Minister's Wife (Cukes and Grandes)

This time, the new cuke's long, tapering pointed end spread her anus gently, just exactly right, like a finger into a well-tailored glove, slid far up inside with scarcely any hesitation. She giggled – it seemed so reasonable that the 'gentlemanly' vegetable would turn out to be English!

More pressure, more depth. She gasped – such a difference between the two cukes – and what a difference from anything she'd ever felt before! A wild, weird feeling! She slid it in and out gently, exploring. Far from seeming unnatural, or from hurting, or even from being uncomfortable, it was gloriously exciting. And remarkably easy to insert until it found some sort of obstruction to fetch up against. A new, secondary "bottom", quite some incredible distance inside her. It felt as if it might yield, with some judicious changes in pressures and angles – shortly, it did, and she gained another full pair of inches – the damned thing was practically at the back of her throat. Whizzer! More strokes, and during them her hand found her clit.

Abruptly, with no real warning, she was hit by a long string of glorious petite lightnings, one, two, three... and more. She was shaking – why, why WHY did it work this way, such pleasure from such an illicit, forbidden, un-natural thing? Or was the pleasure BECAUSE of all that? She wasn't even letting herself be overactive in her imaginings about being penetrated by the men in the photos, even though she was sure her Hubby imagined himself being part of the magazine pictures.

She sighed, rubbed hard nipples against the bedspread, and slid the long cuke out. Perhaps she was more relaxed, now, down there? Try again, sitting, narrow end of the bigger cuke upwards. She watched in the mirror, felt herself opening, the pressure was... what? How to describe it? Deliciously unsettling, almost to the point of sexual urgency mixed with an edge of mild nausea... or perhaps a sensation of having to go to the bathroom in a really strange way ... how odd!?

More pressure, and it began to open her. Slowly, carefully, she tried to make it disappear. Rocking up and down, back and forth, adjusting. One hand for her clit, the other to help guide the cuke-cock. Just like a huge cock, penetrating, entering, filling her unlike anything ever. The closest thing, and it wasn't at all parallel, was giving birth. That had hurt – this didn't. No, indeed. God but she was getting full. Half-way in now. She bounced gently: enough? Maybe another inch of depth, adding another three millimeters of diameter? Would that split her? Surely not!? "Just take it EASY, Girl!" she told herself... "Go SLOOOOOOOW!"

Her fingers hit her clit again as she watched the cuke cycle in and out of her bottom.

She wondered later if it had taken a full minute from start to finish, from when her fingers got hold of her clit to when she recovered from her Grande, face down on the bed, the ejected cuke glistening on the towel beneath her. Later she picked up the cuke and studied the ring of lube that marked where her body had finally rebelled and ceased to permit further entry – it was WAY up the ever-increasing diameter. She was impressed – and embarrassed. But it did feel nice, basking in this afterglow.

Now she let her imagination run. What, she wondered, would it feel like to have one of those big men doing this to her? Surely they must know how to do it without hurting their partner? Maybe the women in the photos were actually, genuinely enjoying themselves, not just putting up with something distasteful to earn a few dollars? And surely a big cock would have a much more proper flexibility and warmth to it than any cuke. An intriguing and very disturbing thought – and it occurred to her that she didn't even KNOW any black men! Wasn't the population of the country over 20% black? How could she NOT know even ONE?

Slowly, gently, Lynn re-assembled her wits, shut down those naughty thoughts, and cleaned things up. Very carefully indeed.

A whole world of secondary pleasure hit her that evening at dinner as she watched Hubby working his way through the salad, complete with raw zucchini and cucumber rings sliced from the unpeeled toys of her private afternoon. Childish, she thought – but such FUN having that secret! At least, she had washed them thoroughly – she needn't have, but did it anyhow. She wondered why it was so important to feed them to Hubby? Some sort of revenge, probably. Anyhow, he seemed to enjoy the salad.

Two weeks passed. Actually, it wasn't weeks so much as several cukes. Her new, private units of time – Cukes and Grandes. She had let her crotch start back to natural, and thereupon discovered that she really liked being shaved. But Hubby hadn't even noticed – not a touch of any sort. She was getting desperate now, and on her 50th birthday evening, after he had given her a very nice present, she had, in the bedroom, gently disclosed her new-shorn crotch to him by audaciously putting his hand atop it, encouraging him, even muttering into his ear that she had found his magazines and wondered if he'd like to try "those things" with her.

