MRS. WAGSTAFF: THE WICKED WIDOW OF WAVERLY WAY

Chapter Fourteen

As the years went by, one would have expected that the couple would have lost some of their sexual fervor, but Harold and Jane Wagstaff only grew more adoring of each other day by day--their sexual exploits becoming stuff of neighborhood and company lore. Jane was unable to have children, which may have contributed to the couple's intense devotion to each other. Of course, Harold's age eventually inhibited their activity to some extent. When Harold reached his seventies and Jane was in her forties, they began to make certain adjustments in positions and Harold even had a new marital bed constructed so that it would be easier for him to maintain certain positions for longer periods of time. Even so, well into Harold's eighties and Jane's fifties, the couple were still "going at it."

Jane never tired of her husband's sexual advances. He was always inventive and always vigorous--even at his advanced age. His glorious naked body still stimulated her wildly. They began each day with a rousing round of intense sex--before their German valet Froelich arrived with their morning coffee and juice. It was the perfect way to start a day, Jane thought.

Today, she moaned loudly as her husband's mighty cock plunged its way deep into her pussy. Harold groaned pleasurably with each thrust. Jane replied with her own intense, low-pitched sounds. Jane always loved how she and Harold seemed to compete with each other on a loudness scale. To her, noise-making was a major part of love-making and if she had been forced to contain her vocal enthusiasm, sex simply would not have been as satisfying as it always was. Thanks to the gigantic size of the Wagstaff mansion and the sound-proofed master bedroom, it was unlikely, she thought, that any of their neighbors could hear their outbursts--and even if they did, so what? Of course, the servants could hear them, but then, they hired their servants to be discreet.

"Oh, God! I'm coming!" cried out Harold, sounding like a medieval knight ready to return his sword into Jane's receptive sheath. He snorted and panted like a giant rutting stallion. Jane could feel the pulsating of his dick inside her, throbbing like a transplanted heart ripped from a newly dead body. Harold's body clenched in ecstasy and his back arched upward. Jane met his climax and soared to blissful heights. A long, satisfied sigh emanated from Harold's lips as he fell suddenly on top of Jane's fully engorged breasts, where he remained, and Jane herself panted as her orgasm subsided. She waited quietly for her husband to recover from his sexual high. She waited. And waited. And waited.

As Jane's breathing returned to normal, she gave a slight push to Harold's side. No response. She called his name. No response. She tried to push upwards and roll his body off of hers, but his body was simply too heavy. Calling his name, louder and louder, she began to shake his shoulders, but Harold's head simply flopped down. He was a totally dead weight on top of her. With all her strength, she gave a gigantic push and rolled her husband over onto his side where he remained, unmoving. As she stared down at his sweet smiling face, she realized immediately that Harold Wagstaff--the great businessman and her soul mate--was indeed dead. But, she thought, he does look very happy.

It was not unexpected that her husband had died; after all, he was eighty-five years old. A flood of memories washed over her. Harold, with Jane's help, had built Wagstaff Industries into the foremost sex toy industry in the world with multi-billion dollar profits a year. Harold was so proud of his sex empire that when he had commissioned the building of new company headquarters in downtown Chicago, he had selected an architectural firm to build the mammoth structure to closely resemble an erect penis. Although there had been some public controversy at first, Harold had secured the building approvals without too much trouble--only a few million in bribes to various local and state officials (it was, after all, Chicago). Thus, the present Wagstaff Tower was built of pink limestone--its mighty central tower set directly between two rose-colored round side buildings. The top of Wagstaff Tower--rising high into the Chicago skyline--was covered by a tan-colored, soft tiny canopy that reached down from the top of the building over the top two floors. After a while, everyone in Chicago called it, affectionately, the Penis in the Park, as it loomed over Chicago's lakeside district.