Dear Dirty Diary - part 10

Dear Dirty Diary,

A week had passed and Doug announced the completion of our new bed. I checked out all its clothing drawers, the sliding compartments in the headboard and its bed linen bin at its foot. I ran my fingers all over its satin-finished pine and had to admit it was really handsome. My husband had done a beautiful job, but I was concerned with how we’d transport it to Quebec. He told me it was all assembled with deck screws and could be easily broken down into pieces. He said the drawers, filled with all our clothing and bedding could be stacked on top of the framework pieces. He assured me that we could get all our basic necessities to Quebec in our van on the first trip.

In less than twenty minutes he had it completely apart and stacked on the floor to prove his point. I had to admit, I was pleased. But I wasn’t impressed with the mess he’d made of my workout room. We swept clean and dusted for two hours to make it usable again. As I put away my cleaning stuff, he promised to get my exercise equipment back out of the utility room. After a few minutes, he yelled up to me that he had to get some steel brackets at the hardware store and I heard the entrance door slam. In seconds, I was skipping down the stairs with my personal workout kit in my hand. With him home all the time, opportunities for a good thorough workout had been out of the question for weeks. I was giddy with excitement as I whipped off my clothes. I opened my kit, grabbed my essentials and headed toward my exercise bike.

Just as I noticed what appeared to be a truck mirror attached to its handlebars, the utility room door opened and Doug said, “As you can see, I’ve taken the liberty to make a few improvements on your bike.”

There I stood in utter shock. I was bare-naked, holding a wrench in one hand, a tube of KY in the other, with my ugly penis sheath chomped between my teeth!

Doug smiled broadly at what I assumed was my classic “Deer in the Headlights” expression of terror, then resumed, “ I kind of feel like that Q guy in the old James Bond flicks, explaining all I’ve done.”

He took the wrench from my hand and said, “An adjustment wrench is no longer necessary.” and took the spongy dildo from my mouth. Out of his back pocket he produced a large knobbed, coarsely ribbed dildo. He peeled off my gel seat cover and directed my attention to the now smoothly trimmed hole in the top of my seat.

As he reached into the opening, he continued: “If you turn this plastic soft drink cap counter-clockwise, you’ll see this stiff coil spring it’s epoxy-glued to, thread up from inside the seat post. After reading of your aggressive exercise program in you diary, I’ve been terrified you might slip and really injure yourself on that hard pipe, so I’ve installed this firm, but flexible spring to protect you from harm. As you can see, it can be adjusted to any height you feel comfortable with.”

“Q” twirled the spring up about five inches above the seat and then pushed a small steel pin through a tiny hole under the seat, to lock it in place. He wound the hollow dildo down over the spring, well through the hole in my seat, took my KY from me and spread some all over my new Devil’s Dick.

“I installed this truck mirror at this exact spot on your handlebars, knowing you like to keep your eye on things. Now you can enjoy an up close and personal view of your progress,” he pointed out as he helped me up onto the pedals. Q squeezed more KY out and spread some up into my pussy. With growingly annoying zeal, he finished, “Let me sit down underneath you, here on the floor, so I can watch your pussy do the new Devil’s Dick workout.” I was about to tell him to stuff The Devil’s Dick up his own ass for meddling in my fun, but in his own asinine way, I suppose he thought he’d done well.

With great misgivings, I lowered myself down ever so carefully. When I felt its surprisingly warm tip touch my crotch, I glanced down into his mirror. The firm dildo sported a formidable mushroom cap-like corona atop its roughly hewn tapered shaft. Oh my, he certainly was right about my weakness. Doubly blessed, I felt my vulva split and for the first time, watched that beautiful rubber probe slowly disappear into my pussy. The instant my bum touched down on the seat, I threw caution to the wind and started. For old time’s sake, I stood up on the pedals and started to pump.

Q’s jaw dropped open as I ever so slowly, began to pump, so I glanced over into the mirror to see what Miss Moneypenny’s pussy looked like. As her body lifted, the dildo would pull out her vulva like a stretched pink rubber grommet. As her body fell, the dildo would jamb her lips back up into her pussy. One pump at a time, the image appeared fluid in motion, but as the pumps sped up, what I saw seemed kind of mechanical, like an antique steam engine in an old ship. Moneypenny’s pussy looked so alive and flexible when she went slowly, but that’s not what workouts are all about.

My eyes lifted and I looked straight ahead. I pumped and bobbed with concentration and conviction and felt that sumptuous brown dildo piston through my pussy. I felt my labia’s hood jerk down on my clitoris on each push down and felt my lips flip out with each pull up. The staccato rhythm of my pussy slurps began to release endorphins and for a while I thought I’d found my Nirvana. The rush gave me stamina and boundless energy, but when the five-minute timer dinged, I lost all concentration. I glanced down at my husband and saw his red face.

Like Muhammad Ali, my wandering mind began to rhyme as I pumped and bobbed. “I watch as your eyes, stare between my thighs, as my pussy free-falls, and is impaled.” flowed out smooth as silk from the recesses of my mind. I pumped for what seemed ages, then, “I moan lusty cries, and watch your dick rise, just aching to be jerked and flailed.” completed the verse. I ran it over and over, but my concentration was done. In desperation, I slowed my pedaling to a crawl and recited my poem out loud. Doug looked up in wonderment as I lifted myself up off The Devil’s Dick and climbed down from the bike.

I couldn’t hope to concentrate with him looking ripe for a stroke or another heart attack, so I grabbed the KY and some tissues. Straddling his outstretched legs, I kneeled down in front of him, tugged down his track pants and slimed his penis with lubricant. I gripped it with both hands like it was my favorite putter and then squeezed up and down its shaft. With my intertwined fingers clutching tight, I jerked and flailed his foreskin frothy with vaginal lubricant. Even his forehead blushed red so I asked him if he felt pain and needed some nitroglycerine spray. He shook his head No, but my anxiety continued until I felt hot fingers squeeze between my thighs and squish up into my pussy.

Content that his fingers were wet and mucking in me, I felt hot liquid spurt onto my wrist without any warning. I cupped my fingers over the end of it to block his squirts, but without the tissues on the floor, it was hopeless. Old Red Face’s semen gushed in my hands and between the KY and his cum, my fingers were dripping in goop.

Less than erotic notions filled up my head as I cradled his ooze in my hands. Watching semen spurt excited me immensely, but two palm-fills of it was disgusting. He’d ruined my PRIVATE workout and I was really perturbed. If I could have gotten to the kitchen that instant, he would have been sipping a special new creamer in his afternoon coffee! I did the only thing a girl could do. I wiped all the sperm I could in his pubic hairs. Make a mess of me, would he!


Within a week, we our van was loaded, we said our goodbyes to our c***dren and we were on the road to Quebec. The drive was kind of sad, however. It was two weeks before Labor Day and we were venturing into the fall of our years.


***************************************


100% (3/0)
 
Categories: FetishMatureSex Humor
Posted by AdorableLaura
4 years ago    Views: 255
Comments (1)
Reply for:
Reply text
Please login or register to post comments.
4 years ago
Curious how hot you got in Quebec! ;-)P