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“Dear, how can I put this nicely? You’re worse than trailer-park trash! ” Maggie told her daughter as they went about the task of setting the large chuckwagon dinner tables. “You are nothing more than a back-alley slut–the Good Book is very clear on this: it is an abomination to use your mouth when performing your wifely duties except to praise the Lord…such as exclaiming in the heat of the moment “Oh God” or “Thank You, Jesus”…everything else is blasphemy.”
“I don’t recall reading that anywhere in the bible, mother,” the pretty blonde replied; tired of having the same conversation with her mother for the umpteenth time.
“Of course you don’t dear, harlots like you forget all about the teachings of Christ when your loins are on fire,” said Maggie.
“Mother, I saw you spying on me and Joe today—you watched the whole time…I knew you were there—I positioned Joe so when I was on my knees, I could watch you out of the corner of my eyes…you loved what you saw…I saw your hand underneath your dress, mother—dare I say ‘your loins were on fire’?!”
The soft, pale flesh of Maggie’s face burned bright red.
“It was appalling , dear,” Maggie shot back. “There in God’s beautiful and pristine forest was my only child on her knees praying at the altar of her husband’s appendage—with her breasts exposed for all-the-world to see, no less…shocking—downright sacrilegious!”
“Joe likes to watch my titties swaying when I suck him,” said Judy with a slight smile, knowing her choice of words would shock her mother. “I am duty bound to ‘obey my husband,’ aren’t I? Didn’t daddy ever have you go to your knees, mother?”
Maggie sputtered and choked on her daughter’s words. She walked-off in a huff.
“MOTH-ERRRR…” Judy heard the familiar whine of her eighteen-year old daughter, Jenny. “They’re going to be late…Jeffy called and said they were still a half-hour away—the bugs are starting to come out, mother, we’re going to be eaten alive out here!”
“Put some more repellent on, dear,” sighed Judy.
Judy went to the huge grill where Joe was preparing the steaks and potatoes for cooking.
“Sweetie, they’ll be here in a half-hour…all the corn has been shucked and we’ll keep the potato salad cold…let me know when you want us to bring you the corn…we’ll start buttering the Texas toast so that’ll be ready.”
“Okay, hon,” replied her husband.
As Judy walked away, out of the corner of her eye, she watched her husband take a large drink from his ‘water bottle.’ One day, by accident, she’d taken a drink from his bottle only to choke and spit-out the liquid. She searched and found a bottle of 100-proof vodka in his hiding place. He drank it down like it really was water.
He didn’t seem too bad, she thought. His eyes are still clear—an extra half-hour shouldn’t matter.
Judy re-filled her opaque ‘water bottle’ with red wine and sat on a bench and waited. She watched her mother and daughter in conversation. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but somehow knew what they were talking about.
She sighed and let her mind wander.
She was the only one who knew that today was their one month anniversary working this job.
“One down—two-to-go,” she whispered out loud. They had a three-month contract to fulfill.
Two months ago, Joe had been released from the Air Force due to his seizures and what the doctor’s called, “psychotic tendencies.” He was six-months short of twenty-years, and his early release cost him half his pension.
Doctor’s at the VA hospital brought his seizures under control with meds, and he was cleared to work again. A friend-of-a-friend recommended Joe for a job in the mountains in western Montana, near the Idaho border.
It was a ‘dude ranch’ where wealthy people could dress-up and play cowboy and cowgirl for a week at outrageously expensive prices.
Joe had been a career cook in the Air Force so this job was a natural fit. Besides, we were nearly broke. We didn’t have much of a choice.
Even though the twins hated the idea and didn’t want to come with us, Jeffy and Jenny had no money or prospect’s either. So along with my mother, who was forced to move in with us when daddy died, the owners hired us as a “team,” and onto Montana we came.
Everything was fine for a week until one night I noticed Joe pouring the vodka into his water bottle. I had smelled alcohol on his breath before that, but now he made no effort to try and hide his drinking. And he drinks a lot.
Then his blackouts began. The meds and alcohol combine to make him a walking zombie every night. There is no nice way to put it: my dear husband turns into a walking-and-talking zombie every night.
He has no idea it happens to him. The only way I know it takes place is by the look in his eyes. As the alcohol and meds slowly mix together, his eyes begin to water, then the pupils turn to narrow slits, then he suddenly looks as though he’s in a mindless trance.
