Jack and Mary Nobbled Pt. 03

Oh, boy! Those angels - their cunts would be hurting' after he got through with [them]...!

Chapter 52.

Jack had cut the bottoms out of his pockets, and after inserting his arms into his baggy trousers, would run his hands around his bulbous seat, and pull the cheeks of his arce apart. Of course to carry this out, Jack had to shove a lot more than just his hands in there - what with the Zeppelin size of his ass being what it was...why, he was dug deep - halfway up his forearms, hence the haunched shoulders an' all.

It had worked; Jack's ring was finally on the mend.

Yes. Jack had climbed the stairs less cautiously this early morning, on his way home from the swing shift; now that the blisters on his debris-hole had somewhat abated - he still harbored a grudge though, somewhere, in his unconsciousness, as to whether Mary's decision to nearly incinerate his manhole was a justified action, or not; considering the underlying circumstance. The same thought entered his mind, each and every time he took a shit, and each and every time he winced at the sting of his dirt-hole, he hated Mary with a passion.

Jack felt that he was just making love as usual, and that was that! If Mary croaked, then it would have to come down to her who screwed up, not him. He was far too busy fucking his wife to be thinking about her and her breathing, Jack righteously conjectured to himself.

Mary, he thought, ought to have been stronger, Jack felt. He could only fuck one way, and that was full-on, in top-gear, with the 'super-charge' button engaged - and she knew this! If Mary couldn't handle the pressure, then that was her problem, not his! Jack arrived at this rationale spontaneously, and with the absolute conviction, and clarity of thought, of a mongoose.

Chapter 53.

After months of agony, finally Jack could take the barest semblance of a decent dump, without having to bite-down on a leather-wrapped chunk of pine, that he carried everywhere with him these days. The worse thing was the necessity of having to guzzle down pints and pints of a variety of different flavored sennapod teas, and then, ushering out the near-liquefied ass-wreckage with a cold stainless-steel shoehorn, soon after investment, became the norm for Jack, and his injured hole. It was painful, time consuming, - messy, and Jack was pissed!

Chapter 54.

Mary: Belligerently, opposed Jack's ban on curling tongs in the house, from then on, following his...accident - to say the least. Why, she always had her flat-iron though. Jack couldn't take that away from a woman, now could he!

Albeit, with wifely conformity, she reigned herself to his mandate, and went straight haired, though defiantly unrepentant, along with his fear-based decree.

Jack couldn't sit on a Throne these days, even if he had one, considering the state of his reek-hole, laughed Mary to herself - The Bastard. Jack's Throne, along with his Kingly power, and been smashed when Mary stood up to him and shit in his face that evening, as he writhed around in agony, on the bedroom floor, clutching his bruised balls, and his blistered bugger-hole.

Chapter 55.

Mary was responsible for her pheromones alone. ...She could impart them to her lover, i.e. Jack, simply by opening up her legs - and she chose to...

Jack felt railroaded. If he didn't respond to his wife's open cunt invitational stink by fucking it, then he would be ostracized as impotent, and if he did, then he instantly became The Brute - The Beast. There was no winning here, though Jack.

Upon the sniff from Mary's squid-hole, Jack, (in his mind), entered into the fray as a cock-wielding warrior, his meat sword slashing and parrying at the onslaught of his wife's open gap-attack. Jack would stab his wife's hole with his sausage-saber, over and over again, until the beast in him, and in her, had been conquered, subdued and laid to rest.

The,"Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly", invite, of the (never-ending) marital quarrel, as opposed to contemplation and compromise of the, sitting down and..."Working It Out" strategy, has become obsolete and redundant nowadays, and points sadly at the ruins and utter destruction of the former male and female (wedded) détente. After all: The...entirety of "Woman"...has that, which the male-hankering crosses all bounds to acquire. ...The one thing which the Gods themselves cannot control; more than the need of food; more than that of water, or life itself... Man has to have - his cunt! ...and conversely, the female will receive the bounty of her harvest, and reap the fruits of her labor, by getting "The' Rod" - once nightly, and twice on the weekend, but never on a Sunday; not until the lights go out, that is...!

Chapter 56.

Jack was tired and pissed. He hadn't had any pussy for weeks now - possibly months, he couldn't remember anymore, it had been that long.

He slammed the front door quietly, so as not to wake up Mary and the neighbors. He flung his hat at the cat, which went galloping off on the spot on the polished wooden floor before traction hit and it propelled its scabby carcass under the couch in an instant.

