Author: Arthur Kay Title: ''Sylvie's in the park, Jack, lookin' for a hump . . . '' Summary: ''Sylvia! Why don't you just shut the fuck up and go away? OK?'' Then, to Jack's later regret, she did just that. Poof! Gone! But she didn't stay gone for long . . . Keywords: MF cons het humor gang oral slut interr WARNING: This story is an act of fiction that contains graphic sexual descriptions and language. If you are a minor (under 21) or if you are offended by this kind of material then you should stop reading now. Any resemblance between this story and a real event is coincidental. The participants are imaginary; their actions have no negative consequences other than those portrayed in the story. The story is intended for entertainment and should not be emulated in the real world. "Sylvie's in the park, Jack, lookin' for a hump . . . " by Arthur Kay JACK STEWART hated his marriage of five years. His marriage to Sylvia. He felt totally trapped by it all, the daily bullshit, the grind, and the boredom. "Take the garbage out. Do this. Do that. You forgot to put the cap on the toothpaste. Again!" Fuck, how he missed the single life! And here she was right now, right here, ragging on his ass again. He thought: What is she saying this time? As if I fuckin' care! Sylvia Stewart didn't know it, or if she did, she didn't show it, but he had tuned her out. "Jack! You listening to me? You have to blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah . . . " Shit, Jack thought, even our sex life is in the dumper! "Blah, blah . . . " Gives me head like she's doin' me a fuckin' favor! "Blah, blah . . . " And anal? My ass! No, her ass! Fuggedaboudit! "Blah, blah . . . " The bitch was a virgin when I married her and she damn sure "Blah, blah . . . " still acts like one. The fucking prude! "Blah, blah . . . " Why can't she be more of a whore in bed? "Blah, blah . . . " "Sylvia! Why don't you just shut the fuck up and go away? OK?" Geez! Then, to Jack Stewart's utter astonishment, she did just that! She shut up and disappeared, right there and right before his eyes. Poof! Gone! His fresh drink, a strong gin and tonic, fell out of his hand and hit the carpet with a thud and a sploosh. "W-what the fuck?" He looked at the empty space that once held his Sylvia, his marital albatross. "W-where'd you go, Syl? Where the hell are you?" Too much gin he thought, way too much gin. I gotta . . . His front door opened and there she was. "Syl, I . . . " Then he noticed it! She was buck-ass naked! Not a stitch on her! With her long brunette hair let down and flowing out wildly in all directions. And she had someone by the hand! She came farther into the room, the someone following along. "Jack, you know our neighbor, Murray, don'tcha? Murray, say hello to Jack!" Murray, Jack now saw, had on a Hugh Hefner style bathrobe. A red one, with the front slightly open, advertising his hairy chest. "Hi, Jack!" the man said jovially. "Your charmin’ wife here invited me over for a blowjob! Well, it bein’ a shit night for TV and all, I readily accepted." Before Jack could speak a word, Murray shed his robe and stood there, absolutely naked, his large erection plainly in evidence. And, with the apartment door still wide open. ""W-what the fuck is going . . . " Jack started. "Hush, Jack," said Sylvia. "You'll ruin my concentration!" She dropped to her knees in front of Murray, took his cock head into her mouth and started sucking away on it. Jack was beyond shocked, he was plumb flabbergasted. And had no idea what to say or do. So he just stared. Mrs. Henderson, another neighbor, walked past the open door, her husband Henry alongside her. They both looked in at the lewd scene. Henry said, "See, Laura, that's the way to suck a dick!" Laura looked and nodded. "Good technique, Hen, deep-throats like a pro. I'll practice that on you later. OK?" Henry nodded and the two of them just stood there, both fascinated by Sylvia's technique, with one of them learning something new for later. In less than two minutes more, they all heard Murray say, "I'm cumming, old chum, watch now as your lovely wife swallows my salty spermo!" And he came, in buckets, as Sylvia made audible gurgling and gulping noises each time she swallowed. Laury and Henry applauded, as it seemed only appropriate to them. I'm losing my mind, thought Jack, this ain't happening. It can't be . . . But it was happening. Sylvia now stood up, winked at Jack, and headed for the door. As she passed, naked, between the two Henderson’s, old Hen gave her bare ass a quick pat and squeeze. Laura, eyeing the large tent in her husband's trousers, said, "Stop that Henry! Let's go home so I can practice my cocksucking technique on you. C'mon