by Kitt, Selena
“Yes,” he whispered, voice hoarse, expression pained as he watched her start touching herself again.
“Show me.” She guided his head toward her navel with her other hand, pressing it down, down. “Please. Oh please,” she begged. “Show me how good it feels.”
He groaned and—finally—finally gave in, grabbing her around the hips and lifting her so her bottom rested on the edge of the sink. He peeled his shirt off, sitting where she had been seconds before, perched on the toilet, and spread her slender thighs with his palms.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, starting at her knee and kissing his way upward. “Seeing you sleeping there today, I wanted you so much.”
She brightened. “You did?”
“I wanted to take you right then and there,” he confessed, rubbing his stubbled cheeks against her thigh, making her shiver.
“Oh, Grover.”
He groaned as he neared her pussy, inhaling her scent. “I have to taste you.”
“Yes.” She ran a hand through his hair, pulling him close, anticipating the sensation, thighs trembling. “Please.”
He parted her already-swollen pussy lips with his tongue and she looked down, watching more and more pink appear between the soft, golden curls of her pubic hair as he worked his tongue up and down her slit. He explored her slowly, making her moan in frustration. It was nice—very nice—but her clit throbbed, aching to be stimulated.
“Oh god your pussy is so fucking sweet,” he moaned, shifting his gaze upward, meeting her eyes as he fastened his lips over her, focusing just where she wanted him.
“Ooooooo my!” She squealed and giggled and then a heat began to spread through her pelvis as he licked, licked, licked, his tongue flat and soft and utterly delightful.
He paused to ask, “Do you like that?”
“Yes!” She urged, shifting her hips forward, wanting more of his mouth. “Oh yes, lick it, please! Do it like that!”
He groaned, parting her with his fingers and flicking at her clit lightly with his tongue. “You make me so fucking hard.”
“Show me,” she begged, reaching for him, but he was too far. He sat back, undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans, shoving the denim down far enough to release his cock from his boxers. It was just as gorgeous as she had remembered.
“Oh yes,” she whispered eagerly, watching his fist move up and down the length. “Stroke it for me like you do outside in the shower.”
“Clara!” His eyes widened in surprised.
“I saw you jerking it for me,” she confessed, putting her feet up on the counter and touching herself, unable to take her gaze off his crotch. “I heard you call my name.”
“Oh Jesus.” Grover reddened, but he couldn’t seem to take his gaze off her crotch either.
“I touched myself afterward, remembering,” she confessed further, rubbing her clit in circles. Oh it felt so good, but it was nothing compared to the softness of his tongue! “It made me so hot.”
“Fuck,” he swore, his hand shuttling up and down the length of his cock faster now. “I want you.”
Clara let her thighs fall fully open, spreading her pussy lips wide. “Then shut up and make me come.”
He groaned and dove in, licking furiously at her little clit, and she thought she might die from pleasure. Her body reacted without any warning, shuddering and trembling, every muscle taut and growing tighter by the moment, with every pass of his glorious tongue.
“Oh! Oh!” she cried, lifting her hips off the sink edge to meet his mouth, far up into the air. Grover grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her hips and throwing her legs over his shoulders so he could bury his face against her flesh, and he stood with her like that, surprising her so much she squealed like a little piglet.
He didn’t say a word—he couldn’t—but he didn’t stop, mouth fastened tight, airless, over her pussy, his tongue lightning fast, driving her toward climax. She glanced into the bathroom mirror and saw he was holding her up with one arm. His other hand moved between his legs, jerking his cock in the same rhythm. His jeans and boxers were in a ball on the floor.
“Yes!” Clara grabbed onto his head, rocking on his shoulders, feeling her orgasm hovering, and worked for it. “Now! Now!”
She came with a force that shook them both, and Grover had to grab her around her hips with both arms then, steadying her against the wall as he mashed his face against her pussy. Clara shuddered, throwing her head back, and gave him everything, everything she had, everything she was, her pussy clamping down so hard she imagined if his cock had been inside her at that moment, she just might have snapped it in half.
“Oh god,” she whispered as he let her slide slowly down the wall into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling the hard steel of his erection trapped between them.
“I want to be inside you.” That was all he needed to say. His mouth captured hers and they kissed for the first time. Clara moaned into his mouth, sucking the taste of her pussy off his tongue as he carried her across the hall, kicking open the door to his bedroom. He put her down on the bed, the same bed he’d shared with her mother, but neither of them remembered or cared.
“Wait,” Clara murmured as Grover poised himself above her. “Let me taste you first.”
He groaned. “Not for long. I can’t stand it.”
That just made her want him more. She rolled on top of him, sliding down the bed to kneel between his legs. His cock stood straight up, leaking pre-cum profusely, and she looked up at him as she touched her tongue to the tip, saw the darkening look of lust in his eyes. Slowly she curled her tongue around the head of his cock, savoring the slippery feel, the peppery taste of his pre-cum, before taking him fully into her mouth.
“Oh god, Clara.” He slipped a hand through her hair, watching her suck him. She was so desperate for him, a greedy little thing, suckling like the hungry calf they’d watched nurse for the first time that morning. Grover groaned, biting his lip and closing his eyes as she gave him a very wet, sloppy, exquisite blowjob, her lust matched only by his.
