Fleeting Glimpses of an Angry Wife - Sex Stories

Fleeting Glimpses of an Angry Wife

... to break wind in the mouth. A man must take wind in the mouth in order to subdue him. The wind from the bowels will make him meek and obedient.' My wife giggles. There may very well be something funny in the idea of her husband at the mercy of this stiff caricature of a woman, but I fail to see it. The woman gives me the creeps. Helga, her face stern and without a hint of hesitation in her manner, unbuckles, unbuttons and unzips, drops the frock to her feet. The legs are milky white, skinny, thin black hairs all the way up to the groin. The skin is almost transparent, the flesh drapes loosely around the bones. The white cotton briefs look ridiculously out of time. From my vantage point on the floor, I see they have been washed and starched more than once too often. The elastic bands at the bottom have worn. Long curly hairs stick out. I see the hairy lips of her cunt where they thin out and dive in between the sagging folds of her behind. She steps out of the crumpled crown of her skirt and ends up straddling my head. She bends slightly and the briefs come rushing down, landing on my face and blocking my view. 'There, now you must smell the underpants.' I sniff noisily. That fishy smell. By now I have learned to love it. I think I can even tell what a woman is like just by smelling her cunt. Helga's is a bitter smell, dry and penetrating. Forbidding and unforgiving. There is some shuffling around my head. The briefs rise from my face and bony fingers with short unpainted ...

... fingernails stuff them into the cunt above. They almost go all the way in. They emerge moist with a slimy substance. Next, they are rubbed back and forth in the crack of her ass. When they come out, there is a faint brownish smear. She may look like an uptight governess at first sight, but one closer look at where it counts most reveals the sloppy lazy cunt she really is, too lazy to properly wipe. 'Tell me how you like the taste of Helga.' It is hard to talk with a pair of soiled briefs in the process of being stuffed into your mouth with the tip of a woman's shoe. I hope she gets the drift from the rolling of my eyes and the stifled moans. She seems pleased with what she sees. Is that a smile? Her eyes are glistening with something more than the usual fierceness. 'Good. Now Helga shall prepare you for the task of the toilet slave. You will get up and put the face into the ass.' Bending over, she removes her briefs from my mouth, folds them neatly and places them on the coffee table. You dirty bitch, you. My wife, who used to be hysterically precise on matters of hygiene, says nothing. Helga turns around and spreads apart the cheeks of her bony ass. 'Carla Liebchen, you must make sure he has the mouth open so I can blow the gas into him.' My wife prods my shoulder with her foot, signalling me to get up. She is enjoying this, on the brink of laughter. She places my head right behind Helga's wide-open behind. Now there's a piece of work if I've ever seen one. Slightly stooping ...