the bedroom, rushing to the refrigerator, to put their balls and anuses on ice, and consume as much fluids, and protein as quickly as possible, would breathe a breath of relief...but only for a while, for they knew Mary would be hungry when she awoke from her slumber, and they would have considered themselves fortunate, in Mary's world of female sexual power, to still have their testicles hanging limpid now, between their shaved legs, for Mary - on a bad day - had been known to sever a scrotum, with her bare teeth, and swallow the dismembered mountain-oysters whole, and fresh and warm, without as much as a blink of an eye. The agonized eunuch being carried out of chambers, to be stitched-up in the anti-room: Head shaved, and fitted out with orange robe; given a one-way ticket to a Tibetan Monastery, twenty dollars cash monies, a tambourine and summarily kicked out into the street. Mary would have no further use for such a beast, not without his balls now.

As she slept, Mary pondered in her dreams the thought that she would never have to buy toilet tissue ever again, what with all the licking an' all. Why, just think of the savings alone! She felt rich and secure, and as snug as a bug in a rug. She was content.

Chapter 20.

A tear came to Mary's eye, as she sat there in the convent lavatory: a massive ochre colored torpedo slowly sliding out of her itchy hemorrhoid-festooned waste-hole, and as she fingered the toilet door's indented graffiti she thought; see, Sister Theresa had a tight vent, and look, she got to fuck the pope with it! Mary was jealous, and left the stall without wiping, and without flushing - out of pure jealousy and rage filled spite.

As far as Mary was concerned, the nuns could deal with her shit in the pan, and she would cajole Jack, later on that evening, to lick her ass clean. She had pulled it off many times in the past, and Jack wasn't a fussy eater either. He'd eat anything put in front of him, and Mary was going to put her unwiped bung-hole in front of him for supper tonight. Oh! She was livid!

Mary strode out of the convent restroom; her massive cunt, squelching, and slopping around under her as she marched vindictively back into Jack's existence; back into her life, back into his and back into the church, where he sat. Jack asked her what the matter was. But, she only snarled and hissed in his face that he could kiss her fat ass. Jack was puzzled, and wondered at what he had done. Mary sat there wriggling in the pew, feeling the slippery mud congealing around her stink-hole, and consoling herself with conjured-up images of Jack licking her dirt-box clean that night in bed. It was his fault that her cunt was ruined, and he was going to have to pay for that, for the rest of his fucking life, sobbed Mary, internally.

Chapter 21.

The service had ended. Mary sat there seething, and simpering motionless upon the hard wooden pew, the bones of her ass cutting into the cheeks of her buttocks from the inside out with little mercy, and Jack squirming uncomfortably at her side. Jack entreated her once again as to what the matter was? The rigid, almost grinning, physiognomic facial façade - hung wearily like a cheap rug upon her bolt-upright locked-spine, pencil-necked, bloated football of a face which balanced precariously atop of it; now slowly deflating - slid off her skull slicker than cum off a cheap whore's chin, and underneath the mask, lay the pitiful sight of a teary woman who longed for recognition, other than that of just being a wife and a mother, and a sex puppet for her husband. Mary wanted to be famous. Mary wanted to be revered! Mary just wanted to be - known.

The church had almost emptied now, all but for a handful of sinners hanging around like disparate driveling mucus strands from the grotesque smiling jib of a hungry bull dog, all looking for the same thing; an opportunity to buy a seat on the bus - destination Heaven - by palming the fervently hand-shaking ticket-punching priest, a carefully folded sweaty wad of dead presidents, followed by the obligatory, and almost imperceptible, knowing nod. Payments for past favors, or ones to come, who knows, possibly both, or perhaps just simply the odd telephone number from a willing, yet apparently inconsolable, recent widow or two - "More tea vicar..."?

Chapter 22.

There was a condom dispenser installed in the men's and ladies' bathrooms of Saint Luke's within weeks of the new priest's arrival, noted Jack. Jack bought a few packs of three, but threw them away once he discovered that someone had stuck a pin through them. Such is God's work. Jack always inflates his condoms before use - especially if he bought them from a catholic vendor, and it's a fair wager that father O'Reilly does too, and odds on that sister Theresa doesn't.

