(Mf, inc, cons, voy, msolo, viol, preg)
by Art Martin
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted 2003, 2005 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted.
Standard Disclaimer: This story contains sexually graphic and explicit material and as such it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. If you are offended by stories featuring group sex, bisexual situations, incest, sex between minors and adults, or any other situation, please check the story code before reading the text. These stories are just that, stories, and do not promote or condone the activities described herein, especially when it comes to unsafe sexual practices or sex between adults and minors.
I grew up in an older section of a small town. Our house was only three blocks from the downtown area and my mother and her neighbor friends would simply walk to the grocery store every morning to pick up what they needed for dinner and supper that night.
The houses were large, with high ceilings, broad front porches, and either wood sided or sided with asbestos shingles. Most of the houses were white, and most needed a new paint job. Unlike the tract houses you see today, the houses were set very close to the sidewalks, so that you could sit on the front porch and talk with the passing neighbors. The houses were set on very deep lots allowing for large vegetable gardens and fruit trees in the back. Many of the houses had sheds of various sorts in the back.
During my childhood these back lots and sheds were my playground. My buddies and I would play war or cops and robbers and use whatever territory we needed. Fences were just obstacles to be overcome in the course of play. Nobody ever said that we couldn’t, except a few times when we were reprimanded for snooping around inside someone’s tool shed or garage.
One lazy afternoon during the summer that I was thirteen and perpetually horny, I was prowling around, looking for a ripe peach to steal off a tree. As I was sneaking up on my targeted peach tree, I passed a tool shed. I heard noises coming from within. The moans, groans, and grunts sounded like someone was hurt. The small window was so grimy as to be nearly opaque, but I knew where there was a broken board and so I peeked inside.
There on a blanket, in the dim, but adequate light, I saw a naked man’s hairy butt pumping up and down. A pair of shapely legs with red painted toenails were wrapped around his thick waist. I stood transfixed. I had heard of this sort of thing, but I’d never actually seen anything like it before. The man’s fat balls hung low, swinging freely as he humped away.
Most of the moaning and groaning and ‘oh god-ing’, and ‘oh fuck-ing’ was coming from a female voice, even though I did hear the man hoarsely call her a bitch, a fucking little slut, a dirty whore, and a few other choice invectives. It was shocking to me to hear someone talk to a girl like that, but she didn’t seem to mind.
My stiff dick was so hard it hurt! I unfastened my pants and pulled out my rock hard meat and began whacking off as I watched the erotically stimulating live sex act in the shed. I didn’t last very long and I soon shot off in my hand.
The couple inside the shed rolled over. She sat up. I could only see her from the back. Long flowing dark hair, thin waist, flared hips, and gorgeous full rounded buttocks, buttocks like I dreamed about at night. It was the Baker’s tool shed and from the hair, I reasoned that the girl was Amy Baker. Amy was only a few years older than me, but at that stage of life, we were decades apart. She was a high school girl and I was only starting in the eighth grade.
She ground her full rounded buttocks into the groin of her lover. Lifting herself, and I could see the man’s long thick cock emerge from her cunt, glistening in the dim light. As the dark, vein-bulging cock pulled out, her pussy lips, stretched tight around his hard rod, pulled downward. When she sank back down, her pussy lips inverted as the big cock slid back up inside her. She began to ride him, fucking him with abandon.
The moaning and soft cursing continued. Suddenly she fell forward, and I watched as her lovely buttocks flexed and shuddered spasmodically for about two minutes. Other than her buttocks jerking and her feet twitching, she lay still as the man continued to enthusiastically fuck into her.
Then she stood up, pulling the hard dick out of her pussy with a lewd, wet slurping noise. She turned around facing me. Oh, yeah! I knew it! I knew it! It was Amy Baker! Hot damn!
Her pussy lips hanging low, Amy grasped the glistening cock and directed it back into her cunt, sitting down on it. Her big tits, capped by large dark bulls-eye nipples, were flopping about as she bobbed up and down on the big lust-swollen prong.
Amy was one of those girls that males from 10 to 80 gawked at. She was stacked and always seemed to be on the verge of bursting from her tight clothes. To me, she looked like a movie star and for some time she had been the object of my nighttime masturbation fantasies. Now to see her, completely nude, nude and fucking some guy with wanton abandon, was just too much. Breathlessly I continued to watch the fornicators, slowly stroking my penis to erection again.
After several minutes the man sat up, roughly shoving Amy forward onto her hands and knees. As he positioned himself behind her, I recognized him too. It was her old man, Mr. Baker! Sweet Jesus! I was really bug-eyed now as he began to ram his curvaceous daughter from behind with all his might, her low hanging jugs swinging forward each time his groin impacted her butt with a loud slap, slap, slap.
The sweet tingling sensation that I so loved began radiating out from my groin, blurring my vision as I peaked. To my complete surprise, I was suddenly and without warning swung around by a big woman. Unable to control myself, I began squirting. To my horror, I was looking into the incensed face of Mrs. Baker, shooting my slippery sauce onto her faded cotton print dress.
“You filthy, filthy boy!” she shrieked, her face contorted with rage. “I’m going to speak to your mother about this!”
There was a crashing sound from inside the shed. Mrs. Baker heard it. How could she not hear it? Letting go of my arm, she quickly stepped to the front of the shed and opened the door. I heard her shriek again and then the sounds of all hell breaking loose in the tool shed. Pulling up my pants, I ran for home.
That night at supper, I was very quiet. I dreaded what my mother was going to say. I dreaded even more what my father was going to do to me once Mrs. Baker had told Mom that she caught me whacking off behind her tool shed. To my relief, Mom never said anything.
Later that week I saw the Bakers at the Piggly Wiggly. Mr. Baker, his chest and thick hairy arms bulging under the t-shirt he wore, looked me in the eye and glared. Mrs. Baker, dowdy as ever, saw me and quickly looked away, but not before I saw that she had a nasty black eye. Amy, dressed in red short-shorts so short that you could almost see her ass, went about as if everything was normal and continued to ignore me like I didn’t exist.
Over the next year I stopped, looked and listened, but I never did find Amy doing her daddy in their tool shed ever again. I sort of kept an eye on the place and if I saw Mrs. Baker leave the house to walk to the grocery store, I would snoop around outside the Baker’s house. If Mr. Baker’s pickup truck was parked in the drive, sometimes under a certain window I could hear a bed creaking and hear the soft moaning and cursing of Amy and the gruff voice of Mr. Baker heaping abuse on her. But the curtains were always drawn, so I couldn’t see what I knew to be happening.
Once while I was snooping. I heard the front door slam and then Mrs. Baker shouting, then loud noises and Mr. Baker cursing and then Mrs. Baker crying. Later I saw Mrs. Baker outside sweeping off her porch, sporting a new black eye and a busted lip.
Even after her belly began to swell and she dropped out of school, Amy remained my masturbation fantasy girl. I would visualize her, her sumptuous ass cheeks quaking, her fat tits wildly gyrating as she rode my cock. Riding me just like she rode her old man’s cock that hot summer day in the tool shed.