It took me more than a week to finally start walking normally. Kurt had used and abused both my pussy and asshole. I was so cautious, that Paul asked more than once if I was OK. My response was, “I pulled a hammie while jogging.

Finally, by day seven, I could do some stretching and light running. I really needed to get out and about. If I sat at home, I fantasized about having not only Kurt’s beautiful cock in my three holes, but ANY cock. The bigger the better.

I’d find myself absentmindedly sitting with my legs crossed and pumping them to stimulate my labia and clit. On more than one occasion I climaxed while watching the news or just drinking a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

I was hopelessly in need of a good fucking. Paul’s rare penetration with his thin, four-inch pecker just wouldn’t cut it. I wanted to be used and abused.

I became obsessed with scoping out random guys’ bodies. I’d look at the produce manager at Kroger’s and wonder how big his cucumber and lemons were. I’d think about the spectacle of his bending me over the Fuji apples and backdooring me. I was out of control.

I decided to go to church with Paul. I wore a Waco-styled dress and flats. I put my shoulder-length red hair up in a ballerina bun and applied no eyeliner, blush, or lipstick. I looked the part of the pastor’s mousy wife.

To my credit, I made it through the seventy-five-minute service, Paul preaching and asking for amens. When it was time for the congregation to exit and head down to the basement for potluck brunch, I lingered toward the back of the throng. As they turned right, I turned left.

I needed to get out of those clothes and I needed a drink. Well, maybe not “needed”, but I’d “prefer” to have a Bloody Mary ASAP.

I had just thrown my Little House on the Prairie frock and school teacher shoes into the trash. I stood in front of our floor-to-ceiling bedroom mirror, buck naked. I looked good, damn good.

I rotated ninety degrees to my left. My Hershey's kiss aureolae and nipples were perched impossibly high on my 34B hooters. I ran my left fingertips across my nipple, then down my ribs and flat belly toward my pubis. I stopped short and admired the tiny ginger landing strip.

I was tempted. Any other day, I’d bring my fingertips to my mouth and suck on them like a cock. I’d transfer the saliva to my labia and clit and diddle myself into an explosive climax. But today wasn’t any other day. I wanted more.

I needed a hot man to need me in return. I wanted his tongue in my mouth and his cock in my pussy. I wanted to be fucked like a two-dollar whore.

I went to the walk-in closet and surveyed my wardrobe: nothing. I did grab my New Balance running shoes.

I rummaged to the bottom of my dresser drawers and initially pulled out the faded denim cutoffs that had Kurt creaming in his jeans. I knew they’d been washed, but I still pulled them to my face and sniffed the crotch. I was hopeless.

I decided to go sporty. I shimmied my way into a pair of ecru yoga shorts and tossed my panties into the hamper. I looked almost naked and without my panties, my camel toes were there for all to see.

I thought about completing my ensemble with a sports bra, but decided against it. I wanted my tits and nipples to be freely visible. I selected a dark brown cropped tee of almost see-through material. It was a struggle pulling it over my head, but the work was worth it. My tits looked like halved Valencia oranges with gumdrops fighting to break through the fabric. Man, I was hot.

I finished the look by pulling my hair up into an aggressive ponytail at the crown of my scalp. I painted my lips a darkish brown color and added smoky eye shadow. I looked ready for battle, battle of the sexes.

I grabbed a shoulder bag and headed out the garage door. I fired up the church lady minivan and opened the overhead door before backing out. I didn’t want the neighbors gossiping about the pastor’s wife dressing like a streetwalker.

Where to go? I wanted a brunchy Bloody Mary or perhaps a mimosa. After all, it was a Sunday and only eleven forty-five. The one place I needed to hit was the Circle K. I was driving on fumes.

I had my right foot up on the rear tire, balancing as I filled up the tank. My sixth sense told me I wasn’t alone. I looked over my shoulder toward the adjacent pump. A distinguished-looking sixty-something Black gentleman was clearly enjoying the sight of my bubble butt and crack. He smiled and maintained his composure, “When was the last time you had your oil checked?”

Was he asking about the Honda or my pussy?

I smiled back and thought of Kurt. “Just three weeks ago. I had a full service, including a lube.”

He shook his head and laughed, “You can’t beat that. I do my own oil changes and lubes.”

My tank was full, but I added, “I bet you do. You’ve got big hands.”

He gulped, “I better get back to the little lady.”

Under different circumstances, I might have gone for it. I’d never made love to a senior citizen; let alone, a Black one. He did have those big hands and thick fingers.

I could feel the moist heat building in my nether region.

I drove around somewhat randomly. Finding a venue that served alcohol on a Sunday morning and with an abundance of male talent was turning out to be a challenge. I passed the empty minor league stadium, a bowling alley, an Applebees and Paul’s church. I merged onto the interstate.

Then I saw the large LED billboard advertising the thoroughbred track. What caught my eye was the flashing, “Sunday Brunch. Bottomless Bloody Mary Bar”.

