“Mommy, can you figure out what’s wrong with it?” twelve-year-old Timmy asked as
his mother bent over the fender of their ancient Ford and stared at the engine.
“Quiet!” said the lad’s twin sister, Beth. “Let Mama think.”
Marcella, hearing the approach of a vehicle along the back-country road, bent a bit
farther and elevated her hips. The breeze, which had been gusting across the
prairie, dipped underneath her light skirt and billowed it up above her bottom.
The approaching driver got a sudden, unexpected view of her generous buttocks,
which packed and expanded the filmy fabric of her pastel panties. Her thighs
gleamed, pale and smooth, above gartered stockings. Rubber screeched.
Marcella waggled her bottom, causing her buttocks to wobble in her panties. The
pink nylon shimmered in the late-afternoon sunlight. The crotch seam of her briefs
pressed against the lush softness of her ass.
Finally she pushed her skirt down and turned to face the farmer in his rattletrap truck
which had come to a skidding stop beside her. His gray eyes glinted and a grin came
to his weathered face as he gazed at the pretty woman in her late twenties. She
wore no makeup except for a touch of lipstick, and she had a fresh and wholesome
quality that contrasted with her voluptuous figure. The breeze stirred her auburn hair
against a cheek as she smiled almost bashfully.
“I seem to have some car trouble,” she said in a sweet voice. “I wonder … ”
The middle-aged farmer licked his thin lips. “Want me to take a look at it? I’m pretty
good with engines.”
“Oh, would you? I’d be ever so grateful!”
“Sure. Just let me pull off the road.”
He guided his truck to a stop on the shoulder in front of the stalled car, and he
walked back, a lanky figure in bib overalls.
“It just stopped,” Marcella said, and gave a little shrug. The large bulbs which filled
her blouse shifted in a liquid way, making it abundantly clear that she wore no bra.
Her plump nipples imprinted themselves on the plain white fabric.
“Let’s see now … “ the farmer said, and bent to look at the engine.
Standing next to him, Marcella bent forward also. His sneaky side-glance took in the
tumbling beauty of her breasts. She wriggled slightly, causing her tittyflesh to
tremble.
The farmer cleared his throat. A quick look told him that the woman’s kids were
playing at the rear of the car and that there was no traffic approaching on the road.
He reached up underneath her skirt and grabbed a handful of her panty-sheathed
bottom.
She acted as if nothing had happened, except that there was a slight catch to her
voice as she asked hoarsely, “Can you tell … what’s wrong?”
Standing at her right side, he squeezed her left buttock, his fingers extended along
its quivery flank as his thumb pressed the fabric of her panties into the crack of her
ass. Marcella squirmed more, making her fleshy mound vibrate in his grasp.
With his other hand he pretended to tinker with the engine. But his heart wasn’t in it.
The fifty-five-year-old farmer had an iron-hard erection, such as he hadn’t enjoyed in
years.
“Can’t quite figger what’s wrong,” he said huskily as he fiddled with the carburetor.
The tips of his fingers curled around the left leg elastic of the woman’s flimsy briefs,
and he stretched the elastic toward him, at the same time gliding his hand inside her
panties. He felt her soft and springy bottom, then let his fingers glide below her
plump buttocks and into her hairy crotch. Her cunt lips were moist and pliant.
Still she acted as if he wasn’t doing anything to her, except that she was breathing
hard and continuing to squirm.
A sound told of an approaching automobile. The farmer dragged his cunt-moistened
middle finger a short distance up the narrow, deep crevice between the woman’s
satiny buttocks, and he centered on the intriguing crinkled dimple that he felt there.
The car came closer. Too involved in lust by that time to give up his lascivious plan
or even to delay it until the car had passed, the rural lecher twisted his slippery finger
at the woman’s forbidden aperture and … pop! Up her hot, tight asshole his
impetuous probe glided.
“Ooooooo … !” Marcella moaned, and she bumped her bottom against his plunging
finger, causing it to sink even deeper into her ass.