now, dear." They left, with Sylvia no longer in Jack’s sight. She was headed down the corridor, straight for the elevator. Jack, not knowing what else to do, trailed after her, leaving the naked Murray to his own devices. "I'll lock up for you, old chum." He’d attend to Murray later. Jack missed the elevator and, rather than wait for a new one, decided to take the stairs the seven flights down. When he threw the lobby door open, fairly racing through it, there she was, on her knees and blowing their doorman, a big black guy named Isaac. His big, black cock, looking 10" long, perhaps even longer, was being sucked and jerked on at the same time. And doorman Isaac was moaning up a storm. "You gotta stop this, Syl, it‘s . . . " Jack started to say. "Oh, no, Mr. Stewart," said Isaac. "Don't have Ms. Stewart stop now! Not when it feels soooo good and I haven't cum in a month of Sundays!" Isaac grabbed Sylvia's head and pulled her mouth farther along the black dick path until his curly black pubic hairs were pressed against lips. "Ooowee, Ms. Stewart! You ready for my jizm?" She mumbled a yes and kept working on it, the big black cock, slopping it up with her spittle. "Here she cums, Ms. Stewart, a month of Sunday's worth of Isaac!" He let loose, the cum gushing out so quickly it caught her by surprise. She opened her mouth and cum just poured out of it, down her chin and onto her breasts and knees, and finally, onto the carpeted lobby floor itself. "Syl, we gotta talk . . . " Jack seemed a tad upset. Isaac just laughed and said, as if pointing out an obvious fact to an idiot: "Ms. Stewart can't talk now, Mr. Stewart. Ms. Stewart's got her mouth full! Hee hee!" He patted her brunette head. "A mouth fulla Isaac!" Jack wanted to do something, say something even, but Sylvia didn't give him the chance. In a flash, she was up on her young legs and out the front door, sprinting toward the street. Puppy dog-like, Jack went after her. She was crossing the street and was headed directly toward four young boys, youths really, who were just hanging out, killing time as it were. When the boys laid their eyes on her, taking in her absolute nudity, they looked as if Christmas had come to them early. One said, "Mamma mia, what the fuck’ve we here?" Another said, "Holy shit, it's that holier-than-thou Stewart cunt!" A third said, "C'mon, babes, let's get it on! Let‘s party!" The last young dude didn't say a word. He just went up to the approaching naked woman and grabbed handfuls of titty. Jack just stood there, across the street, staring in utter disbelief. "Fuck me, boys!" she said. "Take me in that alley and fuck the livin' shit outta me! OK, guys?" It was, quite, to put it bluntly. They led her into the alley and placed her on an old and wet, large, flattened cardboard box. It had Frigidaire printed on it. In blue ink. Sylvia lay back and spread her legs, offering herself freely to the gang of youths. "Fuck me good, boys, I need a good fuckin‘!" And they did. One after the other took a turn on her. With pants and underwear down around the ankles, each would pump away at her, then pump his hot seed deep within her. "Motherfucker!" The first guy yelled as he shot his load. "Oowee!" Number two yelled “Here’s cums Poppa! Yowza! Bowza!" "Who's ya Daddy, mamma?" came out of number three. "Who's da man, baby?" Number four didn't yell or say a word. He just moaned and groaned as if his balls had been caught in his zipper. "Mmmmumph. Arrrrgh!" Then Sylvia impressed them all, even Jack, who was standing nearby on the curb, by leaping up, right from a prone position, and doing a flip that put her on her feet. Eat your heart out Nadia Komanici! Then Sylvia was off again! Like a shot. And this time she was headed for the park. As she flashed her back at the husband and the youths, they could clearly see the one word in blue on her left ass cheek: Frigid. Except it was backward and read from right to left. "Frigid, my ass!" said one of the youths. "There ain't nothing’ frigid about that hot cunt!" As the others offered their various comments on the heat of Sylvia Stewart's holier-than-thou pussy, Jack escaped hearing them by taking off after her. She ran-walked into the park, Jack struggling to keep up. They hadn't gone twenty feet into the park when Sylvia zeroed in on an old man sitting on a park bench. He was feeding the pigeons and, as Jack could surely see, he must have been eighty, or even ninety, if he was a day. Shit, Jack thought, even if Syl can make this old geezer cum, all she's gonna get is a pussy fulla dust! He smiled at the old man, who smiled, most politely for sure, right back at him. Sylvia approached the man and said, "Hi there, my octogenarian brother! You