Chapter 10

Jake

I glanced over at Grace. I could see that her right hand was on her thigh, the fingertips moving up and down as she obviously fought the temptation to masturbate.

"If you touch your little pussy," I growled, "you're going to go right back over the arm of that chair, honey."

Shelly moaned around my cock, the drawn-out sound's subtle difference from her usual noises making me turn my eyes downward to where she knelt. Her fingers moved frantically between her thighs as she looked up at me with wide eyes. The bright red of her cheeks and the lewd thrusting movements of her hips told me how deeply the start of Grace's training had moved her.

Still gazing down into my beautiful wife's blue eyes, I spoke again to our new ward.

"Masturbation is for good girls," I said. "Like your foster mama here."

With my hands around the back of her skull and my fingers twined in her hair, I kept Shelly's mouth just where I wanted it. I thrust in until I felt the head of my cock press against the back of her throat, and her adorable nose touched the sinew of my abdomen. I watched my wife's forehead crease with the effort it took to suppress her gag reflex and take me balls deep that way. When I spoke to Grace again, I could hear my intense pleasure in the thickness of my voice.

"See how good Shelly is at taking the cock? She's had a lot of practice. When we find the right suitor for you, I'll help him decide on how he wants to teach you to please him with your mouth."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grace's hips jerk. I glanced over to see that she had curled her hands into tight little fists on her thighs. I turned my attention back to Shelly, and I pulled my hardness out, slowly, all the way until I could take the shaft in my left hand and rub the tip against her lips.

Shelly pursed her lips, the way she knew I liked, and kissed my cockhead with reverence. Whimpers emerged from her throat with the movements of her fingertips on her clit. I pulled my erection up, and Shelly knew exactly what I wanted; she turned her head and began to lick my balls softly and respectfully, like a kitten lapping water.

Grace let out a whimper of her own, as if the first sight of my manhood, glistening with her foster mother's saliva, had affected her deeply.

"This cock is for Shelly," I told her, looking in her direction before I returned my eyes to the lovely sight of my wife pleasuring me in that degrading way. "If you're a good girl, you'll have a cock to play with soon enough."

I cradled my wife's face in my right hand, my thumb along her cheekbone.

"Shelly, honey," I said. "Do you want it in your pussy? Should we show Grace how a good wife takes a fucking?"

Her pink cheeks went red. I could tell that her modesty and her submission were battling inside her. She looked up at me with a deep crease in her brow.

"Yes, sir," she whispered. "Please fuck my little pussy."

Grace

I hadn't noticed until then, when Shelly stood up and started to move toward her easy chair, that her pussy had no hair. It made me bite my lip, and I heard a tiny whining sound escape my nose. Shelly had her back to me, now, standing in front of the chair, but she turned her face to look back over her shoulder into my eyes. Her cheeks had gotten pink, but her voice had a sort of submissive pride in it that made the heat between my thighs surge.

"Jake likes me bare down there. When you have a steady suitor, he'll tell you how he wants you to take care of your pussy."

"His pussy," Jake growled.

My foster father's unexpected, mortifying words brought a shock of need to my body, radiating out from my clit. It took me so thoroughly by surprise that I cried out. My hips jerked, pushing out my whipped bottom as if I meant to offer it to an imaginary man—a fantasy suitor—behind me. I closed my eyes, feeling my brow crease hard, as my wayward mind conjured him: the firm-handed man who would take over from Jake, dressed like my new foster father, his enormous cock protruding like Jake's from his faded jeans, ready to claim me for his own as he thrust his hardness through my virginity.

I looked up at Jake, my heart speeding up to a frantic rate at the sight of the expression on his face. His eyes seemed to blaze with what I could only have called his natural dominance; not out of control, but still aggressive and animal. He looked at Shelly, and he stepped toward her with his huge, hard penis in his left hand. With his right he took hold of her bottom, so possessively that the very sight of his fingers there, pushing between his wife's thighs, probing her shaved pussy, made me whimper.

"Bend over, girl," he said, and I could tell somehow that it represented the command Shelly had waited for—hoped for, I thought I could see, and feel for myself, though it seemed so crazy to what remained of the old me, the girl who had watched Frannie get her whuppin' only a few hours ago.

Shelly bent over, turning her face away and downward, putting her palms on the cushion of her easy chair, then kneeling. The comfortable seat where the farmer's wife did her knitting—from which she had watched her husband whip me—had become the place her husband had chosen to fuck her.

