She steadied herself with a hand against the rough wall in the alley. The strong young man was pumping vigorously into her from behind and it moved her whole body. It was great! Each stroke of that hard shaft thrilling her vagina and making her nipples rub against the inside of her dress, no bra to restrain them from swaying with the rhythmic thrusts.

The workman had entered easily when she pulled up her skirt and bent over in invitation. She been filled with male lubrication about ten minutes earlier in a young man’s apartment directly across from the one she shared with her husband. All it took was a quick text and she could pop in for a pussy-filling from his long and randy tool.

Her sleeping husband, recently turned in from his night job, had no clue why she so often wore dresses or skirts nowadays. She explained it as being “more feminine”. If he’d ever looked in her purse he’d have wondered about the damp washrag in the ziplock bag. If he sniffed it later in the day the odor of male semen would likely be strong. A girl must stay presentable for her next pussy-filler, after all.

She came as the hot spurts painted her cervix and, as expected, his coworker stepped up and took his place. This one was short and thicker, a nice change. She remembered from yesterday that he was a big cummer so she’d have to find a ladies room and do some clean up before continuing her “shopping”.

That’s what she told her husband that she was doing during her frequent absences. When he remarked that she seldom brought back purchases, her pussy would twinge, knowing that it was full of tiny wigglers that she’d just acquired.

He was a good man, clueless to her promiscuity of the last few months since she frequently sought his cock, even using her newly developed oral skills to get it interested if it currently wasn’t. He’d marveled at how his virgin bride of less than a year had taken to sex and believed he was doing a good job of fulfilling her needs.

Back in the alley, the second outpouring of male cream finished, she took some tissue from her purse and tucked it into the crotch of the panties she wore only to hold it in place, being commando if not dripping.

“You guys here tomorrow?” It would be their last day, they said.

In the women’s room of a department store she cleaned her pussy more thoroughly, regretful that the seed was oozing out. She’d never been on birth control and had not yet become pregnant, a desire that had been with her since puberty. Fear and religion had kept that urge at bay but the legitimization of marriage had let it burst loose. Her frustration had built to this urgency to acquire sperm by any means in the desperate hope that she would become a mother.

She resumed her travels and was soon in the business district where she had worked before her wedding. She suddenly thought of a co-worker who had flirted and made passes. She still had his phone number and texted him, “Lunch today?” He’d invited her often but she had always refused. He was attractive enough. That was the main criteria for fucking a guy anymore; would his offspring be nice looking?

He responded quickly, naming an out-of-the-way place and a time. She was sipping a glass of wine and smiling as he entered. They made polite chit-chat and they ordered and ate. As he picked up the tab, she asked, “Do you have to get back to work right away?” She knew he had a flexible schedule.

He made a quick text and escorted her out of the door. She also remembered that he lived around here, not liking a long commute.

It was a typical bachelor apartment, a bit messy with an unmade bed. He knew why she’d contacted him and got right to it, not wanting to waste any time. As she stripped him in turn, she was delighted to see how hung he was. She’d heard tales from both single and married women who had sampled him. Many had repeatedly gotten in this bed for fun and games.

It was a delightful hour with him spunking twice before they finished. As they lay together before showering, she asked, “You didn’t inquire about birth control before you shot your stuff in me. Isn’t that customary?”