The car full of teenagers who were approaching saw the couple bent forward across
the fender of the stalled car. The two boys and their Saturday afternoon dates were
curious and looked closely. Though they approached the stalled car at forty miles an
hour and quickly swept by, the glimpse that they got of the man in overalls and the
youngish, well-built woman was frozen in their minds and memories like a snapshot:
Her skirt hiked by the man’s arm … her pink panties askew, his hand inside them …
his finger between her buttocks, the panties having been stretched sideways enough
to reveal the finger sinking in as it twisted, going right up the lady’s ass!
Not far down the road, the teenagers pulled off into a grove of scrubby trees and
made out, all four in the car together.
Meanwhile, back at the side of the highway, Marcella twisted her ass while the
farmer’s finger corkscrewed in her delightfully tight, elastic orifice. Her rubber ring
clutched his finger and rippled across his knuckles as he pumped in and out.
“Hellfire!” he finally said, and pulled his finger from her asshole with a sucking pop.
He let her panties snap back into place, and her skirt fell to cover them. “I can’t fix
this blinkin’ car of yours, but I’ll drive you into town.”
“Thank you … very much!” Marcella panted. Her face was flushed.
“Ride in the cab with me and let the kids get in the back of the truck,” he said, and
hurried to his vehicle, keeping his front turned away from her and the children so that
they wouldn’t see the tent in his overalls.
He scrambled behind the steering wheel and, while waiting for Marcella to join him,
grasped himself through the loose-fitting garment and happily stroked his vibrant
bone, which made him feel like a youth again. He stopped stroking, but still had a
splendid hard-on when the woman climbed into the cab.
He nervously put the truck into motion and gave her a tobacco-stained grin. “You
ain’t from around these parts, are you?” he asked.
“No. My children and I have been on the road, searching for a sign from the Lord.”
The farmer did a double take.
“I now believe I have the sign,” Marcella added with a smile that seemed to emanate
from her deepest being. “What’s the name of the town just ahead?”
“Jasper Junction. Ain’t much of a town, though.”
“That’s all right. It’s where the Lord wants me to settle. Otherwise He wouldn’t have
stopped my car.”
“Funny, I didn’t figger you for a religious woman,” the farmer said, and squirmed
uncomfortably. His hard-on persisted.
“Religion is my whole life, Mister uuh … ”
“Floyd Wilcox.”
“I’m Marcella Plummer, first deaconness of the Church of Holy and Mysterious
Revelation. Our founder and pastor, Thaddeus Polk, sent me out in search of a site
for a new congregation. He will be happy to know that the Lord has pointed one out
to me. Aren’t you happy also, Mr. Wilcox?” she exclaimed, and gripped his thigh
through his overalls.
He glanced quickly at her.
She maintained her grip, even inching it up his thigh a little, yet she still appeared
perfectly innocent as she smiled in her childlike way and continued prattling about
her religion.
His obvious confusion didn’t keep Floyd from taking advantage of what seemed like
an invitation to have more fun with her. He slipped his right hand between her legs.
“Yes, Lord!” Marcella exclaimed, shutting her eyes as she wriggled.
So excited that he could scarcely keep his truck on a straight course, the farmer felt
his way up her stockings until he reached her smooth, warm thighs above the
gartered tops of her hose. She gradually spread her legs wider apart, to grant him
greater access.
Floyd’s pecker stuck straight up in his overalls as he petted the pretty woman’s cunt
through her sleek silken pants.
“My children and I badly need a place to stay until our leader gets here and makes
arrangements for us,” she said. “Do you suppose that you and your wife … that is, if
you’re married, could see your way clear … to take us in?” She was panting heatedly
by that time as she wriggled against the farmer’s intimate caress.
“Hellfire!” Floyd said again, and stretched the left elastic of her panties once more,
this time away from her cunt.
“Oooh, nooo-not hellfire!” she passionately corrected. “It is the power of the Lord!”
Amazed by what he was hearing, but even more impressed by what he felt, Floyd
tickled her hairy cuntlips with his middle finger.
“Yessss!” she hissed hotly, and threw her hips forward with a corkscrew twist.