up for some good old-fashioned fuck fuck? Could be your last one, you know!" She shook her chest, wiggling her tits at the old guy. The surprised look on the guy's face told Jack to expect the heart attack scene any minute now. But he was disappointed. "Oh, sexy lady, I'd sure love that, but at my age I think my old heart would plumb give out from all the excitement." Jack grinned. Ha ha, he thought, take that Syl! But the old guy went on. "But I don't think an old-fashioned knobjob would kill me! You suck cock good, do you young'un?" Amused by the very idea, Jack said, quite impolitely, "Go for it, Syl, suck on his old petunia! It's probably so fucking shriveled up it looks like month-old broccoli! Same color too, I would imagine! Ha ha!" Sylvia was already kneeling, as if in answer to the old guy's knobjob question. Jack watched, mesmerized and expectant, as she unzipped the old man's fly front and reached in with a dainty hand to fish the old broccoli out. But she didn't pull out any thing old and monthy-mouldy, oh, no, on the contrary. The old guy had a decent 7 incher on him that looked like it belonged on a teenager. A very healthy one, at that. It was pink all over, young pink, with a large, plum-purple, plum- sized head. And it looked as angry as hell. Young angry, if you get the drift. Sylvia took the gorged pecker into her mouth and proceeded to give the old geezer the best blowjob, make that knobjob, he'd ever had in all his eighty or ninety-odd years. "Yucka, bucka, fucka!" He yelled. "You sure suck big time, darling. Sorta reminds me of my first wife, Nellie. She could sure suck big time, too. She knew how to take me right down to the old fur, if you get my meaning. Oooh, just like you're doing right now! Lordy, lordy, you sure do suck like Nellie! She would take her teeth out and . . . " He went on and on, reliving his entire sex life with his first wife, Nellie, and not just her, but wives Maisie, Martha, and Zelda, too. The chatty old coot. Finally, the old guy said he was gonna pop the cork, his words for it, and Jack watched him do just that. Sylvia's mouth was now off the man's cock, with her hand purposefully pumping the shaft up and down. She said, "I wanna watch you pop, Pop!" And did he ever pop! Just like Old Faithful! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! It shot out of him geyser-like, way up high in the air, the large, white sperm drops making wide arcs. Sylvia had to be quick, and she was. With her mouth wide open, she tracked every drop as it fell and caught it, scoop-like, not missing a one. The old man then yelled: "Nellie, Maisie, Martha, Zelda, rest your souls, when it comes to giving knobbies, you gals have met your match!" They had, and even poor Jack now knew it. Then he heard the voices, lots of them, coming down a path. He looked in the direction of the verbal chatter. Boy scouts! Fifteen or more, with a fatherly-type Scout Master leading the way, his baton swinging from side to side as if he was using a machete to clear a path through an imaginary jungle. Oh, no, thought Jack, oh, fucking no! Too late! Sylvia was already headed, at a goodly pace, straight for them. "Hello kids, wanna fuck?" She walked to the grass area on one side of the pathway and laid down, spreading her shapely legs out wide. "C'mon kids, do your scoutly duty. Scout's Handbook, page six: On my honor I will do my best to put Sylvie to the fuckin' test!" She winked at them. "Form a line, my scoutsy wowtsies, then take turns hopping on and fucking me. OK?" It was by them, can'tcha guess? "And my husband, Jack here, can watch it all. Maybe he'll learn a scout trick or two!" She pointed right at him. He felt his ears reddening as he watched his wife make the Boy Scout’s three-fingered salute. Sylvia now lay there, her damp pussy just hanging out for any passerby with eyes to see. Her hard-nippled breasts were pointed upward as if teaching the scout troop where the sky was located in the heavens. The scouts quickly assembled in a neat and orderly scout-like line, the Scout Master bringing up the rear, his baton waving above his head and acting as the troop's flag. He hollered out: "By the numbers now, men! Pants off, shorts off, put 'em in a pile! One. Two. One. Two. Do it with a smile!" In a trice, all the scouts were naked from the waist down, their pants and shorts neatly folded beside their feet. The Scout Master, his job well done, followed suit. Now it looked as if he had two batons. One in each hand. A fat one and a skinny, stick-like one. The first Boy scout, a pudgy kid, ran up to Sylvia, gleefully jumped onto the middle of her, put his hardened little cock in real quick- like, and gave her exactly three