Jack kicked off his boots halfway across the living room to the clothes closet, and disrobed, pushing the load of worn garment into the bottom of the enclosure. All he had on was his piss-stained vest now. He left to closet door open for Mary to pick his clothes up in the morning.

Jack strode negligently into the kitchen bumping into furniture on the way, and opened the refrigerator door with such vengeance that the hinges creaked and the condiment bottles rattled in their frigid shelves.

Jack grabbed a cold bottle of booze, a lime, a medium sized zucchini out of the vegetable drawer, a jar of mayonnaise and Mary's, Oh! So..."off-limit" jelly and custard-filled doughnut, that she...just had to have with her morning shit-rattling cup of fucking coffee. Jack was so fed up with her shit right now, that he didn't give a fuck anymore. All her God dammed rules - "Do this, and don't do that...", and her...her entire fucking way of life lately that he just wanted to holler on top of his voice... "Fuck you and the tampon you rode in on bitch. Jack was seriously not-amused! Possibly due to the build-up of testosterone from not getting his regular dose of pussy, he was confused and farted a perfect note a full octave below middle "C". It reminded him of Miles Davis, and the stink, of a pig-pen.

Jack put the chilled items on the kitchen table and got a knife from the cutlery draw: He knocked off the beer cap on the edge of the table and chipped the wood. Ordinarily he would have been freaked by this, imagining his wife's microscopic postmortem of the damage to "Her"! ...table, in the morning. Jack had bought the table. It was his! ...not hers, so fuck her... Fuck Her!

Chapter 57.

Jack was boiling.

He sliced a couple of lime wedges and rammed them down the neck of the booze-bottle without regard.

There was shit everywhere that he had been, boots, clothes...spilled beer, lime juice. There was crap everywhere, and he didn't care right now... He just didn't give a flying monkey's fuck! His cock hanging out of him on half a full lob; the foreskin peeled back over his helmet only half way, with a small droplet of pre-cum bubbled out of its eye, glistening in the dim light of living room lamp. Jack had not turned on the glaring fluorescent of the kitchen, and stood there in the shadows, knowing that he had to get his rocks off soon, or there would be blood on the walls somewhere around him.

Jack hit the bottle of booze hard, sucking at its frothing content with more zeal than a newly born baby elephant at the tit: A sight that he had seen on telly one night whilst watching David Attenborough. The spectacle always stuck with him.

Jack downed the 12 oz. bottle in seconds, but in his zeal, he inadvertently siphoned-off a chunk of lime rind, which summarily jammed in his throat, causing him to excise the foreign object from his choking throat by regurgitating the recently imbibed grog, forcefully, in a thick stream of projectile vomit that actually hit the ceiling of the kitchen itself, and splattered its way deep into the living room: Jack didn't give a toss, he just nonchalantly picked up the beer cap, as if nothing had happened, and spun it confidently at the open garbage bin in the corner of the kitchen. He missed - he always missed, and the top spun off in a myriad of spiraling, erratic, directions. The cat was afraid.

Jack just left it there - where every it had come to rest, along with all of the rest of the mess he had generated, for Mary to clean up in the morning - that was Her job, Jack muttered under his breath almost unconsciously.

Jack's job was to go to work, come home and fuck his wife, something he hadn't fucking done for several months right now! Jack had had enough! Tonight he was going to take back the Power! Tonight he was going to be "The Man of the House again", and do just exactly what he wanted to do. Tonight he was going to fuck, and fuck - like a wild animal! (A thin, gossamer, thread of cum fell off the eye of his cock, and parachuted earth-bound, under gravity assist, only to land silently on his left big toe. Jack flinched, as if a spider had run over his foot. Jack didn't like spiders, they reminded him of the hairs around Mary's asshole, which he insisted she pull out with tweezers, at least twice a month. Mary had a hard job on her hands, the larger her ass got, and reverted to having her transvestite hair-dresser do it for her, bi-weekly. He, of course, ended up fucking her in her compost-hole, in the end. ...You, never know which way a tranny will swing, given adequate opportunity, but at least Mary got her ass-hole plucked for free after the first penetration, and that suited her to the "T".

Chapter 58.

