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The Tool Shed

I grew up in an older section of a small town. Our house was only three blocks from the downtown area and my mother and her neighbor friends would simply walk to the grocery store every morning to pick up what they needed for dinner and supper that night.

The houses were large, with high ceilings, broad front porches, and either wood sided or sided with asbestos shingles. Most of the houses were white, and most needed a new paint job. Unlike the track houses you see today, the houses were set very close to the sidewalks, so that you could sit on the front porch and talk with the passing neighbors. The houses were set on very deep lots allowing for large vegetable gardens and fruit trees in the back. Many of the houses had sheds of various sorts in the back.

These back lots and sheds were my playground. My buddies and I would play war or cops and robbers and use whatever territory we needed. Fences were just obstacles to be overcome in the course of play. Nobody ever said we couldn’t, except a few times when we were reprimanded for snooping around inside someone’s tool shed.

One afternoon during the summer I was prowling around, looking for a ripe peach to steal off a tree. As I was sneaking up on my targeted peach tree, I passed a tool shed. I heard noises coming from within. The moans, groans, and grunts sounded like somebody was hurt. I knew where there was a broken board and I peeked inside.

There on a blanket I saw a naked man’s hairy butt pumping up and down. A pair of shapely legs with red painted toenails was wrapped around his waist. I stood transfixed. I had heard of this sort of thing but I’d never actually seen anything like it before. I could see the man’s fat balls hanging low, swinging freely as he humped away. Most of the moaning and groaning and ‘oh god-ing’, and ‘oh fuck-ing’ was coming from a female voice, even though I did hear the man hoarsely call her a bitch, a little slut, a dirty whore, and a few other choice invectives.

My dick was so hard it hurt! I unfastened my pants and pulled out my rock hard peter and began whacking off as I watched the erotically stimulating sex act in the shed. I didn’t last very long and I soon shot off in my hand.

The couple in the shed rolled over. She sat up. I could only see her from the back, long flowing dark hair, thin waist and flared hips, hips like I dreamed about at night. It was the Baker’s tool shed and from the hair, I reasoned that the girl was Amy Baker. Amy was only a few years older than me, but at that stage of life, we were decades apart. She was a high school girl and I was only in the seventh grade.

She ground her full rounded buttocks into the groin of her lover. She lifted herself, and I could see the man’s long thick dick emerge. As it pulled out, her pussy lips, stretched tight around his hard rod, pulled downward. When she sank back down, her pussy lips inverted as the big cock slid back up inside her. She began to ride him, fucking him with abandon. The moaning and soft cursing continued. Suddenly she fell forward, and I watched as her lovely buttocks flexed and shuddered spasmodically for about two minutes. Other than her buttocks jerking and her feet twitching, she lay still as the man continued to enthusiastically fuck her.


Then she stood up, pulling the hard dick out of her pussy. She turned around facing me. I knew it! I knew it! It was Amy Baker! Damn!

She grasped the glistening dick and directed it back into her pussy as she sat down on it. Her big tits, capped by large dark bulls-eye nipples, were flopping about as she bobbed up and down on the big lust-swollen dick.

For some time Amy had been the object of my nighttime masturbation fantasies and to now see her, completely nude and fucking some guy with wanton abandon, was too much. I breathlessly continued to watch, slowly stroking my hard penis again.

After several minutes the man sat up and shoved her forward onto her hands and knees. As he positioned himself behind her I recognized him too. It was her old man, Mr. Baker! sweet Jesus! I was really bug-eyed now as he began to ram her from behind with all his might, her low hanging tits swinging forward each time his groin met her butt with a loud slap, slap, slap.

I started to cum again, but was taken by complete surprise when a big woman suddenly swung me around. I began squirting, unable to control myself as I looked in horror into the face of Mrs. Baker.

“You filthy boy!” she shrieked, her face contorted in rage. “I’m going to talk to your mother about this!”

There was a crashing sound from inside the shed. Mrs. Baker heard it. How could she not hear it? She quickly stepped to the front of the shed and opened the door. I heard her shriek again and then the sounds of all hell breaking loose in the tool shed. I pulled up my pants and ran for home.

That night at supper, I was very quiet. I dreaded what my mother was going to say and dreaded even more what my father was going to do to me once Mrs. Baker told Mom that she caught me whacking off behind her tool shed. Mom never said anything.

Later that week I saw the Bakers at the Piggly Wiggly. Mr. Baker looked me in the eye and glared. Mrs. Baker, saw me and quickly looked away, but not before I saw her nasty black eye. Amy, she went about as if everything was normal and continued to ignore me like I didn’t exist.

Over the next year I stopped, looked and listened, but I never did find Amy and her daddy doing it in their tool shed ever again. But Mrs. Baker, every so often I would see her sporting a new black eye or a busted lip. Even after her belly began to swell, Amy remained my masturbation fantasy girl. I would visualize her in the tool shed, riding my cock, just like she rode her daddy’s.





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