by Danielle Lux
“I hate to tell you, Pipps, I said grinning, “but that's not gonna help. I came right onto your cervix. The damage is done.”
“Then you need to get me the morning after pill!” Pippa screamed at me. “Or I'll tell Mom!”
“You really think she'll believe you?
“I'll get a DNA test!”
“And who’s gonna pay for that?”
Her face fell. Then she started to cry.
“Why are you doing this, Bob?” she sobbed.
“Because, brat, you need to learn that actions have consequences.”
I grinned.
“Anyway, how come you're not calling me Daddy anymore? I liked that.”
“Fuck you!” she said, running out of the room in tears.
I found out later that Pippa tried in vain to convince her friends to lend her the money for the morning after pill, but they were all either too broke or had fallen out with her.
She was so desperate that—and this is hilarious—she asked her boyfriend for the money, telling him everything. Of course, he dumped her on the spot.
Finally, when her bump started to show, Pippa had no choice but to tell her mom she was pregnant. Obviously Alice flipped out, but it looked for one horrible moment like she was going to forgive her daughter, and let her keep living with us.
But then Pippa—in true Pippa fashion—shot herself in the foot.
“Bob’s the father!” she told her mom. “He took advantage of me!”
“What?” said Alice, horrified. “That's—tell me that's not true, Bob!”
“It's not true,” I told her, looking Pippa right in the eye. “I don't know where she comes up with these disgusting stories.”
“It's true, Mom, I swear!” Pippa said, in tears.
“I want you out of my house,” said Alice, “I want you to leave and never come back!”
And she never did. I heard a few months later that Pippa found some chump boyfriend and moved in with him. After the baby was born I hired a private investigator to follow them, to make sure he wasn't mistreating my kid. Apparently the boyfriend was a nice guy through and through, and treated the baby like it was his own.
Life with Alice was plain sailing after that. We could enjoy proper, adult conversation without a brat in the way. And when Alice went away to visit friends or go to conferences, I could invite sluts round without fear of her finding out.
A year later, on the anniversary of impregnating Pippa, I sat in the swivel chair in my office, looking out at the city as my Chinese secretary sucked my cock. As I came, filling her mouth with my seed, I realised that now—finally—my life really was perfect.
THE END
The Young Stud from the Bar
“And then he fucked me in the disabled toilet,” said Katie drunkenly, taking another gulp from her vodka and coke. “His dick was huuuuuge—like a fucking beer can!”
The other girls laughed. I smiled, trying my best to seem as hip and carefree as they were.
I was on a night out with the girls from work, and I felt old.
They say forty is still young these days, but trust me—when you're a forty-three-year-old mother on a night out with twenty year olds, you feel pretty ancient.
“What about you, Anna?” Katie said, turning to me, “When’s the last time you had really crazy sex?”
“Have you ever cheated on your husband?” Pippa, the youngest of the girls, asked. She was only eighteen—just two years older than my son—and from the tales I’d heard around the office, she’d had far more sexual experience than I’d ever had, even though she was half my age.
“No,” I said simply, “David and I are very happy together.”
“What about the crazy sex?” Katie asked again. “Do you guys work your way through the Karma Sutra? Isn't that what old people do?”
Old people.
“We… we have a good sex life. Let’s leave it at that.”
Katie smiled politely, but I could tell what she really thought: boring old woman.
It was a lie, anyway: David and I hadn't had sex in months. Our once passionate relationship had been eroded by the joint pressures of kids and work. When we were younger we hadn't been able to keep our hands off each other, but these days sex seemed like a chore—something that had to be done to keep the marriage going, rather than something that was actually enjoyable.
The last time we’d tried to make love, two months ago whilst we were staying at a hotel for a wedding, David hadn't been able to get it up. He apologised and blamed the alcohol, but for me his failed erection was a symbol of what our marriage had become: limp and useless.
“So I had his cock in my mouth,” Pippa was saying, “and he was still speaking to his wife on the phone. ‘Yep, ok darling, that’s true darling’, and the poor bitch had no idea!”
The girls fell about in hysterics.
“When he came, he was talking to her about what shade of white to paint their bedroom!”
“Ok, who wants tequila!”
Rachel, another of the work girls, came over with a tray of shot glasses.
The girls all took one, as well as a piece of lemon each. There was a salt shaker on the tray as well - I had no idea what for.
I'd been working with the girls for just under a year now. They were all lovely, but I just felt so out of place, especially when they talked about their exciting sex lives.
After spending my twenties and thirties raising kids and working part time jobs, when I was forty I finally decided to go back to college. David, my husband, had supported my decision, but I could tell he wasn't keen on the idea. As a low-paid worker himself, I think he saw it as a bit emasculating to have a wife earning more than him. Working at the agency with the girls, I was now earning over twice his salary.
“Come on, Anna, take a shot!” Rachel said.
“No, I'm ok. I don't want to get too drunk.”
“Come on, just the one!”
“Come on Anna!” Pippa joined in.
The other girls joined in, until all six of them were chanting, “Shot! Shot! Shot!”
