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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.
CHAPTER 11
Grace
Shelly’s legs were together, her modest white panties still around her knees as she bent over the low chair. Jake straddled her, his shins up against the seat cushion. I could see everything, and it made my whole body blush. A strange, lightheaded sensation traveled through my limbs and into my head, making me wonder whether I might even faint from the mixture of deep embarrassment and helpless arousal that seethed in my chest and my tummy.
“That’s it, Shelly girl,” Jake growled. Both of them faced almost completely away from me as he fucked her, his balls slapping up against the bare lips of her pussy over and over, his hands tight around her hips to keep her in place. “You like it nice and hard, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Shelly sobbed, her head bowed and her blonde hair hanging down around her face. With each pounding thrust of her husband’s hips, she let out a whimpering moan that sent a surge of need from my clit into my virgin vagina. I bit my lip as I felt an ache there, and I couldn’t keep my eyes from the little glimpses I could see of Jake’s enormous, rigid penis as it flashed in and out of Shelly’s shaved pussy.
I started to wonder whether having my hands atop my head would be enough to keep me from disobedience. Jake seemed completely focused on the pleasure he got from having his cock in his wife’s hot, wet sheath; surely he wouldn’t turn around and see if I just rubbed my clit a little bit?
My whole body tensed at the conflicting thoughts in my head, my arms most of all as the two impulses fought for control of those muscles: to remain in the humiliating posture my foster father had commanded or to try to steal a little more pleasure from the place that he so clearly regarded as my future husband’s property rather than my own.
That thought made the problem worse; if my pussy belonged to the man I would marry, then Jake Carpenter, in taking responsibility for me, had become its caretaker. He would decide when the time had come for my needy clit to receive the attention of his fingers, or—if I could manage to behave myself, it seemed—mine.
I remembered the urgency and the submission in Shelly’s voice when she had asked Jake for permission to touch herself. Part of me thought maybe I should beg to do the same, right now. Sir, please… may I touch the little pussy where my suitor will put his cock when you give permission?
I let out a whimper of my own, to mingle with Shelly’s submissive noises. She sounded like her fucking might even hurt a little, as if her husband’s huge manhood could make her uncomfortable, when he thrust it inside her to have his way. That idea, with the way it mixed sex with punishment, seemed to shoot a lightning bolt of arousal through my nervous system.
I whimpered again, louder, and I felt my right hand start to move, in response to the desperation between my thighs. I wondered with a surge of heat to my face if my need would start to drip from my virgin vagina onto my thighs. I told myself I only wanted to feel myself, down there, just to make sure I wouldn’t embarrass myself that way.
Jake saved me from my own foolishness. He turned to look at me, right at that moment. He didn’t pause his rhythm inside Shelly’s pussy, but he growled, “I’m watching you, Grace. Don’t you dare touch yourself.”
Under his gaze I felt my face crumple into a mask of woe. Shelly let out a deeper moan, as if the idea of me watching her husband ride her like a wayward filly intensified her shame and pleasure to another level.
“Please, sir,” I sobbed, my fantasy coming to pass. “Please, may I?”
Shelly let out a scream that could only mean she had started to come. Jake moved his right hand up her back to twine his fingers in her hair. He turned his attention back to her and let out a grunt that I thought meant his orgasm had gotten very close, too.
“Down, girl,” he commanded, and I could see how his hands enforced his will. “Arch your back.”
Shelly’s climax went on and on, or maybe she had one after the other the same way Jake had forced multiple orgasms on me. I realized that I had started to whimper with every breath as I watched him hold himself deep inside her, his hands keeping her still as his rock-hard butt jerked and tensed with his release.
I wondered what it felt like. I longed to know what sensations Jake’s warm seed gave his wife, and what it meant to her to have her pussy be the place he liked to put his essence, when he had finished using her. I felt my arm twitch again with the temptation to think about it with my hand between my legs, which seemed suddenly the best way to consider the question.
But Jake turned back to me, and my hand froze atop my head.
“Shelly likes me to come inside her,” he told me. He rubbed her back gently, as it heaved with the exertion of her climax. “Don’t you, hon?”
“Yes, sir,” I heard her say in a voice that sounded weak.
“We can’t have kids,” Jake told me. “Just one of those things. But a husband’s seed belongs in his wife’s womb. You’ll understand when your suitor fucks you. We’ll get you set up with birth control before then.”
At breakfast, with a cushion under my sore butt, the previous night seemed like a dream. Jake had already gone out to plow or sow or harvest or something else farm-y. Shelly fed me eggs and bacon that tasted like some god had blessed her frying pan with eternal tastiness. I searched her face, when she had her attention on the stove, for any sign of embarrassment about what had happened in the living room the night before, and found nothing but sunny morning cheerfulness.
