Paul Gable - Raped daughter, roped mother

Her eyes raced back to his crotch just as his thick, purple cockhead slipped out. She was quiet when he tugged his pants open, freeing his fat, powerful prickshaft.

At the office Wendy had daydreamed about Brad more than once, figuring someone that handsome, that powerfully built, had to have at least eight inches of cockmeat dangling from his crotch. She was right.

As she sat there on the couch now, her cunt itching like crazy, Wendy saw his eight-inch prick standing straight up above his peeled open fly. A clear drop of liquid oozed from his piss slit and trickled down the side of his prick rod.

"Come on, baby, you want this real bad, right, Wendy?"

He was talking strangely now. His language became more and more rough, and his voice had dropped lower, almost gravelly.

Blinking in amazement, the blonde looked back up at him and found a grim, determined expression on his face. This certainly wasn't the man she'd known at the office.

"Stop it," Wendy demanded, and began to move away from him. But Brad gripped a restraining hand over her wrist, tugging her back against him.

"Bet it's been a long time since you've touched one of these," he said, sensuously working his free hand up and down his long, trembling cockshaft. "Heard you've been without a husband for a long time. Probably haven't dated much either, from the way you work at the office. Bet you can't wait to have this mother slide into you."

Brad was acting like a stranger, his face darkening and his smile becoming almost demonic, while he slowly kept pumping his throbbing prick. Then he reached over with that hand, closing his fingers around her other wrist. Wendy trembled, feeling the slippery coating of cock juice on his palm.

"Don't… don't do this."

"Put your hand on my cock," he demanded, pulling her hand toward his bulging prickmeat.

"No."

The booze was distorting everything. Wendy knew she should be fighting him, should be tugging back, running for the door. But everything seemed so blurred, so confusing. She couldn't tell right from wrong.

"Come on."

She struggled weakly against his grip. But she couldn't break it. Neither could she tear her thoughts away from fucking, from opening her body to this insistent man and letting him have his way with her.

"Ooohhh!" Wendy gasped.

Slowly, he pulled her hand toward his bulbous dripping cock knob. Wendy was still pulling back, whimpering through her nostrils. And, still, her pussy was growing hotter and hotter, her cuntlips puffing larger and spreading apart. She hadn't felt this aroused in a long time. Her itch had turned into a throbbing ache.

"Oh yeah, baby, yeah, Wendy, I'm gonna work a number on you that you won't forget."

Her fingers were poised to wrap around his thick cock. Her body felt limp, weak with desire. She couldn't believe how hard her clit and tit tips were. Then he wrapped her fingers around his fat cock.

His prickmeat was so hard, so thick, so meaty! Wendy gasped, her eyes widening as she felt his cock trembling and throbbing against her fingers.

It had been so long since she'd seen or fondled a cock. Images of fucking, the delightful sensations of a cock rushing into her pussy, flashed through her mind.

Now it was going to happen again. Brad was going to make her do it, going to make her fuck him for all she was worth. She could see it in his burning black eyes, in the way he was staring at her. She had no choice. She had to do what she was told.

"You're real hot, Wendy… a hot bitch. That's what you are," he whispered.

"No, no," she protested.

She sat there on his leather couch, squirming her ass, her tits jiggling in her bra while her cunt walls squeezed from the rising heat. Her fingers were moving slowly up and down under Brad's coaxing, squeezing greedily against his steely prick rod which throbbed against her palm. More juice bubbled out from the piss-slit and ran down her fingers.

"Yeah, get on that prickmeat. Come on, move those fuckin' fingers faster."

She did as she was told. Wendy was worried he would cum and leave her high and dry. But the big stud had thought of that already. When she had begun fisting him faster, he reached down and stopped her, his face contorted with wild lust.

"Enough of that crap. Come on."

He was pulling her across the living room. Wendy stumbled. Her shoes flew off, and her blonde hair splashed across her face. At times she followed him, at others she pulled back, her ass fucked out, her tits jiggling. Brad kept on tugging her down the hall and finally into his bedroom.

When she heard the door slam, Wendy wheeled around and confronted him. He was smiling at her. His hands worked busily to unbutton his shirt.

In spite of herself, she began feeling thrills of pleasure. She was getting hot because of the way Brad looked and the way he was acting. She liked that power, that sense of confronting someone like Brad who was pushing her around.

Wendy backed up, feeling her legs touching the edge of his king-sized bed. It was the only piece of furniture in the bedroom. She fell backward. Her ass sank comfortably into the mattress. Her clit was full, stuff, vibrating.

Brad had already pulled off his shirt, revealing his broad, hairy chest. Without his suit, without that three-pieced pinstripe number, he resembled a biker. That full head of black hair, his drooping but trimmed bushy moustache, his full, trimmed beard gave him an air of power, of brutality. The way he was staring at her now made her flesh ripple with something between terror and sexual delight.

"Please… please don't… don't hurt me," she said automatically.

"Yeah, sure."

His pants were next, falling around his protruding cock, puddling around his feet.

"Please."

"Get out of that dress or I'll tear it off," he ordered.

Wendy froze for a moment, then tensed her thighs and rose from the bed. This was no time for protest. Besides, she was too high on Scotch to think of anything clever, even if she wanted to. Reaching down, Wendy pulled her dress up, over her head, and off. She folded her arms over her chest, feeling a little cold and exposed.

Brad was stark naked now, fondling his cock and balls, his eyes feasting on her body. There was a moment of silence. Wendy trembled.

"Come here," he commanded.

She obeyed, walking slowly and savoring the mounting fear rushing through her mind and body. When she was almost touching his prick with her hips, he stopped her, put both his hands on her shoulders, and pushed down.

Instantly, Wendy knew what he wanted and bent her legs. Down she went, her nose brushing over his dribbling cock knob. The moment the woman was on her knees, his prick bobbing in front of her. She tilted her head and opened her mouth, inhaling sharply, smelling the slightly spur odor of his crotch.

"Oh, gimme head, gimme head," he repeated over and over again, his fingers now clutching the sides of her skull, the tips pressing against her ears.

He was guiding her forward, bending his knees slightly while hunching his cock against her face. He slid his cockshaft up one side of her nose then drew back, coming forward once more and touching her lips. He dipped his cock knob into Wendy's mouth, brushing over the tip of her tongue.

"Ohhhh yeahhhhh…"

Suddenly, the blonde felt her mouth fill with his prick-meat, her cheeks bulging out. More and more pre-cum bubbled out of his piss-slit, coating her mouth and throat, making her swallow as she breathed with whistling sounds through her nostrils.

"Fuck, yeah, yeahhhh…" Brad moaned.

His fingertips were pressing harder and harder against her head while he twisted his hips from side to side, stirring his prick inside her mouth.

Wendy swallowed again, feeling his cock slipping back farther and farther until prick cad was touching her throat. It was getting hard for her to breathe. And Brad was going wild above her, twisting his cock around, holding his crotch so close to her face his cock hairs were tickling her nose.