Those of you who have been following the adventures of Rhonda and myself as we do what comes unnaturally will no likely be quite surprised to discover another contribution from yours truly in such a short time. This is a perfect illustration of the power of the pussy. No pussy means idle hands, in a matter of speaking, and the drive to seek some form of substitute for that hairy, juicy, box lunch that most members of the other species become quickly addicted to. I for one have been practicing self-abuse with much more frequency since Judit left the premises. In my quest for satisfaction of a sort, I have been frequenting the amateur wife and picture swapping sites, some of which are still free provided you don't mind wading through hip deep pop-ups and the like.

To my utter amazement I have discovered that even this last bastion of "free" speech has fallen victim to the dreaded quadrennial plague that has descended on our land of the "sort of" free and the home of the "for hire" brave. People are taking sides on nonsensical issues that are nonsensical, and urging self abusers like myself to vote for their candidate who I discover has sworn a great oath to his creator (no capitalization warranted or intended) to make certain that I will be unable to deviate from the accepted sexual mores declared to be true by the church of the USA under the penalty of imprisonment or forfeiture of my worldly goods. That is one hell of a note.

As one wit so accurately described these political folk, he separates them into the party of bad ideas and the party of no ideas. I personally go one step further when it comes to the party standard bearers who appear to be the type of candidates that a country such as we have become, deserves. On the one hand we have literally a man for all seasons and a man for all reasons who has the uncanny knack of being able to speak out of both sides of his mouth at the same time. I liken him to a shape shifter, one of my favorite characters from fantasy games. His worthy opponent is the incumbent war lord/draft dodger who claims he is installing democracy, whatever that is these days, into other places so that their lot in life will be wonderfully improved. It sort of reminds me of the way that the heathens in Europe and other areas were "converted" by those who had the better weapons or larger armies. This of course also meant that god was on their side.(Sound familiar?) By the way, we are technically a republic, a subtlety that seems to befuddle all our elected representatives who usually place "party" loyalty first, no matter what.

Please accept my humble apologies for this foray into folly, which is the way I view our political system. The lack of good pussy, or any pussy for that matter, affects me in many strange ways, this being one of the milder manifestations that I must deal with on a daily basis. Having gored every one else's ox, I will now move on to describe what happened the next day when I awoke and discovered that livin' in the country had become even more interesting and entertaining.



Chapter 7



I awoke to bright sunshine, a strange odor and the sight of approximately 400 pounds of female flesh situated within arm's distance of where I lay. It took a moment to identify my loving wife, Rhonda, who had her face within a few inches of a shaved snatch that I vaguely recalled belonged to someone named May or was it June? It looked to me like Rhonda had buried her face into a puddle of whitish goo. She was caked from eyebrows to chin with this substance. The odor I had detected was emanating from that material. Then I remembered some more about the game they were playing and concluded it must be the essence that was contained deep within May or June's cunt. A few seconds later it dawned on me that part of that substance most likely had originated within me and been co-joined inside the sleeping stranger, finally being drawn out by the unquenchable thirst of my rabid wife for sexual liquids of all types. When it came to suctioning, my wife was world class. Many a time I had experienced the combined joy and sheer terror of having my cock engulfed by the awesome vacuum that this woman could generate. Not even the French, who are said to have a word for anything, or is it everything, could produce words that accurately defined the sensations this woman could produce in the male genitalia once she had built up a good head of steam.

Since they were showing no signs that they wished to resume whatever nice things they had been performing on both me and themselves, I decided to do a reconnaissance, that's another of them French words, to see if there was any life stirring around the place. There was indeed! I had taken no more than a dozen steps in the direction of the nearest toilet when I spied a bevy of bountiful bare breasts bouncing along as their owners balanced heaping plates of food in their hands. I could not recall these particular ladies, but in view of all the activity that had been taking place all over the house, this was not too surprising. I made a mental note to make the acquaintance of this group once I relieved myself of whatever was stretching my bladder.

