Tom knew Mrs White didn’t like him much. He’d once overheard her discussing him with her husband.

“I wish Neil would not play with that boy Tom, he’s so common!”

“Come on Moira, don’t be such a snob. He’s just poor, there’s only him and his mum. Show a little compassion.”

“But he’s so rough, and looks so dirty!”

“Now stop it. He’s not dirty, just has well-worn clothes. Anyway, it’s good for Neil to experience some rough and tumble. He gets pampered at that private school. Let him go out with Tom, climb a few trees. It’s good for him.”

“Well I think he’s a bad influence, and I don’t like the way he looks at me.”

There was a pause while he refused to answer.

“Go and get that garden sorted out.”

Later, playing with Neil, Tom saw her come out to the garden to bring her husband a cup of tea. Her hair was golden blonde; the style not unlike Marilyn Monroe’s. And she had a slim athletic body. In this village, there wasn’t a male over fourteen who hadn’t had fantasies about her.

“I wish you wouldn’t leave your old cardigan draped over the hedge. Horrible thing. Why do you do it?”

“Because that’s the old cardigan I always do the gardening in, and when I get warmed up, I take it off.”

“But that’s the road the other side of the hedge; someone could take it.”

“You just said how horrible it is. You should be delighted if somebody steals it!”

Tom took it all in, and turned to Neil.

“Your mum is gorgeous mate!”

“I know. She used to be a dancer in a big London show. You know, like those Tiller girls.”

“What high kicks like the Folies Bergère? Showing their knickers and everything?”

“Yeah. I saw her exercising once. She can do the splits. Pity she was wearing tennis shorts. It gave me a stiffy.”

“Wow! Ever seen any more?”

“Once.” he replied. “Don’t think I should tell you though.”

“Course you should, we’re mates aren’t we? Anyway it’s traditional for boys to fantasise about each other’s mums.”

“Each other’s maybe, but should a chap fancy his own mother? Don’t you think it’s a bit embarrassing?”

“Not at all.” asserted Tom. “It’s the first woman in your life you see naked, if you’re lucky. I’ve always fancied my mum. All fourteen year olds do. It’s almost compulsory! Not so long ago I thought I would marry her one day.”

“God, I thought I was the only one who thought that!”

Of course Tom fancied Neil’s mum a lot more than his own. Then again, who didn’t?

“Well I saw her getting out of the shower when she thought I was out. Her nipples are really dark and her pubic hair, that’s the stuff between her legs, is light brown, not as blonde as her head hair.”

“Wow! Does she have a lot?”

“I don’t know. How much are they supposed to have?”

“My mum has loads. Almost comes up to her belly button. I’ve seen up her dress a few times and it sticks out either side of her knickers.”

“Oh, my mother doesn’t have that much. Just a brown line above her crack!”

“God! I’ll be thinking about that tonight when I wank!”

“Yes, I usually do too. But I’ll be thinking about yours now, with all that hair!”

“Thanks! Your dad’s lucky. He can look at it any time he likes. Stick his dick in too. I can’t wait to get married!”

“Actually, I don’t think my dad’s interested in it any more. I heard them arguing one night. She says he doesn’t satisfy her. Whatever that means.”

“Really?” Tom was amazed. “He must be mad. I’d be fucking her all the time.”

“So would I. And I’ll tell you something else.”

‘Please do!’ thought Tom.

“Last week they had friends round for a dinner party and they got a bit drunk. One of the blokes works in my father’s company; he’s called Stan. He was too drunk to drive home so he stayed overnight in our guest room. That’s right next door to my room and I woke up in the night.

I could just about hear my dad snoring, way down the hall, but that wasn’t what woke me. It was a panting noise from next door. At first, I thought it was Stan wanking, but I heard my mother whisper ‘Sssh, you’ll wake him up!’ She was in the guest room too. They must have been fucking.”

“Do you think your dad knew about it? If he’s not that bothered, I mean.”

“No chance. She was really worried about waking him. I heard her say ‘Come in my mouth Stan,’ as he finished.”

“Why would she want him to do that?”

“So, when she goes back to bed, she hasn’t got spunk running out of her. He’d go mental if he woke up and smelled it on her. He gets jealous if she flirts, and doesn’t even like her wearing sexy clothes when they go out.”

