by Amy Brent
“Let’s change the subject, please. Did you two girls get much accomplished?”
I shook my head. “Well, we both realized we have a way to go before we need some things, so we’re planning another trip once we start showing more.”
“So, the damage was minimal?” He’d give us an allowance and even though we hadn’t bought the maternity clothes, we’d still went over.
“Not exactly. We had lunch, visited a spa, had ice cream and then went shopping for clothes that fit us now.” Just the thought of the ice cream had my mouth watering for more. Good thing I’d bought a gallon. I had a date with a spoon already mapped out in my mind.
“Gemma.” He gave me a disapproving stare. “I gave you control of the card for a reason. Lila spends too much money on things she doesn’t need.”
“Well, we went to this cute little lingerie shop, and I found something I thought you might like.”
“Go upstairs and put it on. Meet me by the pool.” He popped me on the ass, and I felt the heat blossoming all through my core as I turned and headed upstairs. I’d been eager to show him my new baby doll all day, and I hoped he’d like it.
Thankfully, the house staff was away, and there would be no prying eyes on me. I was a tad uncomfortable in my skin with the new little bump that had formed at my belly, but the baby doll cut was perfect for hiding it.
I walked downstairs and went outside just as the last ray of sun went down below the horizon. Whitt was lounging in his shorts by the pool; his legs dipped in the water up to his knees. He turned and smiled. “You look beautiful, Gemma. My little baby doll.”
“Yes, I remembered how much you like them.”
“I do, but I want you to take it off and lay it across the chair.” He gestured to the chair a few feet away, and I untied my straps and let the soft fabric fall to the ground.
The night wind tickled my mound, and he stretched out his hand and curled a finger to come forward. I hurried across to be near him, and he took my hand, helping me down the steps beside him into the water.
“It’s so cold.” My nipples hardened, and they were still so very sensitive from the pregnancy.
“You’ll warm up. I want you to come over and suck my cock.” I looked up, and he had his cock pulled out of his shorts, it’s tight veiny flesh pumping in his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Porter.” I smiled wide and eased across the water to take him into my mouth. I had to rest my arms out of the pool, but I managed to hold myself up and work him all the way down to the base of his thick erection.
“Give my sac some attention, baby. It’s aching so bad for you. It has been all day. Being quiet last night was a torture.”
“Mm.” I looked up into his eyes as he put his hand on my head.
“Did you like what you saw, Gemma?”
I searched his eyes not sure if he meant what I thought he meant. There was no way he wanted to talk about Daniel. I shook my head and lifted a shoulder while steady sucking him.
“It’s okay to tell me, Gemma. I know you couldn’t help but see. It’s like that time when you were younger. Such a nosey little girl in the most opportune moments. Tell me if you thought it was impressive.”
I was afraid of how to answer, not wanting to make him angry and not wanting to hurt him.
“Tell me. I want to know while you’re sucking me. I want you to think about what you saw.” I got an image in my head of Daniel standing there. I’d blocked Lila out, knowing it was too much to imagine; too taboo. But Daniel, he wasn’t even family yet. I thought of his thick, muscular thighs and his swollen cock which he worked with an angry look on his face as he beat it hard and come shot out. I’d seen it all, but I couldn’t tell him. “Did it make you hot, baby?”
The experience had been so awkward and unwelcome that it wasn’t hot, but I had to admit that Daniel’s appeal was understandable.
I pulled off his cock and looked him in the eyes. “Yes.” A slow smile spread his lips, and he pushed me back and slipped down into the pool, taking me in his arms.
“I always want you honest with me, even when it’s not the most comfortable situations. We’ll use it to our advantage.” He pressed against me, pulling me into his arms and I wrapped my legs around him noticing my little pooch was getting in the way. But then, as he slipped his cock into me, I realized being forced at that angle away from him was actually quite amazing. His cock hit right against my g-spot, and as he began to thrust, I curled my toes and whimpered.
“That’s right, Gemma. It made you hot, didn’t it? You should have come and found me. I would have fucked that image right out of you pretty head.” He growled and rutted deep, his shaft grinding my spot until I came apart around him. Relentless, he stroked it harder and faster and pounded me so good. And then his release shot into me, hard and I felt the heavy load as hit my depths.
“I want you to make love to me like you did last night,” I said whispering against his wet, beaded flesh.
“Mm. Like this?” He closed the distance and brought his mouth down on me as he slipped his cock in and out nice and slow. “I’m not done with you yet, Gemma Cassidy.” Hearing my full name on his lips was strange, and I couldn’t remember the last time he’d said it.
“I wonder if you’ll ever call me Gemma Porter?” I gave him a sideward look, and he nodded.
“Marry me, and we’ll see.” I gave a soft laugh, but only because I’d somehow always known his proposal would be a demand. Whitt Porter didn’t ask often. “I’d love to. When?”
“I think we better stick with long engagements, but I’ll tell you this, I want to be your husband before the baby comes.” My heart ached with joy as tears splashed my cheeks with hot tears, much warmer than the pool water.
