Loved by the LumberJacks_A MFMMMM Reverse Harem Romance

by Sierra Sparks

  “You’re mine,” he rasped.

  “Always,” I replied.

  Taking his time, he eased into me, surging a little deeper with each thrust. When he filled me to the hilt, I flexed my inner muscles around his length.

  “You feel fucking amazing,” he groaned.

  Bracing his weight on either side of me, he bent his head until his lips caught mine. Love fogged my thoughts, and I kissed him with a searing hunger. Our tongues stroked and played, deepening our connection.

  “Fuck me, Master.”

  His breathing grew harsh, and his movements urgent. He pulled back and thrust deep. Pummeling me, stretching me, filling me.

  Reaching between us, he caught my swollen clit between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. That one small movement sent me tumbling. There was no way I could have stopped coming.

  I dug my nails into his back, and he pumped hard, sending me higher and higher. My body grew hot, then cold, and then hot again. Shudders racked me, and sobbing screams ripped from my throat.

  I fell into the abyss and dragged him with me. Wyatt’s thrusts became wild and frenzied. He thrust once, twice, three times before growling his climax.

  His sweat-slicked body collapsed onto mine, and our rough, erratic breaths filled the otherwise silent room. Every beat of his heart vibrated against my chest, and a wave of emotion washed over me.

  “We’re going to have a baby,” I whispered.

  He rolled off me and sat up “A baby? We’re going to have a baby?”

  “Yes,” I said, tears blurring my vision. “This time next year, we’ll have a little two-month-old to celebrate the holidays with.”

  He pressed a lingering kiss on my belly and then held me close. “The day you walked into my room, was the beginning of my life. I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

  “If you love me half as much as I love you, then I do.”

  Even though sleep called my name and my body was limp and sated, I wanted more. I wanted everything he could give me.

  I wanted forever.

  And forever was what I would have.

  The End.

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  Chapter 1 – Grace

  The church of St. Benedict’s is the largest church I’ve ever stepped foot in. The pillars tower above my head as I enter through the large wooden doors. The stained-glass window panes illuminate the morning light and the tears of the patron saints. No matter how many times I walk down the aisles, past the numerous pews, behind the family that has so graciously taken me in, I always so do with my eyes glued to my feet. The feeling of not truly belonging in these hallowed halls fills me up every Sunday.

  This Sunday is no different, except that the church has been decorated for Christmas. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, but each year this seems to happen earlier. Wreaths hang by bows on the beautifully decorated windows, while garlands line the rectory and pews. What looks like hundreds of carnations fill the stairs leading to the pulpit, and a large Christmas tree full of candles glistens in the furthest corner, large and towering enough that even those seated in the back rows can admire it.

  Although I always feel out of place here, I can’t help but love the way it looks at Christmas. The church never fails to go all out in its decorations, and a festive spirit lingers in the air despite the solemnness of the religion practiced within these walls. Lovely Christmas hymns are being played on the large organ as congregants drift in.

  I sit down beside my foster father, Andrew, with my foster mother, Colleen on his other side. Soon afterwards the pastor takes his place behind the pulpit, looking out at the congregation.

  “My brothers and sisters,” he begins. “Welcome. As we enter into the Christmas season, let us be ever mindful of the spirit of family and love that bind us together.”

  Again, I find my gaze aiming towards the floor, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the mention of “family.” Andrew, my foster father, gently taps my shoulder and gestures for me to look back up at the pastor, who is supposed command our respectful attention at all times while we were in the Lord’s house.

  Obediently, I stare up towards the podium and meet the pastor’s gaze. He smiles and nods his head at me, beckoning me towards his every word. I look over at my foster parents, their eyes straight ahead and their backs straight. I take a deep breath and adopt the same posture they have, waiting for the pastor’s words to envelope me as I know they are supposed to do while I’m here. But my thoughts wander elsewhere.

  My mother would never have been caught dead in a church. I can only assume, that even in death, she would have gone elsewhere if she had any choice in the matter—but she didn’t, because she had a church funeral provided by a local charity. Poor people like the kind I come from don’t get much say in these matters.

  Her priorities weren’t the church, weren’t God, or even me. They were only hyper-focused on one thing. Her next score. All she thought about was adding track after track to her once beautiful arms, the veins no longer able to help her get that feeling of relief she so desperately sought after. The night that Social Services came for me, I found her lying in a pool of her own vomit, mere moments away from her final pain-relieving overdose. It wasn’t her first one, but it ended up being her last.

  At first, I was grief-stricken but felt a strange and unexpected sense of relief. I was placed with my first foster family and naively believed that things would be different. That things would suddenly start looking up. But I had never been so wrong.

  My first foster father was a drunk and every evening he would come home and the screaming would start. Plates would smash and bruises would form on the arms and faces of every foster child in that house, including my own—and there were many of us. Every night I would sit in my bedroom, sheets pulled tightly up to my ears as I prayed to be saved from this house that was even worse than the one I had lived in with my mother. At least there, the worst thing that happened to me was the hunger of another day without food, or the lonely feeling of neglect. At least there, I wasn’t abused and beaten.

