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Marriage to professional men was not all it was cracked up to be for Mary and her three girl friends. And these sexually frustrated housewives decided that the working-class man was the answer to all their libidinal problems. First there was the plumber, then the truck driver, then … When these foxy females applied for “workmen’s compensation”-they got it! But their husbands’ fringe benefits were something they hadn’t counted on!
Mary Carter lay awake in her bed with her nipples as hard as pink thimbles.
God, she thought, how long has it been since I didn’t wake up as horny as a bitch pussycat in heat!
Then she answered her own question with a sour frown. The answer was as obvious as the mossy circle of heated flesh between her legs-a circle that literally burned to be filled with seven, eight, nine inches of the really eager rod of a really eager male.
“Damn Frank,” she muttered, tossing her head as she thought of her husband. Her dark brown hair spilled over the creamy whiteness of the pillow as she turned her face toward the empty twin bed only a few feet away. Empty and neatly made up. That was her Frank. Her early-up-and-at-’em husband with dollar signs instead of hormones.
Sighing, she threw back the silken sheet so that the swollen mounds of her still-youthful tits could have a little more freedom-even if there wasn’t a man’s naughty thumbs around to tweak and tease them until they grew milky and hot at the tips.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.