I exited the highway at Wilson Road and headed north toward the track.

Overton Horse Park turned out to be a pretty nice place. I had envisioned trash-strewn grounds and a seedy clubhouse. It was exactly the opposite.

A security guard wearing a fluorescent vest waved me down an aisle and into the second parking slot from the main gate. It was no more than twenty yards to the security checkpoint. A masculine-looking female guard checked my bag and checked out my tits and camel toes. She smiled and added, “Have a nice day.”

I proceeded to the ticket office. I selected the “VIP” access package. This provided rail access, the brunch buffet and the bottomless Bloody Mary bar. The matronly woman behind the plexiglass near the turnstiles looked me up and down, then handed me a lanyard and plastic badge. I draped the cordage around my neck and let the badge hang down between my tatas.

I made my way up to the VIP tier and entered the club room. It was beyond my expectations. The entire curved wall looking out over the track was glass. Comfortable-looking captain’s chairs and assorted tables lined the windows. Starched white tablecloths covered all tables. Each table was set with powder blue china, silverware, and wine glasses. Waitstaff in tuxedo shirts, black pants, and long white aprons circulated between the tables.

I felt a tad (well, more than a tad) underdressed. Most women wore sundresses or capri pants with pastel blouses. There were a half dozen “showy” sorts. Four trophies were on the arms of older men who reminded me of Thurston Howell, III. Two young fillies were standing at the bar and were clearly for hire.

I sat down at a table for two adjacent to the glass. The view of the brown dirt track and the immaculate infield grass almost took my breath away. I was awakened from my revelry by an, “Uh-hum.”

I rotated in my chair to the left and uncrossed my legs. There standing was a very cute young gentleman: maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, six-two, 175 pounds soaking wet, emerald eyes and with a mop of curly red hair. He was blushing. He had been caught scoping out my nipples and labia.

“M-m-my name’s Sean. I’ll be your server this morning. Can I get you a beverage? Perhaps something from the Bloody Mary Bar?”

My eyes dropped down to his apron-covered privates, then up to those beautiful green eyes. I licked my lower lip and responded, “Sure. Make it tall, Ketel One, extra Tabasco, nothing on the rim, two olives, and a strip of candied bacon.”

His cheeks flushed again as he looked directly into my eyes. “It’s great to have a guest who knows what she wants. I’ll be right back. The buffet is open.”

I thought I’d get a bite to eat while Cutie Pie was retrieving my drink. As I peeled myself out of the barrel-shaped chair, I had the urge to dip and pull my yoga shorts out of my crack and labia. I resisted doing so, even though I knew the seam was savagely splitting my camel toes. I hoped there was no shadow of dampness; but I knew my pussy was wet from the brief encounter with Sean.

I selected a slice of carmelized onion quiche, fluffy scrambled eggs from the made-to-order omelet station and fresh seasonal berries. My Bloody Mary was waiting on the table. I was a tad disappointed that I had missed Sean.

I took my time sipping the cocktail and eating brunch.

Sean reappeared as I was just popping the last blackberry into my mouth. I slid my index finger between my lips and sucked off the imaginary berry juice. This brief gesture seemed to have the desired effect. Sean stammered, “Is t-t-there anything else you need?”

I batted my eyelashes and responded, “I can think of several things, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” He got flustered and walked back to the wait staff prep area, looking over his shoulder.

I tossed a twenty onto the table and headed down to the paddock and rail. I elbowed my way to the front. Actually, it was pretty easy given that ninety percent of the crowd was male. I could feel their eyes on my tits as I approached and then on my bubble-butt ass as I passed.

Two races came and went. I was starting to get a little antsy. I could have used another Bloody Mary and I needed a stiff cock in my pussy. I started looking around for some meat.

I didn’t have to look far to find the answer to my dreams. There walking through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea was Sean, a drink in each hand.

He handed me a second Bloody Mary; this one in a tall clear to-go cup emblazoned with “Overton Horse Park”.

I thanked Sean and leaned in for a peck on his cheek. I smelled his sandalwood cologne. I whispered in his left ear, “You’re so sweet. I was hoping I’d see more of you, a lot more.”

Sean surprised me, given his youth and angelic features. “How about I give you a tour of the stables. I’ve got forty-five minutes left on my break.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed my free hand and led me through the crowd.

I knew we were being ogled by envious eyes as we made our way through the packed sardines. I heard a “That’s a lucky guy” and a whispered, “I’d eat that.”

Sean led me through one end of a bustling thoroughbred barn, grooms saddling the nervous steeds, and out the other end. We entered a second darkened door. I looked up at Sean with questioning eyes.

“Don’t worry. This is a trotter stable, no races today, nice and private.”

My eyes accommodated to the darkness as Sean led me farther into the stable. I heard movement in the stalls and smelled the earthy scents of hay, leather and the hardpacked dirt floor. Sean stopped adjacent to a large tack box.