  After several weeks of fearing for my safely, I finally got up the courage and left. For, I knew, one of these days, that no matter how drunk and off balance my first foster father would become, he’d still be able to overpower me with his fists. It wasn’t something I wanted to put up with any longer.

  I was found again by social services and chided for running away, before being placed with another family that wasn’t much better. Time and time I ran away again, escaping one cruel fate to be placed in the same type of environment all over again. It was if my life was cursed and I could never escape.

  I was only 16 when I found myself on the streets, wandering and begging for food and shelter. Social services had stopped caring what happened to me, since I was viewed as a trouble making runaway and they had more dire situations to attend to, with younger children who might still be able to find a permanent home.

  One night, I found myself at a local church and was introduced to Pastor John. He told me in very clear terms that I deserved better than the life I had been given. At that time, I didn’t truly believe him. I was a young girl who had nothing and no one to lean on. It made me a hardened shell of the person I had dreamed of becoming when I was a child, before my mother started loving her heroine and her drug dealer more than she loved me. And even though I didn’t find myself a believer in God, the church still took me in. They helped me where I was unable to help myself. And three years later, I’m still here.

  Andrew and Colleen are the new foster parents I was placed with once I arrived here, as they were members of the church who happened to have just gone
through foster parent training with the state, since they were unable to have children of their own and were looking to adopt. They didn’t have a sixteen year old child in mind, I don’t think. More like a cute little infant. But they took me in any way.

  They are the kindest people I have ever met in my short life. In the past few years, I have spent feeling more love than I could have ever imagined. They graciously pay my rent and my bills and give me everything I could have asked for. And then some. All they ask in return is that I come to church and follow their religion and do what they ask.

  Soon, they will no longer have to help me with these things. I applied for a new job as an assistant at a law firm and to my surprise, since I have no applicable experience and only managed to barely graduate from high school thanks to Colleen home schooling me, I was offered the position. My new job will give them back everything they’ve given me financially. And then perhaps I can think about starting a life on my own.

  Andrew and Colleen weren’t happy about my new job prospect. I suppose that didn’t really surprise me, since they prefer to shelter me. Still, I hope they soon get used to idea of it, since I can’t exactly live with them forever, even if I wanted to—which, I don’t. I appreciate all they’ve done for me but I’m anxious to make my way into the world as a responsible adult rather than as a delinquent teenage repeat runaway.

  There’s still so much I need to experience about life. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. I’ve never been kissed, let alone fucked.

  Suddenly, I feel my panties dampen at the same time that I can literally feel my cheeks redden with heat. I can’t believe I just thought the word “fuck” in church. I’m going straight to hell—if there is one. But still, it’s only natural to think of such things that I haven’t had time to experience due to trying to just survive, before being taken in by kind strangers who require my utmost obedience and devotion to their religion that forbids sex before marriage.

  I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have a man’s hands on my body. My breasts. My tingling, aching pussy.

  As if sensing I’m even thinking of impure things I’m not supposed to, Andrew taps my hand and nods his head towards Pastor John again. I smile at him, hoping he doesn’t notice that I was wiggling in my seat a little. He curves his eyebrows at me, as if suspicious.

  But when I look back at Pastor John, I realize he’s about to conclude the prayer that signifies the end of his sermon. Realizing that we were supposed to be praying, Andrew finally looks away from me, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

  Whew. Saved by the end of the church service. I have no idea what I was thinking, sitting here fantasizing about forbidden things, in the middle of the Sunday sermon. I suppose with the prospects of starting a new job, I’ve been filled with a little bit of curiosity and naughtiness. And perhaps it’s the Christmas season, bringing out the adventurous side of me.

  “…And by the grace of God, may we find our strength to avoid temptation,” Pastor John says, concluding his prayer. I look up at him and hope beyond hope that in my case his prayer ends up turning into reality.

  Chapter 2 – Grace

  After church that evening, I stand and greet the other patrons alongside Andrew and Colleen. We give each other our thanks and prayers for the days ahead and wish each other a happy Christmas season.

  Andrew knows that I don’t particularly enjoy spending time in large crowds, and he gives me a nod letting me know it’s okay to leave. I say goodbye to my foster family and head towards the only house that I’ve ever felt brave enough to call home.

  I pull up to a stop light and wait for the light to change, singing along to the music coming softly through the speakers. I look over at the fancy sports car parked next to me and see an extremely handsome man looking back at me. He’s much older than I am—as old as Andrew, probably—but he’s clean shaven and he’s wearing a suit. He’s heading in the direction of downtown, where I’ll start my job at the law firm. I guess he’s working on a Sunday, so he must make bank.

  He smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back. My cheeks go red again like they did in church, as I start to feel that familiar clenching of my pussy. I look away from him just as the light turns green.

