Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“My mind has to be a well-oiled machine,” I tell her, leaving out that she’s currently threatening that. “I’ve experimented with various methods to hack my thoughts over the years. It lets me be more productive. One example was when I went for a run, I’d imagine Kayla was in danger. I wouldn’t just imagine. I’d believe. It takes work. It’s difficult, but it seems you already know a lot about it.”
A smile touches her gorgeous lips. Her whole face changes when she smiles, lighting up attractively. She brushes a hand through her hair. Her cheeks are an even deeper shade of red now. It’s like she finds it difficult to look at me. Did she see me climb out of the pool?
Soon, it’s time for breakfast. We sit at the bar together. Thankfully, they start talking about college. It gives me the time I need to calm myself down. My manhood softens, but only because the idea of my daughter seeing me like this makes me sick. Even so, my underwear is sticky with precome. I was ready to go right here. I was prepared to take my woman.
My woman? Dammit.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day, girls?” I ask, purposefully using girls to emphasize the twenty years between us. I’m forty. They’re twenty. The phrase she could be your daughter applies with undeniable force here when she is literally the same age as my daughter.
“College work,” Kayla says. “Then maybe some board games… if you want to join us?”
“I’ll see,” I reply, rising from the bar. “Lots of work to do.”
I flee the room, almost running, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest. It sends urgent energy through my body. I end up in my bedroom and lock the door. “End up” like it’s not my responsibility.
Closing the curtains, I lie on the bed and shut my eyes. I imagine Maci sneaking in here, wearing those shorts that show off her thick legs. I imagine her biting her lip when she sees me on the bed with my cock in my hand. I’ve already pulled down my shorts, my shaft hard again, stroking up and down.
“You’re so hard,” I imagine her whispering as she walks across the room.
“It’s for you. Now, show me that beautiful body.”
The fantasy rushes ahead, and now she’s on the bed, fully naked, her breasts full, her legs thick, and her core glistening and eager for my dick. I’m stroking so fast already. I can feel come rushing up my dick and trying to blow out.
I imagine her beautiful face and her lips pursed in that alluring way as I drive deeper and deeper into her. She’ll grab my shoulders and start bouncing, riding my dick as I pump into her, making the bed shake, making her body shake. Every inch of her ripples as I hammer harder—oh, hell, harder. I’m stroking faster and harder.
Again, the fantasy shifts. She’s bent over now, her big ass bouncing as I hammer into her tight slit. She moans and drives against me, grabbing thick handfuls of the sheets, her gorgeousness shaking, rippling, trembling, so thick, so curvy, so much of her to spank and kiss and own and… ah, yes, yes.
Come explodes out of my shaft, all over my stomach. It feels like I’m unloading into her soaked slit. It’s like I’m filling her up so much that the come starts to spill out of her around my cock, but I don’t stop. I’m still hard. I pump my hand as my come makes me even wetter. It’s the most intense orgasm I can remember. It’s still coming.
I imagine spanking her, watching her ass jiggle for me. Spank her as she bounces and moans, and I squeeze the tempting globes of her ass together, savoring her thickness as, finally, the last of the come burns out of me.
After I sit up, my stomach coated in stickiness, the come drips down into the indents of my abs. I grit my teeth and walk awkwardly into the en-suite, my shorts and underwear wrapped around my knees. Wiping myself clean isn’t enough. I strip, get into the shower, and turn the water hot to try to burn away what I’ve just done.
What’s wrong with me? The worst part is that I already want to do it again. No, that’s not right. It’s not the worst part.
The worst part is I want to do it for real.
CHAPTER 4
MACI
“Sorry about Dad,” Kayla says as she sets up her sewing machine in the living room.
I’m on the couch, laptop open on my knees, reading a journal article for an upcoming essay about shading styles. “Sorry for what?” I ask, innocently, like I haven’t seen him naked and wasn’t just living in awkward land during breakfast. It’s like he was angry at me for being here. Maybe he’d prefer some alone time with his daughter? Or perhaps he’s embarrassed that I’ve seen all of him.