Milford Thomas - Step-Daughter Initiation

Maryann saw his wrinkled scrotum tighten it squeezed his bloated balls. The wild pulsations running through the tube in the underside of his penis let her know he was ready to blast off. There was no controlling him. The head of his huge penis continued pulsing inside the seething, searing depths of her tight, wet passage as he drove his anxious cock to maximum depth.

His hot, flaming sperm burst like an explosion from the tip of his cock. Herb was lost in the fantastic sensations of his climax as the white, bubbling froth fired repeatedly into the depths of his wife's belly.

"Unnnggh… " Maryann gasped. The pressure hose unleashed in her cunt built her climactic sensations higher and higher.

The fiery liquid heat pumped into her seething pussy in a series of hot, continuing explosions. The hot jism pushed her toward her own climax. Maryann was unable to contain herself. The dual orgasm rippled through her vagina and rectum together. This was her first climax of any kind, and the woman let the world hear it.

"Haaayyyaaoooh! Eeeuuunngh!" she shrieked through the darkening sky. Immediately the loud shrieks of night birds imitated her cry.

Maryann fell flat on her belly, tugging her husband down with her. His arms locked around her, holding her full breasts, and when she twisted her head his mouth was there, pressing on hers, kissing her.

"You're a stupid bitch," he whispered between kisses.

"I know," she murmured back. "I know. I can't help myself. It's my upbringing."

"Well, then, we'll simply have to change your upbringing, won't we?"

"Yes," she gasped. "It'll take time. Have patience, Herb. Don't rush things. Tonight was a breakthrough, but there are some things for which I'm not quite ready."

"I have plenty of patience," he assured her. "Now that you understand there's more than one position to fucking, I don't think we'll have any trouble as far as using different angles and such. The rest can wait… a little while, anyway."

"You're good to me, Herb."

"Because you're good for me, Maryann."

And below, in the cabin, Wendy was shivering, wondering what her stepfather had done to make her mother scream like that. It sounded as if he'd been tearing her head off. The girl had been tempted to run up on deck to discover what was going on, but the voices murmuring overhead let her know her mother was all right. In fact, from the tone of her mother's voice, she was very, very happy. Wendy was unable to recall when her mother had sounded so pleased.

"And when we get back I'll buy you that new coat," Herb said.

So, Wendy thought, Mother was right. In her own way, she's controlling him. He'll do anything she wants!

Herb Rheingold was a very practical man. Now that he and Maryann were married, it was cheaper to hire another woman to work as a part-time secretary in his office, while Maryann got a fulltime job as a secretary in a large corporation, where she earned four times as much money as Herb had paid her prior to their marriage. Whatever money she earned was hers to keep in her own private bank account-Herb was earning enough to support the entire family. He picked out a small home, already furnished, and wanted to legally adopt Wendy, so when she returned to school in the fall, her name would be Wendy Rheingold. This was fine with her.

Every morning during August, her mother and stepfather arose at the same time, had breakfast together, then went separately to work. Herb Rheingold drove a Mercedes to work, and he'd purchased an Audi for Maryann. Wendy, with nothing to do, lolled around the house all day, watching TV, reading books, and becoming friendly with Irene, the girl next door, who was two years older than she.

Though Irene was older, she was no less naive about sex than Wendy. Her parents were very strict, and it wasn't until they were certain of Wendy's naivetй concerning sex that they allowed their daughter to associate with the girl.

Much of the time Irene went to the beach with her parents and Wendy was once again alone. It looked as if August was going to be a very, very boring month.

Every day at twelve-thirty, Wendy's stepfather came home for lunch. Herb Rheingold wasn't a cheap man, but he was practical. There was no need going to a restaurant for lunch when he had a stepdaughter whose mother had taught her to cook at an early age-at least that was what he told Wendy. But the young brown-haired girl wondered why he kept looking at her in such a funny way. It was almost the same way he looked at her mother. There was unquestionably a glistening in his eyes.

It was on the second Monday in August, while serving frozen dinner, that Wendy slipped and fell. She was wearing pink hot pants and a striped polo shirt that day, and as her body hit the floor, she looked at her stepfather. The man was already on his feet, ready to help her, but his eyes were not on her face. His eyes were staring at the white panties showing under her hot pants as her legs flailed in the air. For some reason, her stepfather was looking at her as he looked at her mother. Wendy had often seen him staring at her mother's behind. when the woman was bent over.

Herb Rheingold picked her up, saying, "Easy, Wendy. Don't try to stand. You might have sprained or twisted something."

She was carried into the living room and deposited on the sofa. He knelt and ran his fingers delicately over her knees and legs, squeezing, compressing, rubbing, as he said, "Does this hurt? How about here?"

All the while she lay there, her head resting against a pillow on a sofa arm, wondering what had come over the man. When his hand attempted to go above her knee, she stiffened a little, not knowing his intentions. Herb sensed her tautness and took his hand away.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," she nodded. "Nothing hurt."

"Well," he said, returning his hand to her knee, "Autumn is coming and we'll have to buy you a new wardrobe. That ragged coat you have now isn't good enough for you."

"Oh?" she asked, loosening a little, relaxing even as his hand rubbed her thigh a big higher. "What were you thinking of getting me?"

"New clothes, a new coat, some winter slacks."

"Sounds nice," Wendy purred, noting that his hand made no move to go higher.

Her mother was right about being able to control men! Wendy, too, had a certain amount of control over this man. All she had to do was let him look at her thighs and rub them a little. He was perspiring and his hand was shaking a little. The girl even noted a difference in the rhythm of his breathing.

Herb Rheingold wasn't the only person who was nervous. Wendy liked the gentle, soothing touch of his hand. It made her feel funny, tingly all over. She wanted to wiggle and squirm, but that would let Herb know he was affecting her. When his hand moved the littlest bit higher on her thigh, she flinched, more than a little nervous and almost afraid. He looked large, kneeling there, hovering over her. Wendy smelled his cologne. She had to admit she liked it.

"Hey, you did hurt yourself," he said, softly. "Here, let me kiss it and make it better."

Now who the hell does he think he's kidding? the twelve-year-old girl wondered. No one healed by kissing. Not that she was sore on her inner thigh, anyway. But heck, if letting him kiss her there meant getting all those new clothes, well, why not?

Opening her thighs a bit wider, she forced herself to relax as Herb leaned forward and pressed his lips to the imaginary sore spot. His kiss was hot and wet. She trembled when his tongue licked the spot, but said nothing. Oh, wow! That really felt terrific! she thought.

"Feeling better?" Herb asked, reluctantly raising his head.

"Uhhh… yeah… sure… much better."

"Good," he nodded. "Look, I'll finish lunch and get back to the office." And he rose and returned to the kitchen.