Epilogue
Moby
Five Years Later
Ilearned to build and made it my profession, simply so I could build my little human a home. And I am good at building. But I am better at loving Darla.
I am a master at that. She makes it very easy. Although sometimes I think love is a very mild word for how I feel about my wife. She is the moon, sun and stars. My oxygen. An obsession with no cure. No appeasing.
Darla is life.
I watch her through the doors of my work shed where I fashion furniture and home fixtures for the locals.
She sits on the hillside now, sketching tattoo ideas in her notebook, the wind blowing her long strawberry blonde hair this way and that.
Our son and his toddler sister play at her feet, tumbling around in the grass, laughing merrily.
I cannot believe the life this girl has given me.
Happiness that words cannot describe, for it is far too vast. Knowing she would choose me and love me with any form or appearance has given me a security that I could never have imagined before Darla was in my life.
I would have her in any form, too. Any incarnation. In any world or lifetime.
For her heart is the purest of any human that walks this earth.
Somehow, she’s mine.
Which is why I do not long for the ocean, apart from the occasional urge to take a long swim. My longing for her eclipses all else.
Restless to have her in my arms, I flip the off switch on my table saw and wipe the grease from my hands. I take off my filthy shirt, so I won’t transfer any dirt onto her sacred skin and I leave the work shed, striding across the field with purpose.
Toward my wife and children.
Darla looks up and I catch the heat that kindles in her expression when she sees me with no shirt on.
Ah yes, my wife gets turned on when she sees me sweaty and fresh from work.
How many times has she offered me her juicy little ass in my work shed, bending over with no panties and distracting me with her sexy, come-hither smile?
Or sitting in my lap and whispering in my ear that her pussy is soaked for Daddy?
Make no mistake, as soon as she crooks that little finger at me, I’m thick as hell in my briefs, tearing at the obnoxious restraints attached to human clothing, such as zippers and buttons.
Yes, I own clothes now.
Do I enjoy wearing them?
Nope.
Meanwhile, I love my wife in clothes. In public, at least. Modest ones.
Especially when we go into town and everyone marvels at her figure.
Her smile. Her gentle mothering. How she moves through life with such grace.
Unless I’m carrying her, that is, which I often do when we’re in town, so everyone is extra aware that she is my little human and no one else’s.
I have the urge to remind Darla of this now.
She is far too beautiful sitting on the windswept hill in her yellow sundress.
Her tits are plump and ripe looking in the neckline, her toes painted pink.
Cheeks stained with a blush that deepens the closer I get.
Ah, yes, that blush. It reminds me of the day we visited the doctor to determine my relative age.
Thirty-three was his estimate. Meaning, I was fifteen years older than Darla when we met, since she was eighteen.
I’ve since learned that relationships with such a hefty age difference are considered inappropriate.
That she was far too young. But neither one of us pays that opinion any credence. We belong to each other, age be damned.
Again, I would like to remind my wife of this. Now.
My children run toward me when they notice my approach, each of them wrapping their arms around one of my legs.
I bend down and scoop one into each arm, asking them about their day.
Letting them tug my hair and lay noisy kisses into my neck.
And I pay attention for as long as I can, but my God, I am distracted by their enticing mother.
How she lays on her belly in the grass and watches us with a contented smile, the breeze blowing the hem of her dress up to show off those sweet, pliable ass cheeks.
Goddamn, I am the luckiest man alive.
“Son,” I say, gruffly. “Bring your sister to color at the kitchen table for a little while. Your mother and I need to discuss something in the work shed.”
My son loves to be in charge, so he hops down right away, taking his sister’s hand and ambling off toward the house.
That leaves me alone with my obsession, who has rolled over onto her back with a feline purr, stretching her arms up over her head. I stand above her and lose my breath due to her potency. Her appeal, which only triples by the day.
Goddess.
“Come to the work shed, my little human.”
“For what?” she asks, feigning curiosity.
As if she needs an explanation when I’m tenting my fucking jeans with a foot of turgid flesh. “You know for what. The only question is how.”
“Mmmm. I don’t know.” She lets her knees inch open, the rucked-up hem of her dress showing off a pair of damp white panties, the proof of her arousal causing a thick spurt to release against my fly.
As I watch, she brings her right hand down, delving her fingers into the waistband of her panties, moaning as she fondles herself.
“But I want to be licked first, please, Daddy.”
Oh, sweet mercy.
This girl is the ultimate fantasy come to life.
Before I lose control and fuck her right here on the hill, I snatch her up off the ground and stumble toward the work shed with her in my arms, my cockstand throwing off my balance.
I make it into the shed and cross the floor to my small office, holding my breath so I can have the pleasure of hearing her tight little ass slap down on the surface of my desk.
Whap.
I’m on my knees a moment later, her panties on the ground in front of me in shreds, my tongue lapping at the drenched valley of her cunt, her fingers still playing with her clit, just to make me fucking crazy.
And it’s working. I’m so horny by the time I stand up, I almost ejaculate before I can get inside of her.
“Ohhhhh fuuuuuck,” I moan hoarsely, taking my first pump of her pussy since this morning, my balls flying up into my undercarriage. Tense, so tense. It hurts. “I’m about to spill myself everywhere, you beautiful prick tease.”
Her head falls back on a whimper, because if it’s one thing my little human likes, it’s turning me on until I’m crazed. “Just make it deep,” she murmurs, opening her thighs wider. “As deep as you’d put it in me if we were in the ocean.”
The tether of my control snaps in half, as she knew it would.
Just by imagining something so forbidden. For saying it out loud.
“I wouldn’t even fight you, Daddy,” she hiccups, arching her back, letting me ogle those bouncing tits while her words blow my mind.
With sick and wondrous imagery in my head, I pin Darla down by the throat and rail her.
Like a one-hundred-foot-long beast might, if he were in heat and spied a young woman swimming in a tiny bikini, the desperation to mate gripping him.
Has to be now. Now. Now. The violent pounds of my hips rock the desk on the floor, scraping inch by inch until it lodges against the far wall.
Her nipples beg to be spat on, which I do, and the crude act releases a gush of moisture around my thrusting cock. Just when I think she can’t get any more enticing.
“So sweet and tight,” I grit against her mouth, my heavy balls slapping off her ass “No man, no beast could resist.”
“Lucky me,” she whispers, her pussy starting to quicken in climax. “I get both.”
As soon as I’m confident she’s hit her peak, I roar through my own exodus of pressure, my stomach hollowing, teeth clenched as the waves of ecstasy course through my lower body, one after the other, followed by a severe pounding of my heart.
A familiar rush of love and affection that comes from looking down at my flushed and giving wife, her eyes drowsy from pleasure.
“What did I do to deserve you?” I ask, laboring to breathe.
“Everything,” she whispers back, kissing my mouth tenderly. “You do everything for me because you love me. And everything you do makes me love you more.”
“That is the way it’ll always be.” My voice rings with truth. “I love you, my little human.”
“I love you, my beautiful whale,” she whispers back, starry eyed.
THE END