J S Bradley
Peeping family
CHAPTER ONE
He's going to fuck me!
Christine watched him come around the end of the sofa from the wet bar with the pair of drinks and knew in her mind that it was going to happen.
She felt her heart pound. She felt a thrill begin tingling through her belly, making her pussy-tunnel squirm warmly in a way it hadn't for nearly three years.
"Here, Mrs. Eglund – try this and see if it doesn't call forth faraway places and sugar-sand beaches under whispering palms for you and me."
He smiled handsomely and sat beside her. She looked into the glass and squeezed her thighs together to try to stop the quick, shameless bloating of her trembling cunt-lips.
"All that from one daiquiri?" she laughed softly, trying to sound flippant and sure of herself.
His hip slid against hers and made her catch her breath. He watched closely as she sipped the drink. She felt like jelly under his gaze. After all this time, it was a frightening feeling, and it made her wish he were Carl.
But he wasn't Carl. It wasn't three years ago, when she'd been deliriously happy, when Carl had sat beside her on this same sofa after Robin was asleep and she had pulled him down against her uplifted hips and drawn his prick deep into her quivering cunt.
Those nights were gone forever. It was the same sofa, the same balmy, tangy breeze coming in through the porch from the Gulf, the same feeling of softness and warmth and expectancy. But he wasn't the same man, whose prick had driven firmly into her succulent cunt until she'd whimpered and surged upward into orgasm.
Over the pounding of her heart, she could hear the gentle throb and hiss of the surf outside, and it occurred to her to remind him that she had a nice beach and whispering palms right outside.
"You need to use your imagination more, Chris," he said, whispering hotly into her ear, his warm breath puffing at the silky strands of her yellow hair. "You can't just bury yourself and stop using your imagination, or the world will pass you by."
His lips brushed against her cheek. She sucked in her breath and felt her tight, conical tits swell and harden, the pink nipples thrusting against the satin material of her dress.
The world and you, too, Logan? she wanted to ask.
She couldn't face him. She felt too jittery inside, knowing he was right, knowing that time was running out. "I haven't buried myself, Logan," she said weakly. "I just haven't gotten over…"
"It's been three years since Carl piled himself up in his Porsche, honey," he said bluntly. "What good is this beautiful house on the beach and the boat in back and all the money he left you, if you bury yourself in a hole of grief and won't come out and enjoy it?"
She looked at him quickly. "Is that what bothers you, Logan? That my money isn't being spent the way you think it should be?"
"Aw, come on, Chris. What is this? Do you think I'm after your money? Is that really what you think? By God, let's get it out in the open – right now!"
"You wouldn't be the first," she said tightly. "A rich widow, left alone in the prime of her life…"
"A beautiful widow, younger than prime," he smiled, half mocking her. "I've told you a hundred times, you don't look thirty-five. You look younger than I do, tall and willowy and slim and absolutely delicious."
"Easy pickings for some young stud to sweep off her feet, with a daughter who's just…"
"Just as beautiful as her mother, even if she is only fifteen, with high, thrusting tits and a twitch in her tight little ass that only a lecherous stepfather's prick could quiet."
"Oh, shut up!" Christine cried, gasping at the suggestion. Even though the thought had occurred to her before, she couldn't help but notice the slight smile on his mouth when he said it.
"And let's not forget old Midnight over there, snoring away with his head between his paws. Surely there must be a place in the grand and treacherous scheme for a black Labrador. Let's see, now – hush up that wailing sound of self-pity and let me think of a way to use the dog in my sinister plot."
"Logan, stop making fun of me!" Chris cried again.
He looked at her deadpan. "Stop accusing me. Stop thinking the worst of me, when I've given you no reason to. I love you, Chris – not the money Carl left you. Not your constant memory of Carl that won't let me get near you."
"Logan, I didn't…"
"He's gone, Chris. I'm here. I'm handsome and intriguing and bright and young and good-natured. And I want you."
She looked at him, her blue eyes running over his features. It would be so much simpler if he weren't big and blond, the way Carl was, if he didn't have nearly the same way of teasing her for her fears that Carl had.
When she said nothing for a long moment, his eyes went cool. He stood up. She knew the moment of decision was there. She couldn't help staring straight ahead at his crotch, seeing the bulge of his cock and balls inside the tight pants.
Her cunt seemed to crush down on itself as if giving out a scream of protest for the long absence of hard, thrusting cock to wrap itself around and suck into its depths.
God, it had been so long!
She lifted her arms to him, feeling anguished inside. "Oh, Carl, don't go away…" She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at him with wide eyes, feeling as if she could die.
After an eternity, a small smile came to his lips. "See?" he whispered. "Do you see what makes it so tough for me, Chris?"
"Logan, I'm sorry! I don't know how… it just… just slipped out, Logan!"
He sighed. "Maybe you're right, Chris. Maybe you need more time tucked away in your dark, insulating cave after all. But I… I don't think I'll be around when you decide to come out, Chris. I don't think I can wait that long."
"Logan, don't do this to me!" she wailed, putting her hands to her face.
"I'm not doing it to you, Chris. You're doing it to yourself. You're overly suspicious. I don't want your money. I want you." He sighed again. "I can see it was a bad mistake to mention that idea of a shrimp farm to you. I can get the money somewhere else. I just thought you and I could… that with the two of us working together, we could…"
"Oh, God!" Chris cried. "It's got nothing to do with anything, Logan! I swear it hasn't! I… Logan, I… want you, too!"
She gasped. She sucked in her breath. She felt her pulse pound wildly. She felt the responsive flapping of her bloated pussy-lips, as if the sweltering, abandoned, depths of her cunt were giving out a lusty cheer.
She felt a current of shame run through her. She thought back on the words her mind had voiced a little while ago – that he was going to fuck her.
Not that he wanted to. Not that he was going to try to. But that he was going to fuck her. It was an admission of her mind that she would cooperate. It was a realization now that she'd known she would let him.
She gasped and hugged her arms shamelessly around his hips. She pressed the side of her head against his crotch. She felt the bulging wealth of his cock and balls, and another shiver passed through her sex-starved body as she begged forgiveness from herself.
"I want you, too, Logan," she rasped huskily, repeating it, letting them both know that she was his.
"Where's Robin?" he whispered, his own voice husky. He put his hand on the back of her head and pressed her face more tightly into his crotch.
"She went to the movies with Pete."
"Thorne Bast's kid?"
"Yes. Oh, Logan, I…" she gasped, wishing she could withdraw into safety again.
"Huh-uh," he said firmly. "You're not backing out this time, Chris. I've left here with a hard, frustrated cock too many times to suffer through it again. We're going to settle this, Chris. We're going to lie right here and fuck. I'm going to lift you right up out of that hole you're buried in on the spear of my cock, and you're going to start living again!"