Peg was still warm from her bed. She liked that feeling. But she was up anyway, in her robe and slippers, standing in the back yard. She waved goodbye to her husband and children. It was the least she could do (the best part of being married to a teacher was that he drove the kids to school every morning).
They rolled down the driveway, turned onto the street, and were gone. Alone at last, Peg went back into the house and sat down at the kitchen table. She was still a bit bed-warm, or maybe just remembered it well. Back to bed? she wondered, nibbling on a piece of buttered toast. She didn't have to be at work for two hours.
Ken and the girls left a mess on the table from their breakfast, but there was a fresh glass of orange juice. Maybe a nap on the couch, she thought, taking a deep gulp from the full glass of juice.
That, it turned out, was a mistake. But how could she have known? Peg realized almost at once that something was wrong. She felt all strange, like she had lost control of her will and her body. She dropped the glass, it shattered on the floor.
"Hey, Peg," came a deep raspy voice from the pantry. A large rough man ambled into the kitchen and helped himself to a mug of coffee.
"Yeah, I did put somethin' in your juice." He sat next to her and drank some coffee. "And no, it won't last, won't have any permanent effects, and you will remember everything." He looked at her sharply.
She was still pretty, even after two births had widened her hips a bit and she'd widened everywhere else a bit. Her thick wavy blonde hair was still more honey than straw, and her big, sad, brown eyes still glowed with innocence.
"I'm here to do you folks a favor," said the dark man. He was long, lean, and had a nasty old scar on his right cheek from what looked like a twisted broken bottle. He had a five-day-beard, and stank of cigarettes.
"Here's Ken's wallet. I'm returning it." He held it up for her to see. She was so surprised she started, and began to fall over.
He caught her arm before she fell, and eased her back into the chair. "Want to know how I got it?"
Now Peg was very confused. Ken's wallet? This big dirty man has Ken's wallet? How? It made no sense.
Gently but quite firmly he took her by the neck and showed her the wallet. He deftly opened it one-handed and showed her that all the cards and photos were still there. "But I took the cash. Expenses."
"I'll tell you how I got it." He was very good at knowing exactly her questions. "I took it when I was fucking him. He didn't realize -- he was distracted by my big fat cock up his ass."
As you might imagine, this was big news for Peg. She didn't believe it. Ken was such a, well, MAN. Loved sports. A big-hearted drinker. Would go hunting if he knew how. He would never let this crude man fuck his ass-hole.
"You don't believe me? He wanted it. He saught it out. He wanted his ass fucked." Still with one hand on the back of her neck, he stood and undid his pants letting them drop. He wasn't wearing underwear. "First he sucked it."
Her small plump mouth was hanging open, so he easily stuck his big fat dick into it. As it thickened in her mouth, she noticed that it was bigger than any dick she'd ever known. 7 or 8 inches. Much thicker than Ken's 5, too.
Peg knew a few dicks before she'd married Ken, and one since. Harry Drucker's. Harry was the guy at the neighborhood parties who didn't get pasted watching sports on TV, but instead chased all the leftover ladies. He was very successful.
One night, when Ken got so drunk he passed out, she had sucked Harry off. She was so mad at Ken. She didn't swallow, and spat Harry's cum into his wool pinstriped pants so they would stink. And she didn't let him fuck her. Still, she'd rather enjoyed his dick; it was streamlined and sporty. The curly hairs on his balls were soft.
