13. Jason
Mandi fucking Warren.
I have got to stop gazing into her eyes. They weaken my willpower, and I get so lost in there, they’ll be my undoing. It’s not like Google maps can fucking tell me how to get out.
I turn her around. Bend her over the kitchen counter. Slide her jeans back down her pink ass.
She’s pliable. Lets me do anything I want. Looks back over her shoulder at me in awe, ready to do my bidding, like I’m her fucking hero. The man who wanted to paddle her ass till it was raw. The asshole who would punish her for doing a selfless thing, like becoming someone’s surrogate.
“Eyes forward,” I growl.
She obeys, and I lower my attention to the marks I gave her. I press a cool cloth to her swollen pussy, and she hums softly.
“Quiet,” I command, when my hard cock strains and the wet patch on my boxers grows. “I’m thinking.”
About how fucking badly I want to empty my aching balls inside you. How I want to keep you chained to my bed, until your belly is round with my child.
I wanted that once. Badly. I’ve been convinced for the last two decades that I didn’t, but I realize now that I just didn’t want babies with anyone else.
And hearing her say she only wants my mine? Fuck. I want to fuck one into her right now. I want to break through any physiological barriers and force her body to adapt for my child. My children.
She’s already had a baby inside her that wasn’t mine.
I grit my teeth.
It wasn’t hers, either.
I unclench my jaw and reach for a rinsed organic grape from the bowl next to her. She likes green grapes best. Their skins don’t make her face twist, like the purple ones do. She likes them firm, cool, and crisp, like the ones I always keep a stock of in my fridge. Waiting for her, it would seem, considering I don’t eat them. I just keep them around for the memories. A tangible symbol of the ghost who’s haunted me all these years. Strange, that I could never let go of a girl who’d already slipped through my fingers.
But here she is, in the flesh, ready to make more magical moments.
I lift the cold cloth from her pussy and drape myself over her, molding around the size and shape of her, so my body can believe she’s real. I nestle my barely contained erection against her bare slit, press closer, hold a grape to her lips, and slowly push it inside her mouth.
She takes it at my leisure and strokes my finger with her tongue when I extract it.
Everything she does is an invitation. Use me, Jason. Think of me as a collection of holes, made for your pleasure. As if that’s all she is.
I didn’t show her any different, I suppose. She was a beautiful girl, and I was young and in love with fucking. I thought I’d have a lifetime of spoiling her and training her to accept the best treatment, but I was mistaken. If I’d known I would only get one summer with her, I’d have spent every second making sure she understood how perfectly kind and sweet and loving she was. How worthy of love. I’d have shown her every day that she had unlimited potential. That she didn’t need to do what was expected of her, if her heart was set on something different. I would have nurtured the artist she kept bound and gagged inside her soul. I… I should have stolen her more paint than I did.
I should have held on to her more tightly.
She takes another grape from me, and I rock my covered cock against her naked heat, until she’s soaked my boxers more than I have. I reach for one of the cool grapes and slip it into her juicy cunt. I push it deeper, as she moans, and then add another. And another. Counting as I go. Eight. Nine.
I re-familiarize myself with the feel of her, as she accepts each new grape with a restless whimper. Her pussy doesn’t gape, but it has more give than I remember. Taking my fat cock all summer got her well broken in, all those years ago, but she’s had a baby now. I thought that a snugger fit would’ve turned me on more, but there’s something about knowing she bore fruit and that she’s been that stretched… I want her to fucking stretch around my kid’s fat fucking head, damn it.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Grape Number Fifteen pops back out to see me twice, so I push it back in and hold the cold cloth to her again, to keep them all inside her.
The counter is high enough that she’s forced to stand on tiptoes, and I smile when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She’s probably churning the cold grapes inside her, bumping them around her sweet spots and getting them nice and honeyed for me.
I kick her legs a little further apart, and then crouch down behind her, to gently pinch her pussy lips together over her cargo, so I can ditch the cloth. I massage her sweet clit with my tongue, until her toes are curling into my polished hardwood floors. When she moans and lifts her foot to stamp a few times like a restless animal, each toe leaves a tiny halo of moist heat where it was pressed to the cooler surface.
She slaps the counter and rumbles when I flick my tongue at her asshole, and I smile as I then let her birth Grape Number Fifteen into my mouth.
So fucking sweet.
Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve.
Juicy.
Such a treat. I swallow down the goodness, open the cupboard next to me, and slide out the shelf of cooking oils. I set the tub of organic coconut oil on the counter. From the sound, I know it’s in solid form, despite my house’s being kept at a moderate temperature.
I stand, keep her loaded cunt sealed with the flat of my hand, and give her a little clit pressure, slowly rubbing in circles.