“He must be mad. No offence mate, but I’d give anything for the chance to fuck your mum.”

“None taken. I’d like to fuck yours. In fact, I’d like to fuck mine too!”

“Well if you ever get the chance, tell me all the details. Better still, let me have a share!”

“OK.”

The boys hung out another friend, Nicholas, but his mother was older and did not feature in their masturbatory fantasies. Like Neil, Nicholas was quite well off. He had his own camera and his dad had set up a darkroom in their garage, so he could experiment with photography. Tom’s parents didn’t even have a car, let alone a garage. Yet, the three of them made a good team in the summer holidays. The richer boys providing chocolate and cokes, and Tom providing imagination and daring.

Moira White spent the next week in frustrating anger. She seemed to be constantly shouting at Neil: “Tidy your room. Polish your shoes.” She was aware she was doing it and knew what it was. Sex with Stan had got her in the mood, but she wouldn’t be seeing him again and wasn’t getting any from her husband. She needed to get laid, and not just a furtive fuck in the guest room.

Neil got annoyed when she found him things to do every time his friends came to play. He thought she did it on purpose. She vented her temper on her husband too: “Close those garage doors. And stop leaving the back door open every time you come in.”

Tom was an observant lad and noticed all this whenever he was there. Though he didn’t know what was causing trouble in the White House, he had witnessed this kind of thing before his father had left.

All Mrs White’s pent-up frustration came to fruition when Granville came to help put up the new greenhouse. He was a big man and well-muscled; most of the village kids were scared of him. Mr White told him he wanted a proper brick base for the greenhouse. Granville could turn his hand to anything physical and was happy to help.

“Bit late in the year to get much out of this, squire.”

“True. But it will come into its own next spring. That’s why I want a proper base; it’s going to be permanent.”

“Rightio then.” Granville was speaking to Mr White, but surreptitiously eying his wife. Cash of course.”

On his first day, a Tuesday, while Mr White was at work, Granville turned up after lunch. He laboured under the late summer sun with his shirt off, and Mrs White was captivated. She watched him from the kitchen window, swinging a pickaxe to channel out the foundations. She couldn’t take her eyes off those muscles. And she’d never seen so much sweat. At first she had thought to complain to her husband about his late start, but thought better of it.

She took him a glass of home-made lemonade and, to her disgust, he downed it one, belched and passed the glass back to her. There was no ‘Thank you’ just a terse ‘Got any more?’ When she took the glass back into the kitchen, she realised she was more excited than disgusted. After about an hour he strode into kitchen, his hairy chest gleaming.

“Need a piss! I’ll use your downstairs bog.”

“Through there.” She was shocked again by his crudeness, yet definitely aroused. He urinated loudly, without closing the door, and she found herself wondering how big his penis was. He didn’t bother to flush and was still zipping up when he came out. He went to the kitchen sink. But instead of washing his hands, he picked up the lemonade glass, filled it from the tap and drained it in one go.

“I’ll have some more of that lemonade if you got any. It’s not bad.” he announced, and stomped back to the garden.

Her jaw dropped. Nobody had treated her like this before. Yet part of her liked it – quite a big part. And if she was ever going to spice up her sex life, she could do a lot worse than Granville – awful man that he was. It wasn’t as if she was looking for a friend. She just needed a good seeing to.

“What I need in my life right now, is a bit of rough.” she whispered to herself. “And I doubt if they come much rougher than him!”

A decision had been made and it gave her goosebumps. There was a tingling in the underwear department.

On the Wednesday, she wore a shorter dress and no bra. She made a batch of lemonade and put a jug in the fridge. Granville arrived mid-morning just after Neil and his mates had gone off on their bikes for the day; their backpacks full of sandwiches. She’d made sure they had plenty, so they wouldn’t need to return. Granville soon had his shirt off.

“I’ve made a salad, will you to join to me for lunch?”

“Got any meat in it?”

“Yes, there’s some ham.”

“Any beer to go with it? I’m sick of lemonade!”

“Oh. Yes, we have bottles of bitter in the fridge.”

“Wouldn’t say no then.”

They were sitting at the table. The kitchen table of course. He was too dirty to be let into her dining room. It was so hot, her nipples stayed flat and barely showed through. But Granville made no attempt to hide the fact that he was staring at her breasts. The only time he looked away was when he stared at her knees. She was getting aroused again. He wolfed the salad down, even using his fingers for some of it. And he still hadn’t washed his hands.

