Martha, Dearest Martha

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[Martha’s dear husband married her for money, but that was 20 years ago. Just how much sex could he find in a loveless marriage?]


Where to begin? My name is Peter. I was living with Martha, my heiress wife, in Pecan Stream, just to the east of San Francisco. Known as the East Bay, it was the home for some of the nastiest people on earth.

Pecan Stream was particularly vituperative, a fall-out shelter for heiresses, divorcees, and over-controlling wives. No man lived there with a ‘set’ still intact…except, of course, for yours truly.

I had married Martha exactly 20 years before. I was 35; she was 40, never before married. Even then, she was controlling, judgmental, and asexual. She insisted on wearing almost nurse’s uniforms, with thick dresses, opaque heavy hosiery, and sturdy, square, nurse’s shoes. Just thinking about that, it was no surprise that she was still available at 40.

I for my part had bounced from job to job, college to college, never amounting to much. Then I heard about this burgh (Pecan Stream.) Could six months of workouts and tanning booth time make up for a lifetime of sloth and foolishness? Does a bear do his business in the woods?

Well, it was our 20th anniversary. Twenty damn years, with little to no fun and even less sex. It was a tradition of ours to go to the beach attached to one of San Francisco’s parks on our anniversary. Martha if anything was a creature of habit.

So here we were; Martha wore her usual nineteenth century swimsuit, which covered her down to the wrists and below the ankles. I for my part would wear Speedos, which always engendered questions from dear Martha. (“how can you be comfortable in something that tight?”, “aren’t you kind of old to be wearing those?” etc. etc.)

There we were, looking like a couple at the beach in one of those Impressionist paintings. Martha as always would cover her eyes under black plastic shades and sleep. I would scope out the beach in a pathetic attempt to see a friendly smile or anything that led to ‘action’.

Well, for once it happened. Not far from us, this 18 year old hard body babe was wrestling with her skin-head boyfriend. I think it was over the last beer or something. I looked around for the life guard. It was late in the season and the city had cut back on payroll, so no life guard.

It looked like a job for a Good Samaritan. Quietly getting up, lest I awaken the sleeping ‘Beauty’, I ran over to the scuffling couple. Lifting him by the shoulder, I gave him an unwelcome lecture.

Me: “That’s no way to treat a fine lady like this…apologize or get lost, punk.”

He looked at me in amazement. Normally, his bald head and tattoos around the neck and arms would be enough to scare off my type. Contemptuously, he reared back to hit me. It was sheer luck that I fended off his blow, grabbed his wrist, and gave it a twist. He apologized meekly and ran off.

Of course, his trampy 18 year old girl friend had been watching all of this. She was wearing a microscopic string thong bikini that could have been drawn on her with a Bic pen. She was tanned, slim, with not the slightest indication of a spare ounce of fat. Her perfect little form was only marked by a blue flower tattoo on her right ankle and one that was right at the bikini line. Holding the last Coors Light, she breathed heavily, as did I.

Heather: “I don’t know who you are and why you helped me when no one else ever has, but thanks, man. You’re kinda old, like my dad. But, I don’t know, do you want to see my favorite spot at this beach?”

Still breathing hard from the fight, I nodded. She took my hand and led me to this hollow behind the seawall. She was only about five feet tall, with a girlish figure. Her smooth, tanned legs and delicate little feet were a sexy sight, but even better were her tight buns.

She had the smallest, hardest bum I had ever seen, and it wiggled just so as she led me away. If she looked back, she would’ve seen my Speedos expanding as a thin tube expanded to the size of a ten inch log.

Heather: “Well, what do you think? Privacy in the middle of a public park! Now, daddy, let me reward my big handsome pa pa for saving his little girl.”

In seconds, she was out of that tiny bikini. Then her surprisingly powerful hands pushed my Speedos down. When my erect ten inch cock sprung out and up, she almost fainted.

Heather: “My God, dude. That wimpy boyfriend of mine was three inches on a good night. You are much more man than him! No wonder you won that fight! Muscles, cock, and these heavy family jewels…what a man!”

Sure enough, my balls were swollen. So many months with no release, so much pent-up passion. Here I was being serviced by a nymph, a young woman who was legally 18 but could have passed for, well, a lesser age. At the moment, my huge Johnson just wanted in. As her skilled hands went to work, it took a tremendous effort NOT kızılay escort to cum instantly. I had better plans for that stuff, though.