We rotated toward each other and embraced without spoken word. Sean pulled me into a passionate kiss. I closed my eyes and welcomed his tongue into my mouth. My hand drifted down to the front of his tuxedo trousers. I gripped the bulge, the very large bulge of his erection. His trousers were damp, no doubt from dripping precum.

Sean seemed to be on the clock. With no foreplay other than the kiss, he moved backwards a step, grasped my shoulders and pivoted me toward the tack box. He pushed me (not roughly, but with authority) into a bent position. As I braced my hands on the large lid, he pulled my yoga shorts down to my knees, then my ankles. He helped me shake each shoe out of the hobble.

He wasted no time. Sean dropped to his knees and spread my cheeks with both hands. I looked back in time to see him burying his face into my taint.

Sean was like a wild man. He moaned and groaned, making slurpy noises as he vigorously licked my asshole and pussy. I squirmed my pelvis and leaned backward into his face. I craved his tongue in my anus and his fingers in my twat.

Just as I moved my right hand under my belly and to my clit, Sean interrupted his meal and stood up. I instinctively knew he wasn’t stopping our lust-making, but rather just changing positions.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper lowering and a belt unclasping. I feverishly rubbed my tiny helmet three or four times; then progressively split my index and long fingers into a V as I spread my pussy lips to accommodate what I hoped would be some rock-hard man meat.

Sean didn’t disappoint. With his left hand, he grabbed the top of my left pelvis. With the right, he fisted his battering ram and directed the head to my taint. He slowly ran the head of his cock up and down my perineum, no doubt lubricating his machine with my girl juice and his saliva.

I felt him shift the prod to my cave opening, spreading my already spread fingers. I had a moment of panic. His cockhead seemed impossibly large, almost plum-sized. Kurt had been well-endowed, but Sean seemed to sport a true monster.

To his credit, Sean didn’t force his weapon into my tiny opening. Instead, he applied steady forward pressure, as I took a deep breath and leaned backward onto his pole. I felt stuffed; but stuffed in a good way, a really good way.

Sean transferred his right hand to my pelvis, mirroring the left. I knew this signaled his intention to give me the hard fucking I desired. I moved my right hand back to the tack box. I was ready.

It became obvious this young lad knew how to doggie his mate. He began a slow rhythm, pistoning his manhood in and out like a Corliss engine. With each stroke, Sean pulled my pelvis back to meet his plunging rod. The flop of his balls on my clit and the slap of my ass cheeks on his belly made a sound like the crack of a buggy whip.

I dropped down onto my forearms for better balance, my tits rubbing against the corner of the box. I sagged my belly downward and rotated my pelvis upward. My G spot was now maximally stimulated with each stroke of Sean’s dick.

I came almost instantly. An involuntary guttural growl escaped my gritted teeth. I balled up my fists and dropped my forehead down onto the tack box with a thud.

Sean paused, “Baby, you OK? I think I’m gonna cum.”

I caught my breath, rose up onto my hands, and looked back. “Not yet. Cum in my mouth.”

Sean wasted no time in pulling his meat from my pussy and stepping back. I pivoted and knelt before him, my bare knees on the cool hard pack. I got my first look at his slimy hardware. He was fisting a beautiful specimen. I didn’t know it then, but over the next year or so, I discovered the pleasures of ginger cock: long, impressive girth, pale shaft, and rosy pink head. His was prototypical.

He pulled my head toward his breeder, stopping just short of his cockhead from my lips. I wanted his sausage in my mouth and I wanted him to roughly face fuck me. I wanted every drop of his salty spew.

Sean had other ideas. He began to rapidly Jack his meat. He commanded, “Lick my cock. Suck my balls.” I really couldn’t do either without taking a beating. He was fisting his shaft like a crazed zombie and his balls were simply too large. I compromised. I pulled his cajones up roughly with my left hand and used the right to grasp his left ass cheek. I sunk my face and tongue into his taint.

Within mere seconds, Sean blurted, “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum!”

I extricated my face from his crotch and shook his left hand from my head. I cupped both hands over his right fist, adding force to his jacking. I opened my mouth and extended my tongue to the underside of his swollen mushroom. Within seconds, Sean groaned, moved his pelvis and cock backward, then pumped forward. His cockhead popped into my mouth just as he began shooting salty ropes down my throat. After what seemed like a dozen spews, he relaxed and tried to remove his softening dick from my mouth. I grasped his right hand firmly, holding his cock in position. I sucked vigorously on his meat and slowly leaned backward. I squeezed every last drop of his jizz onto my tongue.

I stood as Sean was zipping up and fastening his belt. I’m not sure what I expected (certainly not post-coital cuddling in a barn); but Sean disappointed me. He just looked at his watch and exclaimed, “Better grab your shorts. My break is about over.”