Once the psycho-dynamic split, and consequential personality transformation, physical and temperamental, from Dr. Mary Jekyll, and Mrs. Hyde had fully taken place, Mary stood up in the aisle and bent over shoving her, now, grotesque, twisted face directly into Jacks, and unloaded such an impassioned diatribe that he could smell the very remnants of garlic itself, still hanging around on Mary's tonsils, and uvula, from the cheap Italian pizza they had eaten some three days ago.

The wind alone, from Mary's bellowing lungs was enough to dry Jack's front - smiling - teeth, as he meekly attempted an ad hoc , personalized, form of kitchen P.R. damage control by pretending to laugh, and animate, that - "Everything is alright over her folks... " He was bad a fake laughter, but carried on regardless, nodding, and laughing, at nothing, as if Mary's outburst was a funny one.

It wasn't working. People were looking, and Mary's so-called whisper had turned into an echoing, reverberating, church rant. The clerics were amassing. One was toting a large fake gold cross on a well-worn wooden pole that Jack doubted was oak, or even Maple - It looked cheap to him, but also heavy, and one crack on the head with that holy club and you'd be shaking hands with your maker sooner than expected, thought Jack.

Mary was out of control by now. Exhausting huge, unpunctuated, batches of dialogue so tenuously connected to each other that the fine thread of her reasoning snapped into gibberish, time and time again, as he listened intently with horrified curiosity - her face mere inches from his now, spewing out her pent-up green-vitriol.

At such close vicinity, Jack once again fell in love with Mary's lips. Beautiful lips had she - jack always adored them, but now, the thinly stretched pair, waning and waxing over well-maintained, flashing incisors; the orthodontic cost alone could have set Jack up with an early retirement either in Mexico - or further south for that matter: South-American coastal barrios, where he would have been treated like Cortez Himself! Getting all his meals cooked for him, and the local conchetas would swarm around to clean his home and suck his balls dry four or five times a week, for pennies on the dollar, but, here he was, sitting in church, with a mad, half crazed, wild-eyed witch, screeching full-blast into his face about something that was news to him, and who had more than half the cost of a Cadillac in her - tooth-perfect -mouth: With Jack picking up the tab on that one - Y'becha! Now if that ain't love, then what is, thought Jack.

Chapter 23.

Mid way through Mary's self-illuminating soliloquy, graphically outlining how she could have fucked the pope - like sister Theresa - if it wasn't for Jack's huge cock enticing her to "ride the snake" every opportunity she got, and eventually ending-up pregnant with their daughter Veronica, whose massive cranium ruined her cunt too - just like the sister's - therefore eliminating, and curtailing her intrinsic God given right, to at least to have had a fighting chance to fornicate with ecclesiastic Royalty, so as to speak! Just like the fucking nuns do - you asshole, babbled Mary, at Jack. Jack tried to laugh it off, rolling around in the pew, and slapping his thigh with the flat of his hand until the blood ran to the surface, under his Sunday Morning Church Best, a pair of slacks he had worn for over ten years now. Mary lifted up her dress and rubbed her clout on his knee, and left her stain there. She got his attention after that.

Chapter 24.

Mary hated sister Theresa by now, even though they had never officially met, and as she frothed at the mouth amid her tirade. She imagined ripping off the nun's habit, and with eyebrow tweezers, meticulously, yanking out every single pubic hair by the root - one by one - from her now, less-than-holy pussy, and especially from around her puckered log-ring hole, because Mary knew that the pope wouldn't, just, have settled for giving it to Theresa in the Pink: Underneath it all, underneath all the robes, and the miters; underneath the pomp and circumstance, and above all...above all The' Glory...underneath all the glitter and fuss, at the end of the day, the man has a pair of balls, and a cock between his legs and that thing needs servicing every now and then, and it doesn't care where...

At the bottom; a man is a man, and like any other man, while he was down there and in the vicinity - riding sister Theresa's love tube like there was no tomorrow - he naturally, would have wandered south an inch or two; pulling his lubricated staff out of her pink, and shoving it - every last inch of it - into her stink...This is what God intended for Man - and Woman - otherwise He wouldn't have put the female ass-hole right next door to the fish-hole fool.

This was God's gift to Man! God is a man, through his son, Himself, so it makes sense that he would have designed Woman to accommodate His wants and needs too, and God likes to ride the log-hole as much as anyone else does. So, the hairs around the turd hole had to come out too... It was a no brainer to Mary - pluck, pluck...pluck!