Jack's cock had gotten hard and was rising up and out of him menacingly now. He grabbed Mary's donut, and opened the end of it carefully with the edge of the bottle-opener's handle. He thrust his long, wet, hot tongue deep into the pastry's interior, and scooped out most of the creamy, jam filling and swallowed the glob laughing, then he inserted his rock hard penis into the cool pouch, and used the remainder of the filling to grease his gland until he came violently into the sugar coated pastry pouch. When he had finished, he withdrew his sweet coated helmet slowly out of the cake, and carefully closed up the end of the confectionary, and put it back into the refrigerator, exactly where he had found it for Mary to eat in the morning and he grabbed another bottle of swill, whilst he was in there, flipped open the cap, and downed it in one again, minus the lime wedge and the projectile vomit this time round.

Chapter 59.

Jack was out of it. He had been held-off by his now, tyrannical wife, for months since his ass got burnt, but now he was going to put things right between them. He was going to put things back to where they were before he lost all the ground in his marriage.

Jack just didn't care anymore. He grabbed another beer, and as he passed the kitchen table, he opened it, and put his foot up onto the table's top. Jack pulled his semi-erect cock up from under himself, and bending over, inserted the huge bell end into his mouth for a good sucking. Jack was long enough between the legs to be able to do this comfortably.

His knob tasted sweet, from Mary's doughnut, and he came twice into his own head, before cutting off his orgasm, to save the rest for Mary, by biting his lip and tongue. The pain arrested Jack's ejaculation.

Jack was free again, and jumped up on the sink with his ass hanging open over the garbage disposal. He turned on the tap, and switched on the disposal unit, that made a terrible racket, but Mary would be more or less unconscious by now on her meds and her vodka, so he dropped his load of shit into the unit, and listened as the whirr of the disposal, labored, creamily, to process his fudge, into a sludge that an inch and a quarter drain could handle. Jack finished with a fart, and washed his hole as if sitting on a bidet.

The garbage disposal had bad breath when he got off, so Jack took a fresh lemon from the fridge, plus another bottle of lager from the fridge, and threw it into the lacerating vortex of the pulsating kitchen sink's dirt-box. There was an almighty rumbling noise, as the disposal cleaned its teeth, then Jack shut it off and meandered into the living room, beer in hand; with a paring knife, the jar of mayonnaise and the, now, room temperature zucchini.

Jack sat down in his recliner, knocked off the rest of his bottle, and cut a circular riing about three inches from the end of the zucchini, a half of an inch deep, with the paring knife.

Jack rotated the lid off the mayonnaise and dripped the cut end of the zucchini deep into it, then he adroitly threw his legs high up into the air, as he had done many times in the past, until his fully reclining telly-seat revolved backward, a full 270 degrees, which left jack virtually upside down in the chair - his toes, touching the floor behind him, almost looking like an Apollo astronaut in their take-off positions. But, in Jack's living room, rather than being cooped-up in a space suit, Jack was wearing his only his birthday suit - totally nude - except for the vest; legs apart, and sucking his dick profusely. During the suck, Jack uncannily found his hole, and without mess inserted the buttered end of his vegetable dildo, relentlessly into his gaping stink-hole, the cool mayonnaise bathing his healing hole gratefully.

Once the half inch deep circular ring that Jack has cut into the shaft of the zucchini docked with his sphincter-controlled rim, his ass locked on to the phallus with a death grip - otherwise, such tapered poles have a tendency to shoot out of the ring during orgasm. Jack knew this from past experience, and had taken steps to counteract such annoying occurrences. So Jack carved out a groove, that his hole could grab hold of, and hold onto, as he fucked. Jack was not too smart, but when it came to his pleasure, he could always pull a rabbit outta the bag, for that.

There is nothing more annoying, than busting a nut, and having the dildo shoot out of your ass on the second or third cum-shot, due to sphincter muscle spasms. Why, it throws a wet Kleenex, over the whole wanking experience - doesn't it just though, proclaimed Jack, to himself.

Chapter 60.

Occasionally Jack would fall asleep after orgasm, and Mary would find him in the very same position in the morning. Upside down in his recliner, his limpid cock stuck to his bottom lip, with cum dripping off his face and a somewhat wilted zucchini sticking out of his butt.