He’s still awake and in-charge, but escort ataşehir he has no recollection of it the next day. My mother and daughter have spoken with him while he’s in his trance, and he thinks he’s talking to me. It’s kind of spooky.
“What’s wrong with daddy?” my daughter asked one night. “He keeps calling me by your name!”
“Oh, he knows it’s you, sweetie—his meds are just confusing him,” I reassured her.
Truth be told, I’m worried about him, but there isn’t a VA Hospital anywhere near us. We’re going to have to wait until we finish our contract before he can go to the VA again. I only pray that he doesn’t get worse in the meantime.
The strangest side-affect to his alcohol/meds combo is that his libido has suddenly grown stronger than it ever has been. We have sex every night now, and every early morning. Maybe the steroids have something to do with it, but the problem is he doesn’t remember having sex at all.
One afternoon he was after me again for sex and I said, “My God, Joe—twice last night, once in the morning and you want it again?”
He looked at me like I was crazy; he had no memory of our previous night together.
“What are you talking about? We did it yesterday afternoon not last night…a man has needs, you know—you’re my wife and I expect you to obey me!”
Yes, he’s an old-fashioned, chauvinist, sexist pig but I was raised to love, honor and especially–obey my husband, and I do.
Don’t get me wrong—I love sex with my husband—he’s very, very good at it. His penis is magnificent! Whenever he’s inside me I turn to quivering jelly and never fail to have an orgasm. That is no exaggeration. And his tongue—oh my goodness!
Judy shivered at the thought of Joe’s long and thick, serpentine-like tongue that transforms her into a helpless, lewd and lascivious wanton whore whenever he presses his face between her open-thighs.
Like always, Judy felt the heat and moisture begin to build in her pussy when she thought about his tongue. She forced herself to think about something else.
He does have a dark side, though, that rears its ugly head from time-to-time.
Last week, for instance, I was helping him brown the Texas toast on the grill. I got distracted and burnt two pieces.
I quickly said: “Sorry, I burned the toast, honey.”
When I saw the look in his eyes I knew I was in trouble.
We have a strict routine here and it goes like this:
The main camp is five miles away from where we feed the guests. The guests start the day at the main camp, then the guides (my son Jeffy is one of them) lead them on an afternoon horse ride.
They end up here, we feed them, and they spend the night in tents on the far side away from us. Tents? They’re luxurious and provide creature comforts you won’t find in any ‘normal’ tent.
Anyway, when we’re finished feeding the guest’s supper and cleaning-up, we load the company pick-up with the trash and anything else that should go to the main camp. My mother and the twins return to the main camp to spend the night then they return in the morning to bring supplies and help with breakfast. Joe and I stay behind in a small cabin.
After the breakfast clean-up, Jeffy helps guide the guests on horseback while the rest of us return to the main camp to await the dinner routine all over again. It gets a little hectic at times, and we don’t have much free-time, but we’re at least saving some money.
Anyway, on the night I burned the toast, and after my mother and the twins had left for the main camp, I didn’t know what to expect from Joe. The blankness in his eyes told me he’d fallen into his blackout phase.
“Go to the cabin and prepare yourself for bed,” he said as he scrubbed the grill.
I had conflicting emotions, alternating between dread and excitement, as I stripped and pulled the cotton nightgown over my head. I was naked beneath the nightgown—panties were always forbidden at bedtime, and most other times, as well.
“You are my wife and I expect you to be available to me at all times,” he said whenever I protested his no-panties rule.
I lay in the darkness, eyes wide-open, my breathing becoming more erratic the longer I waited. I had an idea what was in store for me and I began to tremble in fear.
I was expected to be the perfect wife and any infraction of his arbitrary rules was met with a swift, and painful punishment.
The creaking cabin door opened and closed. I heard him undressing in the dark. He sat on my side of the bed, leaned-over and whispered in my ear: “This is for your own good.”
He forced me to roll over onto my stomach. His hands pulled the hem of my nightgown up to my shoulders. He caressed the soft flesh of my shoulders, back and buttocks. It always struck me as very devious the way he lovingly stroked me just before my punishment started.
Suddenly, I heard the whooshing noise as his big, hard hand came down on my buttocks.
The awful sound echoed thru-out kadıköy escort bayan the small cabin. I was always surprised at how much the first spank hurt even though I knew it was coming.