It was going to have to be a total defrocking for sister Theresa... yes; even the hairs around her nipples would have to go, along with the "Ronnie" she touted above her top lip, for Mary knew that sister had to have sucked the pontiff, I mean, who wouldn't under the circumstances, reasoned Mary in her mind.

Mary feared though, that the defrocking would take some time to execute properly - she didn't want to rush the job - and whilst screaming at Jack in the church, somewhere in the back of Mary's brain, she calmly planned to pack a lunch, with a ham and cheese sandwich, and a flask of mushroom soup,, with digestive biscuits and a second flask of hot tea for break. This, she felt ought to see her through the task, admirably. Mary planned everything, picture-perfect, in the tranquility of her thoughts, during her volcanic, turbulent, boiling, outrage with Jack in the pew. Mary would pack a second sarnie, just in case sister Theresa got a little peckish, during the plucking.

Chapter 25.

Mary would straddle sister Theresa from the top, in the 69 position, and have the sister lick her to multiple orgasms, whilst the defoliation was carried out. Once the final strand had been pulled, then sister Theresa was to perform an act of contrition by saying ten Hail Mary's, one Our Father and five Holy Mary's. Only then, would the slut be forgiven. The bitch! She thought.

Chapter 26.

Mary felt it was all Jack's fault.

In her mind, she felt she could have been great. She could have been a contender, if only Jack had looked out for her, and not given her the full length of his dick, but only the short-end length of a caring mensch's tool: Mary had rented Rocky the week earlier. It had an effect on her. Jack didn't rate Stallone at all...

During Mary's outburst, just as she was rummaging up under her skirt to drag her panties off her quivering buttocks - doing the dance of the striptease in the aisle, in order to shove them, still warm, and fragrant, up into Jack's accommodating, and understanding face, Jack was already unbuttoning his fly.

Chapter 27.

In a by-gone era, whispered by grandmothers and mothers alike, during so called innocuous, communal, meetings such as family BBQs and get-togethers, the act itself proved - in Mary's mind at least- that the [rather] redundant point that she was alluding to was, in fact, that her husband, was - still - fucking her; a claim, which many a married woman cannot make - in all honesty - today. If you're not getting fucked, then you're not a woman anymore. You're simply an artifact! Felt Mary.

Chapter 28.

Mary finally wriggled out of her panties, and slung them with a vengeance into Jack's, aghast, face. The gooey gusset and mud-laden bung-hole region stuck fast to his forehead, and he just sat there, hoping no one had noticed what was going on, but the sniff from Mary's panties caused Jack to gain not only a regular hard on, but a raging hard-on. He just couldn't wait to get his snake out of its confines, and when he finally got it loose of his fly, it telescoped out from within so readily, that as it ran out of spare skin along its pink shaft, it snapped the bias out of the foreskin covering the flared purple helmet underneath with so much eagerness, that it sounded like an elastic band snapping. Even with the slack of the foreskin taken into consideration, Jack's cock was still swelling, and with nowhere to go, it started to bend upwards - rather like that of a Rhino's horn. Jack writhed around in obvious pain, and he worried whether his erection might actually snap his bulging shaft in two...! He was sweating, and unconsciously started to rub it to the maximum length of its reach.

Chapter 29.

Due to his enormous length, generally, if Jack was going out in public, he would fold his non-erect penis up into three equal segments and put three or four of Mary's elastic hair-bands around the bundle and then try and hide his package down low, secured to his scrotum, again, with more of Mary's hair-bands. This way, by wearing baggy pants, he didn't draw undue attention to his groin area. Mary had to wear longish skirts and dresses, so that she didn't inadvertently arouse Jack, out in public. This often happened when Mary, innocently, bending over in front of him, and inadvertently flashing and showing off her ass, which resulted in causing Jack much embarrassment - and pain - trying to hide, and subdue a 13 inch, impromptu, erection. Many a time Jack and Mary would have to duck down an alley, or hold the stop button in an elevator, or one time, just kneeling down between two parked cars on a busy street, Jack holding an open newspaper over Mary, as she sucked the cum out of his balls like a human bilge pump, just so that Jack could walk without a limp. Mary put on a lot of weight on back then, being on Jack's protein diet an' all; but she loved it, and would lick her lips at the thought of the treat itself: It was a combination of Jack's taste, and the silky smooth consistency of his cum that she found so irresistible, and sometimes Jack suspected that Mary's unconscious bending over wasn't so unconscious, after all, if the truth be told...