“What’s these spoons for?”

“I made some apple pie.”

He pushed his plate away from him.

“Let’s have it then.”

When they had finished, she said “Don’t go back to work yet. Let your lunch go down.” She leaned across the table, to clear the dishes away. She’d never encountered such a crude man before, and wasn’t sure how to make the first move. But suddenly he gave her the biggest surprise yet.

“Here, let me help you.”

She was stunned. Did he have a polite side then?

“It’s all right. I can manage.”

But he quickly stepped behind her and thrust his hand up her dress, giving her crotch a painful squeeze.

“I don’t mean the dishes, I mean this. You need help with this, don’t you?”

He put his other hand on the back of her neck and pushed her head down onto the table. She groaned.

“I notice you’re not wearing a bra. That’ll be for my benefit. And now and what do we have under here Mrs White? Your knickers are soaking wet.”

She knew he was coarse, but was still amazed at how arrogant he was. Yes, going braless had been for his benefit, but he had no right assuming that. It got worse.

“I’ve been smelling your cunt all through lunch; you’re gagging for it. So, tell me now, if you want me to stop. I’ll go and finish your greenhouse. Or are you the dirty slut I think you are? Go or stay?”

“Please don’t go.” she didn’t hesitate.

“What are you then?”

“I’m a dirty slut.”

“So tell me what you want.”

“I want a fucking good seeing to, like you said!”

Of course you do. Like I said, gagging for it. And talking of gagging. Get on your knees and get me ready.”

She dropped to her knees on the cool granite floor and unzipped him while he leaned against the kitchen table. His work trousers were grubby with concrete and dust, and his Y-fronts were no better. It looked like he hadn’t changed them since the weekend. Stained with old urine and semen. She pushed back his foreskin to reveal just how unwashed he was. The smell was revolting, but turned her on.

“It’s a bit cheesy but I don’t suppose you care.”

The rotten odour hit her as she took it into her mouth, but she cleaned him up with relish. Moira loved it. Today she was indeed a slut, and she wondered if it had always been part of her. He grabbed her ears and started to thrust in and out of her throat. She gagged and drooled ran and the dirty taste soon disappeared and he withdrew. He leaned back over the table and lifted his feet up. His muddy boots scraped on the pine woodwork.

“Lick my balls.”

She’d never done that to a man before, and instantly loved it. He leaned back further and reached round to pull open his thighs. She knew instinctively what he wanted and thrust her face between his buttocks, pushing her tongue into his anus. It was disgusting; and she didn’t care. He sat up and stared at her.

“You filthy bitch. Now take all your clothes off.”

He sat in a chair and stroked his cock while she stripped. Yes, she was a filthy bitch. But she blushed deeply as the gusset of her panties stuck to her vagina, making a soft tearing noise as it dragged free.

“Now give me those wet knickers and put your tongue out!” Granville laughed.

He stood up and shoved the damp wisp of cotton into her mouth, wiping the sticky gusset over her tongue.

“Do you like that taste of your cunt? Stronger than my dick, I bet. Well get used to it. After I’ve fucked it, you’re going to suck me clean and swallow all my jizz! Agreed?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want your snatch full of cum, in case I fancy a second go. And that’s what you want too, isn’t it? A couple of good fucks.”

“Yes.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please!”

He shoved her roughly back over the table and lifted her knees. She threw her arms out for balance and heard the salad bowl crash to the floor. Cut glass, a wedding gift from her mother, but who cared? Granville pushed her legs apart. What he lacked in style, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. He gripped her ankles and took a long look.

“Nice cunt!” he admired. “Looks like you’ve been trimming it. Bet that was for me!”

‘You’re wrong this time.’ she thought. ‘I’ve never had much down there.’

He pounded her hard, and she soon got quite sore despite her wetness. No foreplay, no finesse; she seen horses mate with more style. But this was definitely what she needed. His face was close to hers and she could smell his beery breath. She opened her mouth for a kiss. But he pulled away. He stopped when she climaxed, and grinned at her.

Much bigger than her husband, he left his penis inside her and throbbed in time with her orgasm. Her buttocks arched up high, and she let out a long growl. She thought it might trigger his climax, but he just waited till she finished.

