Kelly swallowed what she could of the enormous volume of cum her father had poured into her mouth, the remainder pressed past her lips and fell onto her small, peach like tits, becoming a sticky pool. She had swallowed so much of daddy's jizz that she was now able to manage the still sizable volume confined to her mouth.
Her father withdrew his deflated baton from her mouth, took her chin in one hand and turned her face upward.
“Show me," he commanded. Kelly obeyed her daddy and opened her mouth. It was still full of cum, like tea in a cup, daring to overflow onto the floor.
“Swallow it," came her father's command. In an almost defiant move, she held her stare on her father's eyes. They locked as she slowly closed her mouth, hard gulped, and then opened it again.
“Did I do good daddy?” She asked with real concern.
“You were excellent, honey. Just amazing."
Kelly smiled up to her father, contented and still on her knees. Daddy pulled her up and sat her on the bed.
He wasn't done with her yet.
With her father's arms around her shoulders, her hand went to his partially limp member. She looked at him shyly. He just smiled. She began to stroke it softly and slowly. In minutes she could feel it becoming hard again.
Her father's hands had encompassed her small, soft tits, stoking her hard nipples with his finger. Kelly was dripping wet from the act her father had committed on her. Softly, he nudged her onto her back, placing the pillow under her smooth, tight ass. Her legs opened without any conscious thought.
With his knee's her father spread her legs even further. He had placed himself on top of his daughter. His now hard, engorged cock ready to enter her.
“Do it, daddy. Put your cock in me. I want you to. Please,"
Kelly's words aroused her father so much he could wait no longer. He plunged his full length and width inside her until it could go no deeper.
Kelly let out a scream and her nails bit into her father's arms. This sudden attack on her cunt had caused her pleasure. Great pleasure.
She looked at her father's face. His eyes were closed, lips contorted. He withdrew and speared his daughter's cunt hard again with his flesh knife. She let out another moan of pleasure. To Kelly, it seemed to arouse her father. He began to stab his massive member deep into her cunt, over and over again.
Her girl juice and her father's pre-cum mixed into a shiny, slick fluid. It was flowing freely from deep inside her. It covered her father's manhood, balls and hair. It also made its way down her thighs to her anus, then to the sheets.
Her whoreish moans grew louder.
“Daddy, please, don't stop! Please. I've never been fucked before, I want this so badly," Kelly whispered in between moans again and again while her father continued to fuck her as hard as he was able.
Daddy was fucking his daughter as hard as ever, her father's cock hit bone with every thrust.
“Fuck me, daddy. Fuck your baby girl. Fuck her hard," Kelly chanted, hips now moving up to meet her father's.
His sensual fucking fell way to relentless pumping. The two lovers set aside any semblance of civility and both began to moan loudly like animals in heat. Then he went silent with the exception of his moans of pleasure. He had never had his massive cock into a cunt this tight before. He was enjoying every sensation and craving more and more.
Kelly was ready to cum. She had lost her virginity to her father, and loved it. The pounding she was taking from her father's pile driver brought her to a fierce orgasm.
Her father felt his daughter's cunt walls tighten around his cock. With a sustained moan she poured out around him, her cum, her honey dew covering his balls and stomach, flowing down his legs.
“Cum inside me daddy, please. I want all your cum," Kelly repeated, eyes closed, hands gripped tightly around her father's arms.
He felt his ball sack contract and the pressure in his man vein reach the bursting point. He erupted inside his daughter. They were both moaning loudly.
Cum mixed with honey dew burst from Kelly's pussy and out around his shaft. It was as if he was being sprayed by a hose. Kelly was still cumming, hard. She couldn't stop. Her father stayed buried inside her.
“Daddy, oh daddy," she moaned, continuing to cover him in her fluids. She couldn't feel a dry place on her body. Her sheets were soaked and the wetness now covered her back while her front was covered in a mixture of cum and sweat. Her long orgasm finally came to an end.
Her father's moans began to slow. He was spent. Her father laid on top of her with his full weight. He was exhausted. His head rested between her neck and the wall.
“Daddy, roll over, you're suffocating me," Kelly let out with a laugh. Her father rolled off her, onto the bed, laughing as well.
“Sorry, angel, I can't move a muscle," he told her.
“You moved a lot of muscles, daddy," she laughed again, as did her father.
“You took my virginity, daddy," Kelly told him as she rubbed his shoulder.
“I know, honey. Did you like it?” He asked.
“After I got used to how big you were I did, daddy. I like the taste of your cum, daddy,” she told him, unabashed.
“Good, honey. I want to keep feeding it to you," he told her straight out.
“Ok, daddy. Whenever you want. Then will you fuck me after?” Kelly asked, anticipating the answer.
“Oh yes, angel. I want to fuck you any time we can. But your Mother..." he let the sentence trail off.
“We don't have to tell her, do we daddy?” This was more of a statement than a question.
“No, honey. This is just for us, so you can't tell anyone. Understand?” He asked her sternly.
“I won't tell anyone, daddy. Promise," Kelly replied with a smile.
“That's good, honey. Why don't you fix your bed and come downstairs. We can watch a movie and have some wine," he smiled lovingly to her.
