With that, I nudge against the dark orifice. It’s tight, and I can’t get my head squeezed in at first, so Jenny closes her eyes and takes a few big breaths.
“Try again,” she whispers. “I’m more relaxed now.”
Slowly, I increase the pressure against her darkness again and with a popping sound, it happens. My head burrows its way into her back channel, and then with a deep slide, I manage to get all ten inches up into her butt.
“Fuuuuck,” I grunt. “You’re such a butt slut, you know that? Taking Daddy’s dick in your bottom in one stroke.”
She’s pinned tight to the mattress, her eyes wide open with the taboo sensation.
“Oh Daddy,” she cries out. “Yes, it’s forbidden, but I love having Daddy’s dick in my bottom.”
With that, I do a few strokes, and then pull out wetly before burying myself in her pussy once more.
“But you know what, baby girl? I love rotating holes with you. I love how you make every orifice in this sweet body available to me, and I intend to use them all.”
With that, I pound heavily into her pussy before switching to her bottom again, and then switching back once more. The sensation is astonishing as both holes grip me tightly, and with one last powerful thrust, I let go.
“Fuuuuck!” Hot sperm jets into her anus, as Jenny soars over the cliff as well. Her legs stiffen and toes point, and then both her pussy and ass begin contracting convulsively.
“Unnh, Stone! Oh god! It feels so good. SO GOOD.”
She lets out a loud scream then, clamping and twitching with pleasure as I dump a giant load of spunk into her back channel. Then like a dirty girl, Jenny does something incredible. Once I’ve pulled out, she clambers up and peers at the wet spot of mixed sperm and pussy fluids on the coverlet, before bending her head to taste it.
“Yes,” she says in a sweet voice, lapping the moist pool. “It’s so good.”
I merely catch my breath, trying not to show my shock. Jenny is so dirty, and I love it all.
“You’re a taboo, filthy little girl, you know that?”
She laps at the wet spot some more before looking up at me with a coy expression.
“I know, but guess what?”
I’m still trying to catch my breath, but shit, my dick is getting hard just watching bent over like that.
“What?”
She smiles like a cat.
“Well, you’re going to have to share my holes going forward. At least one of them, that is, because I’m expecting, Stone. I’m going to have your baby, and he or she is going to come out of my tight twat, so you won’t be able to get up there for a while.”
I gasp. Jenny’s dirty talk is sometimes over the top, but right now is not the time to comment.
“Are you serious, honey? Are you really pregnant?”
She giggles.
“Well, yes. Didn’t you notice the weight gain? I’ve put on about twenty pounds.”
I shake my head, my eyes running over those luscious hills and valleys.
“I did notice, but I didn’t realize it was because of pregnancy. You look amazing, sweetheart. In fact, I wish you’d stay pregnant forever because you’re so ripe and fertile like this.”
She throws her head back and laughs.
“I can’t stay pregnant forever. The baby has to come out some time!”
I press my lips to hers in a rapturous kiss.
“Yes, I know, but I’d love to keep you pregnant for a good long while, if you’ll let me. Do you want that, Jenny? Would you bear my children? Would you be open to maybe four or five rugrats running around underfoot, with your blonde hair and my brown eyes?”
She inhales deeply, her big breasts rising, and I’m afraid she’s going to say no. But then the blonde smiles sweetly and nods.
“I’d love that, Stone,” she murmurs. “Nothing would make me happier.”
I laugh.
“I’m not sure you’ll be so amenable when you hear how many kids I want.”
She looks at me innocently.
“Didn’t you just say four or five?”
I wink at her.
“Yes, but if you’re okay with more, then I’d like to try for eight or nine. There’s nothing more gorgeous than the image of you, curvy and heavy while filled with my child, Jenny. I’d love to keep you that way.”
She’s just about to say something sassy when suddenly, there’s the snick of a key in the front door, and we hear the unmistakable squeak as the wooden slab swings open. Immediately, my senses go on high alert. Holy shit. There’s a burglar in Jericho, and we’re being burgled at this very moment. He must not have seen the bedroom lights in back, and in a flash, I’m up and out of bed, charging to the front of the cabin with a baseball bat in hand. What I’m going to do, I’m not sure. I’m stark naked, and my body’s still high on love and lust, but no man is going to threaten my woman if I can help it.
