Olive's Anal Ordeal

For the second time that week, Reverend's wife Olive Sweetstuff found herself summoned to the park to suck some cock. (see Olive's Oral Ordeal) This submissive housewife was now deep in the clutches of the pervert park attendant, Rod. Over the previous six weeks he has been forcing Olive to come to his toolshed in the park for rough throatings, fuckings and semen swallowings, and now shy, timid Mrs Sweetstuff has become addicted to the regular humiliation and sexual abuse.

Rod has been making more and more outrageous demands on Olive over the last few weeks. Not only does she have to suck him off several times a week he is now forcing her to wear ridiculously inappropriate clothing for their meetings.

Today for example, our mistreated milf is tottering along to the toolshed on 5" spike heels, little pleated skirt which is too short to hide her stocking tops, big milkers falling out of a low-cut white shirt, school tie and no bra or knickers.

As usual, Rod was waiting impatiently for her in the toolshed, leaning with folded arms on the half-door. Naked from the waist down apart from work boots, huge veiny dick drooling sperm, he leered at the red-faced milf as she desperately struggled with her tiny skirt as the breeze wafted it up to expose her naked cunt and big round bottom.

Two minutes later, Olive, on her knees in the shed, hands tied behind her back with the school tie, is gasping and gulping as Rod forces ten thick inches of cock down her married housewifely throat.

Thirty minutes later, a sweaty and sore Olive is greedily sucking down the last of Rod's huge ejaculation, swirling her tongue around the big mouth-stretching knob in a frantic effort to extract every drop from Rod's saggy balls, and dreamily wondering why the top half of the tool shed door is slowly closing when she distinctly remembered closing it?

As the flushed with shame and guilt housewife made her way back to her car to change back into her normal clothes, big mommy teats tenting the thin shirt, and the pleated skirt blowing up over her pantieless bottom, she thought how absolutely ghastly it would be if her darling hubby found out what his innocent wifey was doing behind his back.

Later that day, as Mrs Sweetstuff was arranging some flowers in the church, she blushed with shame at the change that had come over her. Nowadays, at Rod's insistence, she never wore knickers, and always wore nylons and suspender belt with her high heels. Even now, in the sanctity of this ancient church, she was bare-arsed under her thin, tight skirt. Suspender straps outlined down her thick thighs, big Kim Kardashian bottom threatening to burst the back seam, making it glaringly obvious to the casual observer that she was pantieless.

Suddenly, Olive was brought shatteringly down to earth as a meaty hand slapped painfully on her bottom, first on one cheek, then on the other, causing her to rear up in shock like a startled filly.

'What the ...' Olive spun round and came face to face with a smirking Mr. Horace Thrasshly, choirmaster at this church. An outraged Mrs. Sweetstuff proceeded to give Horace what-for;

lambasting him at length and at full volume, promising that she would 'tell the Reverend and make sure Thrasshly would never work in this parish again.'

Olive's diatribe slowly stumbled and stuttered to a stop as she realised it was having no effect on the sweetly smiling choirmaster, and she became silent as a growing feeling of disaster and doom descended on her.

What followed was the worst ten minutes of her life, even worse than when Rod had trapped her in the toolshed and ... and ... well, made her do disgusting things to his penis with her mouth.

Olive's eyes bulged in horror as Thrasshly re- played the video he had sneakily taken through the open door of the toolshed of her being choked silly on Rod's huge member. Her heart thudded as she witnessed the relentless fucking over the back of the sofa, retched as she observed the thick ropes of semen squirting into her gaping mouth.

Oh Dear!

'Wwhat do you want' stammered Olive.

Five minutes later a severely face-fucked Mrs. Sweetstuff was choking down her second big mouthful of spunk that day. Cheeks bulging with cock and sperm, she gamely swallowed every drop of the slimy man-muck as Horace forced her ravaged face into his groin.

Two Days later as the good Reverend Sweetstuff was out ministering to the sick and needy, his darling wifey was out ministering to the sick and needy herself...

Horace Thrasshly rubbed his hands and chuckled with glee as he watched, through his living room window, Olive Sweetstuff park her car and make her way to his front door. He licked his lips and leered at the way her fat bra-less tits swayed under the thin white blouse, the huge dark teats perfectly visible through the material. He gripped his swelling dong as the milf's little kilt whooshed upward in the breeze, to expose her dark tan nylons, white garter straps and naked, freshly shaved pussy.

'Marvellous what a bit of blackmail can do' muttered Horace as his mind went back to the confrontation with Mrs Sweetstuff in the church, and how she turned deathly pale as he explained, in detail, what he would do with the video, unless ...