Me: “Heather, you ARE 18, aren’t you?” [She nodded. I asked her what year she was born in–then she reached into her beach bag and flashed her license. That was good enough for me.]

Me: “Are you on the pill? Do you use a diaphragm or IUD?”

Heather: “God, you sound like my boyfriend! Don’t worry, I have a diaphragm.”

To her amazement, I wasn’t like her boyfriend.

Me: “Well, TAKE IT OUT! If you want to feel this long, thick cock, scraping the walls of your pussy, stroking, dragging, touching you in all the right places, I have to have that damned thing out. Don’t ask why, just do it!”

She turned away from me and bent over, struggling to reach inside of herself. With a sigh of relief, she got it out. Then, she turned towards me. There she was, lithe, nubile, petite, tanned, like being able to watch woman’s gymnastics on TV and getting to ball one of those hard bodies. Momma like!

Being tanned as she was, her whole body seemed to radiate heat. I sat on one of the rocks that made up the seawall and let her sit on top of me. That tiny miss sat perfectly centered above my huge cock. Then, in an odd way, she hopped on top of it, slowly slipping down my mighty staff as it penetrated her fully and totally. Her head looked to the sky as she slowly settled down to my thighs, somehow taking my ten inch length inside of her.

I put my hands around her steel-hard behind but let her own fuck power determine the tempo of our lovemaking. God, what a bedroom athlete! She moved with unbelievable speed and power. When I could take no more, one of my hands clutched her to me fiercely, while the other summoned her to my lips for a French kiss. As our tongues played, my cockhead was inside a rubbery fold of her deepest recesses.

Married to Martha, I wasn’t sure what that was, but I figured it might be a good place to spew. Sure enough, my uncut cockhead swelled, my swollen testes pulled tight against me, and I cut loose with six solid jets of potent seed.

My cum was as thick as mashed potatoes, laden with vibrant sperm. It inundated her fertile womb, searching that young innocent miss for her precious ovum. As we both sank into the sand, utterly exhausted, millions of my baby-makers had, by chance, bumped into her egg and even now four were struggling to attach themselves.

Heather was out like a light, breathing hard and unable to move. I for my part had just enough energy to re-dress myself and her. I fell to the sand to catch a few moments next to her. Just then, she sprang up.

Heather: “God, I just remembered. We did it without my diaphragm. This is my most fertile day of the month. I have to get into the water and try and clean myself out.”

To her amazement, I grabbed her by the ankle, tripping her back down to the sand where I was. Having just vented all of my love into her, I was not in the mood to have the essence of my love dumped into the damn ocean. She struggled ever so slightly as I started to kiss her. Then, she melted in my arms as we made out. She went back to sleep.

My mission was accomplished. I wrapped her in her own beach towel, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered: “Have my baby.” After I left, the drama within her ended. My four ‘guys’ alighted on her ovum, made themselves comfortable, and made the miracle of nature occur when it was attached to her inner walls. That 18 year old teeny-bopper had conceived; she was going to be quite a sexy little mommy.

When I got back to the beach umbrella covered towel, I was relieved to see Martha there, still sleeping. I should’ve noticed that her breathing was very fast, as if she had just been running or something, but I didn’t.

We got back to Pecan Stream in time for the debut of this year’s synchronized swimming team. Pecan Stream, being a woman’s city, was big into that. The Pecan Stream ArgoNuts was a collection of girls and women, from 18 to 45. I’m not saying they were all lesbo’s, but they all were certainly hostile to the average man, in the finest Pecan Stream tradition.

So, here we were in my own living room, the only real man to be found within miles. The eight ArgoNuts were presenting their newest costumes for the new competition year, butternut with silver and gold metallic flakes. Those suits were smoking hot! Strange that they purported to hate men but wore costumes that would make any man sink to his knees in quiet awe.

I had a devil of a time keeping my big cock down as I espied these incredibly fit women wearing close to nothing. There was a lot of vitriol, as the ArgoNuts fulminated about having to wear these get-ups just to please the male judges (those damn men!) Then, there was a little change of plans.

Adele, a 30 year old unmarried woman, and the leader of the ArgoNuts, had been driven over today, her car being in the shop. She needed a ride home, back across the Bay to kızılay escort bayan San Francisco. Martha ordered me to take her…well, orders are orders.