Careful not to lose grapes or cause them damage, I turn her, wrap my arm around her hips, and lift her onto the counter.
She gasps as her ass hits the cold stone slab, and she takes my measure while I position her with her legs spread, her knees bent high, and her heels at the counter’s edge.
I lower my face to her pussy and gaze up at her, as I let another grape slip from her cunt, to be devoured by my waiting mouth.
Her lips part, and her breaths are getting closer together. It makes her tits rise and fall, all quick and pretty, like her nipples are trying to flag me down. Perhaps they’re in need of my assistance.
“Jason…” she protests in a whisper, when I take hold of the T-shirt she’s wearing and start to lift it.
“It’s my T-shirt.” But I pause. It’s her chance to either opt out or let herself be mine. Apparently, she doesn’t want me to see her naked. Do I give her more time? If I rush her, she can use the safe word, but I’m hoping she’ll play along if I take things slowly.
She presses her lips together and averts her gaze as her cheeks flush. “I don’t look the same,” she says quietly. Like she’s so hideous beneath her clothes, she needs to warn me.
“I’m sure you don’t,” I say, brushing my knuckles against her soft skin as I grip the T-shirt harder. “But I want to see.”
She swallows visibly, still avoiding eye contact. “What if you don’t like what you see?”
“What if I do?” I counter. “What if I like it so much, I can hardly peel my gaze from your skin? Or my tongue? Are you going to keep me from finding out?”
Mandi closes her eyes and shakes her head. “No.”
Her voice is quiet. Scared. How harshly does she think I’ll judge her? Is she covered in tattoos of some other man’s name? What does she need to hide? Should I be worried?
I wrench up the T-shirt, but she’s beautiful. Rounder and softer than she was. A woman now. Suited to a man my age. I slide my shirt over her head, removing it completely so I can study the canvas beneath, now that another lifetime has been painted over the girl I remembered.
With one hand pressed to her sex, I use the other to hold her still, as I lean in to inspect her more closely. Her breasts are larger, round and firm, and when I trace the full curve of one with the tip of my nose, I smell a sweetness that makes my mouth water. She pumped but didn’t let the baby suckle. Does she hate the thought of a warm mouth pulling from her? Would she hate it if I tried?
I slowly massage her pussy with my hand, as I shift my attention to the pink and silver streaks on her belly, where her skin was stretched to accommodate a growing child. Her lower belly is sort of wrinkled and sags a little, empty.
Is it wrong that I want to fill it so badly? That I want my baby to be bigger than the last, so she gains new stripes because of me? So I brand her permanently, my mark tattooed on her flesh? Mine — in nature’s own writing.
Nobody else can give her what she needs — make sure she’s taken care of. Safe. Always.
Is there a real way to have her returned to me if she gets lost again? Like fucking property?
I trace the lines with my fingers. Their size denotes the change she had to go through. How significant it was. And she did that heroic thing for someone else, without anyone to love and support her through it. They used her body, chewed her up, and spat her out.
I lift my gaze to meet hers. “Do you know how fucking good and strong and beautiful you are?”
Her cheeks flush, and she puffs a little air from her nose as she looks away. “Yeah. I’m flawless.”
“Eyes on me,” I growl.
Her head snaps back my way, and she does as she’s told, like a perfect, good fucking girl. She deserves to be rewarded.
I hand her the tub of coconut oil. “Open it.”
Her grapes try to make a break for it when she clenches her abs to hold her position so she can use her hands, but I keep them from going anywhere. I reach into the tub, scoop a hunk of the firm, fatty solid, and start softening it in my warm fingers. “You can put it aside now.”
She does so, panting softly as I increase the pressure on her clit.
“Brace yourself,” I warn her.
Obedient as ever, Mandi props herself with her arms and adjusts her footing, so her toes curl over the edge of the bench.
“Good girl,” I coo, as I carefully switch hands, passing the slippery coconut paste from one to the other while keeping her cunt full of grapes. They’ll be getting warm in there now. Sweet little balls of delight.
I smear her asshole with the coconut oil, and her eyes widen. “Have you had a cock in here since mine?” I demand to know.
She shakes her head, and I groan when my throbbing balls try to force my cock into go-mode. She’s still mine, and I’m so fucking hard, my dick feels ready to shed its skin. I want to shove it inside her puckered little hole and let her heat soothe my shaft while my balls pulse their load into her tight ass, but she’ll tear with my size if I don’t get her properly warmed up and stretched first, and that could take days if she’s been honest with me. Starting now.
I grease her up and push one finger into her ass, testing her give before I add a second. I work the coconut lube around and push deeper, pressing against her walls as she mewls through stuttered breaths. Two for now, then.
