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To feel secure.
“I got the flyers and the sign-up sheets done for the recital next week.” She’s trying to change the subject.
“That’s good, baby.” I walk over and take her hand, leading her down the hall to our bedroom. “But, you know the rules. You leave the house, you let me know and you take your cell. You didn’t do either.”
“I’m sorry, it was last minute…”
“That’s no excuse, is it?”
She shakes her head, “No, Daddy.”
“Okay, so, corner time.” I close the door behind us and point and she knows what to do.
I stand and watch in awe. She still takes my breath away, the same as she did that first day.
My cock is already a length of thickening, demanding flesh when she drops her lime-green polka dot dress to the floor, naked underneath, as she puts her hands on the walls in the corner, arching her back, ass out and head falling between her arms.
“Good girl,” I seethe, already kicking off my work boots and stripping my clothes. “You know you’re getting a rough fuck, little girl. A punishment and a reward all at once.”
She nods, her honey-colored hair hanging around her face as I line up my dick with her wet entrance and slam forward without ceremony.
I reach up and cover her mouth with my hand as she screams, the sound of her immediate orgasm ripping through me, and I take no mercy on her tight pussy.
“Naughty girl, not asking…”
Her walls already pulse and clamp down, making it harder to drive in and out, but it only makes me want to fuck her harder, faster, deeper.
“You want my cum?” I bark, dropping my hand from her mouth and going at her harder, knowing in her way she loves the punishment fucks, the brutality, the games we share.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good, because you’re getting it. If you weren’t pregnant already, I’d be rooting inside you today.”
She’s quivering, her once rail-thin form has gained some curves over the years and I love it all. She’s about three months along with our fourth, and she’s barely showing, but I can’t wait until she gets that round belly. It drives me fucking nuts.
I love our life. I love everything about us and can’t wait to see what the future brings.
“Please, Daddy, I want to come.”
Another rule, ask before you come. She doesn’t always get that one right either, but part of the fun is her breaking the rules.
“Give it to me, baby. Show me how you like a good Daddy fuck…” I feel her start to go off, her walls contracting as my balls seize up, delivering the first hot shot of seed into her cervix. I roar, filling her to overflowing, but continue pumping into her, imagining I’m driving every seed up into her womb.
We convulse and curse and call out. Panting and sweaty, as a knock on the door breaks us from the moment.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, baby?” She answers breathless. It’s Jameson and thank fuck we’ve taught our kids to always knock first.
“Melanie’s crying.”
I slip out of my wife, pushing her down onto her knees. “Clean me up,” I order in a low voice, then turn my head toward the door. “We’ll be right there, buddy. Go sit with her for a minute, mommy’s just finishing up something in here.”
“Sure,” Jameson answers with irritation. “Just don’t take too long, sometimes you guys take a long time in there.”
Kezia’s mouth wraps around my cock, licking and sucking with her wide eyes looking up.
“I love you, little one.”
She pops my still swollen head from her lips to reply. “I love you too, Daddy.”
“Now finish up, do a good job or you might just get corner time again.”
She crinkles her nose. “Promise?”
I nod. “Promise.”
VOLUME THREE
DEAR DIARY
CHAPTER 1
JACKSON
What kind of world do we live in that people pay to have their asses enlarged?
I think about that as I watch a woman with an artificially enhanced derriere bump into a waiter, sending three margaritas crashing to the black granite floor.
She laughs instead of fucking apologizing or trying to help, and I think it’s too bad they don’t have brain-enhancing surgeries. Or common courtesy infusions.
Her tribe joins in, howling like she’s just slayed the opening act at The Improv.
The poor fucking waiter shoots them a look as he rushes to scoop up the largest shards of glass before some idiot slices themselves open.
Grabbing a rag from the bar, I step over and tap him on the shoulder. “Go on, get a mop. I’ll keep an eye on this.”
Relief replaces the anger in his eyes. “Thanks…appreciate it.” He gives me a tight smile before winding his way through the crowd toward the back.
For all their alcohol-induced camaraderie, I’ve not seen one person in here treat the staff like human beings.
He’s back a few minutes later and I return to my post at the bar, wondering why there isn’t a separate cleanup staff. But then, I don’t know shit about running bars so who the fuck knows? I know a lot about running a lot of shit, but bars are not my thing.
