All Novel Sweet
98
“Damn,” I groaned.
She grinned down at me and licked her lips. “What is your next command, Master Big Brother?”
God, I would love this life owning my sister-wife.
* * *
Derrick savors his little sister-slave sucking his dick clean. They had time for the blowjob before dinner. Derrick doesn’t ever think about any other girl but Amanda. She’s his perfect, little sister-slut. He can’t wait to breed her.
Little does he know she is pregnant with twins.
A boy and a girl that will grow up to enjoy the same incestuous, BDSM relationship.
* * *
Kristen squeals in delight, picturing Amanda sucking her big brother’s cock clean. She was much better for him than saying dumb things like how cute Kristen was. The bookworm whimpers through her orgasm and pants, her pleasure past.
“Shame brothers and sisters can’t love each other,” she says. Only in her journal.
Or so she thinks.
Kristen lets Derrick drift from her mind as she searches for her next story. Maybe one about Mr. Holiday. He hasn’t been having much fun at all while Daddy’s been cuckolding him and breeding his daughters.
With a new story percolating in her mind, Kristen heads to her class, thinking about various sluts that could provide stress relief at Mr. Holiday’s office.
Office Slut Stress Relief
Kristen is so excited when she figures out a hot story. Mr. Holiday needs some relief. Thanks to Kristen’s writing, her fantasy world is coming true. Though the naughty writer doesn’t know she’s making her wicked desires come true, they are.
Mr. Holiday has a pregnant wife, and Kristen knows he’s getting no relief. That’s how she’s written the story so far. Mrs. Holiday and her twin daughters are too busy sneaking off to be fucked by Kristen’s father. He’s knocked them both up and giving those pregnant whores all the dick they need.
Which leaves Mr. Holiday getting no pussy.
Kristen wants him to have his fun, too. He needs relief. He’s a hard worker. The sort of high-stress environment where the men need to have their dick sucked by sluts. By girls who knew to take care of their men. In Kristen’s world, women are either good girls faithful to their men or complete sluts that have to be fucked all the time.
And as she pens her stories, she’s making that fantasy a reality.
Hiding out during the lunch break, she sits down to pen her new story about office sluts relieving the men at Mr. Holiday’s work. A new policy that Kristen is eager to create. She opens her special diary, never wondering why she hasn’t filled it up yet.
Little things no longer bother Kristen. She’s focusing all her attention on the diary. On creating her fantasy. She’s too busy writing to live herself.
* * *
Russel Holiday
I was bushed. I had been getting all the overtime I could. My wife and both our twin daughters were pregnant. They all had gotten pregnant at nearly the same time. My vasectomy didn’t hold. My doctor said it could happen. My daughters, though…
They were both sexually active, it turned out. I didn’t want to know the details. Their mother was taking care of it, but it meant my daughters were now teenage single mothers. Part of the epidemic spreading in the country.
So I had to make more.
Take overtime.
Volunteer for extra shifts.
I had barely seen my family because of it. I hadn’t had sex with my wife since she told me she was pregnant, and that was… what, six months ago. She was round and had no interest in sex the few times I tried. She was content with having another baby.
So I was frustrated. Jacking off to porn in the bathroom late at night before crawling exhausted into bed wasn’t the life I should be having. It sucked, but there just didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it. I just had to work.
My wife was happy. She was decorating the nursery where all three babies would be sleeping. She was spending more money to get ready for the coming kids. I mean, I was excited to be a father again and a grandfather, but…
I needed a break.
The alarm on my phone went off. I groaned. It was time for another meeting. My boss, Mr. Trevors, liked to call them often then he expected us to get the same amount of work done even after he wasted an hour of our time.
Oh, some of the meeting was important, but most of the time they were just Mr. Trevors pontificating about how great he was at golf or the latest video game he was playing. He could just strut up and down before us, knowing that we had to sit here and take it.
It sucked.
I slumped into the room and groaned. It was a quarterly goal meeting. They were the absolute worst. I wasn’t the only one groaning. The men and women on my floor were all sinking into their seats. We were a mix of accountants and software guys who worked on our accounting software.
Mr. Trevor stood before us, a tall and handsome man, and slapped at the whiteboard. “That’s right, we need to get those billable hours up, guys.” He surveyed us with that cocky smile. The Black man used to play football in college and still believed that was his greatest achievement. “There are corporate books to fix, vendor payments to categorize, and payrolls to manage. You need to be working harder. We’re down 3% this quarter. We have got to make it up! I need you all to work hard like my man, Russel.”
I just nodded, wanting to take a nap.
These meetings were the worst.