I finally relented, and Rachel showed me how to drink tequila: she poured salt on the back of my hand, which I had to lick off, then I downed the shot—which was so horrible it almost made me throw up - and finally I sucked on the lemon.
The girls all cheered.
Five shots later, my inhibitions had gone out of the window and I was up with the girls on the dancefloor, shaking my ass along with the rest of them.
Later in the evening we ended up in a booth with a group of boys, who couldn't have been much older than twenty. Apparently some of the girls had gone to high school with them. The boys were confident as hell, and kept buying pitcher after pitcher of beer for us all.
All of the girls gradually paired off with the guys. Pippa had her tongue down some hunk’s throat, and was feeling his crotch without a care in the world. Watching the two of them, I couldn't help but be jealous—and a little turned on. When was the last time David had kissed me like that? I couldn't even remember.
I noticed that on the other side of Rachel and a black guy—who were also kissing—was one lone boy. I say boy, but, truth be told, he looked more like a man. He was tall and well-built, with long black hair and stubble on his cheeks. He was stunningly attractive, but the most amazing thing about him was his eyes, which were emerald green.
He saw me staring and smiled.
“Hey,” he said, “looks like we’re the last ones left.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling back at him. “You ought to go off and find yourself a nice girl. I'm sure you wouldn't have any trouble.”
The boy grinned. My god, he was gorgeous.
“Actually, I'm not really into girls. I prefer women.”
I blushed. Then I felt embarrassed for blushing and that made me blush even more!
Was this young stud really flirting with me?
The boy pushed past Rachel and the black guy and sat next to me in the booth.
“Sorry, married,” I told him, showing him my ring.
He just smiled.
“I'm Simon,” he said, holding out a hand. I shook it.
“Anna.”
“Pleased to meet you Anna.”
And then we started to talk. I don't know if it was the booze or the fact that I hadn't had a proper talk with a man in ages, but Simon was so easy to talk to. I told him all about my life—from going back to college to my insecurities about working with a bunch of twenty year olds.
We talked for what seemed like hours. Simon was a great listener, it was like talking to a therapist. I even ended up telling him about the problems David and I were having, which was something I'd never revealed to anyone else.
“If your husband doesn't find you attractive anymore, he's a moron,” said Simon. “You're the most beautiful woman in here.”
“Ha!” I said, “Now I know you're bullshitting me. I'm an old hag compared to all these twenty-somethings with their tiny waists and short skirts.”
“They're just little girls,” said Simon. “They’ve got nothing on a real woman like you.”
I blushed. I knew Simon was just being nice, but I was pathetically grateful.
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I took it out, in case it was a message from David, but it was only a spam text. But then—holy shit!—I saw what the time was. One in the morning! I'd promised David that I'd be home by midnight.
“I have to go,” I said to Simon.
“I was going to leave in a second anyway,” he said. “Do you want a lift?”
All that time talking to Simon, I hadn't realised he was completely sober. Apparently he was supposed to be the designated driver for his friends that night, but they’d decided they wanted to go on to an all-night club, so they were going to get a taxi back instead.
As we walked to his car, I was amazed at how tall Simon was—I guessed he must be at least six-three. My head was still buzzing from all the tequila, so Simon drove nice and slow.
Finally he pulled up outside my house.
“Well, here you are,” he said. “I hope you had a good night.”
“I did,” I said. I looked up into his gorgeous face, into those incredible green eyes, and it took all the drunken willpower I had not to kiss him.
“And if that husband of yours doesn't start appreciating you, I'll come round and sort him out!”
We both laughed.
“Thank you, Simon,” I said, and leant in to kiss him on the cheek. But Simon moved his head, and our lips met instead.
That was all it took. All thoughts of guilt and David left my head: there was only Simon.
Our lips parted and our tongues met. Simon kissed me with wild abandon, his tongue wrestling with mine in our mouths.
Simon lifted my t-shirt up with his huge hands, revealing my cleavage. I was thankful I'd worn a nice white bra tonight, not one of my old tatty ones.
He grabbed one of my breasts and squeezed it through the bra cup as we kissed. Then he moved another hand down to my belt, and slipped a hand inside the front of my jeans.
“No!”
I pushed him away.
“Is everything ok?” he asked. “Do you want to stop?”
I took a deep breath. I couldn't do this, it was wrong.
“I can't have sex with you,” I told him. “Not in a car, not outside my house while my husband and kids sleep.”
“We could go back to mine?” he offered.
“You mean your mum and dad’s?” I said, smiling.
Simon grinned.
“Hey, I’m only eighteen.”
I almost had a heart attack—eighteen!!
“You never told me you're only eighteen!”
“You never asked.”
“Look,” I said, “I like you Simon. A lot. But I'm not a twenty-something anymore, I can't go around having one-night-stands and sleeping around. I've got a husband, I've got kids. Kids that are almost your age!”
“I understand,” said Simon. He smiled sadly. God he had a cute smile. “But I meant what I said before—make sure your husband starts appreciating you more. You're a beautiful, sexy woman, with a body to die for. And don't let anyone tell you any different.”
I gave Simon a kiss on the lips, then opened the car door. I was about to get out, but then I stopped - and closed the door again.
