Fathers

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Parents will look out for their boys.
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Ashson
Ashson
8,505 Followers

I enjoy being a girl and having the boys chase me. I also enjoy making sure that they don't quite catch me. It keeps them interested. Being interested they try harder, not being above a little bribery to try to gain my affection. As far as I'm concerned, if a boy is silly enough to offer me presents for no more than a smile and a maybe promise, then that's his problem. I'll happily accept the present and give them the smile and the maybe. Of course, maybe also means maybe not, but boys are a trifle slow to understand this.

Currently I have two boys determinedly wooing me. I like that word, wooing. They're both going out of their way to be nice to me. Maybe the fact that I've hinted that I've reached a stage in my life where I may want to start experimenting sexually has something to do with it.

Mike and Gordon are long time mates but they're both at each other's throats right now, each trying to outdo the other, all for little me. It gives you quite an exhilarating sense of power. I'll go home after a date with one of them laughing in remembrance of the way their trousers tented after I kiss them.

I am careful not to be too alone with them. After all, I wouldn't want to find one of them deciding to take the decision out of my hands. When I choose, it is going to be my choice, and I won't even guarantee that Mike or Gordon will be the one. After all, there are a lot of eligible young men out there.

Young men, being essentially hormone driven, are easy to control. You attach the reins to their cock and they follow you anywhere, there cocks twitching when you smile. A glimpse of boob or an accidental flash of panties and their cocks stand up tall, like a little boy who knows the answer and wants the teacher to pick him.

Older men, I've noticed, aren't nearly so susceptible. Cynical old bastards, some of them. Two men I'd put in the cynical old bastard category are Mike's and Gordon's fathers. I'd met them when I've been around at the boys' places and instead of flirting with me they imply their boys could do better.

Both fathers have at different times hinted that I should pick one or other of the boys and just get fucked so the boys know where they stand. Fat chance. Commit to one or the other and the wooing (and presents) stop and whoever I picked would expect me to be their slave. Not going to happen.

One Saturday afternoon I was home alone. The boys had both gone to the football. They'd both invited me along but I politely declined. I mean, really, the football? Their attention would be on the game when it should be on me, so I opted out, staying home and washing my hair.

I'd just finished drying my hair when there was a knock on the front door. A little surprised, as I wasn't expecting anyone, I sneaked a peek to see if it would be worthwhile answering. To my surprise Mike's father was standing there, together with Gordon's father. I guessed that I'd have to see what they wanted.

I did a quick check of what I was wearing. It was an unseasonably hot day and I had been washing my hair so I was dressed accordingly. I had on a pair of tight skimpy shorts and an armless black t-shirt that was slightly damp. After a moment's thought I got rid of my bra. Let the old geezers see a pair of breasts bouncing about and wonder what they were like. Then I went to let them in.

Now when I call the fathers old geezers I'm not being strictly accurate. Mike and Gordon are both around twenty, and I suspect neither of the older men has yet reached forty. Old geezer is a relative term as that's the way they act when I'm around.

I suppose that instead of just referring to them as Mike's father or Gordon's father I should let you know their names. Malcom and Grey, both fathers having used their first initial to determine their son's names. That always seems a little stupid to me. I mean, a letter arrives addressed to Mr M Smith. Is it meant for the father or the son? I can see unfortunate consequences to opening the wrong letter, but that's their problem, not mine.

I opened the door.

"Malcolm, Grey," I said nodding greetings to them. Damned if I was going to call them Mister.

"Afternoon, Julie," said Malcolm. "We've been wanting to talk to you. May we come in?"

So much for asking. The arrogant sod just walked straight past me, taking permission for granted, Grey right behind him. They walked into the front room and just stood there looking at me. I closed the door and strolled in after them, sitting down on a lounge chair.

"Please, take a seat," I said, waving a hand at the couch.

"Not just yet," said Malcolm. It appeared that he was going to do all the talking. "We wanted to tell you that we're not happy about the way you're treating the boys."

I straightened up slightly, subtly moving my shoulders back to throw my chest out, taking a deep breath and letting it out to give my breasts a chance to do a little bounce. Both men noticed, even though they pretended not to.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I confessed.