Somewhat less encumbered I followed my nose to where enormous quantitites of hot food was being turned out by another group of more senior ladies, most of whom wore nothing more than panties and a big smile. I was distracted some by the variety of bare bosoms that were on display. There were big ones, real big in some cases, and small ones, down to bite size I'd judge. Some were round like melons, others had the appearance of pears or guords, a few reminded me of different kinds of apples, and one set in particular had taken on the characteristics of the fruit of the lemon tree. A few pushed up and out, possibly assisted by the skills of modern plastic surgery. Others reacted to the force of gravity, ranging from slight sagging to total surrender to the miseries of weakened pectoral muscles. Despite these variations from the ideal, every one of these ladies, god bless them, possessed a pussy and that my friends is what it's all about, the pussy. Attached to the right kind of brain and attitude, the pussy is the most powerful creation ever put on this planet, and we of the other species should know and appreciate that fact.

Now that I had been properly fortified I set out to find the dog handler so we could discuss the details involved in matching his dog pack with my wife. I knew for a fact, but never let on that I did, that Ronda had a thing for man's best friend. This loving, trustworthy mother and wife had a loyal following of four legged fans of the canine persuation. In a sense this would be her coming out party. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Rhonda the debutante, being presented to dog society. It was a real strange sight to put it bluntly, and one upon which I did not choose to dwell further.

Since Rhonda was a big woman the handler wanted to have her restrained so that she wouldn't harm his animals when they started doing her. His suggestion of having her kneel while her head and hands were held in a wooden stock made sense. Her ankles would be fixed to stakes to keep her properly positioned while the dogs had their way with either of her holes. I was a bit concerned about the effect of the dog's knot if he went off inside her asshole, but was assured that the average woman could handle this discomfort with no problem once she had been through the initial experience. When he added the observation that in his opinion my wife was definitely not your average woman, he won me over.

I was most impressed by his knowledge and the physical setup he planned to provide. He would assemble a fairly narrow dog run from wire fencing with a passage at either end through which a single dog would be released. He would have Rhonda placed in the stock at the midpoint of the run so that she would be available from either side. To make sure that either end of Rhonda was equally attractive to the animals, her face and hind quarters would be seasoned with the scent of a bitch in heat to act as the proper stimulus. To avoid any unnecessary damage to my wife, a plastic mask, much like those worn by hockey goalies would protect her face and leave her mouth open and available for whatever pleasure the furry fucker wanted to obtain from her. Her back and legs would be covered with sturdy denim padding to prevent the excited animal from scratching her during the mounting process. I pronounced myself satisfied with the man's arrangement and agreed that within the hour my loving wife would be turned over to him.

With almost an hour to kill I started wandering about the house looking for trouble if it was available. As I passed a closed door well off the main hall of our place my keen ears detected the sounds of people doing what comes naturally around these parts. What made me pause was that I recognized Jack's voice among the sighs and slapping of bare flesh against flesh. It dawned on me that I hadn't seen hide nor hair of the four boys who had been drafted as replacements for the still recovering Marty, yet to put in an appearance at my little clambake. Curiosity overcame good sense and so I barged in to find out what the hell was going on.

My first impression was that I had somehow stumbled into one of those rugby scrums, because I was confronting this pile of writhing bodies. It was not immediately obvious who was doing what to whom, but there sure was a lot of doing going on. Suddenly most of these naked forms began scrambling for new positions, and I recognized my son, Jack, as he pulled back from the pile and quickly took up a position at the head of the moving mass of folks. Meanwhile another one of the lost boys had replaced my son; I call him that because Rhonda thinks he might have been mine. It was at this point that the center of the pile began loudly berating those attempting to service her. Jack stepped forward and jammed his rigid cock into the complainer's mouth, cutting her off in mid-bitch. Her voice sounded familiar even though it was impossible to gain a clear view of her body since it currently was being being poked and prodded by a number of stiff cocks. One thing I did notice, and it gave me pause for concern. The mysterious lady had her hands cuffed behind her back.

As I prepared to wade into the mass of fucking humanity, the mystery lady managed to spit Jack's cock from her mouth. As soon as she said, "No, you damned fool it's feces, not shit! No, I can't taste my shit off your dick. Yes, my feces do taste wonderful as I suck them from your penis!" I knew it was Mimi Marlowe, or Ms. Marlowe to the students. I remembered her from the pileup in the bathroom last night. How or why she had gotten herself involved in this exercise that we men called making them airtight, was none of my business provided she was doing this on her own volition. I got my answer when the new guy replacing my possible son on her asshole began jackhammering her for all he was worth. She let out a loud moan and urged the rascal to "Pound me to a pulp you nasty boy. Give Ms. Marlowe all you have, she really needs it."

