Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Oh, yes, honey,” Jake told me. “The man in charge of you is going to touch you wherever he wants, and wherever he thinks you need it.”
My forehead creased so hard it hurt.
“I was so scared,” I heard Shelly say from the darkness. “The first time Jake told me he was going to fuck my bottom. It hurt, and it still hurts a little every time, but it feels good, too, honey. Kind of like the strap. You know your husband has the right to use you there, and you’re proud that he gets so much pleasure from your bottom hole.”
I could hear her taking off her dress: soft sounds of unbuttoning, and then the rustle of falling fabric. I didn’t want to see, and yet I wanted to see, so bad. I wanted to see her bottom, the place where she had undergone so much, it seemed, from her loving husband. I wanted to see her pussy, as dizzy as the thought made me feel, when I became conscious of it. Her big breasts. All the naughty places she so clearly believed belonged completely to Jake, the parts of her he obviously took great pleasure in using.
The air moved subtly. My senses, the entire surface of my skin, seemed to have come more vividly alive than I had ever felt. I could feel Shelly take two steps. I sensed her kneeling on the rug in front of Jake. I cried out at the image, just the picture in my mind’s eye of the naked wife on her knees before her clothed husband, his hand working the desperately needy pussy of the young woman who he had just finished whipping. My bottom moved uncontrollably back and forth, in the motions I knew belonged to sex… to fucking.
Had Shelly really just said that dirty word? Had she really just told me about her husband putting his hardness in her tiniest, most private hole?
I had never had sex, but my body seemed to know how it worked, how my hips and my backside should move when a man finally put his rigid penis inside me, the way Jake did when he used his wife.
He has the right, she had said. It echoed in my mind in all its lewd heat, pulling me into the fantasy. He has the right to fuck. He has the right to spank, and to whip. To touch me, too… to make me come.
I opened my eyes, but I kept my sight in front of me, at the hook on the mantelpiece where the family strap had hung, before Jake had taken it down to teach me my terrible lesson. I rode his hand, pushing my rear end backwards, offering it to him, hoping, wantonly and impossibly, that he would fuck me, right now, the way he fucked his wife.
“May I take out your beautiful cock, sir?” Shelly asked huskily from beside me.
“Yes, you may, good girl,” Jake said, his voice sounding just as thick as Shelly’s.
I heard a soft rasping that must have been the sound of his zipper opening. I heard my foster father give a soft grunt from deep in his throat. I heard a kiss, and I knew it must have been planted on Jake’s cock.
I started to come at the thought of it… at my desperation to see it, to watch a wife please her husband on her knees while she touched herself between her thighs.
Just as Jake had guessed—or, I wondered suddenly, did Selecta and the government somehow have ways of knowing about wayward young women’s orgasms?—I had never climaxed before. A part of me had always feared it, I realized as he urged me onward over the cliff of pleasure: when you saw it happen, in a movie or show for grownups, it seemed like it would hurt, or even like it would change you, turn you into something different.
Or maybe I had worried it might feel so good that I would become an orgasm junky or something. That I would beg men—and even women—to make me come, or worse that I wouldn’t be able to stop touching myself down there, inside my jeans.
At the moment my first climax started, I thought that all my fears had come true, but that it didn’t stop me from screaming in sheer, helpless pleasure. The sob that followed, as Jake made me ride and ride on his probing, skillful fingers, had gratitude and relief in it. When I felt his thumb press firmly into my cringing anus, though, all of it got mixed up into another scream, because I had started to come again.
Multiple orgasms. It had represented a topic of discussion among the eighteen-year-olds at my educational facility. A girl had had sex, and she had whispered to us about what her boyfriend had done with his tongue, how she had come over and over. I had sat at the cafeteria table with my cheeks burning, nothing to say, but another girl who had lost her virginity the week before had scoffed, and a third girl—who had been fucking since her eighteenth birthday—had said she’d never had an orgasm even though sex felt okay.