“Maybe can we fuck again daddy? I won't scream this time. I promise," Kelly asked her father, hoping.
“Oh, I think we'll fuck again, honey. More than once. Would you like that?” He asked his daughter.
“Yes, daddy. As many times as we can. You can cum in my mouth, too," she told him.
“I will. As many times as I can," her father had a smile on his face that covered him ear to ear. “Get your room cleaned up and I'll see you downstairs. You don't need to put on any clothes.”
Kelly smiled as her father left the room and went downstairs.
“Did you see everything?” She asked the computer screen, putting her ear piece back into place.
A voice came back. “I saw everything, Elle. Everything. I recorded it,"
It was Janet. Kelly had never turned off her laptop at the foot of her bed or closed Skype. Janet saw, and heard, absolutely everything, in high definition.
“Good," Kelly smiled at her friend. “I need a new car."
They both broke out laughing.
###
THE END
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***************
Jane was screaming as her pussy began cumming, wave after wave. She could feel the multitude of eyes upon her and cared not. Her ecstasy was unprecedented.
Jane had married a pitiful, drunkard husband. But she knew she was a slut through and through, and needed excitement. That's when she heard about a taboo party of wealthy bachelors who would bid on women that fucked them best. Women from all over the land signed up to be cum toys for the night in hopes of marrying into society's elite.
Jane knew this was her chance for a new life, and would do anything to rid
e to the top, even if it meant riding on top of dozens of men in one night! Soon Jane catches the eye of the wealthiest man of the party. But before papers can be signed, he wants to fill her every hole with his creamy seed, on stage, in front of hundreds of hungry men.
***************
The third Earl of Sutton, Lord Edward Cross, awoke to a barrage of light from the enormous windows of his vast bed chamber. His man servant, Nigel, had drawn back the heavy, red velvet drapes that covered the windows, allowing the light from this fine June day to burst into the dark room. It was the third day of June, in the year of our Lord, 1781, and all was good for Lord Edward.
“A very fine day," thought Lord Edward.
Nigel opened the lower panes of the high, wide windows, letting the fresh English air flow into the room. Opulent was not a strong, nor a descriptive enough word to give to this bed chamber. The massive four post bed, with its soft, feather mattress, had been hand carved from old English oak and inlaid with gold and mother of pearl. It faced a hearth half the height of a man and twice as wide. The room had several elaborately carved chairs and tables, bottles of spirits with gold embossed glasses atop a handsome dresser and a writing desk taken from the “Palace of Versailles” itself.
The Earl of Sutton was one of the most wealthy men in England. The majority of his wealth had come through inheritance, but he was an extremely savvy businessman, making huge amounts of money from his ship travels to the New World; trading with the Colonies in America and with the natives of the West Indies. He traded iron and brass wares, cotton and other such fabrics for tobacco, coffee and cod from the Colonies and rum, molasses and breadfruit from the West Indies. His four ships made him a tidy sum annually. He wanted for nothing.
The slave trade was booming, but for Lord Edward, the expenses and efforts required did not reflect in the profits. He would have needed to refit his ship to carry human cargo. He knew that at least one-quarter of his cargo would perish during the voyage. He would need to feed them, both on and off the ships. He would require pens for the slaves, which meant purchasing a plot of land a suitable distance to market–an expensive item these days. He would require handlers, who would need to be paid. Wagons to carry the cargo to market. Such a large expense for a meager profit.
He never guessed when it came to making money, so, to be sure, he put pen to paper and figured profit from his current fleet versus a slave fleet. After a time he found his current ventures were far more profitable than the flesh trade would ever be. All thoughts of slaving left him, as he saw the numbers staring up at him from the paper. Profit drove every venture he entered into, and that would never stop.
“Will you take breakfast, My Lord?” asked his long time man servant.
“Tea and toast, if you please," the Earl responded as he stood tall, now off the bed.
“I have laid out your grays, Sir," said Nigel.
Nigel was referring to the suit of clothes, fresh and crisp, hanging on the rack in the bed chamber. Gray suit coat and pants, freshly pressed white shirt with a gray tie, socks with their garters and a set of under garments, also crisp and white. On a table next to the rack, placed neatly in the order the Earl demanded, were silver cuff links, a tie pin, a pocket watch and two neat stacks of shillings and copper pence, ten of each. The Earl's well worn wallet sat next to the jewelry and coins. It held two hundred pounds sterling in notes from fifty pounds to a single quid. This ritual reoccurred every morning, every day of the week.
Edward barely noticed. To him it was expected.
“I shall have the cook prepare your breakfast, My Lord," Nigel informed him.
Formality was always required. Lord Edward demanded it. Everyone in his house must know their station.
“I will be down presently," he didn't look at his manservant, he simply spoke in the direction he happened to be facing.
Nigel exited the room, stepping down the elegant circular staircase, with its Italian marble treads and polished maple railing. After passing through the salon and dining room he found himself in the vast kitchen, relaying the Earl's breakfast order to the cook.
Sutton House, the residence of the Earl, was an old monster of an estate. Thirty-four rooms of differing purpose spread across two floors. It required a staff of eleven to keep it running smoothly. All the staff lived in the residence, a dozen servant's quarters were laid out in their own wing of the home.