Mary would be furious! Not so much as to Jack sucking himself off, God Knows she was glad of the rest, but because of the waste of a perfectly good vegetable, and that Jack always forgot to screw the lid on the mayonnaise jar of a night. Mary would salvage what she could of the zucchini that day, and incorporate it in that evening's meal. Jack never ate the zucchini, nor did Mary, but Jack's daughter - Veronica, relished the grub, and he would watch with pleasure, as she wolfed-down the fried remnant of his ass-dildo, at dinner. Mary would kick him under the table with her foot, if the smiling, came to drooling - which it often did, and Mary would raise her foot up between Jack's legs, to check if he had a hard on. She would kick him enviously in the balls with her big toe, and sulk at the table - furious at his unmitigated debauchery. She was jealous, of her daughter's effect on her husband's cock, and Jack knew it.

Chapter 61.

What Mary didn't know, nor Jack for that matter, was that on nights like this, where Jack sucked himself off to completion, and generally fell asleep after the fact of the matter, that his daughter, who had recently just turned eighteen, who having been freshly kicked out of boarding school, on what she describes as a, "...technicality", would be silently watching through the crack of her bedroom door.

...Like the pub, the boarding school rules that - once out - there is no going back, (not for that night, at least), but at Veronica's boarding school - it was forever. Her expelling, not disgracefully though, but - more by luck than not, was, nevertheless, final, and in toto).

Jack, forgetting that Veronica was (back) home again, would fall back into his usual routine at the drop of a hat. Veronica, ever vigilant, would spring into action the moment the opportunity presented itself, and it presented itself several times a week.

Veronica had gotten a taste for semen, and crack juice during her stay at Saint Blanche's Finishing School for Young Women, and upon her departure, the male and female faculty's wives and husbands would have to step up the pace of sucking, and licking and fucking, now that she was gone. No longer would Veronica be there, to take up the slack, to swallow the bias, of their lackluster, pitiful sex lives. No! Now the fossil-faced dried-up prunes of wives would have to drain their husband's balls themselves; now they would have to go it alone from here on in, and God help them... God help them all, because she knew, they were going to need it. No longer would she stay late after class, and empty the headmaster's cock down her gobbling throat three times a week. Let his wife do it, in her absence. No longer would she be there to lick the PT. coach, Mrs. Chadwell's, gaping clout out in the showers after badminton practice, when all the other girls had wiped, and run off to Vespers. No longer would Veronica be there to turn the bitch upside down and fanny-fuck her gigantic gash, rubbing her inch long clitoris to screaming exultation, with her wet, slippery vaginal wings, and finishing her off by sandpapering the tip of Chadwell's super-engorged clit, with the course clump of rough pubic hair, left there for this purpose exactly; brimming her bulbous Mount of Venus, like a menacing Brillo-Pad. No... No more, now that she was gone. Let her small-dicked husband do the job; whom she blew, twice weekly, under the stairs, in the cricket clobber storage closet. Veronica reminisced that his balls smelled a lot like linseed oil, old leather and dubbin. Now, let his wife have her job back, and let's see how long they last...

Chapter 62.

In fact, upon Veronica's leaving, The Principle, along with other sundry instructors and tutors, made it quite plain and simple for her, that they...preferred not to have to deal with her again, even at alumni reunions, and that they regretted, due to some unforeseeable glitch, or data-hardware malfunction, that her picture, had, unfortunately, not made it into the final year book, and that they fervently hoped that she wouldn't find it necessary to sue the prestigious finishing school, now that her picture had been scotch-taped into her - complimentary - edition, only. She had only been there six years, and due to all the trouble she had caused there, the faculty - along with the majority of fellow students, were well rid of her. Now she was back: Living in her old bedroom, with Jack and Mary in the apartment. She had grown into a fine young woman, on the outside, slender, vibrant, with tits and an ass to die for, but inside - her head was seriously fucked!

Jack blamed it on Mary. Mary had no idea. Veronica blew The Principle's cock in his office just after he chucked her out. She was still in the process of swallowing his cum, when the door to his office clicked shut, for the last time, and she found herself alone, out in the hallway. She grabbed a passing sophomore, and French kissed The Principle's cum into her astonished open, tongue flicking little slut's mouth. Veronica made the sophomore drop to her knees and Veronica, pulling the gusset of her knickers aside, and yanking the tail of the mouse, of her engorged tampon, she impelled the new recruit to lick he cunt with extreme prejudice, and in the last act of civil disobedience, and total disregard for the institution's moral and ethical mores, Veronica wrestled the new girl to the ground, tore off her knickers and did the 69 gash tango, with her until they both, simultaneously came, and shot their loads of female ejaculate, not only each other's sweet, beautiful faces, but also over The Principle's hallway carpeting too.