  Of course, I have to have this sort of temptation right after leaving the church service in which I was having such unholy thoughts. It always seems to happen that way. I can suddenly hear Andrew’s voice in my head, echoing the words of Pastor John.

  “Sex has no place outside of the marriage bed. You don’t want to give yourself over to someone who may not truly value or appreciate what you have to offer. Only a husband and a wife can give that to each other. Anyone else is asking too much of you.”

  I think of the older man stopped at the light beside me moments before and despite the words of Pastor John, I can’t help but think about what it would be like to be with that man. Not just go on a date or even kiss him, two things I’ve never actually done, but to physically be with him. What it would feel like to be held in his arms and what it would feel like to ultimately be penetrated by him, his cock slipping into my virgin pussy, taking me for my very first time.

  I shake the thoughts from my head and continue driving. I drive past a billboard advertising a new movie with an extremely handsome and well known Hollywood actor. In my eyes, Sunday isn’t the day of rest, but the day of temptation. It’s always been the one day I can actually get out of Andrew and Colleen’s house and see other people. I can’t seem to help but fantasize about the men I meet, but the stranger in the car is particularly tempting. Good thing I don’t even know who he is, so I can’t actually act on my temptation even if I wanted to.

  I pull into the driveway and silently pray that I can soon afford to live on my own. Having these urges and living under Andrew and Colleen’s roof isn’t exactly easy. I unlock the front door and put the keys on the counter. I know they’ll be at the church for at least another hour. I have a spare moment alone.

  I walk into my bedroom and start changing out of my conservative church clothes. I pull off my blouse and let it fall to the floor. I, then, shimmy out of my skirt and walk over to the mirror.

  I stare at my reflection and can’t help but admire what looks back at me. I know it’s vain to admire one’s own beauty, but I can’t help it. Even though I don’t really remember what my mother looked like before the drugs consumed her body and mind, I know that we have the same bright and beautiful eyes. Even on the drugs, they shone out like a beacon.

  My body has always had natural curves, but when I went hungry or went around begging for food, it was skinny. Ever since I’ve been living here and receiving adequate nutrition, I’ve filled out, and I feel I have reason to admire my large breasts and hips, as they mean my body is having its needs met.

  At least when it comes to food, I think, blushing at the thought although no one is around to see me.

  I walk over to the bed and sit down on the edge of it. I slide off my flats and toss them toward the closet door. Lying back, I think about the man in the car next to me earlier.

  I spread my legs and slowly bring my hand down on top of my panties. I move my fingers back and forth, feeling the lace fabric against my skin. I imagine the handsome stranger running his hands along my thighs, spreading my legs wide.

  After several moments of movement, I feel a dampness spreading through my panties. A wetness, showing how much I longingly desire to be touched there by a hand other than my own. In my head, the man in the car has now removed my panties and has tossed them to the floor. And I do just that. I slide them off my legs and toss them into the air. They land on top of my desk chair.

  I suck my fingers, lubricating them and slowly touch a finger to the sensitive lips of my already dripping wet pussy. The sensation pulses through me in an instant. A sensation I know will continue to build with each passing movement. I slide my finger along the folds of my vagina, slowly and deliberately, my fingers becoming more and more sticky with my own obviou
s wetness.

  I hover just above my clit with one finger, knowing that if I go straight for it, the moment will not last nearly as long as I want it to. Instead, I slide a finger inside myself, letting my warm juices be their own lubricant. I slide my finger in and out of my hot pussy, letting my orgasm build.

  Then I hesitantly add another finger, and the sensation is even more powerful. Fairly certain that I’m reaching orgasm, I slide my thumb along my clitoris, then each side of the sensitive button, forming circular motions that cause my body to go wild. My back arches and I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. I move my fingers more rapidly and the walls of my vagina tighten around them as I reach climax. I slide my fingers out from my pussy and marvel at their glistening texture. My bodily juices covering the appendages.

  I walk over to the bathroom and wash my hands thoroughly. Then I grab a clean pair of panties and put on my pajamas. I also toss the panties that landed on my chair into my hamper. The last thing I want is for Andrew or Colleen to be asking questions.

  I silently send out a thank you to the handsome stranger who helped me get off. In my head, this is as productive as praying. And I hope it yields even better results: hopefully, somehow, I’ll see him again and be able to fantasize even more about what I wish he could do to me.

  Chapter 3 – Grace

  At dinner that night with Andrew and Colleen, I continue to hope that the activity I had been partaking in while they were away isn’t written all over my face. I know they would certainly not approve of such a thing. When I was younger and first living with them, even the thought of masturbation scared me. I would have done anything to avoid being kicked out of their house. They had always been so good to me and wanted what was best for me.

  But even then, my urges and curiosities were too strong. I would wait until late at night after they had already gone to bed to touch myself. But even after pleasuring myself to full tilt, I would be scared out of my mind that they could somehow sense what I was doing and punish me for it.