I knew better than to protest, or wriggle or squirm away from his spanking hand. It only made him madder, and it prolonged the agony.
When he finished, I was gently sobbing, my body shaking, and my buttocks on fire.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he ordered me.
A cold chill raced down my spine as I obeyed his command. I knew full-well what was coming next. The bed creaked and sagged when he knelt behind me. I spread my legs as wide as possible before he told me to do it.
I groaned when I felt the heat and pressure of his hard cock press against my open, defenseless pussy. I was dripping wet.
He moved his cock back-and-forth over my pussy-lips, coating his flesh with my juices; his finger slipped between the slick lips and slowly worked its way inside my tunnel.
This was his ritual whenever he chose to sodomize me.
He removed his finger and pressed it against my rosebud. He worked it into me up to his first knuckle. His finger returned to my pussy and gathered more of my wetness then he worked it further into my asshole.
Whenever I clenched my sphincter he pinched a buttock hard until I yelped in pain. That was his way of telling me to relax the muscle; that he was going to fuck me in the ass whether I wanted it or not, so I should just loosen my hole for him and quietly accept my fate.
I was, afterall, his wife, and it was his God-given right to use me any way he wanted.
He repeatedly wet his finger in my cunt then pushed it deeper inside my asshole. When he was satisfied my hole was wet enough, he began a slow finger-fuck until the walls of my asshole involuntarily clung to his finger.
He suddenly withdrew the finger and pressed the knob of his cock to my anus.
“This is going to hurt, but maybe you’ll finally learn your lesson,” he said in all seriousness.
I buried my head in the pillow to prepare for his invasion. No matter how many times he did this to me, the first few thrusts of his long, manly cock hurt like hell.
His strong hands gripped my hips and began to slowly pull me back onto his hardness.
I screamed into the pillow, tried to shake free of his hold on my hips, but he was much too strong for me.
Ever-so-slowly, his cock spread the walls of my asshole as it relentlessly burrowed into me. My head thrashed wildly on the pillow; my muffled shouts and screams only seemed to enflame his lust even more.
I almost felt relief when his wiry pubic hairs made contact with my soft flesh; he was all the way inside me. I held perfectly still, fighting hard the instinct to try and expel him from my hole.
We stayed locked in this embrace for several seconds then his hot cock throbbed and expanded my asshole further and I buried my face in the pillow in shame. The pain had turned to pleasure and I knew he was waiting for me to debase myself before his eyes.
I couldn’t help it; like always, my body betrayed me; my hips began rotating and squirming on his cock; I wanted him to begin fucking my hole; I needed to feel his cock sliding in-and-out of my asshole.
“I’m ready, sweetie—fuck me in the ass, baby,” I moaned, knowing it was what he wanted to hear.
I heard a deep chuckle escape his throat; it was the sound of derision; it was his victory laugh. He’d conquered and vanquished me one more time. His seemingly innocent wife was nothing more than a cock-hungry slut who loved to be sodomized.
He definitely had the Madonna-Whore view of women: he expected me to be a saint everywhere except the bedroom, where I was to fulfill his fantasies and become a depraved slut; willing to satisfy his most vile demands.
“Play with your pussy, you whore—show me what a dirty slut you really are—PLAY WITH YOUR CUNT!”
His words stung but I’d heard them before. I was actually thankful for his command. My pussy was demanding attention and I sighed contentedly when my fingers found the lips and clitoris.
I feverishly masturbated while his long, hard cock pounded my asshole with powerfully-delicious thrusts.
I won’t bore you with the details, but needless to say, he fucked me long and hard and when his scalding hot sperm and semen filled my asshole I exploded in a mind-shattering orgasm that left me barely on the edge of consciousness.
We both fell asleep immediately.
And what has become custom in his blackout phase, every morning around three a.m., he woke me by kissing and biting my breasts and nipples until my pussy grew wet, then he climbed on top and rode me until we both came again.
He never remembered any of it. It was as though the spanking, fucking and sodomy never happened, but the angry purple welts on my buttocks; and the deep satisfaction in my loins are proof positive to me that it took escort bostancı place.
I hated that he suffered from these spells, but then again….
It hurt when I sat down to eat breakfast in the morning; I continually shifted my buttocks trying to find the most comfortable position. Naturally, my mother noticed my discomfort and seemed pleased by it.