pumps of his bobbing and naked, pudgy little ass. He then jumped off, quite smartly it seemed, and ran, quite orderly it seemed, to the end of the line and took his place. And waited for a new turn at the naked lady in the grass. This went on for eight or so scouts, about half the troop, them hopping on, putting it in, and ass pumping exactly three times, while Jack just stood there, staring, with eyes as big as saucers. Then . . . The neo-pubescent Boy scouts started singing, the scoutmaster's deep voice keeping a very fine bass, his twin batons keeping perfect time: "Sylvie's in the park, Jack, lookin' for a hump, Hop on her, put it in, pump, pump, pump! Fuck her on a bench, Jack, fuck her on the grass, Fuck her in the cunt, Jack, fuck her in the ass! Sylvie doesn't care, Jack, doesn't care a damn, Hop on her, put it in, wham, bam, ma'am! Hop on her, put it in, pump, pump, pump! Hop on her, put it in, pump, pump, pump! Sylvie's in the park, Jack, lookin' for a hump . . . " Jack couldn't take any more. He'd had it. He had to get out of there, out of the park and away from the disgusting scene. Besides, Jack was beginning to learn the words and felt the overpowering urge to sing along. Jack ran and, at some point in his running, he heard from way behind him: "Sylvie's in the park, Jack, lookin' for a hump . . . " He covered his ears as he ran and tried to run even faster. " . . . put it in, pump, pump, pump! . . . " You singing along, dear reader? Me, too! All together now: "Sylvie's in the park, Jack, lookin' for a hump . . . " Who's flat? * * * * * * "WE GOT SOMETHIN,' SARGE!" the cop said. He was standing by a shallow hole that another officer was standing in, busily enlarging it with a spade shovel. Sgt. Cosby came over to join the cop at the hole's rim and said, "Whatcha got, Pete?" This was directed at the man in the hole, who now stopped his digging and looked up. His face was dirty and sweat covered. "It's a body, all right, Sarge, just the top of the head so far, but it's got her color hair." The Sarge just nodded, so Pete went back to his labor. Sarge knew he didn't have to tell old Pete to be careful and not spade the corpse into smaller pieces. Old Pete had had his fair share of digging up corpses, fresh buried or otherwise, don'tcha know? A while later, the body, skeletonized, was revealed. The small stature of it suggested a woman, as did the outfit it had on. A red blouse over blue slacks. There was something embroidered on the left breast pocket. Pete wiped dirt from the something and all three men could now clearly read the initials: SS, in fancy Old English lettering. "Sylvia Stewart!" said the cop alongside the Sarge. "Gotta be." Pete nodded. The Sarge agreed, "Yep, lookin' that way, fellas." Pete stepped out of the hole and joined the other two cops at its rim. Pete had a question. "How'd you get onto to this, Sarge?" He wiped his face with a red-checkered handkerchief. "Funny 'bout that! Hanover was drivin' his patrol car over in the Chelsea area, when he comes across a guy screamin' at a cab driver. Yellin' his fool head off, he was. Well, Hanny goes and checks it out. The guy's telling the cabbie to stop fucking his wife, the guy's wife, on the hood of his cab, the cabbie's cab, that is. "Well, old Hanny, not seein' a wife of any kind there, mind you, just seein' a cabbie leanin' on his cab and drinkin' a cuppa coffee, as innocent as you please, with this nutjob screamin' away . . . well, old Han figured he had either a loon or a severe drunk case on his hands. He tries to reason with the guy, but the guy starts yellin' at him, demanding he arrest the cabbie for fornicatin,' his way of putting it, with his wife, Sylvia. Well, now, Hanny, ever the diplomat, tells the guy outright that he don't see her. She ain't there no how and so he don't see her! No how! "Well, the guy starts flippin' out! Tells Hanny that no one can seem to see her, because, as he puts it, she's dead and is now back hauntin' his ass. And, as he says, fuckin' and suckin' every guy with a pulse! His way of puttin' it. "When old Hanny, with his curiosity now up and runnin,' asks the wild man how he knows his wife, Sylvia, is really dead, the guy ups and says, 'Because I killed her and buried her, you dumb ass flatfoot! Don't you understand nothin' I been saying?' Dear mother! "Well, long story short, Han ran him in and the guy broke in less than fifteen minutes, which brings us to here," he pointed to the makeshift grave, "the basement of the summer house that the crazy perp, one Jack Stewart, inherited from his mother sometime last year." "Geez!" said Pete. "Dear mother!" said the other cop. Sgt. Cosby said, "Oh, here's forensics now . . . " The End.