Chapter 1

Harriet Honeybottom was one of those housewives that loved to fantasize in lurid daydreams about every male that came to her parlor door with ordinary things like milk, mail or demonstrations of fabulous new carpet cleaners. She would strip them all naked in her mind and imagine them bending her over the top of her plastic covered sofa and entering her from the rear with unquenchable desire. Sometimes her daydreams were so vivid and real that she would shudder into a satisfying orgasm standing on her ugly flat heels right in front of her unsuspecting visitors.

In all honesty, Harriet was not a beauty in any sense of the word, but she was unusually clean and well-mannered and had what could only be described quite crudely as a tight schoolgirl’s pussy. That was due to the fact she was unable to have offspring, much to her disappointment, and her husband’s preferred use of her nether regions for his manly satisfaction in a nocturnal setting. Her bum was much more accustomed to his drunken sessions that included the most degrading of unnatural acts and his constant joy at giving her “proper training” with his wide leather belt. After years of such treatment, poor Harriet was swift to get on her stomach to avoid confrontation in the sanctity of her own boudoir.

Despite all of his faults, she still retained a respectful wifely attitude toward her middle-aged husband and continued to make the very best roast possible each Sunday afternoon.

He was an excellent provider and she did her level best to arouse his manhood employing the use of various costumes ranging from nurse’s uniforms and French maid outfits with the skimpiest of thongs that were buried so deep in her crack that she looked totally nude below the waist when viewed from behind. Unfortunately, her spouse was unable to deliver the goods in the most advantageous of horizontal positions on top of the marital bed. He pleaded the excuse that his work drained his energy and made him unable to perform his expected husbandly duties with any degree of enthusiasm. The fact of the matter was that his newly hired secretary, Miss Honeypot Henderson, dropped her knickers on command behind the closed office door and seldom objected when he buried his long hard schlong between her cheeks. In fact, she was talented enough to take dictation whilst he pounded away on her heart-shaped bottom with gleeful abandon like a runaway puppy finding his true love.

His penchant for spanking plump curves often left the poor girl with a red bottom under her designer skirts almost on a daily basis.

The twenty year old Miss Honeypot had an understanding boyfriend that kissed her sore bottom with gentlemanly adoration. She described to him in great detail the humiliation heaped on her by her demanding boss, knowing that it would arouse and enflame him to immediate coupling action, giving her exactly what she needed for full satisfaction.

Meanwhile, the increasingly desperate Harriet, the unhappy housewife, made do with her fantasies and the covert use of a battery-operated wand she kept hidden under her mattress.

Early one Monday morning, well after her husband had departed for his exhausting day at the office, Harriet answered the knock on the door wondering who it could be so early in the day.

The young postman in his short pants uniform and official postal cap stood there with a tantalizing bulge in his crotch accentuated by the shorts that were at least one size too small. She saw that the package was an order that she had called in for immediate delivery and that there was a small amount due in postage because of a miscalculation on the weight of the item.

She turned to go up the stairs realizing far too late that the young man could probably look up under her short house dress and see that she was not wearing any undies at all. She hoped her reddish bush was not visible to the poor man because it would be all to mortifying to imagine the consequences. The jokes he would make to his mates about the almost forty housewife with the glorious red bush made her blush in consternation at the imagined humiliation with untold strangers.

Harriet paused at the top of the stairs and made a point to bend over to gather her purse from the bottom shelf with her back to the bottom of the stairs. She could see out of the corner of the eye that the bulge in the young man’s trousers was noticeably larger and growing by the second. Strangely, that made her exceedingly damp in her female parts and she knew instinctively that all she had to do was give the young lad a little encouragement and he would be on her before she could have a chance to protest his action.

Slowly, Harriet counted out the exact amount due and she bent over to sign his book as he instructed her with a measured deep voice. Suddenly, his pole came in contact with the soft flesh of her thigh and she looked up at him with a smile on her face that was all the invitation he needed to lower his trousers and keep her in the bent over position hanging onto the stairway railing. She lifted one leg up to the first step and uttered only a single shuddering shout as he slid into her already lubricated slit with the enthusiasm of youthful vitality.

Poor Harriet’s cheeks were quickly reddened by the slapping of his muscular legs against her sensitive skin. The stretching of her opening was a glorious reversal of her normal sex-deprived way of life. She knew she was grunting like some crazed animal and must have looked totally unladylike in that submissive position but she had no reluctance to continue and even pushed back into the lad’s groin hoping he might be able to do her a little bit deeper. It was a slutty tactic and she instantly regretted it because it made the boy rougher than before and he punished her bottom with his long, stiff shaft and slapped her cheeks with both palms to make her yelp like a schoolgirl being punished for lack of discipline. It was altogether satisfying to her sex-starved self-image and she was eternally grateful for the postman’s special delivery.