To my surprise, Adele wore the swimmer’s outfit in my car. The tight outfits took a long time to put on or take off, so she didn’t bother changing. As we drove, I noticed that she was staring out the window, as far from me as she could turn.

Okay, I thought, that just gave me license to take a gander. God, those shapely legs, utterly exposed under that aqua-maid costume. She had just had a bikini wax, I guessed, and those thighs were so damn smooth. All of a sudden, she turned around and gave me an icy stare.

Gretchen: “Just drive, Mr. Gigolo! Don’t think that the ladies of Pecan Stream haven’t figured you out…you’re just married to Martha for the money, a typically shallow, gold-digging man. Well, this is one lady who doesn’t put up with any of your chauvinistic crap. So, eyes front!” [As I turned to watch the road, she smiled in triumph. She lifted her bare smooth feet from my car’s carpet and curled them beneath her. Then she turned back to looking out her side window away from me.]

Now her perfect legs and gorgeous little feet were within inches of me. Could I resist? Of course not! My hand meandered over to her side and ‘accidentally’ stroked the length of her creamy thighs, shapely legs, and her demure smooth feet. She sat bolt upright and grabbed me by the shirt collar. I was going 68 and she was trying to slug me.

First things first, I had to stop. In California, they have something called ‘runaway truck’ ramps; if you were navigating hills and your heavy vehicle lost braking, you could go onto this exit’s ramp and stop because it was all uphill. Well, we were getting out of control, so I went off the highway and up the ramp. We stopped easily.

The ordeal was so scary that Adele was seated in her bucket seat breathing heavily. I was excited too, but took the opportunity to use the seat controls by the driver, reclining both seats.

Adele: “What!? What the fuck are you doing??” [She proceeded to slap me…hard! She kept that up as I undressed her, then myself. Mind you, she didn’t leave, she didn’t scratch, she didn’t wrestle….she just slapped. Her slaps got slower and lighter as I prepared to mount her. When my oversized cockhead just grazed against the slavering wet lips of her pussy, her slaps stopped. Tears emerged from her eyes. She murmured:]

Adele: “So long, it’s been so very very long. Please, be gentle. The last man that did me was so hard, so unpleasant, so unloving, I never wanted to see another. He left me with child, making me undo his damage. I never got over that.”

That stopped me in my tracks. I was going to gently force myself upon her, guessing (correctly) that she really wanted it. But, hearing that, I stopped.

Me: “Adele, I want to make love to you. I don’t want to rape you, vanquish you, or even ‘fuck’ you. I want to make LOVE to you. May I please…give me a chance.”

More tears came to her eyes. We kissed tenderly and with lingering contact. I lovingly nuzzled against her, washing her mouth, nose, and ears with my tongue. Putting my warm breath into her ears, I awaited her decision.

She answered by kissing me. I took that as a ‘yes’ and proceeded to resume my entrance into her fertile depths. My long ten incher was extended into her, dragging its uncut cockhead against the sensitive and long neglected vaginal walls. When I hit bottom, she lurched, then moaned in pleasure.

More tears emerged and she locked her lips on mine. We both hugged, but she did so with fierce determination. Pressing herself hard against me, I had no choice, no option, but to vent my passion within her deepest, warmest, recesses.

I didn’t know, or care, about what, if any, protection she was using. As far as I was concerned, this was a totally unprotected, fertile womb. This unhappily single 30 year old had feared men all of these years.

Well, here was one who could love, and he was about to give her a free ‘car wash’ with extra thick, creamy, wax. Sure enough, the thick creamy foam was sent thru my ten inch long pipe and emptied into her secret woman’s place. Shot after shot, spray after spray, squirt after squirt. Our lips were locked, and her moans were at the scream volume. Then, as quickly as this whole thing started, it stopped.

I rolled off her and went back into my bucket seat. She remained on the reclined seatback, her cunt oozing out my potent seed. It would continue to do so as I drove her across the Bay Bridge and back to her stylish home near Haight-Ashbury. Though she was exhausted, she found time to have a drink with her two gay neighbors at the local lesbian bar. Ironically as they all drank toasts about how horrible men were, Adele conceived.

When I got home, Martha was there, the other guests long since gone.

Martha: “So how was it…I mean you and Adele. No, don’t look surprised. I know you—and I escort kızlay know her. I’ve known for years that you wanted to get some ‘action’. It was only recently that I realized that I wanted you to have some action too, as long as I could watch or at least get a play-by-play. Let me tell you, Adele told me everything and didn’t spare the details. She said you are so big, so incredibly well-hung, that she thinks you got her pregnant. Is that what you were trying for, to knock up my dear friend? The truth now!” [I bent my head and nodded.]