I wondered how long those four young studs had been sawing away on her saggy body. The way they were arranged with one stud always resting up while his three companions stretched and pummeled all her orifices, not holes, orifices, they could keep this up for a very long time. I decided not to break things up since their services were not presently required by those assembled in the meeting hall. I had to hand it to Mimi, the cuffs were a very nice touch. I'll bet it kept those teens turned on continuously as they did her every which way they could. They had their ball breaking teacher at their mercy, so they thought, and they were going to show her who the boss was with a vengeance. I wondered how she kept from laughing at such foolishness.

The condition of Marty caused me to take another detour to check on the progress of our two rather shopworn guests. I don't know who was more surprised when I opened the door to their bedroom, me or Marty. The little rascal was firmly attached at the groin to his senseless wife, the lovely and fragile Marie. It was apparent to me that he was having sexual congress with this sleeping beauty, something usually reserved for extremely special occasions and no doubt properly witnessed by her lawyer and perhaps a few dozen of his closest friends who were assembled to use her services as well. I could not avoid frowning at this forbidden behavior and he withdrew his needle dick from his wife's portal and turned a rather interesting shade of vermillion.

"Bad Marty, bad boy" I shouted, wagging my finger at him as he cowered, his long skinny dick rapidly collapsing in upon itself. This was a breach in the trust Rhonda and I had in his integrity. I was determined to come up with a suitable punishment to make him understand my disappointment with his untoward behavior when it came to conjugal relations, especially when his partner's wishes in this matter had not been sought. He followed me like the whipped dog that he was as I led him back to the main hall to meet his fate and at the same time make things a bit more interesting for our guests.

Those lovely ladies who had spent many hours in the hot kitchen feeding the menfolk and building up some degree of irritation over the lack of appreciation for their efforts were delighted to get a token of their host's appreciation. When I described what Marty had been doing to his unconscious wife when I so rudely interrupted him, their faces clouded up, preparing a deluge that would soon rain down upon his candy ass. His behavior at this point indicated that this sissy boy thought he had just died and gone to heaven. His long skinny dick had rapidly uncoiled and was now stiff as the proverbial board. This was not lost on the ladies who descended upon him as he awaited his fate.

The prospect of nearly a dozen big, beefy women with their hearts filled with vengeance was a dream come true to this little wimp. I realized that he was not a self-made man, rather he was his momma's production from the moment he popped from her belly. I think most of the women had come to the same conclusion, recognizing the product of a domineering mother. If there was any doubt, he let the cat out of the bag while they were binding his hands tightly behind his back. In this little boy's voice he began pleading, "Don't hurt me mommy, I'll be good, I promise." The looks on the ladies' faces reminded me of a hungry lioness about to pounce on some prey. As they say, this was going to be one of those win-win situations.

There is not sufficient time at this point in my tale to describe all the goings on that did occur as the ladies did their best to make poor Marty wish he had truly been born as a member of the ruling species, instead of some weak missing link between the two separate but coexisting members of the animal kingdom. His ultimate fate is also a tale worth telling since that involves Ms. Marlowe and Marie as well. I do however faithfully promise to share my recollections about these events once I am done trying to describe all the other things that happened in the next few hours.

Having done my good deed for the day, I decided to stroll back to my bedroom and break the good news to Rhonda. The two love birds were still sound asleep, probably dreaming of eating lots of the salty white stuff mixed perhaps with gash goo. The sight of so much rounded, naked female flesh almost caused me to deviate from plan, but I stayed the course, shaking Rhonda's shoulder and then slapping her tit to wake her up. At first she feigned to not be able to understand my message, acting innocent when it came to the issue of working with our four legged friends. Innocence in turn morphed into righteous indignation, and finally resignation when I gave her one of my classic shit-eating grins as I woofed at her and pointed toward the door.

"Rhonda, don't try to make me believe that you never fooled around with our dogs. Those dumb brutes can really tell a story unless you're very careful. I don't know how many times those critters could hardly drag their tired asses out to the porch after having been used as your playmates. I see nothing wrong with loving the creatures of the field; it's just not something that makes a whole hell of a lot of sense to me when there is so much pussy stalking the earth looking for us two legged kind." My forceful arguement carried the day and my faithful, loving wife dragged her ass into the bathroom to freshen up before going literally to the dogs.