Her pussy is soaking through my fingers, and I take a quick lick before adjusting my position so I can finger fuck her ass, keep the grapes in her cunt with my palm, and grind her clit with the heel of my hand.
She bucks a little, and I shake my head. “Be still.”
She does her best, but her thighs are quivering from the effort, and I bet her pussy’s winding nice and tight with need. I stroke the thin membrane between her ass and her cunt, fondling the bulbous little fruits she has trapped inside.
“I’m going to make a fucking meal of you, my girl.”
She gasps, and her ass clamps at my fingers.
I smear her rush of juices back into her, until her legs are shaking. “Fucking hold it, Princess.”
Mandi cries out in desperation and stamps her foot, as she throws her head back. Every muscle inside her seems to cinch tighter, and I could count the grapes through her walls if I wanted to.
“Please.”
I stop everything and let her teeter on the very edge to see if she’ll keep her control.
She tries. The effort is as plain on her face as it is through every strung-taut muscle fiber she has.
Her eyes fly wide. “I’m going to pee.”
“It only feels like it,” I assure her, lowering my position, to suck her clit. She ripples and pulsates beneath my lips, and I pump my fingers into her ass a few more times before pushing them deep to stroke her pleasure forth. “Let go, Princess.”
Her body shudders, twitches, and gasps, the energy building inside her. I push her toward climax until her wails fill my kitchen with the sound of her building pleasure, and then I lower my hand like a drawbridge, to expose her entrance.
She squirts so hard it hits my face and drips from my beard. It quickly dissipates, spurting in little dribbles to sauce the grapes she expels into my waiting palm with each wondrous spasm that grips her quivering cunt.
I lap at her sweet and salty fluids, counting the grapes as I gobble and slurp them down. When I’m waiting on only two, I use the fingers in her ass to work them closer. “Push for me, Princess. Two more.”
She whimpers and trembles with the effort, but she does it, squirting a little more, to make the grapes extra juicy.
I swallow them down and lick the dew from her petals while gently massaging my fingers from her ass. I can’t find the cloth I had before, so I wipe my hands on the nearest dishcloth and toss it aside.
She tries to bring her legs together, but I force her to keep them wide, so I can witness the entrancing dance of her pussy while the climactic contractions keep her pretty cunt twitching. She’s so fucking wet, it’s like she’s chirping a lip-smacking little mating call at me. I can’t think of anything but shoving my cock inside her, so she can flutter around it. I want to push deep and soak her with seed, while her thirsty squeezes pull it inside her womb.
I swipe my tongue through her gorgeous fucking folds, look up to check the state of her, and just about come in my boxers.
She’s fucking gorgeous, leaning back on her elbows, with her dark hair loose and flowing. Her eyes are closed, lashes shivering against her rosy cheeks. She parts her lips when she gasps for breath between moans, and her tits…
They’re dripping. Two pale milky rivulets trickle down her stomach, and between that and her shining cunt — open and ready for me, my brain fucking short circuits.
I grab her hips, shove my boxers down enough to free my desperate cock, and then thrust it so hard inside her cunt that the air leaves her lungs with a satisfying oof. I latch onto her breast and fuck her like a wild man, while I suck her nipple deeply and firmly, so she’ll give me what I want.
Sweet milk flows into my mouth. I gulp it down, and violently clutch her ass to keep her close, lest she get the fucking notion to bolt on me again.
Not this time. This time she’s fucking staying. This time I’ll give her a better fucking reason.
I fuck her harder. Faster.
Mandi grips at my shirt, my skin — anything she can sink her nails into. “Jason. Fuck.”
I switch breasts and suck hard, to get her flowing. She wraps her arms around my head and clutches me to her breast, as she angles her hips to take me deeper, meeting me for every thrust. “Yes.”
She fucking loves it — is getting tight around my cock, for the love of my sucking her milky tits. She crumbles in my arms, slowly at first, and then all at once, pulling me with her as she bucks her hips, sprays milk down my throat, and chokes the cum from my cock with her perfect orgasmic embrace.
Her gorgeous cunt ripples tightly around me, as I suckle at her, and I let myself go, feeling the rush of relief wash through me like a calmness I haven’t felt since she left.
I empty myself into her depths — spurt after spurt of my seed, as if I’ve been saving up for twenty fucking years. The sheer volume is hard to believe, and it messes us both, spilling from her every time we move.
I moan into her breast, and she shudders beneath me with a low hum of appreciation. Her pussy quivers when my mouth clamps her breast to swallow or suck a little harder. And each time it happens, I think about her uterus sucking in my sperm, which makes my cock strain, and I cream her a little more.
My mind is made up.
She’s staying. I’ll keep her bound if I have to. Anything to keep her from leaving again. I’m feeding her, I’m milking her, and I’m fucking her — bare and often.
She’s having my baby.