I charge into the living room, brandishing the bat. Jenny follows me, the sheet clasped to her curvy form with wide, frightened blue eyes following in my wake. But then we both skid to a halt, our mouths dropping open. Because who stands there but my long-lost wife Margaret, looking calm and put-together with not a feather out of place.
“Margaret?” I manage in a choked voice. “Is that you?”
She smiles.
“Sure is, cowboy. Aren’t you going to say, “Welcome Home?” Or are you otherwise engaged?” she asks with a cocked eyebrow at the flushed and sensuous Jenny trembling behind me.
Suddenly, realization comes crashing down like a bucket of bricks. This is my wife standing before me, and while I love Jenny, I’m technically still married to Margaret. What do I do?
* * *
To be continued …
My Best Friend’s Husband is LIVE! Get your copy here.
Sneak Peek: My Neighbor’s Husband
My gorgeous neighbor is a married man, but I when I catch him with his pants down around his ankles, everything changes.
* * *
I walk Buster down the path, and my dog yips and yaps at every single squirrel.
“Down Buster!” I command futilely. “Down, down!”
Of course, he doesn’t answer. My friendly golden retriever turns his head to smile at me and then wags his tail so hard that I swear he’s going to knock me over as it bangs against my calves.
“Buster, noooo!” I cry out as he lunges for another gray squirrel. This squirrel is smart though. He scampers to a tree, and then stops and literally taunts my dog while sniffing at an acorn. The squirrel’s little ears twitch and his nose seems to wrinkle while those black beady eyes stare at my dog. Of course, Buster goes wild. He barks, jumps and yips while straining at his leash. But the squirrel is just out of his ambit and I won’t let my dog get any closer.
You see, Buster is smart but he’s not that smart. I thought golden retrievers were supposed to be the geniuses of the dog world, but when I picked up Buster from the kennel, I could already tell that this puppy was no Einstein. He tried to eat my shoelaces, and when those proved difficult, he moved on to the rug in my car and then the silver canteen that I use to hold water. Yes, my canteen. It’s made of aluminum and as hard as nuts, but Buster the puppy took a try at gnawing it and now the canteen has his teeth marks permanently etched into the surface.
But I love my dog because my life is honestly pretty boring. I’m Margot Morgan, age twenty-five, and I work a boring job at Pretty Pink Nail Salon. Yes, I’m a nail tech and I know what you’re thinking. Why did I spend four years and countless thousands of dollars on college if all I’m doing now is polishing rich ladies’ nails?
The answer is because Pretty Pink Nail Salon is more than just your average salon. Pretty Pink specializes in nail art, including gels, tie-dye effects, glitter, sparkles, and my favorite, diamante rhinestones. It sounds crazy, but my favorite design ever was a Disney-themed Nemo pattern that I did for a fashionable socialite in her twenties. She thought it was crazy when I suggested the aquatic them
e, but after her nails were done, she Instagrammed them instantly and got tons of likes.
As a result, I consider myself an artist of sorts. Maybe not a high-end artist like Picasso or Georgia O’Keefe, but still an artist in my own way. I like crafting beautiful nails, and it feels nice when one of my customers walks out of the salon refreshed, relaxed, and feeling confident in herself.
Even more, I like the money I make. Pretty Pink customers pay top dollar for my work, and I get lots of cash tips. Plus, my designs last three weeks tops, so clients have to come in on a periodic basis to get their nails re-done. After five years at this, I have a steady stream of regulars who walk through the door requesting my services.
But yeah, that still leaves the problem of my student loans. Even with my generous salary, I’m still struggling under the weight of tens of thousands of dollars. It’s a long story. Unfortunately, at eighteen, I wasn’t smart enough to go to my local state school with its crazy cheap prices. Instead, I enrolled at Wesleyan Kenyon, a small private school nearby that charges an arm and a leg for tuition. Like most students, I figured that my student loans would become a problem for “future me.” Well, guess what? Now Future Margot is here and it’s tough. I’m able to make a partial payment every month, but my understanding is that I’m only paying down the interest on the loan. I haven’t made a dent in the principal at all. Plus, after five years of writing monthly checks, it seems like my burden has only grown, if you can believe it. When I graduated, I owed thirty thousand to the student loan gods, but now it seems I owe forty thousand. How is that even possible?