“I wasn’t asking for a proposal, but I’m so glad I got one. I love you, Whitt. I can’t wait to be the mother of your child and watch him grow together. We’re going to be good parents.”
“You’re going to be an amazing wife and mother, baby.”
He leaned in and kissed me, this time taking my lips with intent and determination as his cock swelled inside of me. And before we’d even finished, we’d started again.
*** End of FREE BONUS NOVEL #2***
Turn the page for another bestseller from Amy: Filthy Professor. It’s REALLY Filthy and you are gonna love it!
FREE BONUS NOVEL #3
Filthy Professor
Description
That’s it, I can’t stand it anymore! I’ve spent months trying to get Professor Logan Clark to notice me. I dress sexy, I gaze into his eyes, I lick my lips when he looks at me. I want to get him out of his classroom and out of his clothes for a little private, one-on-one tutoring…
COURTNEY SHAW: I’m a smoking hot red head with a sex drive that would make a porn star proud and a major daddy complex. Older men are my thing, and lots of them have sampled the sweet treats I have in my panties. So why isn’t Logan Clark jumping at the chance to be with me? Even after our little oral exam in the restroom he keeps pushing me away. Is this his idea of torture? Well, two can play at that game…
LOGAN CLARK: Damn this girl, doesn’t she understand that there are rules against professors having sex with students, no matter how smoking hot and sexy they are? She doesn’t seem to care that screwing her could get me fired. I’m not going to risk my job just to have sex with her. No way. Not even after she drops a wet thong on my desk and shows up naked at my door. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am at this school. I’m not going blow it all for her. At least that’s what I keep telling myself…
CHAPTER ONE: Courtney Shaw
I bit my lower lip as I watched him pace across the front of the classroom with his head down, deep in thought, talking with his hands, trying to explain an advanced accounting theory to the moron who always sat on the front row and always asked questions everyone else already knew the answers to.
Professor Logan Clark was tall, like six-foot-something, with sandy blond hair that curled over his collar and hung
over his forehead like a teenager’s. He jerked his head to the side sometimes to get it out of his eyes.
Speaking of eyes, his were like two piercing blue orbs that lasered into my soul when he glanced my way. Sometimes I would ask a question just to get him to look at me. Sadly, he would just answer the question and move on, seemingly without noticing that I had been licking my lips and soaking the crotch of my panties the entire time he was looking at me.
I studied his face, though I had already committed every inch of it to memory. He had a deep tan, as did most everyone here in southern California in the late summertime. I’d never seen him without the stubble of a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and chin. I thought it was so fucking sexy, the way he scratched his chin when he was trying to make a point.
He always wore baggy jeans that hung low on his narrow hips and tan work boots that looked like they’d been taken off of a migrant worker back in the seventies (I’m only 22, so that seems like a thousand years ago).
I could tell that he was muscular beneath the wrinkled white shirt and crooked knit tie he always wore. He wore the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the sinewy muscles in his forearms and hands. And he always wore the shirt untucked, which frustrated me to no end because it kept me from checking out his package. Rumor was that he was hung like a horse. Well, you certainly couldn’t tell it by looking at him in the classroom.
His round shoulders and a thick chest pushed against the thin material of the white shirt. The shirt was tight across his broad back, looking like it might split at the seams if he were to flex his muscles. I’d spent months wondering what he looked like beneath those baggy professor clothes. And I wasn’t alone. All the girls talked about him after class. He was out favorite topic.
Wonder what would Professor Clark looks like naked?
Do you think he’s really hairy or is would his chest be baby smooth?
Do you think his pubes are as blond as the hair on his head or are they be darker, like the stubble on his chin?
And do you think his pubes are thick and curly, or do you think he keeps them neatly trimmed?
Or, be still my heart, do you think he’s shaved clean… down there?
How long do you think his cock is?
Do you think his cock is circumcised with a big mushroom head?
Or maybe his cock is as natural as the day he was born, more snakelike than bulbous fuck stick?
I barely listened to their school girl chatter because none of that stuff mattered to me. I’d take Logan Clark any way that I could get him. I’d sat in his accounting class for three months dreaming about having his cock in my mouth and in my cunt, regardless of its shape or size.
And now I was running out of time to make my fantasies come true.
There were only two weeks left in this semester and I would be graduating in a month and taking a job with a big accounting firm in Chicago, working for my stepdad, Earl Shaw. I’d already signed the offer letter and they expected me to start in the fall.
It was a done deal and my mom would kill me if I tried to back out on it now; even if staying in Cali to fuck Logan Clark was the reason. Time to grow up, Courtney, she liked to say. And she was right. I was twenty-two. Time to put all that silly stuff behind me.
I’d move away from sunny southern California for good, without ever getting to know Logan Clark in the way that I wanted so desperately to know him.
I dreamt of him when I slept.
I fantasized about him when I made myself cum with the goodies in my secret toy box.
