Unspoken Pleasure (erotica)

When she finally had the skirt completely bunched around her waist, Greg ordered, "now turn around slowly so that I can confirm you're not wearing anything."

With her breasts hanging out, nipples as hard as rock, and her pussy and ass clearly on display, she slowly rotated in the middle of the kitchen floor. Her eyes were still screwed tightly shut, making it very easy for Greg to continue to photograph her without her knowledge. As her ass came into view, Greg was absolutely beside himself with excitement. He was rock hard and was stunned by how beautiful her ass was. It was simply perfection. He couldn't wait to get into it. When she had turned completely around, and was once again facing him, Greg put his camera away and directed her to stop. "You can lower your skirt now Mrs. C, but keep your blouse the way it was." Standing up, he walked over to where Mrs. Clark stood, and, towering over her, said "To be a good role model for your daughter, you need to realize that there are consequences for your actions. If you had simply done what was right in the very beginning, then none of this would have been necessary," he chided her, like a father to a child, mimicking the manner found in the sex stories from last night. "Because of what you've done, you've caused me to suffer some intense discomfort," gesturing to his own crotch region and the obvious hard-on he had. With firm pressure on her shoulders, he ordered "get on your knees, Mrs. C. You are going to make this situation all better, so that we can put it all behind us, and get on with supper." When she was finally on her knees, she found herself staring into the crotch of his pants and wondering how she got there. She was no longer in control of herself and was convinced that it was all just a dream. Reaching into his pants, Greg pulled out his cock, and held it in front of him. He couldn't remember ever being this hard and turned on before, and knew that it would take very little to cum now. Continuing with his instructions, he directed Mrs. Clark "Take your right hand and begin stroking it, until you have relieved the problem which you created. Keep your eyes closed, Mrs. C., it'll make it easier for you," he coaxed.

Closing her eyes, Mrs. Clark reached out and grasping his cock with her right hand, began to stroke the shaft. Greg quickly pulled out his camera and snapped some more money shots of Mrs. Clark kneeling at his feet, breasts hanging out and stroking his cock. Greg knew that he had everything he would need now, to ensure that Mrs. Clark belonged to him and would do exactly as he ordered.

Putting the camera away, Greg felt his orgasm building in his balls and knew that he would explode very soon. Before he did, Greg instructed Mrs. Clark, "I'm going to have relief soon Mrs. C., so I want you to point it at your breasts when I do. Make sure every drop lands on them. Is that clear?" he sternly asked.

Simply nodding her head, Mrs. Clark began to speed up her strokes, and lowered the tip of his cock until it was pointing directly at her breasts. With a gurgled yell, Greg's orgasm exploded out of him, and spurt after spurt of semen shot out and splashed all over her breasts, with some running down the crevice between them.

When at last she had milked the last drop of cum from him, she just stared intently at the white mass of fluid covering her breasts. It felt so real, but she knew it couldn't be, and that it must all be just a dream. She was so tired.

Seeing her lost in thought, staring at her breasts and his sticky load, Greg quickly grabbed his camera and snapped one more picture, of her cum covered breasts. After he had the camera safely tucked away, and his cock back in his pants, he ordered "Mrs. C., I want you rub the nice cream into your skin now. It's good for the skin," he said with a smile on his face.

As if she was on auto-pilot, she took a breast in each hand and began massaging his cum into them. When the last drop had been massaged in, her breasts glistened and her nipples were red and engorged from the attention to them. The kitchen, and now Mrs. Clark, reeked of sex.

Stepping back and taking a seat again, Greg instructed Mrs. Clark, "You can do your shirt up now, Mrs. C. I believe you. You've done very well today and have been a very good role model for your daughter." As she finished buttoning her blouse and began to stand up again, Greg added "Oh, Mrs. C., I want you to leave that cream in until tomorrow morning. You are not to wash it off until then. Is that clear?"

Eyes glazed, mind in a complete fog, and her body numb from the stimulus overload, Mrs. Clark simply nodded her head yes and went over to the stove, to remove the supper from the oven.

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For the rest of the meal, Greg again pretended that nothing unusual had happened and talked about inconsequential topics. When he was done eating, Greg excused himself and said that he had to head home, but that he would be back tomorrow morning. And without further ado, Greg ran out the back door and practically sprinted home.

Greg spent the rest of the evening looking over the pictures he had printed off, and reading more of the stories on the site Mrs. Clark had originally visited. The more he read, the more ideas he got for things to do with Mrs. Clark. He ended up masturbating several more times that evening, each time ending with an explosive climax.

The next morning, after having a restless sleep, Greg arose, showered and headed back over to the Clark residence. Armed with the photos from last night, and copies of the stories she had read, Greg had everything he would need, to own Mrs. Clark.

As he walked in the back door of the home, he found Mrs. Clark already in the kitchen cooking eggs. She was dressed in an old frumpy sweater and slacks again. From that, Greg knew that she must have come to her senses, either sometime last night or this morning and was probably preparing for a confrontation. With a smile, Greg thought to himself, 'bring it on!'

"Hi Mrs. C., how was your night last night?" he asked in a jovial tone.

Blushing a deep red, but keeping her back to him, Mrs. Clark began, "Look, Greg, I think we need to talk. Since Stacey is still sleeping, this is probably the best time for it." Taking a deep breath she continued, "I don't know how it happened last night, I must not have been feeling well or something, but what DID happen was wrong. It should never have happened. It's my fault, but I think it would be best if we tried to put it behind us and pretend it never happened," she reasoned. "Well, I'm sorry you think that Mrs. C, but to be quite honest, I don't give a shit!" he said with emphasis.

"What? I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Clark asked.

"Well, you see, Anne," stressing her first name, "it's like this. I own you, and the shit I have, here in my hand, guarantees that," holding up the stories and photos.

With a worried look spreading over her face, "What do you mean?"

"Do these stories look familiar, Anne?" Greg asked throwing the copies down on the table in front of her.

With trembling hands, she picked them up, and after scanning the first page, blanched white as a ghost. "How? Where did you get these? What the hell is going on?" She asked with a tremble in her voice.

"I thought I was already quite clear on this matter. Are you stupid, too?" he asked condescendingly.

Grasping at straws she began, "These stories don't mean anything... You can't prove anything."