“Turn over!”

He yanked it out of her abruptly, making her squeal.

At first, she thought he was going to take her anally, something Moira had never tried. But he walked round the table. It was only when he grabbed a handful of her hair and thrust his penis into her mouth, she remembered he had said this was how it would end. She was aware her left hand was covered with apple pie. She sucked up her own juices. Granville gripped her hair, pulled her face down his shaft, and ejaculated into her mouth. She swallowed it all. Far better than apple pie!

“Good! Now your cunt stays clean for Round Two. Don’t bother putting your knickers back on.” he said, pulled his jeans and pants back up, and returned to the garden.

“So that was my bit of rough!” she muttered as she scraped the rest of the pie into the bin. Her husband had never shown much interest in her mouth. And she hadn’t tasted herself since Stan. The experience excited her much more this time; with a lot more to swallow! She was proud of the fact she’d swallowed it all without spilling any. Not that staining her dress would be a problem. This one would go in the wash as soon as he’d left, anyway.

“Bring me another beer!” he shouted. She tripped outside with one. He snatched the bottle off her, but gave her back the glass and just guzzled it. They fucked twice more before the day was over. No man had ever had sex with her three times in one day. And she’d never swallowed so much. Before he left, Granville instructed her to shave all her pubic hair off.

Unluckily, Mr White spotted it that evening. He usually avoided the en suite bathroom when she was in there, but she was showering after dinner, and he walked in.

“What the hell happened to your pubes?” he enquired, as she stepped out of the shower.

“Oh this? Got a bit of a sweat rash in all this heat darling. Do you like it?”

“Not particularly, no.”

‘No, you wouldn’t.’ she thought.

He left and Moira smiled. It was a stroke of good luck that his attention had gravitated to her pubic mound. She had quickly pulled the bath towel up to cover the bite marks on her breasts. The thumb marks on her thighs were barely noticeable now. She looked in the mirror.

“So this is what a dirty slut looks like. Should have done this years ago!”

There were three repeat performances on Thursday. She knew make-up would be needed as Granville bit and bruised her, but he showed no interest in anal sex and she was eager to try it. After their second session she asked him if he wanted her bottom.

“I thought I noticed you were a bit oily down there.” he said. “You rich ones are all filthy bitches aren’t you? Can’t say I’ve ever been particularly interested in arses. But I’ll give it a good seeing to if you pay me a tenner!”

“Pay you?” Certainly not!”

Later in the afternoon, he came into the kitchen again.

“Come with me.” he ordered, and went into the downstairs loo. He made her kneel on the floor next to the toilet and hold his penis while he urinated. It was huge, even when not erect. When he had finished he spoke.

“You fancy toilet activities, then suck the piss off.”

There wasn’t much urine on it. But enough for Moira to taste it and understand she had been put in her place. On her knees on the hard lavatory floor seemed appropriate; a milestone to show how far she had come. She didn’t mention anal sex again.

The job should have been finished that Thursday, according to the agreement with Mr White. But Granville came up with excuses and it dragged on to Friday morning. The weather stayed fine, and her son and his friends were out on their bikes every day. He only fucked her once.

Now it was Friday night and Neil had gone to bed. Moira was curled up on the leather sofa, staring into space and vaguely aware she was leaking slightly; on their last session he had come in her vagina, rather than her mouth.

“What are you smiling at?” Mr White asked. “Sitting there with a stupid grin on your face.”

She roused herself from her stupor.

‘Granville takes an extra three hours, on the job.’ she thought. ‘So he can fuck your wife into a coma. Then makes you pay him overtime for it! I’ve been fucked more times this week than you’ve managed all year.’ “Oh nothing.” she said.

“Well I’m turning in. I’m knackered.” he said gruffly.

In the bathroom, she disguised her bruises, but needn’t have bothered. Mr White was already snoring.

Summer holidays were over, the greenhouse dominated the garden, and the kids went back to school. Nicholas was quite the classroom star, with his photos of dew in the hedgerows. Mrs White started got frustrated again. Granville had been round just once since finishing the greenhouse, and had waited two weeks before visiting. He fucked her brutally as usual. She had drawn the line at having sex on one of the beds and got used to being bent over the table. After the apple pie mess, she’d kept it clear. It was the longest she had ever gone braless, and it pissed her off that her husband never even noticed.

