The Secrets of Mrs Jean Pettigrew - Chapter 5

The next morning Dave awoke to find himself already
aroused as that wonderful aroma of last night’s spent cum on his belly
permeated his nostrils.  He considered
rolling over and going again while watching his prized video, but he had more
exciting things planned.  After a quick
shower, and light breakfast he was back at his computer, typing the name of
Jean Pettigrew into every search engine he could think of.  His former police colleagues had already
confirmed that she was squeaky clean, but he wanted to find out as much as he
could about her.  One of the downsides to
running for public office (as many a politician has discovered to their cost)
is that an awful lot of your personal data is in the public domain.  So, it didn’t take long for Dave to discover nearly
everything he needed to know. 

Jean Pettigrew, 48 years old, married for 26 years to
Michael, with two daughters, Linda 23 and Victoria 20.  She had graduated from Cambridge University with
a First in Music and taught at a local private school for 20 years, before
retiring and being elected to the local Town Council.  As a young woman she was an accomplished
showjumper and event rider. She was organist at the local parish church and
member of the local Women’s Institute.  By the time he finished he had her address,
mobile number, email and social media profile. Dave smiled to himself as he read
through the details, trying in his mind to reconcile the wholesome woman on the
search engine results, to the insatiable woman he had seen in the throes of a violent
orgasm in the car park!

 Insatiable was indeed the word for Jean that afternoon,
as she lay on the bed in the spare room! 
Her legs were flopped wide apart with bent knees as she brought the thick
polished wooden spoon handle to her pussy for the third time.  It was already slick with her juices, but she
still had to manoeuvre it carefully into position between her labia and inch it
forward until it filled her pussy.  She
had seen the wonderfully phallic object in a local craft market and knew
instantly she needed it inside her.  Twice
in the last hour it had penetrated her so thoroughly that she felt stretched
beyond belief, but it didn’t stop her from wanting more.  The towel on which she lay was soaked with
the flood from those first two orgasms, but once more she began to ride it, her
muscles clamping down as hard as they could to envelop it again.  Both hands gripped the wooden spoon as it
ploughed her, and this time she wanted it fast and hard, unlike the slow and sensual
previous penetrations.  She had a different
fantasy in her head now.  She was
strapped to a table with thick, rough leather bands, rubbing against her
thighs, belly and nipples as she squirmed against her bonds.  She was being penetrated by a huge mechanical
ornate carved wooden phallus in some kind of erotic ritual sacrifice.  She was lost in the power of it. Grunting and
writhing as it built within her, her muscles spasmed suddenly almost forcing
the huge implement from her explosively. 
As it left her, it was followed by another great gush from her vagina
and a guttural sound from her throat.  As
she spasmed again she clenched her thighs tightly together as if to hold on to
that full, satiated feeling forever.

Exhausted, Jean slept for two hours, which was unusual
for her.  Cleaning up in the bedroom took
longer than usual after her overindulgence. 
The bed was soaked, through her towel, and almost down to the mattress.  By the time she got downstairs it was close
to 5pm and her husband would soon be home from work. She prepared the dinner
and put it in the oven before sitting down to browse her emails.  Her younger daughter was coming home from
university for the weekend, which delighted her, as they were long overdue some
mother and daughter time. There were the inevitable complaints from her ward
constituents about trivial council matters. But what was this?

From: DG999@personalmail.co.uk

Subject: For the urgent personal attention of Mrs J Pettigrew-
with regard to a “cark park incident”

Dear Mrs Pettigrew,

Can I congratulate you on the wonderful performance with
which you entertained me yesterday afternoon at 4pm in the supermarket car
park.  I don’t think I have witnessed
anything quite so arousing in many years! 
What I enjoyed most was the fact that you gave your all for the cameras.
A truly Oscar worthy portrayal of a woman consumed with lust in a public place,
with seemingly no concern for the possible criminal charges of Indecent
Exposure or Outraging Public Decency.  So,
in the circumstances, I would be very grateful if you would make space in your
busy schedule to stage repeat performances in the near future.  We can discuss the details later, once you
have had time to consider the implications of this email on your family, career,
and, of course, your church membership. 
I attach a picture of my favourite moment from your performance to show
my appreciation.

Kind regards

Your biggest fan!

She knew that there was little point in clicking on the
picture attachment. He had already explained enough detail to render the proof
of blackmail a formality, but she clicked anyway.  There, in full glorious technicolour, was a
closeup of her vagina being impaled by a carrot, and the look of total bliss on
her fully exposed face.  Every drop of
blood seemed to have drained from her body. Her mind was blank, unable to understand
the reality switch from last minute to now. She felt tears forming in her eyes.  But, subconsciously and unbidden, moistness
formed elsewhere too as she gazed upon the picture of herself cumming…………….