Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
My bottom felt so odd, with its cheeks closed, that I couldn’t keep repeating in my mind, my pussy responding wantonly to the words, She just got her ass fucked… She just got her ass fucked. Daddy Phil rubbed my right cheek slowly and gently, as if he meant to remind me of the fact—as if he wanted to make certain I would never forget that I had become a bad girl who took it in the ass.
“Sure,” my blue-eyed daddy said, after a moment. “You want her to yourself.”
Daddy Jacob’s laugh boomed out, shaking his whole body and sending an electric quiver through me.
“Do you blame me? You got the ass first—let me have my fun.”
“Oh, God,” I whispered, not sure even whose voice I heard the words spoken in, but certain that the enormous men amusing themselves over the fate of the anus of the girl atop the desk couldn’t hear me.
Daddy Jacob did, though. He took a step back so he could tilt my face up to look into his. I licked my oddly numb lips as the air cooled my cheeks and chin and forehead. I could tell that I must have a sheen of my daddy’s private muskiness all over, and it brought another wave of crimson, this one to the roots of my hair as I gazed up at his gorgeous, bearded face.
“I know it’s hard, honey,” he said. The left side of his mouth went up in a half smile as he realized the joke he’d just made and glanced down at the enormous hardness he held in his hand. Daddy Phil guffawed behind me, but Daddy Jacob’s intent face immediately returned, and I knew he meant to respond to my anxious Oh, God seriously, and with care.
“I know it’s difficult,” he started again, his smile flashing for just an instant—a full one this time, making my chest warm in that way I couldn’t seem to get a handle on despite its craziness and its unwelcomeness. “But it will be easier the more you trust your daddies.”
I bit my lip and swallowed hard, my forehead creasing. I gave a tiny nod, and the little girl voice came out of my mouth so naturally that it took me a moment to realize I had used it.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“If you’re a good girl for me in the break room,” Daddy Jacob continued, his eyes suddenly taking on the dangerous, hungry look they got sometimes, “I’ll make you come tomorrow.”
It felt like such a terrible punishment on its own, the idea of having to wait until tomorrow to release the terrible yearning for wanton pleasure my daddies had awakened in me, that I let out a pitiful, wrenching sob. Tears sprang to my eyes. Rather than begging to be spared the terrible ordeal of my daddy’s massive cock in my anus so soon after my other daddy had fucked me hard there, for my very first time… rather than trying to get out of the terrifying trip to the break room to be put on the table like the more experienced Ashley, whatever being put on the table meant… all I could think of beseeching my daddy for was one of the orgasms he apparently gave out only to obedient little ladies, and to have it right now rather than having to wait for tomorrow.
“Please… Daddy… please…” I pleaded. “Please… tonight? I’ll be… I’ll…”
The rational part of me, the part that seemed from time to time to be able actually to defy this daddy bullshit, reeled at what I had come to the edge of saying. I had almost said that I would be good for Daddy Jacob—had almost committed myself to taking him in my bottom humbly and gratefully, biting my lip to keep from screaming at the discomfort, if only he would let me climax.
In his dark eyes I saw that he had understood the moment completely. His eyes narrowed, and a different kind of smile curved his lips—a smile of recognition.
“That’s why you have to wait, Marianne. Think about it. That’s what you have to learn. Now let’s get going to the break room.”
The break room might have begun its existence as what I would have recognized as a break room. I saw counters and a sink and cabinets, and an unplugged coffee maker that looked thoroughly disused. The firefighters of this station had clearly started taking a different kind of break since the arrival of Ashley: the room was now dominated by what looked like a massage table, though I could tell immediately that whoever had manufactured it—Selecta, of course, I told myself—had made it with extra strong support.
Thick steel legs supported the padded top: not as thick as Daddy Jacob’s enormous thighs, maybe, but clearly made to support the weight of my daddies, along with me. The table had a bunch of knobs, too, that I felt sure made it adjustable in every imaginable way. Right now, it stood only half a meter from the floor.