“I want you,” she paused to whisper, rubbing his cock against her lips, her tongue, her cheek. “I want you inside of me. Please. Fuck me, Grover.”
“Come here.” He reached for her and she went, melting into his arms, their kiss wet and heated, tongues and legs twining as they rolled together on the bed. He shifted her onto her back, parting her thighs with his, his cock pressed hard against her aching mound.
“Please,” she whispered, reaching down for him, but he caught her hand.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life,” she breathed. “Fuck me. Do it. Ohhh god yessss!”
He slid inside, her pussy already wet and ready for him, and she felt his whole body tighten, heard his sharp intake of breath.
“Okay?” she whispered, nuzzling his neck.
“Yeah.” He nodded against her shoulder, taking a deep breath. “You’re just… so… fucking tight… it feels… ahhhh… so good…”
He began to draw back slowly and he gasped again, propping himself up on his arms to look down at her, drinking in the sight with his eyes. She saw him drowning in it, felt the swell of his throbbing cock inside of her.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, touching his cheek. “This part doesn’t feel good for me anyway. You can come inside of me any time you want. I just like feeling you.”
He smiled, easing back in again, nice and slow. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be. It should feel good for both of us. Do you like that? Feeling filled?”
“Yes!” She gasped as he pressed in deeper, as deep as he could go.
“Touch yourself,” he told her, staying just like that, propped above her, and she looked down to where they were joined, the sight of him inside of her making her dizzy. “Do it, Clara. Rub your little pussy for me.”
She whimpered, but his urging was too much to resist. She slid her hand down and began to ci
rcle her clit with her fingers just like she’d done earlier in the shower, fantasizing about this very thing. Grover watched, his cock throbbing, swollen, moving just slightly inside of her, almost imperceptible.
“Good girl,” he murmured and she moaned when he bent to capture her nipple between his lips, sending bright hot flashes of pleasure between her legs. He suckled gently, first one, then the other, the feeling of being filled by him so incredible, she thought she might burst.
But she wanted more.
“Please,” she begged, her hips moving up, pelvis meeting his. “Please fuck me. Please. I want you.”
“Rub yourself faster,” he whispered, rocking and rolling his hips, teasing her from the inside out. He began to really fuck her and Clara cried out happily at the sensation, thrusting back up to meet him. Her pussy felt hot and swollen, so very full, and her clit ached.
“It feels good,” she gasped, feeling a familiar tightness growing in her lower belly, something coiled, waiting to be unsprung. “Oh yes, you feel so fucking good.”
“That’s it,” he panted, fucking her harder, faster, giving her more and more of just what she wanted—what she needed. “Do it for me, sweetheart. Come all over my hard cock!”
That was all the prompting she needed. Clara let her orgasm take her as her stepfather pounded his cock deep into her pussy, driving her pelvis into the bed again and again. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, lost in her own pleasure, but not so far gone she couldn’t register his climax.
Grover groaned and thrust deep, his belly slapping one final time against her own as he came, filling her with his cum. The moment was so overwhelmingly sweet, Clara felt like crying as he slid out of her and she cradled his head against her breasts. There were no words for a long time as, outside, the sun melted over the horizon in a fiery display of orange and red, fading into deep blues and pinks.
Then they both heard Harold bleating.
Clara frowned, looking at Grover. The sound was very close. “Is the window open?”
“No.” Her stepfather looked up as the little goat head-butted and bleated his way into the room. “The front door is though.”
“Harold! Bad, Harold!” The goat had her remains of her muddy shirt in its mouth. She looked at Grover and they both burst out laughing.
“I love you,” Grover whispered into Clara’s ear, still chuckling, ignoring Harold’s head butts against the side of the bed.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, unable to stop the tears stinging her eyes. “I never did thank you.”
He lifted his head, propped up on his elbow, looking down at her quizzically. “For what?”
“Letting me stay.”
“Oh Clara.” He lowered his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “I wanted you to stay. I want you to stay forever.”
She brightened. “You mean it?”
“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”
Harold settled himself on the floor, chewing happily on the edge of the bedspread while his master and mistress continued to do what came natural and this time it turned out exactly as Clara had always hoped.
Becca (Daddy’s Favorites)
She was dreaming about him.
She knew it was awful. Twisted. Perverted. Even sick. It was so very wrong, on so many levels. But she couldn’t control her unconscious, could she? And maybe that was the scariest thing of all.
In her dream, he touched her. Her mother was there for once, sitting in the living room on her laptop, smoking Pall Malls and swearing under her breath. She and Duncan were at the kitchen table, in full view, sorting slate from quartz from limestone from slag.
“Look, a Petoskey stone!” In her dream, she held it up, amazed. They were a rare find—both a rock and a fossil, the result of millions of years of glacial grinding and found only in Northern Michigan—and Duncan was just as thrilled as she was.
“Wow!” He admired her find, his eyes behind his glasses bright with excitement. And that’s when she felt his hand on her knee under the table. The sensation was unmistakable, his palm warm, rubbing gently.