But that last time Granville had visited, was troubling her. He’d now wanted twenty pounds for anal sex. She was keen to try it to the point obsession. But pay?

“I’ve started a new job now, repairing old Dane’s barn.” he sneered. “The old man’s out in the fields all morning and his wife is gagging for it, just like you. She’s a bit on the big side for my taste, but her lunches are better than yours and she doesn’t keep going on about taking it up the arse. I won’t be coming round here again.”

The rest of that week she was in a foul mood. On the Saturday, Tom and Nicholas came around on their bikes and she made Neil go to the village shop for some washing up liquid, before he was allowed out. When he got back, he opened the cupboard under the sink to put it away. There, he noticed they already had an unused bottle.

Two nights later Granville’s phone rang.

“OK, I’ll pay you.” Mrs White said. “My family will be away on Saturday.”

“Thought you might. Make sure you have an enema first, and shove lots of Vaseline up there! And as you’re such an animal, it seems suitable to do it in one of my dad’s fields. Doggy style, like the dirty bitch you are. Get some grass stains on your knees!”

“So what time were you getting up in the mornings to take photos of all those wet cobwebs?” asked Tom.

“About six.” replied Nicholas.

“Fancy getting up early on Saturday? We’ll take our bikes and some sarnies, and pick some early blackberries before the birds get them. My mum makes great blackberry and apple pie and she’s got loads of cooking apples in.”

“My mum never cooks pies.”

“Then give all the blackberries to me, and my mum will do an extra one. She loves cooking for people. And we’ll ask Neil if he wants to come.”

But Neil and his family were going to visit his aunt at the seaside, so he couldn’t go.

The Whites lived in a large on the edge of the village. It was set sideways on to the road. The front door, hardly ever used, faced back towards the village, and boasted a long vegetable garden, now with a new greenhouse in the middle. A four foot high hedge bordered the road. Round the back was another larg garden. But most of that was given over to a driveway and detached garage, and a few flower beds. On the slope of the hill out of the village, they had a small orchard. The walls of the house were painted white and, inevitably, the villagers called it the White House.

On the Friday evening, Mrs White claimed she had a migraine and would not be able to accompany the family to the seaside. Her husband was fairly unconcerned when she cried off. He knew she had never liked his sister. Moira had been uncharacteristically gentle with her two men in that week, and gave Neil a big hug before he and his father left. Neil wondered what had put her in a good mood, and enjoyed snuggling into her bosom for a moment. It felt like she had no bra on, which gave him a distinct tingle.

Saturday morning, she locked the back door, slipping the key under the third plant pot along. Her husband had left the garage doors open again, and the gates by the road. They must have been like that ever since he and Neil had set off last night. Never mind. Nothing was going to spoil today’s adventure. She crossed the back yard and closed them. Then left via the rear driveway and shut the gates.

It was still warm, and she was wearing no bra again, just a short button-through dress, small panties, and a pair of sandals. Everything was white because Granville had ordered the ‘Marilyn Monroe’ look. Her anus was aching somewhat; she’d never given herself an enema before, and she could feel the lubricant she’d applied. Her vagina was throbbing alarmingly. Granville always maintained he could smell it, though her husband had never commented. But he’d be unlikely to react if she sat on his face. She had shaved again last night and could now feel a wedgie creeping in - front and back.

At the top of the hill she looked back down at her house and the village beyond. It was cooler up here under the trees. There was a small lane, running away from the road, across the orchard boundary of their property. Moira found herself pulsing with anticipation. Five minutes later Granville’s old Land Rover appeared, and her throbbing increased. Her first anal - she could hardly wait!

Tom and Nicholas had started early and were now most of the way along to the next village. Their buckets, a third full of blackberries, dangling from the bike handlebars...

“Doesn’t matter if there’s a bit of red on them” Tom was saying. “The pies will have sugar in. But no tails.”

“Got it. There’s a lot more berries on the other side of this hedge, they must get more sun over there.”

They hauled their bikes over the gate. The field started flat, then gently sloped down to a stream. A large dry ditch, overhung by the road hedge, offered some shade. Once the buckets were half full, they stopped for a break and sat down under the hedge. Then, Nicholas’s sandwich stopped halfway to his mouth - the gate was being opened.

