Conception
Mrs. Herman, in a rather frisky mood, awaited by the front door for the arrival of her beloved bread-earner Gaylord, peach schnapps mojito in hand and his favourite Baked Alaska in the other... Her cycle was optimum and she knew that with a little coaxing and a fair few show-tunes, Gaylord might be persuaded to lay besides her long enough to wrestle his spent business sock immediately after he finished over a Time magazine picture of the Vienna Boys Choir, mopped up, then sucked his thumb in the fetal position to sleep... clutching the soiled garment just under his nose with a hooked finger.
For these were trying times... It was the Great Depression and money was tight but further unfortunate was she....literally. Mr. Herman had failed to break her hymen on their teenage wedding night but the flip-side, about her own flip-side, was that she never required laxatives since, but extra reinforcement in her bloomers was a constant cause of annoyance...
Pleas of "Body! My body! want to feel my body?" had little effect on work weary Gaylord but she mused to herself how lucky she was to married at all, considering her disastrous puberty culminating in one DD breast and one B cup which caused her to list to one side like a drunken pirate carrying a jellyfish.
"Be content, you've still got your DD!" she dutifully reminded herself. Mr. Herman was the best macho man willing, and by hell or high water, it was cock or sock time.
Parting her dominant breast up onto the side table for better visibility, she delicately maneuvered the moistened footwear over her entire arm then forcibly plunged in her 47 year virgin vagina all the way up to her knobby elbow, writhing in an unaccustomed yet not altogether undesired rapturous pain.
The Deed was now done. She could lay back and wait for Gay's seed to start new life...while she smoked a handful of Pall Mall's and reminisced fondly about her days in a traveling petting zoo...
(TBC)
Mrs. Herman, in a rather frisky mood, awaited by the front door for the arrival of her beloved bread-earner Gaylord, peach schnapps mojito in hand and his favourite Baked Alaska in the other... Her cycle was optimum and she knew that with a little coaxing and a fair few show-tunes, Gaylord might be persuaded to lay besides her long enough to wrestle his spent business sock immediately after he finished over a Time magazine picture of the Vienna Boys Choir, mopped up, then sucked his thumb in the fetal position to sleep... clutching the soiled garment just under his nose with a hooked finger.
For these were trying times... It was the Great Depression and money was tight but further unfortunate was she....literally. Mr. Herman had failed to break her hymen on their teenage wedding night but the flip-side, about her own flip-side, was that she never required laxatives since, but extra reinforcement in her bloomers was a constant cause of annoyance...
Pleas of "Body! My body! want to feel my body?" had little effect on work weary Gaylord but she mused to herself how lucky she was to married at all, considering her disastrous puberty culminating in one DD breast and one B cup which caused her to list to one side like a drunken pirate carrying a jellyfish.
"Be content, you've still got your DD!" she dutifully reminded herself. Mr. Herman was the best macho man willing, and by hell or high water, it was cock or sock time.
Parting her dominant breast up onto the side table for better visibility, she delicately maneuvered the moistened footwear over her entire arm then forcibly plunged in her 47 year virgin vagina all the way up to her knobby elbow, writhing in an unaccustomed yet not altogether undesired rapturous pain.
The Deed was now done. She could lay back and wait for Gay's seed to start new life...while she smoked a handful of Pall Mall's and reminisced fondly about her days in a traveling petting zoo...
(TBC)