She swallowed and her dream-eyes met his. He’d never looked at her that way. She’d seen him admire other women like that, including her mother, at least way back when they were first married. And the other day, he’d been shocked into commenting about the new girl, who liked to wear short-short skirts and shirts that didn’t quite cover her navel. But he’d never turned to Becca with that look of lust in his eyes before.
His hand moved ever so slowly up her thigh, massaging. In her dream, she was wearing jean cut-offs, like she always did as much of the year she could get away with, and by the time his hand reached the seam of her shorts, she was so wet she was almost ready to come. And all the while, they both pretended nothing was going on, nothing at all. But she was imagining how hard his cock must be, and her pussy ached for release.
In her sleep, she whimpered, and she heard him say her name, a whisper so her mother wouldn’t hear, his mouth close to her ear, and then she was coming, her orgasm a shameful, shuddering relief.
“Becca…”
She awoke slowly, still trembling with her climax, her own hand scissored between her thighs under the covers, feeling Duncan’s presence beside her, his weight settled on the edge of her bed. Twisting toward him, she whimpered, unsure if she was awake or still dreaming until he spoke again.
“Becca, it’s time. Are you ready?”
“Mmm,” was all the answer she could manage, still too breathless to speak. Waking to find her stepfather in her bed after that dream was too surreal for words.
“Come on, sleepyhead.” He brushed the hair away from her face in the dim light, and she saw through her window, just over his shoulder, that it was still dark. “The catfish are jumpin’.”
“Comin’,” she mumbled, flushing at her choice of words, glad for the darkness. “I’ll meet you in the truck.”
She got dressed in the dark, being quiet out of habit, even though her mother wasn’t home. She’d left on another business trip last week, after being back for just three days, this time to some place in Europe. She’d called last night for her weekly check-in, informing them both that she wouldn’t be in the United States again for another month. The plant she was setting up in Italy was going to take longer than they expected.
Of course, Becca was used to her being gone. Her mother hired nannies to stay with her when Becca was little, but now she had Duncan. And Becca and Duncan had fallen into their own routine over the past two years, one more the norm than the times when her mother was actually home. She wondered sometimes if Duncan knew what he’d been signing up for when he married one of the most successful businesswomen in the country, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was busy enough with his own business, building websites and developing Apps.
Duncan had the truck running and the heater on—there was a little nip in the air—and their poles and tackle boxes were in the back. The drive to the lake was quiet and quick. Becca shivered and Duncan turned the heater up even more, but she wasn’t cold. It was an involuntary response. Her body just did things around him, without consulting her.
He parked and they moved like synchronized dancers, they’d done this so often, putting their poles and tackle into the boat, pushing it away from the dock, and hopping in barefoot, their shoes already in the boat. He grabbed one oar, she grabbed the other, and they began to row. The water was still and calm, like dusky, smoked glass.
They maneuvered the boat together into the current and Duncan slowly let down the anchor before they began baiting their hooks and tossing their lines. They each had two poles—double the chance for a whitefish dinner that night. She glanced over at him, wondering just how to ask him what she’d been so preoccupied with for the past week.
“You’re quiet this morning,” he remarked, as if reading her mind. He was still piercing his hook with one the night crawlers they kept in a cooler at their feet.
She anchored her pole, snapp
ing it in place. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
She sat back in the boat, cross-legged and put her chin in her hand. “You know the new girl I pointed out to you?”
Duncan snorted, tossing out his line. “You didn’t have to point her out. I imagine she gets a lot of attention.”
“You can say that again.” Becca sighed. “All the boys are after her.”
“I bet they are.”
“Is that really all a girl has to do to get a boy’s attention?” Becca asked. “Wear short skirts and tight shirts?”
Duncan sighed, snapping his own rod and reel into place. “I suppose most boys would notice a girl like that.”
“You sure did,” Becca snapped, realizing how that sounded the moment it came out of her mouth.
“Well… I’m only human.” Her stepfather smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. He was very handsome, even with the John-Lennon-like spectacles that made him look a little too studious, with wavy dark hair and the most interesting gray eyes. They reminded her of the lake— reflective, expansive, wide-open and deep. “But just because they notice her, doesn’t mean they really like her or respect her.”
Becca laughed. “I don’t think girls like Jessica want respect.”
“That’s probably true,” her stepfather agreed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of gum. It was always the same—Dentyne Cinnamon Ice—and sometimes she dreamed about the smell of it. He offered her a piece, just like always, and she took it, tucking the wrapper into her pocket and the gum in her mouth.
“I wish boys looked at me that way,” she said, watching the line of orange growing along the horizon as the taste of cinnamon exploded in her mouth.
Duncan frowned and shook his head, snapping his gum. “No you don’t.”
“Yes I do,” she insisted, remembering how Jessica had flounced through the halls, her long tanned legs looking even longer in impossibly high heels, her skirt so short it barely covered the curve of her ass. Her t-shirt was white with some logo on the front, but she’d been braless underneath, her dark nipples clearly visible. Even the principal, who had given her a warning about her attire, but who hadn’t sent her home, had stared unabashedly at the way her nipples poked against her shirt. “Just once I’d like to turn heads like that.”