I could see in the way she bent that she knew what Jake wanted, how he liked to have her. She arched her back and pushed out her bottom, and I wondered with another jolt of arousal if she had to adopt the same posture when her husband corrected her for her faults, laying the family strap across her full bottom. I bit my lip as I noticed that Shelly's right cheek seemed to have the fading remnants of a bruise. My fists clenched again against my thighs as I wondered what my own backside would look like tomorrow.

Every thought flew away, though, as I watched Jake's hand between her legs. I couldn't see exactly what his fingertips were doing, and the sudden, passionate desire I had to see more made my face blaze with heat to match the warmth down there. I could see enough, though, and I could hear and smell enough. I could see the urgent rhythm of Jake's fingers, and the way even the visible parts got shinier and shinier with pussy juice. I could hear Shelly moaning uncontrollably as her husband masturbated her, and I could hear the unmistakably wet sounds those penetrating digits made as they moved relentlessly in her needy vagina. And I could smell the fragrance of another woman's pussy, something I had never caught the scent of before.

"Such a little slut," Jake murmured. "So naughty, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," Shelly whispered, almost too softly for me to hear. "Please… sir… I need it so bad. Please… put it in me?"

"Oh, God," I whispered. My hands opened and shut. Only the terrible lingering pain in my bottom and thighs kept me from putting my right hand there, where Shelly had her husband's skillful hand to comfort her and I had nothing.

Good girls get to play with their little pussies. Jake had said that, hadn't he? How could I show him that I wanted to be a good girl, so I would get to come again, instead of going back over the arm of his chair for a whipping?

The faraway part of me observed that I seemed to have lost the spark of defiance I had felt before Jake had put his hand between my legs and administered my first orgasm. That distant me thought I could probably recover it—I probably would recover it. Right now, though, I wanted only to be in Shelly's place, with a dominant man giving her the reward of her obedience and submission.

Jake turned to look over at me.

"You'd better put your hands on your head, honey," he told me. "That'll help you keep from getting into trouble with your little pussy."

I felt my burning face crumple into a pout of helpless need. I obeyed my foster father; I raised my hands and put them on top of my head, feeling how the posture seemed to make my body less my own.

His pussy. Jake's terrible words, the emphasis he had put on his, seemed to turn my blood into liquid fire.

"What do you want, Shelly?" he asked, his fingers suddenly stopping their rhythm.

She whimpered softly. "Please, sir… I want your beautiful cock in your wet little pussy. Please fuck me, sir."

Your wet little pussy. Her pussy belongs to him.

My jaw had gone slack, I suddenly realized. I could hear my breath coming in and going out raggedly.

Does my pussy belong to him?

I felt my fingers tense in my hair. I knew that if I had still had my hands on my thighs, I would never have had the willpower to resist touching myself there—whether to confirm that somehow my private parts had come into the possession of this dominant farmer, this masterful husband, or to try to deny the idea.

I wouldn't have cared, at that moment, about the terrible threat of the horrid length of leather lying on the floor next to me. I looked over at it, and my eyes went wide as another thought, a contradictory notion, rose into my consciousness.

No. I would have cared. The thought of Jake putting me back over the arm of his easy chair and whipping me until I couldn't sit down for a week would have moved me greatly—did move me greatly, now, as I looked at it lying there like a snake waiting to strike. But it didn't make me less likely to disobey. To masturbate while I watched my foster father put the head of his cock to the entrance of my foster mother's soaking vagina.

If I had thought of the family strap, and my hands had been mere inches from my own pussy, and I had looked at it, the way I did now, the sight would have made it much, much more likely that my hand would work its way across the silken skin of my thigh to the sparse thatch of reddish-brown hair that barely hid the cleft of my pussy lips.

I had just learned my suitor could tell me to shave those grownup curls away for him, the same way Jake made Shelly keep herself bare down there, because he liked her that way. Her pussy belonged to him, after all, and soon, maybe, mine would belong to the man who claimed me. That lewd new fact of my existence, that my pubic hair could soon be taken away, to remind me who owned my most intimate places, made the trouble much worse.

If my hands had been on my thighs, near those secret parts of my body that it seemed somehow belonged not to me but to the man who courted me and gained Jake's approval for his courtship… If I hadn't had them on my head, when I heard Shelly cry out as her husband's enormous penis thrust hard and deep into her and Jake gripped her firmly around the waist and began to pound her womanly bottom with his lap, fucking her with breathtaking vigor… If the temptation had been a matter of inches rather than of feet… I would have tried to keep my fingers from going further, but… but I wouldn't have tried very hard.

The mental picture of Jake whipping me again, together with my utterly degrading position, kneeling to watch him fuck his kind, lovely wife like a naughty little slut, would have made it impossible not to touch my clit.