But she hadn't counted on the degree to which the revelation might paralyze him with embarrassment. Instead of the desired rise, what she got were abject apologies and some minor fumblings mixed with excuses of back-pain. She had pretended through her hurt to understand, even pretended more or less successfully that she had gotten some pleasure from the smattering of touches that he had substituted for real lovemaking. Happy fiftieth, Granny!

She lay awake much of the night, wishing she were alone so she could masturbate – the first time in her entire married life for any such thought.

And so things still stood. Nothing had improved between them, nothing further had happened since that night two weeks ago. And now, against all her good upbringing and experiences and instincts, here she was, sitting – albeit perfectly innocently – in the hotel room of an almost complete stranger, a very attractive and very MALE stranger! But one with whom she had greatly enjoyed two long, complex days of activities.

Back in the present, memories dismissed for the moment, her belly was doing interesting things on its own, as she kept bouncing her leg while she studied the mirror. Shades of teen-age masturbation in class!

The bathroom door opened without warning, and Jerry appeared, about to stride past her towards his suitcase. And he was dressed only in his jockey shorts! Jockey shorts with a huge brown coffee stain covering half the front. Covering half of his excruciatingly obvious bulge. She gasped.

He just grinned at her and said "Don't be upset! These aren't nearly as small as my swimsuit. I just have to get some clean clothes."

She watched in near shock as he leaned over the suitcase: his legs were runner-lean, strong-muscled. They disappeared into the snugly-filled pair of shorts, buttocks solid and taut. Her belly flipped again, hard.

She looked away, but there he was, visible in the damned mirror. Then he was standing up, turning, clean underwear and slacks in one hand. Her eyes were locked on the bulge – she couldn't break away.

He paused before her, grinned in a way that drove all her belly-butterflies into swirling panic, and said quietly "It's just a little hardon, Lynn. It means I find you tremendously sexually attractive. Good old John Thomas doesn't react to every female of the species thataway, you know. Consider it quite a compliment!"

She looked up at him, unable to respond, unable to move – it was as if her throat were stuck shut down its full length. He looked right back at her for the longest time – an immeasurable instant. Then finally she managed to croak in a whisper, "Me? Sexually? How could you think I'm... I mean, I'm fifty, I'm a grandmother! Grandma three times over, actually!"

Jerry paused – he'd been intent on just finishing the quick-change. After a moment, he reached for her hand, lifted it, placed her palm squarely on the bulge.

She didn't flinch: couldn't have – she seemed to be without any will whatever. Beneath her hand, he was hot and palm-filling.

"Lynn... Of course you're attractive. Jeez, haven't you noticed me looking down your blouse every chance I get?"

She jumped – this morning when dressing she had seriously considered going braless... something she had literally never done except around the house and that pretty rarely – and all because of an intense dream she had had about Jerry that night. Maybe she really should have done so? Instead, she had worn the one bra her husband had never seen, a pushup little-nothing device, the absolute limit of her sexual adventuring to date. So – Jerry had certainly seen the tops of her boobs – after all, she'd chosen the scoop-necked and very flimsy blouse as an alternative to her lack of courage about no bra. And now, Oh My God!! –- it had WORKED!! Egad. Omigawd squared.

Jerry kept right on – her hand was glued to his crotch. And dammit, dammit, dammit, how he just kept on looking at her!

Then out of nowhere, she whispered "I wore the blouse for you, you know. I wanted to wear no bra, but I just couldn't do that – I never have, never do, go that way. I'm sorry. I don't do this often... never, actually, I don't know why I – anyhow, I'm sorry!"

What the hell was she apologizing for, she wondered?

Jerry shook his head and smiled. "My Lady..." he said. "... now, what in the devil is there for you to be sorry ABOUT? Quit that! And, Madam, you obviously have no idea how attractive you are! Have you noticed that I walked up the stairs behind you every time I had a chance? Why do you suppose that was? So I could have my face at the level of your butt, so I could watch. You have a gorgeous bottom! And your boobs, given only what I've seen of them from the top, are just beautiful. But the single most attractive thing is something you might not believe. Want me to tell you?"

