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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.
I had no idea why I would have stored all that information in the back of my mind, ready to come out here in the Carpenters’ living room, unless it had something to do with… well, all of this: my so-called ‘suitability’ for this strange rehabilitation program. I was… I was a naughty, naughty girl… a girl who could come and come and come on her foster father’s hand after he had whipped her for her sassy mouth.
“Good girl,” Jake murmured into my ear. “Come for me.”
I cried out as a third climax swept through my body. Despite all the noise I was making, I could hear wet sounds that could only come from Shelly attending to her husband’s penis. I felt it in Jake’s hands on me, too; the left still holding me in place over the arm of his easy chair and the right fondling my pussy and the valley of my bottom. He must be thrusting his hips, fucking Shelly’s face the way he would fuck her vagina… or… or… her poor, tiny anus, when he chose, whenever he chose.
I could feel another orgasm approaching, driven on by my imagination of Shelly’s shameful service to Jake’s rigid cock. Suddenly, though, Jake took his hands away.
“That’s enough, honey,” he told me, his voice husky but still commanding. “You’ll come again when I decide you’ve behaved yourself. In the meantime, Shelly will get you some nice thick training panties to help you keep from touching yourself. Now I want you to get on your knees and watch how a good wife pleases her husband.”
It took long moments before I understood. I lay over the arm of Jake’s easy chair. The noises in the room seemed to enfold me so thoroughly that I forgot about everything else, including myself. The wet sounds of Shelly’s oral service… her whimpering moans around the thrusting manhood I hadn’t seen but had imagined much too vividly… little grunts deep in Jake’s throat.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “That feels so good, you little slut. Take it. Take it deep.”
My eyes went wide. My breath, between my parted lips, started to become ragged. He couldn’t mean Shelly, could he? His wife? Could he really mean to call his wife a little slut?
“Grace,” I heard his voice say, the sound so deep it seemed to come from way down in his flat belly. “Do as you’re told. You’re a little slut just like Shelly. You need to watch and learn.”
My body obeyed. The floating, watching part of me—the part that felt most like me—decided that I hadn’t followed Jake’s impossibly degrading order. To my dismay, though, I couldn’t deny the tiny surge of gladness and of rekindled need that my body’s wayward submission brought to my observing mind.
I’m enjoying this. I tried to push the idea far, far away, but it refused to leave—as if the things Jake and Shelly had said about learning what kind of girl I really was had forced me to think about these terrible things rather than thrust them into the darkness.
Whether I meant the me looking down from somewhere else or the body that I couldn’t truly deny was also me… something about the shameful scene in the farmhouse living room had answered an essential part of me. My terrible whipping over the arm of Jake’s easy chair, the way he had fondled my pussy and my bottom and made me come for the very first time—not as a gift but as… as a… a mastering, a lesson, a start to my training—to my horror, I liked it.
My body got onto its—my—knees, turning so that I could see my foster father thrusting his massive, rock-hard penis in and out of my foster mother’s mouth. He had both his hands on the back of her head, and he held her mouth in place so that he could use her face as if she represented nothing more than a receptacle for his manhood. Shelly’s eyes were watering and she made helpless little sounds around the thrusting shaft as it went relentlessly in and out between her lips.
I cried out at the sight of it. I had never imagined that something so obscene, so degrading, so brutal could make me so desperate to touch myself between my thighs.
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.
