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Pizza Guy       As Hilary and I sat watching a movie recently I was amazed at how much her mother looked like the actress that was on the screen, Diane Lane. Even she noticed and commented about it. It was really uncanny. I couldn't keep my eyes off the actress anymore than I could keep them off her mom. If confession is good for the soul then let me be the token confessor for all the guys out there that have a mother-in-law that looks as hot, if not hotter, than her daughter. Moms, we married her and enjoy sex with her, but we really want to fuck you. We just don't know how to safely approach you. Help us! Anyway, the movie was slow but still provided Hilary and I a much needed evening out. Things between us couldn't be more strained. What was supposed to have been a date to help us reconnect went south when she slid her hand to my crotch and discovered I was hard. "You bastard! You're thinkin' 'bout mom! I should have known!" She stormed out of the theatre. I followed in embarrassment. "Excuse me... sorry... sorry... excuse me." I don't know why she fuckin' went off on me; it was her fault. Women! God, I love 'em, but sometimes I just don't understand 'em. She had asked for her mother's help, believing that 'mother knows best', then when she gets it she's still not happy. But lest you get lost before the story ever begins, let me backtrack a bit and fill is some details. Hilary is twenty-two and I'm twenty-six. We celebrated our third anniversary about six months ago. While I can't describe the three years as wedded bliss, neither have they been WW III, except for the past few weeks. They've probably been more like a three-day-old beer - flat and unsatisfying. After the marriage ceremony, we kind of settled down to a routine. I presumed things would continue like the dating and engagement phase. Hilary was in constant heat, always ready to go. Ah, those were the days, just continual humping. She seemed insatiable. I even had concerns that over the long haul I might not be able to keep pace with her. Davina, Hilary's mother, caught us on several occasions, and on one of them her voyeurism was just plain blatant. Even after she realized I caught her watching she didn't turn away. Her only comment came later with a grin when I tried to apologize for being so careless. "Forget it Brian...I was greatly impressed...about that much." And then she held her hands apart indicating about nine inches. She was an inch too long but I wasn't going to correct her. Sometimes things look larger than they really are. Her candid remark startled me some, but she wasn't finished. "Every mother has a curiosity about her son- in-laws ability... if you know what I mean. From what I just saw, I think Hilary will be well served." Then she purposely giggled like a schoolgirl. But before turning to walk away she placed her hand on my cheek, patted me softly several times, patted me twice on the chest and was gone. That was the end of her remarks but not the end of how she occasionally looks at me. Since then a sexual tension, just below the surface, has existed between us, but neither of us has pressed it. The biggest shock about being married is that I get less pussy now than I did when I was single. My married friends joked that it would happen, but I didn't believe them. It's not that I don't want it. Hilary still looks good; even the few pounds she's put only make her look better - bigger thighs and ass. Though not as tall as her mother, Davina at 5'7", she nevertheless is still packaged tight - 35/C - 22 - 36. I just hope over the years that she doesn't blossom like Able, her dad. Able and Davina seem to be mismatched. Able is fifty-five, Davina just turned forty. Able is kind of slothful about things; Davina has boundless energy. Able is forty pounds overweight, Davina weights about one thirty five and is well toned with a 5-star behind. From my perspective the only thing they have in common, other than Hilary, is their height. Both are 5'7". I'm the family odd ball - 6'1" and 205 lbs. And I'm getting a little pudgy myself. Hilary's body-type is like her dads and she constantly complains about her weight. I'm tired of hearing it. I wish she'd forget about the size of her ass and let me have some of it. She always looks good enough to eat, which I don't get to do nearly enough. So what's the problem? This! I just can't satisfactorily understand how our relationship got off track in just three short years. It's for sure our work schedules are against us. I work during the day, 9 to 5; she works from 6 in the evening until 2 in the morning - and a lot of weekends. At first that was ok; Hilary even found a way to make it exciting by taking the self-serve approach to sex. Even though I was usually asleep when she arrived home, she would suck me hard then mount me for the ride. But that came to an end after about a year. I think there were too many nights when the cock got up, but I didn't. Contrary to the old wives tale that dicks have a mind of their own, they really don't. At least I don't think they do. I knew we weren't as close as we should be, but I didn't realize how far we had drifted until recently. The evening had been one of restlessness for me, so when the garage door opened, I woke up. I thought I heard another car pull into our drive and a door slam, but I dismissed the thought. Our street is always busy - maybe someone turned around. After about fifteen minutes when Hilary didn't come in I decided to go check on her. I walked through the house then into the breezeway and quietly opened the door to the garage. Hearing some strange sounds I stepped inside and eased the door shut. The heat and darkness of the garage seemed to amplify the sounds that were all too familiar - whumpf - whumpf - whumpf. They were unmistakable. Someone was fucking; and conversely someone was getting fucked - and pretty hard too from the sound of things. There are times curiosity is a