Martha: “Don’t look so downcast! I said that I knew and it didn’t bother me. In fact I want you to have adventures…it’s about the only fun and excitement I can have these days. From now on, I will control your sexy exploits. That way I can know where you are, what you’re doing, and get my fun from that.”

In the strangest twist in history, instead of being turned on by this kinky turn, I was appalled. The idea of ‘performing’ like a trained seal for my stubby 60 year old wife was insulting. Instead of leaping at the chance to have tryst after tryst under the watchful and approving eye of my beloved Martha, I said:

Me: “If I know you planned, approved, and enjoyed my ‘handiwork’, it would change that from fun to work. That’s just too weird…I’m sorry. I’d rather be celibate than to perform like a circus act for you or any of your friends.”

Well, that killed that. There was no mention of the subject and my sexual adventures came to an abrupt end. Weeks passed. The only interesting events were when Heather and later Adele called. Both of them had bought a home pregnancy test out of curiosity and both had blue results. I had to admit I was delighted, not so much that I had gotten them pregnant but that they were going to give birth.

Adele for her part had health insurance at work and was not out one cent for the miracle of life bestowed upon her. Heather was just an 18 year old runaway. I asked Martha if we couldn’t send her something. She said no. Well, Martha would pay ME an allowance and I started sending it to Heather…she was so needful and grateful.

It was the week before Christmas. The Bay area has the most remarkable weather, the best in the continental US. It was mid-December but a perfect 71 degrees.

Martha informed me that she was mindful that I still had a chiseled, steel hard body at 55, whereas she was Rosie O’Donnell stout. To counter that, she hired a local area housewife who moonlighted at night as a ‘personal trainer’. I could watch the proceedings if I wanted to. I don’t know why I stayed to watch when the Oakland Raiders were playing on Monday Night football, but I did.

Ingrid showed up. She was surprised to see me, saying she hadn’t expected a man to be present. She went into the bathroom and emerged in her workout togs, a head-to-toe bodysuit out of 100% nylon, fireproof, man-proof, shapeless, formless. As she led my sweating little porker (Martha) thru the exercises to the sound of elevator music, I actually nodded off.

I awoke to find that she had gone and Martha had showered and was ready for bed. What a boring interlude; and for this I missed the Raiders?

The next week, Ingrid came back. Funny thing, though; like many women, she understood her audience. At the 1st meeting, she hadn’t expected any men. She had dressed the way the loveless dour women of Pecan Stream wanted her to dress, in an androgynous get-up. But today, knowing that there might be male eyes staring, Ingrid was ready.

When she emerged from the bathroom on the 2nd exercise night, WOW! This unmarried MILF was wearing a pink gauzy leotard. Her curly forest of hair ‘down there’ was clearly on display, as were her pouting nipples. Those wonderful things were angry, irritated by the rough leotard material.

Whereas she was covered from head to toe before in rigid body armor, tonight her gorgeous legs were exposed, tanned, shapely, and perfect. The leotard had high cutouts, some twelve inches above her puss. Her exquisitely pedicured feet were as sexy as any other part of her and only highlighted her unbelievable sex appeal. In spite of my best efforts, my cock twitched, throbbed, and then pumped to iron hardness. I was ready…God, I wanted to ball!

My self-control was not helped when she did some of the hottest sexercises I had ever seen. Like that hottie Denise Austin from years back, she would get on her back, legs up, feet drawn. As she breathed in and out, it looked like she was blowing me a kiss.

God, I just wanted to climb on board her, Martha or no Martha! Then I noticed that Martha was staring at me…was this whole thing just a ploy to get me to ‘perform for her’. Well, I thought it was. God only knows why that should matter, but some part of me rebelled and said no. I left, conflicted, uncertain as to whether I had passed up a golden opportunity.

The next week, Ingrid brought her new borne baby along. When Ingrid knew she was pregnant, her longtime boyfriend showed his true nature by leaving her. She chose to have the baby and here it was.

Right in the middle of the session, Martha remembered that she had to get some refreshments for the after-workout little party she always had. Could I entertain Ingrid while she zoomed to Safeway? It would only be about an hour. I said yes.

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