“Shit!” he whispered. “Whose field is this?”

“Don’t worry. We’re not doing anything wrong.” They crouched in the shade anyway, as a Land Rover paused just inside the gate, and they heard it clanging shut. Next, it pulled up a few feet in front of them. Granville got out. Even Tom was a bit scared now and the boys crouched lower. Everybody was scared of Granville.

“Jesus, look who’s with him!” whispered Nicholas. “It’s Neil’s mum. do you think they’ll fuck? If I’d known this was on the cards, I’d have brought my camera!”

“What here, out in the open?” she was complaining.

“You’re whining again.” countered Granville. “Would you prefer your arsefuck over the dining table? I could wipe my shitty dick on your table cloth.”

“No, no, this is fine. Sorry.”

“Of course it’s fine for a slag like you. Now, take your dress off. I’m sure you don’t want to get it dirty.”

The boys watched in amazement as the prettiest woman in the village took her dress off, right in front of them.

“Wow! Nice tits!” whispered Nicholas.

Moira faced Granville and, her pretty arse facing the boys, she took off her panties, which were sticking to her again. She put them in the Land Rover, along with her sandals, while Granville stripped too. He lay on the grass with his feet pointing at his unseen audience. The boys got a perfect view as Neil’s mum turned her back, knelt between his knees, her vagina in full view.

“Wow! Nice pussy too. And no pubes.” whispered Tom.

“What’s pubes?” asked Nicholas.

Tom smiled. So he’d never seen his mother naked then.

“It’s the hair around her cunt.” He explained. “Neil said hers was light brown, but she must have shaved it off.”

Nicholas just stared open-mouthed. This was the first time he’d ever seen a real woman’s cunt, with or without hair.

“Neil’s seen it before? Good job he couldn’t come then.”

“Actually, he’d have enjoyed this.” replied Tom.

Her rear wiggled at them while her head bobbed.

“What’s she doing?” asked Nicholas.

“She’s sucking his dick to make it big.”

“Mine’s getting big already!”

“To make it wet then!”

They watched with disbelief while the gorgeous Mrs White straddled Granville’s erection and her vulva devoured it.

“That’s right.” encouraged Granville. “Get me good and wet first.”

She lowered herself onto him.

“God, he’s a big bugger!” whispered Nicholas.

Mrs White slid up and down on him.

“OK, that’s wet enough. Now turn your back on me and let me see you cover it with your arse!”

“Not yet. please. I’m close to my orgasm! I’ll enjoy the anal even more, if I’ve already climaxed.”

The boys turned to look at each other. Sandwiches squashed and forgotten near their feet. Both wondering what on earth an orgasm was.

“Be quick then. I need to get into town soon.”

Mrs White bounced up and down on Granville for half a dozen more thrusts. His hands were round her, pulling her buttocks wide open and he slipped a finger into her anus. Then she stopped moving and leaned forward. She kissed him passionately, her vaginal muscles flexing as she climaxed. Suddenly Granville threw her off to one side and jumped to his feet.

“You stupid bitch, you’ve made me cum!”

He stood up, dripping semen.

“I didn’t mean to. I lose control when I climax.”

“You begged for it up your arse, but it’s too late now!”

“You never take long to recover. We can do it again!”

“Not enough time, I’ve got to go.”

She started to get up, but he stopped her with his foot and pushed her back down roughly.

“You’ve wasted my morning and I’m keeping the twenty quid. Now stay right there!”

He went to the Land Rover and put his clothes back on. Then picked up her dress and strode back to where she lay.

“Put this on.”

He threw it at her and she shrugged it over her shoulders.

“Now lie on your front and pull it up. Show me that precious arsehole.”

She hitched the dress up over her buttocks. Granville ground one foot into the grass, as if he was dancing, then stepped on her. Twisting his dirty boot into one buttock.

“Ow!”

He then repeated the process with the other foot and the other buttock.

“Your arse belongs to me, so I’ll put my mark on it.”

Then he stood on her thighs and twisted his feet into her again, like putting out a cigarette. She took his full weight and screamed. He got off and admired his handiwork. Her bottom and thighs were red from the tread pattern of his boots, and green from trodden in grass.