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean," contradicted Malcolm. "You're leading both of them around by the nose, playing them off against each other, trying to destroy their friendship and milking them for all you can get. Did I miss anything?"

"Well, there is the little matter of holding them up by their cocks and not coming through like she promises," murmured Grey.

"Oh, yes. There is the fact that you're a cock tease. The entire situation is most unsatisfactory."

"I have no idea what you're on about," I protested, while privately think that he'd summed up the relationship pretty well. "Surely you're not suggesting that I should have sex with one of them or, god forbid, both? What sort of girl do you think I am?"

I shouldn't have asked that last question.

"What sort of girl? Ah, a cold-blooded, heartless bitch, who is studying to be a professional gold-digger seems appropriate. As to having you go to bed with one of our boys, as you say, god forbid. We haven't worried about that as we reckoned you wouldn't without a much bigger bribe."

That was laying it on the line pretty much. A tear trickled down one cheek. (A useful trick that.)

"I think you've said enough," I said sadly, all offended dignity. I heaved another big sigh, breasts bouncing happily. "I'd like you to leave now."

I rose to my feet and found myself face to face with Malcolm who had moved forward. Before I could say anything more Grey had moved up behind me. What's worse, he took hold of my t-shirt and lifted it straight up, jerking my arms up and lifting the t-shirt clean off me, my breasts again bouncing happily from the unexpected movement, but this time not with my blessing and in full view of Malcolm who was looking at them and smiling.

"I didn't think you were wearing a bra," he said. "Took it off when you saw we were at the door, hmm?"

"I did no such thing," I flared. "How dare you take off my top?"

"I didn't," he pointed out. "Grey did. I'm just taking off these shorts."

OK. So he was telling me that he was taking my shorts down. Big fat hairy deal. I'd sort of worked that out as he'd unsnapped the catch and jerked them down before he'd even finished speaking. Problem there was that the shorts were tight, skin tight, and when he pulled them down they dragged my panties down too, leaving me naked and furious.

"Are the pair of you mad?" I screeched. "How dare you molest me like this? You get out of this house and get out now."

"Noisy, isn't she," Malcolm said to Grey, "and as dumb as they come."

Dumb? What the hell did he mean by that? I ignored it. I stood up to my full height and flung one arm towards the door, annoyed that the motion started my breasts bobbing again.

"Out! Now!" I ordered.

"Truly, truly, dumb," sighed Grey. "I didn't think they still made them that stupid."

My inherent dumbness finally registered with me when Malcolm stopped by breasts from bouncing by taking hold of them. Grey apparently wanted to make sure my bottom didn't bounce because his hands were holding it.

"Ah, Julie," a little voice whispered, "you're all alone and naked with two men who are a little annoyed with you. You may have a little problem here."

Malcolm released my breasts and took a step back, smiling kindly.

"Oh, I don't think she's really stupid," he said, unbuckling his belt. "Just a little slow to put things together."

His trousers dropped and I found I wasn't facing a little problem. Malcolm laughed at the look on my face. It probably was funny from his point of view.

"Since you seem to be having trouble about who should screw you Grey and I decided that we'd help you out."

I backed up a step, promptly finding myself bumping into Grey, who'd released his grip on my bottom. Probably so he could drop his own trousers. When I bumped into him I could feel a rigid shaft pressing against my buttocks. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place - I was between two hard shafts, fore and aft.

Did I panic? Yes, I did. I gave a scream and tried to run, which got me precisely nowhere. Malcolm just scooped me up, spun me around, and laid me flat on my back on the floor, coming down to settle next to me.

"Don't you touch me," I yelled. "Don't you dare! You don't know what you're doing."

"Oh, we're both grown men, Julie," Malcolm said with a laugh. "I think you'll find that we both know exactly what to do. Starting with doing this."

His hand reached for and covered my pussy. He ignored my startled squawk and started rubbing me there. No, really, he did. He just started massaging my mound, his hand rubbing back and forth very firmly and it felt most peculiar.

Now I wasn't going to take that sort of thing lying down. I tried scrambling to my feet, only to find Grey had hold of my wrists, pinning them above my head. I also tried to pull my legs together to deny Malcolm access, only to find he had one hairy leg wedged between mine, holding mine apart while he molested me. It seemed that I was going to take this sort of thing lying down.