Lord Edward had never seen these rooms, not even as a child. It would be beneath him to even enter the wing.
This was the way of the world.
Edward had one brother, Robert. As second son Robert did not inherit upon his father's death. Rather, Edward provided for him. He had set his brother up in the shipping trade along side himself. He had given him enough coin for a stout ship, a crew and enough to fill the ship with trade goods bound for the America's or the West Indies. He was assured a profit. But rather than follow his brother into shipping, he had squandered his monies on gambling, strong drink and whores.
Robert now had a small farmstead just outside the city where he raised livestock. He was miserable, wishing only he could go back and follow another path. He was looked down upon by all but the lowliest peasant. His stick and board house, a mere shadow of Sutton House. His drinking became gossip, as he weaved his way home most nights. What extra coin there was he gambled away. His wife dressed in near rags.
Such was their life.
He had married a girl, more than twenty years his junior. Edward could see her in his mind's eye as if it were yesterday. She was a classic beauty, with a noble bearing. She was the only daughter of a small, but prosperous landowner. Not buxom, rather, she was of a slender frame, gold of hair with blue eyes. She stood straight, head back, ever confident. From first sight he had yearned for her. Her body, her eyes, the way she spoke. All were intoxicants to Edward. She had a presence to her, indeterminable.
On the day Robert married this girl, Jane Somerset, a name that never left his mind, he had, for the first time ever, envied his brother. He had not seen his brother since the wedding and had no wish to. Robert had shamed their father and the family name and continued to do so daily, just by his mere existence. What reason could he have to want to associate with a person such as this?
He saw Jane's image in his mind most every day. She was his siren. He had never stopped wanting her.
Edward had not married yet. He enjoyed the freedom to be with any woman he wished for a few coins. He visited the upper layer of brothels regularly. He could indulge his every fantasy there. In these places, a man's appetites were only limited by the coin in his purse.
**********
Lord Edward sat at the dining table. A scullery maid had brought him his breakfast while Nigel had placed a small stack of letters at his side. Edward knew most would be from his bank. Letters of deposit, letters of credit, statements of accounts and other such mundane correspondence. He moved the small pile of letters in front of him. One stood out from the rest.
The envelope was of a subtle, golden paper, flat with crisp edges. Reaching for the gold letter opener he deftly cut the flap, revealing the contents. It was a single card, proportioned to fit the envelope exactly. As he pulled it from its cover he could feel the smooth, almost silken quality of the velum. It was of the highest quality. He began to read the flawless writing placed upon it. It read:
“Lord Edward Cross, third Earl of Sutton and Master of Sutton House. Sir, you will consider this as your formal invitation to the fifty-seventh annual 'Parade of Masks'. Your attendance has been requested by his most noble Duke of Rochester, Lord Thomas Windsor, bound by blood to our King, His Majesty William III. The Parade will commence at the eleventh hour after the noon, the eleventh day of June, of this year, on the grounds of Windsor Mansion at Essex. You will attend unaccompanied,"
Below, he saw the unmistakable scratch of the Duke's signature. The Duke had written this with this own hand.
A smile spread across Edward's face. He had been expecting this
invitation. Under the table, he felt himself grow hard with visions of women's naked bodies, faces covered in the most exquisite masks, bound to all forms of posts and racks. He relished this occurrence every year.
**********
Three days a week the Earl traveled to his office in the city. A carriage ride, neither short nor long, brought him to the city.
In a large room above the Bank of England was his office. Stone walls surrounded the room, large, but not to enormity. Worn, wide wood planks lined both the floor and the ceiling. A door opened up to a private privy, gilded in gold.
The majority of the office was taken up by Edward's monolithic desk. It had been his father's, and his grand father's, before becoming his own. He loved this piece of carved iron wood. When he sat in the broad, comfortable chair behind it, with its padding and green velour, he could almost hear his father speaking to him.
Two chairs similar to his own, but more diminutive, faced him across the desk. On a sideboard under the only window in the room sat bottles of the finest spirits money could buy, including a bottle of green, almost luminescent liquid. Absinthe Berthelot. The Green Fairy.
Distilled from anise, wormwood and flowers it was a narcotic liquid. Taken in moderation, it made the worst of days disappear into a green haze. Abused, it brought death. Many a deal had been signed here after glasses of Absinthe, a sugar cube and water. The ritual method of drinking this liqueur added to the formality of a contract signing.
It was here the third Earl of Sutton managed both his ventures and his substantial fortune.
**********
Outside the city, in a stick and wood home, Jane cooked the morning porridge in a large black iron kettle, suspended over the fire in the hearth. Her life was a routine of labour after labour, nothing like the dreams she had when she married Robert Cross, Viscount of Sutton, heir to the Sutton fortune and brother to Lord Edward Cross, third Earl of Sutton. Only after the wedding did she come to realize that her most distinguished husband was a gambler and a souse without a fortune, in fact, with barely the means to purchase for them this farmstead. The animals greeted her with the smell of dung every morning.
Entire SMUT CATALOG: Volume 2 Page 10