I shake my head, completely confounded. It seems crazy that I’m working at a nail salon making good money, and still unable to afford an adult lifestyle. By that, I mean a car that doesn’t break down every other month, the option of buying fresh groceries and not just canned food, and the ability to afford movies at the theater once in a while instead of binging on Netflix because it’s cheap.
Even more, I’ve been doing something that I’m a little bit ashamed of. Sometimes when I’m really hungry, I go onto one of the dating websites and check my profile. I’m not active on these sites, but I keep a photo and a bio up just in case Mr. Right is out there. I scan through my Inbox as my stomach growls and sometimes, I pick a man to have dinner with. Isn’t that so awful? Honestly though, hunger can make you do anything and sometimes, I just need a square meal. On certain nights, a frozen burrito isn’t enough anymore, and I need someone else to pay for the calories I’m lacking. It’s a terrible use of these dating websites, but again, hunger will make you do anything.
Needless to say, my real dating life is non-existent. I work six days at the salon, and the seventh, I’m home binge-watching TV and subsisting on frozen bean and cheese burritos. Plus, my seventh day at home usually isn’t a Saturday or a Sunday. Usually, it’s Tuesdays because weekends at Pretty Pink are busy times, and I get some of my best tips then. Who’s home on a Tuesday to hang out? No one, and as a result, I haven’t been out on a date in months.
So here I am on a Tuesday, taking my dog for a walk. It’s a gorgeous, sunny day and the warm breeze wafts on my bare shoulders. I’m wearing a tank top but then curse myself. I forgot to apply sunscreen before coming out, and by the time I get back, I’ll probably be as pink as a baby’s butt with the beginnings of a burn. Oh well. At least I’ll have gotten some exercise, which I don’t do enough of as is.
We’re ambling along the concrete sidewalk past manicured lawns and the neat, square houses that populate my neighborhood when suddenly, a noise startles me. I look around. Where did it come from? The source isn’t obvious and everything looks the same as usual. I don’t live in a rich area, so the homes are modest. They’re mostly one-story affairs, with bright white shutters, box hedges, and a front porch decorated with potted plants. I don’t know my neighbors well, but we do our best to make the neighborhood presentable.
But then there’s that sound again. I stop to listen and realize that we’re coming upon a cheery yellow house with begonias out front and a smart silver BMW parked in the driveway. Ah, it’s the Joneses. Mr. and Mrs. Jones are a childless couple in their thirties who just moved in last month. I haven’t gotten a chance to talk with them yet, but they seem pretty normal. Amelia Jones is a slim blonde who’s a professor at a nearby community college, and Dane Jones works in real estate. I don’t know what he does exactly, but I heard he’s in business for himself.
Even more, Dane Jones is hot. I’ve seen him from afar while watering my lawn, and he’s absolutely gorgeous. That one time I saw him, he was out doing some yardwork with his shirt off, and I couldn’t help but stare at those huge, rippling bronzed muscles, as well as his six pack abs and wide shoulders. He has thick black hair that was soaked with sweat on the day that I saw him, and his jeans fit him snugly, emphasizing that huge package beneath.
Oh my god, I shouldn’t be thinking like this. He’s a married man, for crying out loud! How can I be envisioning his package when his wife is the only one with dibs on that? Yet, it must have been the fact that I haven’t been out on a real date in a long time because I couldn’t help but stare at Dane Jones’s jeans. His rod was so long and huge that it literally reached down his pant leg and almost touched his knee. I gasped, squinting in the bright sunlight. Was this guy for real? Was it even physically possible?
Good thing he didn’t notice me because the handsome man kept mowing his lawn, raising a ruckus with that giant mower. Grass clippings flew everywhere, and that bronzed body continued to pour sweat. God, I’d love to lick him all over, before unbuttoning his jeans and revealing his huge monster. Then I’d like to lick that as well, even if he’s definitely off-limits.