I went outside to warm up the crowd for the event that was about to take place. Within minutes there were approximately twenty folks of various ages, sexes and stages of dress gathered around the dog run. They broke out into applause as my life-mate, Rhonda, strolled onto the premises fetchingly attired in red lipstick, heavy mascara and a big smile. She allowed the dog handler, who preferred to be identified as the master of the hounds, to fit her into the stocks and make sure that the correct protective gear was properly installed. He then made a brief speech to the crowd outlining the heritage of the pack that was about to assault my now repentant wife.

It's kind of interesting to understand the relationship of humans to dogs in this part of the country. A dog is a member of the family, a working member who earns his or her keep by watching out for and protecting the younger family members, guarding the family goods and property, and assisting the family in such endeavors as hunting and fishing. These various functions require that the dog be of sufficient size and intelligence to carry out any and all of these activities. For this reason our local dogs, or hounds as some might call them, are generally medium to large breeds. Nature being what it is, these few breeds co-mingle and within a few dog generations the local population evolves rather quickly into a homogeneous single breed known generally as the local hound. It was these local hounds that Rhonda was about to interact with as part of the morning's entertainment.

Without further ado the master of the hounds released the first two dogs, one from each end of the dog run. It was quite obvious from the behavior of this first pair that his animals had been around the block more times than a person could count. Each member of the team made a beeline for the end of Rhonda that was nearest at hand. The seasoning that had been used to make her more attractive to these furry fuckers was evidently to their liking. In less time than it takes to tell they had dropped their cocks and were busily mounting themselves to whatever part of Rhonda they had selected.

The animal working on her front side had his cock going a mile a minute in no time flat, blistering her gums with his hard length of red tipped meat. His partner in show business was not too far behind, his paws wrapped around her midsection, as much as her girth would allow, and his pecker blindly poking away until it hit pay dirt in her pussy. When it comes to fucking speed, there are very few members of the animal kingdom who can keep up with the properly motivated canine. I will have to admit that I have been told that the king of the beasts is no slouch in this department either and he can go all night, which is probably why he holds the title of king.

Left to their own devices, dogs would have fucked themselves into extinction many thousands of years ago, depriving untold numbers of ladies the kind of thrill and intensity that no man can hope to equal. Fortunately mother nature, in her infinite wisdom, has installed a mechanism within the dog that acts to prevent those furry fuckers from doing themselves in. It is known as the knot. When a dog shots his wad a section of his dick swells up and unites him in an umbreakable embrace with his partner who only moments ago he had been attempting to turn inside out with the power of his dick. Like the male of most species, once the thrill is gone all that dumb dog wants to do is leave the premises as quickly as possible or go to sleep. Neither option is open to him thanks to that lover's lock. This is not a good time to be a dog. It's sort of like the cooling-off period in a divorce proceeding. The dog is now in a no fucking zone if you get my drift.

The dog handler, being quite experienced in his vocation knew that left on its own, the dog doing Rhonda's mouth would continue his assault until she either drown or her face collapsed. So he speedily and gingerly removed the animal from the enclosure allowing her to recover some feeling in her face and giving the audience some time to socialize before the next team of hounds were let loose on my wife. It was at this point that I detected this strange odor that I had awakened to this morning.

Before I could make my move to ascertain its source, I felt this warm hand kind of cupping my family jewels from the rear. Lo and behold if it wasn't May, or was it June? This creature of loveliness mesmerized me in my tracks. My feet were frozen to the ground, which was a good trick considering it was already damn near ninety degrees out here under that sweltering sun. I turned my head and beheld whoever she was in all her glory. She was about half a head shorter than myself and a lot younger than I had originally thought her to be.

All she had on was this tiny blue bikini bathing suit. Its top sort of ended a millimeter above her nipples that were winning the war with the fabric. Those babies must have been 42DD and they were standing proudly on their own, much like my dear wife's did when we were young and in lust. She had an impressive beer gut that sheltered her pussy from the rays of the sun. I managed to detect a hint of blue peeking out from all that tan flesh and assumed that her cunt was properly encased in more of that same stretchy fabric. It was about then that I realized I had forgotten to breathe in some time, and quickly refreshed myself with a lungful of air which cleared my head considerably. It also increased the flow of blood to my lower region, bringing a knowing smile from this awesome creature. What happened next will have to be told later when I continue this little tale about me and mine livin' in the country.