curse - this proved to be one. I stood in the dark for a moment allowing my eyes to adjust. It didn't take long. Across the two-car garage I could see the active silhouettes of two people against a hazy light from the dusty garage window. One, the smaller silhouette, was bent over the fender of the car. The other was rutting from behind - whumpf - whumpf - whumpf! "Lady, you got some good pussy." I turned on the light, and immediately four eyes squinted back at me. The sight was outrageous and emotionally I couldn't seem to process what I was seeing. There was Hilary in her black heels, her dress pulled up over her hips and gathered in front of her, her red panties on the hood and she was spread-legged leaning over the fender of my black Mustang on her elbows. Behind her was a guy with nothing on but his shoes and socks and a hat. His shirt, pants and briefs were in a crumpled pile on the garage floor. I recognized the uniform. His knees were bent for optimum position and power. He was giving her a power-fuck. Her open stance was allowing him maximum access - legs were straight and she was bent forward at the waist. His right hand was on her hip moving her back and forth as he also powered into her. There was no lovemaking. It was a fuck, and she enjoying the slamming. With him being naked between his hat and shoes, it was a vulgar sight. They kept fucking! Wife or not, emotionally it is this type of visual banquet that immediately registers in the groin of a man. First, the sight of a woman, any woman, getting fucked is always erotic. She's bent over a fender. Her dress is pulled above her waist and her white legs and ass are open and on display. Her pussy is wet and swollen. She's spread and receptive to him. This is cooperation at the ultimate level. Behind her is a naked man, rutting her. He has a cobra tattooed down the outside of his right thigh. His left hand is gripping a handful of hair. The woman's head is pulled back. Both bodies glisten from sweat. The pace of the fuck doesn't diminish; he continues to drive hard into her. It is an erotic sight! There's no passion, there's just fucking. It's amazing what the eyes can drink in and the mind can assess in only a split second. Then there are the audible stimulants... the continual whumpf - whumpf - whumpf of sweaty bodies loudly slapping together. I don't have to see whether she's juicy or not, I can hear it. She's juicy! Without thinking my eyes travel to the place of penetration. I see the piston as it drives then withdrawals. She's greasy, swollen, and rivulets of love sauce trickle down the backs of her thighs. It's odd but I have a sordid admiration for him. He's really giving her a good fuck. As a man, you know what that feels like. Your cock is so hard it almost hurts. The woman is wet and hot and wanton. Her vocal grunting and backward grinding indicates she's lost to everything around her. Hers eyes are open but hollow. She would fuck family, friends and neighbors if they would get in line. She doesn't just like cock, now she craves it as it slides in and out - in and out. Some of the jabs are full length, some are half. As you rut against her wide white ass, she feels so damn good! And you know that it feels good for her too. Simply stated, you crawl up on her backside and fuck her like the bitch in heat she is! She's been grunting and groaning for several minutes so you listen for the words 'cause you know they're coming. It's all that's on her mind: "Fuck me. Fuck me deep." I'm dazed. There's something that's just not right about what I'm seeing and hearing, but I can't immediately identify it. I desperately want to, but it's just not processing. So I continue to stand and stare - with their eyes now adjusted to the lighted garage, they stare back. He has a creepy grin; she is hollow in the eyes and her mouth is open. His hand clinches her hair tighter, and his slams get louder and harder. They are the thrusts of challenge and defiance. They're not needed. She won't attempt to break the coupling, even if she could, and I seem to be frozen. He pulls out on purpose which allows me to see his hard cock. It's stiff and standing up in praise. We make eye contact then he slowly moves to mount her again. This time he lowers himself so his hips are underneath her. Now instead of moving stiffly, all that moves is his hips in a hunching motion like a dog. It's a lewd sight - humping and hunching and humping - upward and in to her. All the while she is arching back to find him. The fucking continues - and for me it's all happening in slow motion. My immediate and first reaction is to wish that I could fuck her too - right after he's finished. As he withdraws I could just jerk him out of the way, slide in her already stretched pussy and begin slammin' the cock to her. But then it clicks - this is my wife, and she's getting fucked by the pizza delivery guy! The look on my face must have been one of wide-eyed disbelief for he was about to add his voice to the sounds of sloppy sex. "I'm just giving her some pepperoni. Hope you don't mind. She's seems to like it, doesn't she? But don't worry, there's no charge." The sound continues - whumpf - whumpf - whumpf. My emotions spilled out. "What the fuck!?!" "Brian... whumpf... go back in the house... whumpf... I'll be in there... whumpf... in just... ummmm... a minute." Whumpf! Wumpf! Whumpf! All the while, echoing from garage wall to garage wall was that whumpf... whumpf... whumpf. But worse, it was echoing through my mind. Gritting his teeth, he placed his right forearm on her back, harshly pulled her head back and leaned over on her. "Here is comes, bitch! Here's your topping! Auuggghhhhh! O, Fuck!" Whumpf! Whumpf! "Ummmh...mmmmmm." Letting go of her hair, he let his weight fall on her back. I could see the muscles in his ass continue to contract and relax as he emptied himself in her. As the door closed behind me I could hear her getting off. Bitch!

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