As the resigned to her fate housewife stepped into the hallway she gasped in shock as Thrasshly swiftly unfastened her skirt and, with the door still wide open, let it fall to her scarlet stiletto'd feet, exposing her nakedness to the casual bystander and passersby.

Horace ushered the flustered Olive into his study and ordered her to pour him a scotch, all the while giving her a running commentary about how he'd 'always wanted to spank, strap and fuck her big solid arse.'

Yes, now she thought about it, Mrs Sweetstuff had always been uncomfortably aware of the way Thrasshley's piggy eyes always seemed to be glued to her large rear end. Especially in the last few weeks when she had taken to wearing very tight skirts - always with seamed stockings - and always without panties. GROAN!

Olive was instructed to 'tidy the place up a bit.' This consisted of her flicking a feather duster here and there whilst Horace watched with bulging eyes and slobbery lips, noting the way her arse globes jiggled as she walked, the way her muscular calves flexed, and the way her big thighs stretched the stocking tops.

'Right, down to business,' said Horace as he placed a stout straight-backed chair in the middle of the floor. Olive was rather non-plussed about what he could mean by that statement ... until he grabbed her wrist and pulled her across his lap ... then all became clear.

Mrs Sweetstuff gasped in surprise as Horace's open palm slapped down on her naked bottom. She gasped a whole lot more as the big hand raised and fell rhythmically again and again on her rapidly reddening buttocks. Horace spent quite some time on the spanking; savouring every hard, stinging slap, ensuring that every inch of the large pliant bottom were of an even deep-red hue.

After what seemed like an age to the deeply distressed housewife, Thrasshly hauled her to her feet and allowed her to hop from foot to foot while rubbing her flaming cheeks in a forlorn hope of soothing her burning buttocks. As Olive stood naked from the waist down, she became aware that people were walking past Horace's window, and it only needed one of them to glance across to see her in her undressed condition.

Olive was just about to demand that Horace immediately close the curtains, but the words died on her lips as she became aware that he had extracted his extra large purple penis and was, at that moment, waving it obscenely in her direction. 'Oh gosh, not again,' whimpered Mrs Sweetstuff, as Thrasshly, in front of the window, forced her to her knees and once more shoved his bloated boner deep into her mouth.

A by now, a thoroughly dominated Mrs Sweetstuff was fervently hoping that Horace would quickly fill her mouth with semen and then send her home, but her hopes were dashed when he pulled her to her feet and guided her to the bathroom. A little while later, our shamefaced housewife was led back into the study after enduring a series of embarrassing and cleansing enemas, and was now all too aware of her blackmailers evil intentions ... in his own words, he was going to 'bugger the bejesus out of her.'

Horace positioned Olive on the arm of his sofa, kneeling with her hands resting on the seat, big, lush naked bottom thrust out, tiny delicate anus fully exposed and twitching nervously. Mrs Sweetstuff whined as she looked over her shoulder and watched as he slathered his huge knob with lube. She wailed as Horace suffled up to her rear, trousers round his ankles, and sobbed as he lined up his big knob with her virgin rectum and ... pushed.

Olive felt the blood rush to her face as she strained to accommodate the thick dick, felt her poor anus stretch wide, then wider still as Thrasshly gripped her hips and lunged. 'Oh my Gosh,' she quavered as she felt the helmet thrust past her ring, then 'Goodness Gracious' as Horace roughly shoved the full ten inches into her outraged arse.

Horace paused when he felt his big balls squash against Olive's buttocks, listening with pleasure as she groaned and buried her crimson face in the cushions. 'Right then, Mrs Sweetstuff, let the fun begin,' said Horace, as he began to slowly saw in and out of the poor housewife's insanely overstretched anus.

Olive could only gibber incoherently through a mouthful of cushion, and clutch the sofa hard with red-painted claws as her arse-attacker picked up the pace, pulling out to the knob, then fiercely plunging the whole cock bollocks deep. On and on went Horace, painfully punishing the Sweetstuff posterior, pummelling the ragged ring into abject submission, pausing in his rectum wrecking to inform the sniffling Olive, 'I've been dreaming of abusing your arse for years.'

Thrasshly kept poor Olive captive for hours. Alternating between whopping her bottom with a leather paddle until his dick stiffened up, then reaming her ring ragged, only pausing to unload big splorts of spunk into her unwilling mouth.

Much later, as a relived Mrs Sweetstuff soaked herself in the bath at home, her fingers wandered down to her battered bung and began a gentle probing; first one finger, then two, and finally four, soon she was twitching to a spectacular orgasm as she mentally re-lived her anal ordeal at the hands of the dastardly Horace Thrasshly ... and shamefully hoped he would continue the blackmail for a long, long time.