She leaned over and asked, “Something wrong, dear? Was there a problem with one of your dirty sex games last night?”
“Mother,” I answered, “I’m sure Joe and I do pretty much the same things all couples do…like you and daddy did, too.”
Maggie’s eyes flashed wide; the smirk disappeared from her face.
“Don’t you ever compare the spiritual love your father and I shared to the nasty acts of perversion you perform for your husband…we expressed our love the way God intended for human beings—not like two rutting barn-yard animals!” she spat at her daughter.
Judy fought back.
“You know, mother, your ‘holier-than-thou’ crap doesn’t fly with me…we were both sixteen-years old and unmarried when we got knocked-up!”
Her mother stared hard into Judy’s face, then, in a voice dripping with contempt, she said: “My transgression was purely innocent…I have made my peace with The Lord, and he has forgiven me…you, dear, are a slut who spread her legs for the first man that came along!”
Judy never blinked: “My pregnancy was intentional, mother…it was the only way I could think of to get away from you and daddy!”
The flash of anger on her mother’s face reminded her of her youth—she instinctively backed away so her mother couldn’t slap her.
For the rest of the day, Judy stayed as far from her mother as possible. She watched with weary eyes as Maggie dominated Jenny’s time and attention. She felt sorry for her daughter, but was thankful for the respite from all the negativity.
Just before the guests arrived for dinner, Jenny approached her mom, her pretty face was ashen white; her mood was somber.
“Mom,” said a dispirited Jenny. “I’ve never seen grandma this bad…she’s driving me crazy…she talks like a bitter old woman—she really needs to get laid, mom!”
Judy hid the shock of her daughter’s words and simply replied, “You may be right, dear.”
They heard the horses approach, and Jenny ran to greet her brother. When he dis-mounted, they hugged and Jenny kissed his cheek.
“Isn’t it sweet the way they look after each other,” Maggie said to Judy. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a brother-and-sister as close as they are—it’s so pure and natural.”
“You’re absolutely right, mother—I’ve never seen anything quite like it either!” answered Judy. She watched until they broke the hug then saw it again—that tell-tale bulge in the front of her son’s jeans.
I don’t know how ‘pure and natural’ it is, mother, she thought to herself. What the hell is going on with those two?
Inevitably, when a fresh group of tourists arrived, at some point during dinner, while watching the three pretty females serving them food and drink, someone would ask, “Are you all related?”
Maggie would take center stage and declare, “Why yes, we are…we represent three generations…over there is my daughter and the young one is my granddaughter….”
“Can you tell the difference?” she’d ask laughing.
A guest would always ask them to pose together for a photo.
Invariably they’d say, “Maggie, the three of you are almost identical—you don’t look any older than your daughter…what’s your secret?”
Maggie would smile, turn up her nose and say, “A pure heart and mind…and clean, wholesome living…my daughter should try it sometime!”
The guests would roar with laughter while Judy felt a seething rage inside.
They were almost finished cleaning-up; she stood near Joe and tried to casually gauge his condition to see what might be in store for her that night in bed.
Jenny came to them and said, “Nice meal tonight, daddy—everyone loved it!”
“Thanks, hon,” he said. “Why don’t you get ready for bed, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Jenny turned to her mother and whispered, “Mom, what is wrong with him? Every night he mistakes me for you.”
“It’s okay, dear…his meds are acting-up,” replied Judy, failing to mention the huge quantity of alcohol he’d consumed.
She looked into her husband’s eyes. He was deep in his zombie-trance. She marveled at how he could function when he was like that.
Suddenly she remembered Jenny’s words earlier in the day: “Grandma really needs to get laid, mom!”
The idea struck her like a thunderclap. She never even hesitated.
Maggie was gathering up the remaining items to be taken back to the main camp. Judy hurried to the pick-up truck and climbed in beside Jenny in the front seat. There was not enough room for Maggie.
“What are you doing?” asked her mother.
“Mom, could you please do me a huge favor? Would you stay here tonight? My period is giving me unbelievable cramps—I need to soak in a bathtub in the worse way, but we only have a shower here…please, mom?” she lied to her mother.
“Where am I going to sleep?” she asked.
“My nightgown is on the chair near the bed…just put it on and climb into bed….”
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