Walker trudged his way closer to the small city through the howling wind and the driving snow, his long gray hair whipping out behind him. He still wore only his thin denim jacket because cold never touched him; Walker burned with a raging internal heat unknown to any mere human.
As he did, Walker approached a house in which some repairs were being considered for the spring. Brittany and her husband had lived in the small, bungalow-style home for only a few years but she was already growing tired of its appearance. She wanted -- no, needed -- something different, something new, something with a little more flair and a little more spark than her current dull surroundings.
Unfortunately, Brittany admitted to herself with a deep sigh that it was not merely her house that needed a new spark but indeed the totality of her life, especially her sex life. Brittany was a timid 23-year-old who was exceedingly attractive yet who hid her beauty behind plain clothes and drab hair styles, due largely to the preference of her husband. She had married her high school sweetheart immediately after graduation because he was safe, predictable, a known quantity. Her husband had proven to be everything she expected him to be -- habitual, dull, and boring.
He worked hard, but even though he was only one year older than she he had already developed those concrete habits that reminded Brittany of an old man. He awoke at precisely the same time everyday, followed the exact same daily pattern, arrived home and went to bed at the exact same time every night after having again followed a known pattern. He liked meatloaf on Tuesdays and wore tan pajamas to bed.
And there, in bed, is where Brittany had found him to be the most horribly lacking. When they were in high school Brittany had been caught up in the forbidden delights of sneaking around to fuck her boyfriend, so she thought their sex life was incredible. Besides, they were only able to have sex everyone once in a great while, so every time they fucked it was explosive. But once they got married Brittany realized the reason her husband had been fine only having sex once a month was because he only wanted it once a month, and there was nothing she could do to encourage him to be more virile.
But that wasn't even the worst of it for Brittany. On the rare occasions they did actually fuck, her husband would again follow a predictable pattern: Roll on his side, kiss her for about a minute, mount her, fuck her for about another minute, cum with a whimper, then roll off and immediately go to sleep. Brittany would lay there in the dark listening to him snore, thinking this is what the next 60 years of her life had to offer and feeling more and more desperate with every passing month.
Brittany was beyond dissatisfied with her sex life and she desperately needed a real man who would fuck her properly. She often thought of what that would be like and would usually masturbate briefly, then let her thoughts go as foolish dreaming. Today, however, as the snow whirled and the wind howled around a lone walker making his way past her house, she suddenly felt almost ravenous, mad with lust, a sex-crazed beast whose panties were already saturated with overflowing pussy juices. She imagined a real man fucking her the way a woman was meant to be fucked, and she wished longingly for a man who would allow her to explore her naughty side.
Because more than perhaps anything else, more than just be handled and used by a man who could please her sexually, more than being deftly employed as a device for his pleasure, what Brittany desperately wanted was to be butt fucked hard. Her life, especially her sex life, was more than merely vanilla; it was vanilla with all the flavor drained out. She so wanted to feel dirty, to be naughty, to connect with her sexual side and to explore the darker, more forbidden and taboo aspects of sex. Brittany thought having a thick hard cock sliding slowly into her well-lubed ass was a delightful place to begin.
Mike had just pulled up to the house that was to be his first inspection and estimate for the day, a small and dull looking bungalow; considering the weather it would also likely be his last. The amount of work planned to be done come spring was rather extensive, so his boss -- the owner of the whole contracting business and the only other one working on this foul day -- was planning on joining him there shortly to help out and get the estimate right.
Mike had the chiseled good looks and hard body that was often attached to men who worked hard with their hands. His body was thin and muscular, his face angular, clean shaven and handsome, and his jet black hair was tossed back in a foppish, Elvis-like tassel. Between his looks, his wit and his charm, Mike had never had any trouble attracting the company of ladies and had certainly always pleased those whom he chose to bring home to his bed.
But ever since getting caught playing with himself at just the moment of orgasm when he was about 13, Mike had always been tremendously turned on at the thought of fucking in places and situations in which there was the chance of being seen, or even better, having an authority figure of some kind walk in on him while having illicit sex. He had tried with many of his numerous sex partners in the past, but they were either too nervous to do it, too scared to finish, or too intimidated to really open up the way he needed them to. Despite years of successful sexual experiences, Mike had just never been able to pull this one off for some reason.
He had been thinking languidly about this fantasy as he drove along the snowy roads today, more of a pleasant distraction on a cold day than a serious plan of action. But as he pulled in front of the house, Mike suddenly felt overwhelmed by powerful sexual energy, felt like stripping himself naked right there in the bitter cold so everyone could see him, so anyone who wanted to could view his sexual prowess and his considerable endowments; his cock became so thick and hard that it nearly burst through his work pants. He wanted to run the risk of being seen, and it was onto this thought that his mind latched as he knocked on the front door of the little bungalow.