"Have you ever noticed how breasts disappear when a girl's flat on her back?" observed Grey, reaching down and cupping one of my breasts, lifting it back into shape. "You wouldn't think to see these bouncing about when she's standing that they'd just flatten and go when she's lying down. Mind you, her nipples sure stand up nice."

I was shocked to find he was right. Although my breasts might have flattened slightly now I was on my back, my nipples were standing puckered and peaked. Not helped by Grey pinching and teasing them.

The reason I was concentrating on Grey and his rude mauling of my breasts was because I was trying to avoid thinking of what Malcolm was doing elsewhere. His massaging of my pussy was now being interspersed with illicit explorations, his fingers parting my lips and sneaking between them, rubbing and stroking me internally.

I was twisting about, trying to get away from this assault, having zero luck, while Malcolm, damn him, was doing his best to wreak havoc with my pussy. As for Grey, would you believe he leaned over me and was kissing my breasts and sucking on my nipples? If he let go my hands for even one instant I was going to hit him so hard. . .

In sex education it was mentioned that a woman's clitoris was especially sensitive. This was theoretical knowledge as far as I was concerned, never really been interested in experimenting in that area. The theoretical became practical and personal when Malcolm started poking me in that area. I screeched and bucked and he laughed.

"Clitoris," he said to Grey and Grey laughed as well, the creep.

"Well, I think that's just about enough," Malcolm said.

I breathed a sigh of relief as Grey leaned away from me again, although he was still holding my wrists. Even better, Malcolm stopped playing with my pussy. After that I was wondering what the hell as Malcolm started spreading my legs even wider. Next thing I know he's kneeling between my thighs, my pussy wide open to him, with his cock poking towards me.

"I thought you said that's enough?" I protested.

"Dumb as they come," observed Grey while Malcolm laughed. Very funny, I don't think.

"I meant enough foreplay, sweetheart," Malcolm informed me. "You seem ripe for the next step and so here it is."

With that his cock was pressing against me, forcing its way past my lips, and I panicked all over again.

I started thrashing about, yelling at him to get off me, and he just stopped pushing and waited. When I finally slowed down a bit he just gave me a look.

"Do you mind?" he asked. "Just try to lie there until I've nailed you. You can do all your bouncing about after that."

With that he gave a hard push, his cock driving in, and I screamed again, this time from pain. That damn-well hurt.

"Oh, for god's sake, take it easy. That was just your cherry being popped. It's the only pain you'll feel. Now if you'll kindly relax you'll find the rest of this quite pleasant. And you owe me ten bucks," he added.

"What ten dollars?" I demanded, confused.

"I was talking to Grey for that," I was told. "We had a bet going as to whether you were a virgin. I said yes but Grey insisted that there was no way known. You'd probably sold it off the day you turned eighteen."

I was giving Grey such a furious glare that I barely noticed when Malcolm resumed pushing, his cock driving deeper into me. Barely noticed does not mean didn't notice. The sensations being raised inside me snapped my mind back to that cock and its invasion pretty quickly, being fucked sort of taking priority over being insulted.

As a matter of fact I was finding that being fucked was taking priority over everything. I mean, one moment I was lying there being teased, the next I've got this enormous cock inside me doing all sorts of weird things to me, and it wasn't even moving at this stage. Just lying there, filling me, and still managing to draw my complete attention. I knew that there was more to come and it was with some trepidation that I waited.

You can excuse my trepidation as I was being raped, after all. I mean, people can get hurt when they're raped, and I don't mean just by getting their cherry popped, so I could be excused for worrying slightly.

Malcolm started dragging his cock back out of me, the rasp of it against my tender flesh doing peculiar things to me, then it came charging back in. If I thought it was doing peculiar things to me when it came out it was nothing to the feelings I got when it came bolting back in. I gave a startled, "Aargh," and Malcolm smiled down at me.

"You have to learn to move with me," he said. "Let's try that again."

Move with him? Oh yes. It's amazing how an emergency can concentrate your mind and clarify your memory. The woman is supposed to push up to meet the man when he drives into her and in this particular instance I was the woman. Malcolm was pulling back and this time when he drove back in I was ready and pushed my hips up to meet him. (Not that I wanted to, you understand, but it seemed wiser.) The result of me pushing up to meet him was that he came in a lot faster and those strange feeling were redoubled and I was like, "Whoa," in surprise.