“I'm not going to have sex with you,” I said to Simon, “but I can still thank you for being so nice.”
“Thank me?” said Simon, confused, but he soon understood what I meant as I started to unbuckle his belt.
I wasn't going to sacrifice twenty years of marriage by sleeping with a strange boy I'd just met—but giving him head would be ok, wouldn't it? At least that's how my drunken brain justified it.
Simon was soft when I pulled him out, and, to be honest, I was a bit disappointed. His limp cock was much smaller than David’s, barely a couple of inches. From his height and build I'd expected a monster - or at least something above average.
Oh well. Thank god I'd already told him we weren't going to have sex. Having a small dick didn't make him a bad person, but I didn't fancy having that little thing inside of me, barely able to feel it. It was a relief, in a way, as all my temptation to have sex with Simon evaporated—so I could just suck him off then go home. After a quick gargle of mouthwash, it would be like it never happened.
I took Simon’s soft worm in my mouth and he groaned with pleasure. The whole thing fit easily. He was uncircumcised and the hood covered his glans, so I pulled it back and gave the small cock head a lick. Small dick or no, Simon had been nice to me tonight and I was going to give him the royal treatment.
But then something magical happened: Simon’s dick started to grow. I had the whole thing in my mouth and I felt it widen and get longer. One moment it was resting comfortably on my tongue, but the next it was snaking towards the back of my throat. I was so surprised I pulled my head back and Simon’s now average-sized cock fell out of my mouth.
Putting a hand around it, I watched fascinated as the bulbous head emerged from the foreskin like a flower coming into bloom. I felt Simon’s shaft engorge in my hand, and my fingers could no longer touch around his girth.
“I'm a grower, not a shower,” said Simon, grinning down at me. I'd been so entranced by his cock that I'd almost forgot he was there.
He was now longer and thicker than David, and I'd always thought of David as being well hung. How could an eighteen year old have this much dick!
When it finally finished growing, I could fit both my hands on Simon’s meat, one on top of the other. There was almost room for a third!
“Wow,” I said. “How do those eighteen-year-old girls handle this? You must split them in half!”
“I told you already,” said Simon, “I like women, not little girls.”
It had been years since I'd seen an uncircumcised cock, and Simon’s fascinated me. I pulled his foreskin up as far as it could go, but his glans was so engorged now that the skin couldn’t go back over it. I couldn't believe how something so small could become so big. David had a big dick, but it was always big—even when soft. Simon’s had been a tiny, shrivelled thing, but had grown into a behemoth.
“Time for your thank you,” I said to Simon, in what I hoped was a seductive voice. I looked him in the eye as I ran my tongue across his enormous cock head.
“That feels so good,” grunted Simon as I lapped my tongue at the entrance to his urethra. I moved my tongue down his baseball-bat shaft next, covering every inch of it with my saliva, never breaking eye contact with him.
I felt a pleasant warm feeling between my legs. Even without checking I knew my pussy must be dripping wet.
You’re just giving him a blowjob, I told myself. Suck his dick until he cums, then go back home to your husband.
I moved on to Simon’s balls. He’d shaved all the hair off them and, as I ran my tongue across the silky, delicate skin, I was remin
ded of David. In the early, happy days of our relationship he’d shaved his balls too. I used to love licking and sucking his smooth pink plums, but in recent years he’d stopped bothering to do it. Now his crotch was overgrown with untidy pubes, and I never felt like putting my mouth near it.
Just like his dick, Simon’s balls were massive. Each felt larger than an egg, and as I licked them I couldn't help imagining how big his loads must be.
I’ll swallow everything he gives me, I thought to myself. Not just to thank him for being so nice, but because he deserved it. A man as gifted as Simon was, with the cock and balls of a god, deserved to be treated with respect.
I moved my mouth back up to Simon’s cock. I positioned my lips above his glans, then moved my head down, trying to take as much of him down my throat as I could. I barely managed three inches before I came up spluttering.
“You're too wide!” I told him, my eyes watering. Simon just smiled. I moved my head back down for a second attempt. This time, breathing through my nose and taking it slow, I managed to get around five inches of him down me, but then I started to gag.
I came up for air, coughing and retching.
“It's ok, you don't have to take it all,” Simon laughed, running his fingers through my hair. “You're not in a porn film!”
I laughed, using the back of my hand to wipe the spit from my bottom lip.
“You’ve got too much girth,” I said, rubbing my cheeks. “I think I'm getting lockjaw.”
Simon moved his head down and kissed me on the lips.
“It's ok,” he said, his beautiful green eyes twinkling.
“I just wanted to make you cum,” I said, sounding like a spoilt little girl who hadn't got her own way.
Simon sighed.
“The truth is, I don't really cum from blowjobs.”
“Then what makes you cum?”
“Only sex.”
We looked at each other. Both thinking the same thing but unwilling to say it. For the first time I saw Simon as the boy he was. A stud—yes, fantastically well hung—yes, but a boy all the same. Barely older than my son. I could see in those amazing eyes of his that he wanted to fuck me, but he felt guilty.