But ever since seeing him mow the lawn that day, I haven’t seen much of the Joneses since. I’ll see Mrs. Jones pull up in her silver BMW and then get out to go into the house, or I’ll see Mr. Jones’s big truck parked out front. Sometimes I’ll observe both husband and wife come out of the house to go grocery shopping, or occasionally they’ll have evening cocktails on their porch. But otherwise, I have no idea what they’re up to. Maybe I’ll talk to them at our upcoming neighborhood block party and learn more. I hope I don’t come off as too interested when I do because that would be embarrassing.
As I walk past the yellow house, I see that the silver BMW is in the driveway. Interesting. So Mrs. Jones isn’t at the university today, although I suppose that’s completely possible. Professors don’t teach every day, so she probably doesn’t have to be on campus unless she has a class to teach or a meeting of some sort.
But then, the noise comes again and this time it’s more clear. It’s more of an unnnnh, followed by some swift pants and then a slapping sound. What the hell? What’s going on?
Like Nancy Drew, I decide to investigate. Slowly, I pull Buster over to a tree and tie his leash around the trunk. He looks at me with a big smile, his tongue out and his tail wagging.
“Shhh. Be good okay?” I say, putting my finger over my lips.
My dog practically understands. He bobs his head and wags some more, even while drool falls from the corner of his mouth. Good. Hopefully, Buster won’t give me away.
Leaving my dog, I decide to skulk around the yellow house to the back. Since it’s broad daylight, I try to act like I know what I’m doing, as if I’m a friend of the Joneses. With a toss of my hair and a carefree saunter, I make my way to the paved stones that lead to their backyard gate, and then pull down on the string so that the wooden door opens. Perfect. No problems so far.
Inside is a narrow cement walkway with garbage cans to the left. Eeew, gross. But then the noise comes again, another long unnnnnh, and I scurry forwards, as quietly as possible.
Their garden is beautiful. It’s small but there’s an emerald square of manicured lawn in the center with a fountain of a little boy playing a flute, with one leg up while dancing a jig. It’s also a little weird because he’s pissing at the same time, and the stream of water coming out from his undersi
zed-tool splashes into the fountain basin merrily. How strange. I didn’t know that people played the flute while they relieved their bladders, but maybe this is just the sculptor’s artistry expressing itself.
I skulk around the back of the house, making sure to stay low in case anyone’s watching. The noise comes again, and I tiptoe to the back as it gets louder and louder. What is going on? Where is it coming from?
Ducking, I creep around to the back where their master bedroom must be. Then slowly, I raise my head above the edge of a window sill and peer into the bedroom. The sight I see takes my breath away because it’s Mr. and Mrs. Jones going at it like crazed people. He’s not just banging her … he’s banging her.
She’s currently doing a headstand on the floor with her back braced against the side of the bed. But instead of having her legs straight and together, pointed to the ceiling, they’re split wide so that I can see her gaping twat. Her blonde hair is covering her face, but I can hear the moans emanating from her throat. Oh wow, she’s getting pounded and she clearly loves it.
Because at the moment, Mr. Jones is standing behind her, and he’s completely nude. That muscular form gleams with sweat and I can literally count each of his abs as I stand there, gaping while peering into the bedroom window. Not only that, but his enormous cock is out and as I watch, he slowly slides it into Mrs. Jones’s pussy from above. That’s right. She’s upside down, doing a head stand with her legs split while he crouches above her and dips his pole into her folds.
“Ooooh, Dane!” she squeals. “Yes, just like that!”
He growls and his blue eyes gleam.
“You like it in your kitty, Amelia? Is this what you’ve been craving?”
“Yes, yes!” she pants, her words muffled as her swollen folds stretch around his length. “Ooh, it feels so good!”
Dane’s expression grows even more taut, and he pushes that length deep inside her depths, the thick rod disappearing inch by inch as I watch with my mouth open. Holy cow, how is it even possible? He must be ten inches at least, and yet as I watch, his wife takes it all. She wriggles a bit, as if in discomfort, but there’s no way she’s going anywhere. She’s in a headstand, for crying out loud, so she’s stuck good and tight on that massive rod.
My Brother's Teammates Page 8