In theory, 'whoa' is a command to a horse to stop. It seems where sex is concerned it means 'That was fantastic. Do it again,' because that's the way Malcolm treated it. He was pulling back and getting ready to drive back in again before I even had a chance to settle.

He kept on doing it, too, with me urgently bouncing on my bottom, trying to stay with him. I was also giving a colourful little commentary as we went, something along the lines of, "Wah, oh, argh, no, god, wow, etc.," as Malcolm really worked my poor pussy over.

My vocalisations aren't meant to be taken to mean that I wasn't finding the whole thing almost unbearably exciting, because it was. Every thrust seemed to waken new feelings, send new waves of heat flooding through me, stirring up unbelievable levels of excitement. Towards the end I wasn't bouncing my hips because I had to according to Malcolm's dictates. I was bouncing my hips because I had to, my desires running wild and wanting more, my body was yelling come in deeper and put some effort into it, damn you.

I didn't understand what the change of rhythm meant when Malcolm started taking me harder than ever. I wasn't left ignorant for long. His cock came slamming home one time too many and flicked a switch inside me. I screamed and climaxed, shaking all over as fire ripped through me again and again, starting deep inside me and just rippling out in a series of waves that burned me alive.

Malcolm rolled off me and I was lying there stunned. Grey knelt down beside me. He had a bowl of warm water and a sponge and he was wiping me down, carefully cleaning up miscellaneous fluids from my body. I hadn't even noticed him leave to get the stuff he was using. He patted me dry and I gave a reluctant thank you.

"Don't thank me. I wasn't doing it for you," he said. He must have noticed my look of surprise. I mean, if not for me, who for?

"I'm doing it for myself," he explained. "I like to clean up before I start."

Say what? Before I had time to react to that comment he was rolling me over onto my tummy.

"Hands and knees," he yapped at me and when I went to protest he slapped my bottom.

"Hands and knees, I said. Not talk," he growled, and I found myself scrambling onto my hands and knees, turning my head to look at him and wondering what the hell?

'What the hell' turned out to be him kneeling behind me and his cock lining up on my poor pussy.

His arms wrapped around me, his hands closing upon my breasts.

"What do you think you're doing?" I wailed, although I was pretty damn sure I knew.

"Dumb as they come," he muttered again, the rude swine. Hands clutching my breasts he pulled me towards him at the same time as his cock thrust forward, striking deep into me. I knew it. I just KNEW he was going to do that.

"I like it this way," he told me. "Your breasts aren't all flattened to buggery and I can get a decent handful. Now shut up."

He started sawing away at me, his cock just going in and out as though he was slicing through a piece of wood. No finesse, just in, out, in, out, in, out. I'd only ever been fucked once before, and that was by Malcolm, but even I could tell Grey had a lousy technique. With Malcolm I'd felt things right from the word go and, although I hate to admit it, it had been exciting and interesting. This clown was managing to make sex seem boring.

If it wasn't for the fact that it was me that he was fucking I'd have fallen asleep watching him in action. He had one speed and no variation whatsoever. I guess any luck he had with women was because of his stamina. He just went on and on and the sheer repetition of it started to bring excitement to me. Not the screaming 'oh my god' excitement that Malcolm had caused, but more of a 'hmm, this isn't too bad' excitement.

He went on and on, with me moving with him. What the hell would he do if a woman knew any tricks and tried them on him? Probably get all upset that a woman would presume to take a leading part.

On and on. I was gritting my teeth, wanting to yell at him to pull his finger out and do something, damn it. Yes, my excitement was building, and yes, I would probably climax sometime, assuming I didn't die of old age first.

I would never have guessed that I'd be silently thanking Malcolm for taking me first. He'd left my pussy glowing and in an excited state, and Grey had that foundation to build on. I suspect that if Grey had been my first I'd have become a lesbian.

Still going. He apparently had all day. OK. At least I was nicely excited now, breathing hard, pleasure building. Did Grey have a finishing stroke, I wondered, or did he just keep going until the clockwork ran down?

Ashson
Ashson
8,505 Followers
12