Oh, yes, indeed, she did want that! It was monstrously important. She nodded. In her hand, his cock twitched violently, startling her again.

He grinned again at her reaction. "Your mouth. You have the most beautiful teeth, and that little pink tongue of yours reminds me of a trapped, small, warm, and very friendly animal that really needs some close attention and petting. It has been driving me absolutely bug-fuck all day. All two days, really."

She had never heard the expression, but understood fully.

A silent minute later, her hand was still on his cock-bulge. He had put it there, perhaps he would have to move it away. If he wanted it moved, that is. Part of her wondered why she hadn't moved it herself? What might she be waiting for? He wasn't even touching her hand anymore, so prolonging the contact was up to her, and she wasn't able to break it off.

Finally, he continued: "I could use some help in getting these jockeys off – after all, you were the one who knocked the coffee off the dash, so in all fairness you really ought to help. If you're interested, that is."

Their eyes locked. He still hadn't moved a muscle since placing and releasing her hand. After a considerable, and markedly pregnant, pause, he said "I could - that is, WE could - make things a bit more symmetrical. If you wish. And we can readily fix your bra-indecision from this morning. I could make you braless, at least for a moment, while you help me with the shorts. Symmetry is a good thing, no?"

What a rush flowed over her! Before she could answer, he stepped to her, cupped her face in his hands, and whispered "Permission to pet the poor trapped little animal?" She couldn't focus on him, his cock was pulsing in her palm, her nipples were aching-hard, her mouth was dry, and her heart was going crazy - it was trying to escape on its own.

She had never even contemplated what it might be like to be kissed by some man not her Hubby. And Dearest God in Heaven, how she wanted it! Her armpits were soaking wet. And she was shaking, way down inside.

When she said nothing, he whispered "Lack of active refusal means YES in this game, madam."

And then her mouth was wide open and his tongue was deep inside and they were dancing, thrusting, sucking, practically devouring one another, she had NEVER been kissed this way, and his hands were lifting the blouse hem to her shoulders, his fingers were clearly experienced, they knew the bra was a front-closure for he never even checked the back, and then her aching nipples were against his palms, between his fingers, and her mouth was shockingly empty as he transferred his oral attentions to her nipples, the front edges of her armpits, the undercurve of her tits. She practically screamed when he softly, deliciously mashed a nipple between tongue and palate.

What was she supposed to do in return? Her hand squeezed his cock, his free hand joined hers, and together, no instructions needed, they pulled the coffee-soaked shorts down to his ankles and he kicked them away. His cock sprang free; with his guidance, her fingers circled the shaft. She looked sideways over his shoulders as he nursed: his cock-tip stared up from amidst her fingers, its small slit opening reminding her nonsensically of a cyclopean single eye. As sensations from her boobs threatened to overwhelm her, she nonetheless studied his cock. Nicely shaped, and screamingly hard! Circumcised, too – unlike her Hubby. Jerry's cock-nakedness was nice, she thought – she had never seen a naked cockhead in person. Her fingertips squeezed the head, the eye opened, looking more like a small kissing-mouth than an eye.

He made appreciative noises – at last, her paralysis was gone, she was doing something, and it was apparently GOOD. She stroked and explored. Her fingers told her he was shaved! Hubby had such an incredible Brillo-pad down there. She'd really noticed it for the first time on her birthday exertions, and only because of her newly shaved self. Now, out of the ether, came this stranger, all shaved just like her. It really did feel nicer, this combination of smooth coolness and rampant hot hardness.

Then, disappointingly, he was pulling away. Her heart thundering, almost unable to breathe, she tried to rein herself in, to understand rationally what was going on, and thereby to regain some measure of sanity and control. It was not that easy, though. With his cock proudly before him, Jerry took her by the shoulders, lifted her off the ground as if she weighed nothing whatever, and kissed her once more, hard, long, and very, very deep.

She sagged against him, trapping the useless, dangling cups of her bra between her arms and ribcage. After the longest kiss of her entire life, she pulled away for a moment, striving one last time for some semblance of control, and muttered "My God, Jerry, I'm - sorry, or - or – whatever... I'm afraid I really don't know what's going on here, with me I mean... what am I supposed to DO? I don't know!"