But other than answering my occasion question about accounting, he’d never even looked my way.
Maybe my roommate, Mindy, was right.
If I wanted to fuck Professor Logan Clark before I left Golden State for good, I’d better get my sweet ass in gear.
CHAPTER TWO: Courtney
Okay, I know what you must be thinking: wow, what a skanky slut this bitch must be, sitting in class thinking about sucking her professor’s cock. Get your mind out of the gutter, you little whore, and on your studies where they belong!
The truth is, I’m not a skanky slut or a little whore, at least not in public. I’m just a normal, healthy, twenty-two-year-old woman with a daddy complex and a sex drive that would make a porn star jealous.
I couldn’t help it. For as long as I could remember, even in my early teens, my desire for sex had been overwhelming.
I started letting boys feel my titties over my shirt and rub my crotch when I was thirteen. I let a boy slip his hand under my shirt to feel the round globes of my breasts when I was just fourteen.
My boobs came early, like a prize from Mother Nature, so why should I have deprived boys the chance to feel me up and deprived myself the joy of experimentation.
I remembered when one boy whose name I couldn’t even remember squeezed my nipples so hard it made me whimper in pain. He quickly pulled his hand away and started apologizing. I put his hand back on my tit and told him to keep doing what he’d been doing because it felt fucking awesome.
The first boy to slip his hands inside my jeans and panties and feel the hot moisture of my young pussy, was Bobby Rigsby, who was fifteen at the time. He shot his load in his pants as I tugged on his short cock through his jeans. He was so embarrassed he ran away without another word, leaving me standing under the bleachers during the football game with the smell of his cum on my fingers and a fire burning between my legs. I licked him off my fingers and went to get a snow cone. I was barely fifteen.
I became a sexual explorer in high school, doing everything except letting a boy put his cock inside me. He could finger me all he wanted because I was a horny little thing and it felt fucking amazing, but I was terrified of getting pregnant, so no cocks allowed, even with a rubber.
My mom had me when she was sixteen, and she often reminded me how tough it was for her to be a young, single mom, at least until she met and married Earl, my stepfather when she was eighteen and he was thirty-one.
So, I’d let a boy stick his cock in my mouth, come in my hand, and, if I really liked him, slide it into my ass; but my pussy was off limits.
I guess I was considered the school slut because I made no bones about being sexually active, though I was very particular about who I fooled around with.
I lost my virginity my senior year to a transfer student from Mexico City named Greg Rivera. It didn’t occur to me at the time why I was willing to let Greg pop my cherry when I wouldn’t let other boys get close. I mean, I had been with much hotter guys that I wouldn’t let fuck me. There was just something about Greg that made my nipples tingle and my water works gush like a river.
He was brooding and dark, with hair as black as a crow’s wings and eyes black as night. He picked me up in his dad’s work truck and we drove to the lake and fucked like rabbits on a blanket in the bed of the truck. Greg was a rough lover who didn’t know the meaning of the words “take your time”. He hadn’t learned to be tender, so my cunt was sore the next day and my popped cherry hurt like a bitch, but I never regretted letting Greg be my first.
We screwed every chance we got over that summer. We taught each other to be unselfish lovers. I told him exactly what I liked and he told me exactly what he liked. We experimented and learned together. And neither of us ever walked away unsatisfied.
Greg had a summer job at the FoodMart and would steal condoms by the box from the pharmacy. I loved having him inside me, but I still wasn’t willing to chance having a baby in there.
It wasn’t until my mom saw Greg working at the grocery store that I understood why I’d let him be the one to pop my cherry. He was bagging groceries two lanes over and we were pretending not to know one another. Mom noticed him immediately, though she had no idea that we were sleeping together.
“He looks like your dad when I first met him,” she said quietly, giving Greg a long look that I thought was a little creepy.
“He does?” I said with a frown. I squinted at Greg and felt the juices pooli
ng in my panties. “I don’t see it.”
“When we get home look at that picture of your dad I gave you last year,” she said. “You’ll see.”
The picture she was referring to was the only photograph I had of my bio-dad; the boy who had knocked her up with she was just fifteen. She only knew him as Jose, the son of a migrant farmworker picking oranges on my grandfather’s farm. He was seventeen when the photo was taken, standing in front of an orange wagon next to my mom, then a gangly girl with pigtails and bony knees that she parted for him. Once the oranges were picked, Jose and his family moved on and my mom never saw him again.
She caught Greg and I looking at each other. She narrowed her eyes at me and shook her head. “Be careful, Courtney. Don’t do what I did.”
The next day, I was put on birth control and getting a lecture about sex from a woman who could have been taking lessons from me.
She was right about one thing: Greg could have been my father’s clone. I stared at the fifteen-year-old photograph with my mouth hanging open. The resemblance was uncanny. For a moment, I worried that we might have the same dad, but when I showed Greg the photo and voiced my fears, he just laughed and assured me his dad was fifty-eight and named Mario.