Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Still gazing down into my beautiful wife’s blue eyes, I spoke again to our new ward.
“Masturbation is for good girls,” I said. “Like your foster mama here.”
With my hands around the back of her skull and my fingers twined in her hair, I kept Shelly’s mouth just where I wanted it. I thrust in until I felt the head of my cock press against the back of her throat, and her adorable nose touched the sinew of my abdomen. I watched my wife’s forehead crease with the effort it took to suppress her gag reflex and take me balls deep that way. When I spoke to Grace again, I could hear my intense pleasure in the thickness of my voice.
“See how good Shelly is at taking the cock? She’s had a lot of practice. When we find the right suitor for you, I’ll help him decide on how he wants to teach you to please him with your mouth.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grace’s hips jerk. I glanced over to see that she had curled her hands into tight little fists on her thighs. I turned my attention back to Shelly, and I pulled my hardness out, slowly, all the way until I could take the shaft in my left hand and rub the tip against her lips.
Shelly pursed her lips, the way she knew I liked, and kissed my cockhead with reverence. Whimpers emerged from her throat with the movements of her fingertips on her clit. I pulled my erection up, and Shelly knew exactly what I wanted; she turned her head and began to lick my balls softly and respectfully, like a kitten lapping water.
Grace let out a whimper of her own, as if the first sight of my manhood, glistening with her foster mother’s saliva, had affected her deeply.
“This cock is for Shelly,” I told her, looking in her direction before I returned my eyes to the lovely sight of my wife pleasuring me in that degrading way. “If you’re a good girl, you’ll have a cock to play with soon enough.”
I cradled my wife’s face in my right hand, my thumb along her cheekbone.
“Shelly, honey,” I said. “Do you want it in your pussy? Should we show Grace how a good wife takes a fucking?”
Her pink cheeks went red. I could tell that her modesty and her submission were battling inside her. She looked up at me with a deep crease in her brow.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered. “Please fuck my little pussy.”
Grace
I hadn’t noticed until then, when Shelly stood up and started to move toward her easy chair, that her pussy had no hair. It made me bite my lip, and I heard a tiny whining sound escape my nose. Shelly had her back to me, now, standing in front of the chair, but she turned her face to look back over her shoulder into my eyes. Her cheeks had gotten pink, but her voice had a sort of submissive pride in it that made the heat between my thighs surge.
“Jake likes me bare down there. When you have a steady suitor, he’ll tell you how he wants you to take care of your pussy.”
“His pussy,” Jake growled.
My foster father’s unexpected, mortifying words brought a shock of need to my body, radiating out from my clit. It took me so thoroughly by surprise that I cried out. My hips jerked, pushing out my whipped bottom as if I meant to offer it to an imaginary man—a fantasy suitor—behind me. I closed my eyes, feeling my brow crease hard, as my wayward mind conjured him: the firm-handed man who would take over from Jake, dressed like my new foster father, his enormous cock protruding like Jake’s from his faded jeans, ready to claim me for his own as he thrust his hardness through my virginity.
I looked up at Jake, my heart speeding up to a frantic rate at the sight of the expression on his face. His eyes seemed to blaze with what I could only have called his natural dominance; not out of control, but still aggressive and animal. He looked at Shelly, and he stepped toward her with his huge, hard penis in his left hand. With his right he took hold of her bottom, so possessively that the very sight of his fingers there, pushing between his wife’s thighs, probing her shaved pussy, made me whimper.
“Bend over, girl,” he said, and I could tell somehow that it represented the command Shelly had waited for—hoped for, I thought I could see, and feel for myself, though it seemed so crazy to what remained of the old me, the girl who had watched Frannie get her whuppin’ only a few hours ago.
Shelly bent over, turning her face away and downward, putting her palms on the cushion of her easy chair, then kneeling. The comfortable seat where the farmer’s wife did her knitting—from which she had watched her husband whip me—had become the place her husband had chosen to fuck her.