Jerry looked slightly amused, then got serious for a second and said "The hell you don't! I'm willing to believe that you don't consciously know, maybe that you're actually all that innocent, but your BODY knows, and the under-layers of your MIND know. So really, you do know. But... I need you to do something for the both of us."

She looked at him quizzically: "for both of us" was interesting, although not a command. He turned her towards the room door and said "Walk over there to the door. Please." She was totally confused now, but did as he said. Her blouse slid back down into place, the fabric cool on her inflamed nipples. Her boobs wobbled slightly as she moved, the whisking of nipples against cloth was sending little sensory lightnings to her brain. At the door, she stopped, looked back at him, wondering.

"Put your hand on the knob."

She did so. God how her nipples ached. And her inner thighs were slickery with her own juices while her belly was busy with its own private earthquake. Her mind seemed to have abdicated completely.

Then Jerry said, from so terribly far away, "You are in charge of your own destiny, you know. You have to choose. Either turn the knob and leave, or flip the security lock and stay. Personally, I'd much rather you stay, but the choice is entirely yours. But be forewarned – if you stay, we are going to make love – hard, long, and just as intensely and as many times as I can possibly manage... and you're so sexy that it's going to be quite a few times, believe me! And just so you know – I have a simple personal philosophy about these sorts of things. No pain. Stop means stop. No means NO. The objective is to maximize pleasure of every sort, for each person. You'll have to agree to that, if you want to stay."

Her mind handled that easily – she could agree. Decision made. Half a second later, she flipped the locking lever, turned around to face him. She now realized with a crystal clarity that every fiber of her entire being wanted him. Immediately, desperately, consumingly, mentally, physically, emotionally.

The astounding INTENSITY of her raw neediness was infinitely more disturbing than the simple fact of its existence. Where had all this come from, why could she put up no resistance, and how the hell was she ever going to square things her conscience? Her conscience told her it would take care of all that, not to worry: she gratefully accepted the release from responsibility and blame.

In a move she could not have imagined twenty minutes earlier she shimmied out of both bra and blouse, to stand before Jerry nude to the waist, saying "I really don't have to go home tonight, you know, my husband is off on one of his long trips to his rural ministries, and I'm not terribly hungry, and I never made a reservation for you and me at the restaurant so nobody will..."

He stopped her with another long, exquisite kiss. He was a gentleman, asking into her ear about birth control, she was replying there was no need, she'd been just like her mother, metronome-regular for decades, then like a light-switch, bingo!! - no more periods, not even any spotting, no transition whatever, just a cessation. And no hot flashes!

He muttered how nice that was, she asked whispering about the lights, he told her that the eyes were the second-most important sex organ, beaten out only by the brain, and he wasn't about to blind them to what was going on, after all, eyes were what the mirror was for!

Moments later she was on her back on the bed with her legs widespread and his mouth doing the most incredible things to her crotch. More than that, to her soul itself. Where had she and Hubby been, all these married years?

NO! - The REAL question of the moment was "Where the very HELL had Hubby's MOUTH been all these long, arid years?"

Before she fully understood this brand new game, her belly contracted into the most incredible knot and she exploded into a nonstop string of linked Grande lightnings, utterly unlike anything she had ever thought was possible, him with her clit in his mouth and two fingers far into her pussy and another pair full-length inside her bottom, oh-my-god! A very few minutes later, with her on her chest and knees, she positively reveled in how he stirred her insides – her second man ever in this life!

She felt the knob of his cock slide past the end of her cervix. She had seen that battle-worn cervix once in her doctor's office, using speculum and mirror, all scarred from four childbirths. She almost giggled as she imagined Jerry's cock-opening, his little cock-mouth, kissing the mouth-opening at the end of her womb, what a concept, a truly "deep" kiss!

When he was eating her for perhaps the sixth time, complete with several fingers in her bottom and his thumb hooked into her pussy, she suggested, hesitantly, that maybe he'd like to try "something different."

He looked up from his work and grinned infectiously at her, said "Whatever M'lady's heart desireth, so shall it be. I'll be Captain Picard for you, "Make It So!" What desireth thou?"