The farmer’s finger was entrapped-not as tightly as the finger of his other hand had
been, but tightly enough, as it sank deeply into her moist, warm snatch.
Marcella bounced her bottom on the truck seat while he stroked his upward-curling
finger in and out of her slippery channel, across the throbbing tip of her clit. From the
corner of his eyes, he looked down and watched the bobbing of the large, creamy
swells inside the neckline of her cotton blouse.
“Will you … take me in … Mr. Wilcox?” she asked gaspingly.
“I don’t know … “ he said, breathing hard. “Ain’t got much room.”
Marcella’s hand moved to his lap and unzipped his overalls. Floyd fought to keep the
truck on the road as she pulled his erect, heavily veined penis out of his pants and
began to stroke the throbbing column in the curve of her thumb and fingers.
Her hand felt delightful as it glided slowly up and down on his cock. She gripped his
shaft just hard enough, and his leathery foreskin unrolled and rolled back again
across the ridge and bulbous swell of his corona. Each pumping, clasping stroke of
her loving hand gave him added pleasure, jacking him toward heights of passion
which he hadn’t reached with his frumpy wife in years.
The plunging of his curled finger up into her crevice increased in tempo, and she got
slicker with every stroke until it felt to him as if he were sticking his finger into a
slushy, overripe fruit which had been warmed by the sun. Her passionate writhing
had worked her skirt high on her lap, and he stole glances at her lush thighs which
were half-clad in sheer stockings. Her pale skin was marvelously enticing above the
brown, expanded stockingtops. White garter straps pressed against her flesh. The
leg elastic of her pink panties bit into the back of his wrist as his hand rapidly
churned, hidden from view, obscenely stretching her silk briefs as his finger plunged
up and down inside her.
Just as stimulating to the middle-aged farmer was the sight of his own prick standing
proudly in the circle of the woman’s pumping hand. His veins throbbed with vitality
which recalled his youth, and his cockhead swelled like a ripe tomato.
“Uuuuh!” he rasped. “Yeah! Keep doing it!” he begged, fearing she would stop just
before he reached the payoff.
But Marcella didn’t stop. Her pumping of his prick grew even faster and more fervent,
in time with his diddling of her flooded twat.
She squirmed frantically, finally crying out, “Ooooh, Jesus!” and her cunt seemed to
gulp at the farmer’s finger.
Floyd’s cock, straining mightily, twitched in her tenacious grasp. His bulbous knob
pulsated, sending a geyser of thick, whitish sperm spurting up past the steering
column and all over the dashboard of the truck. Floyd’s garishly swollen cockhead
ballooned visibly again and again, spitting out the product of his over-stimulated
balls.
He groaned, his hands jerking as they gripped the wheel, and the truck snaked back
and forth across the white line of the highway. Fortunately there was no other traffic.
“Goddamn!” Floyd said, still obviously finding it difficult to believe what had
happened to him out of a clear sky on that lazy summer afternoon.
“You must not take the Lord’s name in vain,” Marcella cautioned in full sincerity as
she stuffed the farmer’s softening sex organ back into his clothes. “God is good. He
reveals to us what we should do and guides us in the completion of our work.”
Floyd quickly zipped his fly and stared at her. “Did you mean it about wantin’ to move
in with my wife and me?”
“Oh, I certainly did!”
“Okay. Sarah might have a fit, but I reckon I can handle her. But I gotta warn you, we
ain’t got a very big house. It’s gonna be crowded.”
“My children and I can sleep in the same bed,” Marcella replied.
“Huh? Why, they’s nearly teenaged, ain’t they?”
“They’re twin twelve-year-olds,” Marcella said proudly.
“Well, ain’t that a little old for a boy and girl to be bunkin’ together? Or for a boy to be
bunkin’ with his mama?”
“Mr. Wilcox, my children and I are pure in the sight of the Lord.”
“Yeah. Well, what do you figger the Lord would think about what you and me just
did?”
“Why, He wanted us to do that!”
Floyd blinked. “How do you know?”
“Because He told me so. I am in constant communication with Him.”
“Hellfire … “ the farmer muttered to himself in consternation.