* * *
Ms. Holiday thinks it’s another boring meeting, but when he walks in, he realizes it’s not. His boss, Mr. Charleston, has a plan to help with productivity by introducing a new way to reduce stress. Mr. Holiday is perked right up.
* * *
Russel Holiday
Mr. Charleston clapped his hands together. He had a big smile, his thick glasses magnifying his eyes. His sandy-brown hair was badly combed over his bald spot. He was the palest guy in the office. I didn’t think he ever left it.
“Productivity is down because morale is down,” said Mr. Charleston. “I know Russel has been working himself to the bone. He’s a cool dude that needs a break. You all do.”
I nodded. God, I did need a break.
“That’s why the company is taking steps to make sure that you’re all taken care of.” Mr. Charleston surveyed the room. It was all men. He wore the most lurid of grins. It was a tad uncomfortable. “You cool dudes eager to find out? Huh?”
“Sure,” I said. This was so different from the meeting I thought we would have. And so far he hadn’t launched into a story of the glory days of his WoW guild and the raid bosses they took down. It was all gibberish to me.
“Then let me welcome our newest additions,” he said, motioning to the door. “Here are the girls who are going to take care of you all.”
The door opened and, to my utter delight, a group of young women, barely eighteen, sauntered in wearing very short tartan skirts and white blouses tied beneath their breasts. The skirts swished about delicious thighs and boobs bounced in the thin material. Their flat stomachs were delicious, all with cute navels. Some had their bellybuttons pierced with gold charms. Their hairs were all different styles. Pigtails. Ponytails. French braids. Some had knee-high socks, others thigh-high socks. All white. They wore saddle-buckles shoes, looking at once innocent and whorish.
The sort of virginal sluttiness that made every guy hard. My dick was thrusting up at full mast.
“That’s right,” said Mr. Charleston as the girls moved around him. Six on each side of them. A few blondes, some brunettes, an Asian chick, a Black girl, a Latina hottie, a redhead. They all had smoky eyes, nipples poking against their thing blouses. “The company has hired the recent graduate from St. Tatiana’s, the nation’s premier school for sluttery. They are all skilled whores, trained in the sexual arts and ready to pleasure you all. Show them, girls.”
The dozen sluts turned around and bent over. Their short skirts rode up and over their asses to reveal a dozen pair of bald twats all dripping wet. Several had gold rings piercing their clits. I breathed in their hot musk. Cunt. Real, wet cunt.
“They are going to fuck you all,” said Mr. Charleston, resting his hands on a pair of asses belonging to the two girls flanking him. He squeezed a pale one and an ebony one. “When you need a break, these sluts will be here to give it to you.”
All twelve giggled and wiggled their hips.
“Russel, my cool dude, you have been working the hardest, so you deserve some relief first. Why don’t you pick a pair of them to have them suck your cocks.” My boss grinned at me. He squeezed their rumps. “Don’t be shy. They’re all eager to please.”
I rose, everyone glancing at me like they were so envious. I swallowed, loving the sight of those sluts dripping with excitement. My wife hadn’t let me touch her in six months. I hadn’t had a day off. I was working from home on the weekend to get more billable hours. I had to make more money, but… but…
There was the sweet relief I needed.
I stood and moved forward. All the guys were staring at me. They knew I was one lucky guy. So were the sluts. They were preening. They fluttered their eyelids at me and stood sexy in their obscene parody of a schoolgirl’s innocent outfit.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.
“Shit,” I groaned and swallowed. “The redhead and the blonde!”
The two I named smiled and darted toward me. They were both so sexy. Fresh-faced and just so delicious. Barely legal sluts that were so eager to love me. They both unknotted the fronts of their blouses and opened them.
Their breasts appeared. Round and perky. The blonde had a silver barbell threaded through her right nub. It went so nicely with the pink. I shuddered as she smiled at me. My dick was so hard. I was so ready for this.
“What’s your names?” I said, my heart racing.
“We’re sluts, sir,” cooed the redhead. She took my right hand and brought it to her firm tit. I squeezed it, loving the feel of a young breast in my hand.
“We don’t need names,” the blonde added, her voice smoky and delicious. She grabbed my left hand and brought it to her boob with the piercing.
I squeezed her tit, too. I kneaded them both, playing with them, my cock so fucking hard. This was amazing. A pair of ripe, barely legal titties. Some delicious teenage breasts. These girls couldn’t be a day over eighteen.
“Isn’t that better than a stress ball?” the redhead asked with such heat to her voice.
“So much better than some dumb, rubber ball,” cooed the blonde. “Mmm, just squeeze our tits. That’s it. Ooh, you need this soooo badly, don’t you, sir.”
“Yes,” I groaned. Six months of a pregnant wife that I couldn’t touch. “Yes, I do.”