The Knocked Up Lust Bundle

by Nadia Nightside

  As they both calmed down, Cindy slipped up and licked his cum off his cock...and out of Audrey’s pussy. Audrey shuddered in appreciation.

  “Mr. Strong?” Audrey asked, his cock still deep inside of her.

  “Yes?” he said, voice a bit tired.

  He pulled out of her finally, his cock resting on her young, tight thigh.

  Cindy, biting her lip, sliding her fingers into Audrey’s cum-soaked pussy. Audrey moaned with appreciation.

  “It’s just that, like,” Audrey gasped, feeling Cindy's hot fingers, “your cock is so good and all. Do you think we could have detention the same time next week?”

  “Yes,” said Cindy. “Please, sir?”

  He smiled, clearly imagining all the ways he would use and abuse these two nubile young sluts for his personal use. All the positions he would teach them. All the ways in which they could properly serve an enormous stud-god cock like his.

  Audrey loved that he was such a good teacher.

  # # #

  Lucy Learns Her Lesson

  A little over six months ago, I was doing a little shopping at the Big Peaks mall, shamelessly taking advantage of Galen—the store clerk at the designer clothing store who was, completely justifiably, one hundred percent in love with everything about my gorgeous, endlessly sexy eighteen year-old body.

  “How does this look on me, do you think?”

  Galen gaped at me, trying to form some semblance of a coherent response.

  It was a silly question, of course, asking how those skintight knee-high brown leather boots looked on my hot, young teenage legs. It was a silly question, just like asking how my sexy, tiny, tight pleated blue denim skirt looked with the way it molded over my hot ass, or how my pink tank top looked on top of my perky, full eighteen year-old 36DD titties.

  They’re silly questions, of course, because I knew the answers—fabulous. Perfect. Wonderful. Stupendous. Amazing. All of the above.

  They’re all silly questions, but I asked them anyway. It was fun to make the store clerk stare, straining with his clear erection pressing against his khakis, stuttering out an answer.

  “J-j-just wonderful, Lucy. Stupendous. Amazing. Perfect.” He was practically drooling.

  You see? I told you.

  I posed in front of the mirror, lifting up the thick mass of my dark, effortlessly sexy hair. I blew a kiss, and then wink, my blue eyes sparkling. Tall, busty, and brunette, I could have been a model if I wanted—if it wasn’t so easy for a babe like me not to have a job at all, that is. When guys just give you stuff for being hot, why even try to work? My Uncle Michael especially gave me more stuff and money than anybody—and he practically owned the town.

  “Oh, lovely,” I said, stepping away from the mirror. “You’ll put my old pair of shoes in the bag with the rest of my goodies?”

  “Of course, Lucy.” He rushed off to do as I said.

  Whenever Galen was on duty in the store by himself, I made sure to swing by and give him a visit. He closed down the shop for me, turning away anyone else who wanted to buy something. His love for me, he said often, was perfect and eternal. He’d wait for me for as long as I needed.

  As far as I was concerned, that would be forever and ever. He didn’t seem to mind that much when I laughed in his face—several times, over and over—whenever he asked me out or wondered when we would be together. It was sort of tough to build up any respect for such a pushover.

  At the front of the store, he handed me my bag, eyes wide and staring down my cleavage. I could tell, already, that he was planning on how to jack off to my image later on—probably right after I left. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the thought of a man being so helpless before my beauty.

  “Thanks so much, sweetie,” I purred. “You’ve really been a big help.”

  “Yeah, um, Lucy? So, I know like, it goes on the tab? But my manager, he’s been a-asking these questions, and like—”

  “Oh, sweetie.” I waved a hand, taking the bag and stepping away. “I’m a little short on cash right now. You can take care of all that for me, can’t you?”

  “I-I can?”

  “Of course you can. You’re so smart. You could get rid of those records...or even pay the bill yourself!”

  “There’s...there’s over a thousand dollars of merchandise, Lucy, in that bag...and all the other bags totals up to like...s-so much.”

  “Gosh, does it? You’re so nice to pay it for me.”

  I slipped my hand onto his shoulder, putting my big breasts extraordinarily close to his face. I knew he was inhaling my sweet, sultry scent. He could probably draw my lips, so sexy and plump, from memory at that point.

  “I’d owe you big time if you took care of that, sweetie.”

  “Yeah,” he said, staring down my cleavage. I giggle, just to give him a little more to look at. My titflesh bounces rhythmically in front of his face. “Yeah, okay. Okay. Sure, Lucy. I can...I can handle it.”

  “I knew you could, sweetie. Bye now!”

  And just like that, I strutted out of the store with a bag full of free merchandise in my hands.

  What. A. Loser.

  I was, and probably am still, without a doubt, the hottest babe in town. Being eighteen only makes me the hotter. There's something magical about an incredibly hot young babe who knows just how hot he is.

  Men really do fall all over themselves to see me smile—and I’ve got a killer smile. I practiced for ages in front of the mirror, making it just the right combination of sultry, sweet, and promising. If they would just do this one little thing for me, I’d make all their dreams come true.

  I really couldn’t help but feel like I was the Queen of the world, totally untouchable. And I knew, unequivocally, that there wasn’t anything in my town or my life that wasn’t going to go my way.

  Not ever.

  As it turns out, that thought was maybe a little over-indulgent.

  * * * * *

  That day, I came home to my fabulously large house, exiting out of my fun red sports car and crossing over the enormous emerald green lawn, to find my Uncle Michael home already, waiting for me in the den.

  This was a bit unusual—he was often never home in the middle of the day, not even on a Saturday, like it was that day. He was, and is, incredibly wealthy, and had to (as he reminded me so often) work every single day to create and maintain that wealth.

  It didn’t just come from thin air, after all. This is what he said to me, all the time, due to my flippancy with his money.

  As far as I was concerned, though, flippancy and wealth went together. I was a superhot eighteen year-old goddess. Why wouldn’t I be flippant with wealth? It was totally fucking hot and fun to buy an amazing four-figure outfit and then only wear it once before tossing it in the trash, and he could completely afford it, so why not?

  He had started working very young, buying an aging factory that put together shoes or boots or jeans or something. Over time, he had entirely refitted to produce computer parts—complicated technology that could be used in smartphones and GPS units and so on. The wealth flowing out from this allowed him to start buying up the whole town, just because he could. All the money a person spent in the area went back to him eventually, one way or the other—whether through rent, commerce, or the bank.

  So yeah, obviously, the whole house was my Uncle Michael’s. I had started to live with him a few years before, after my mother and stepfather both got locked up for participating in an elaborate insurance fraud scam. I still see them once a month or so, on separate visits—the male prisoners all call my name, some of them jerking off openly as they watch me arrive. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t turn me on—knowing I inspire such a reaction in men who are helpless to do anything about it. That's how I felt about most men.

  Anyway, living with Uncle Michael had been a breeze. He let me get away with whatever I want. He’s my stepfather’s brother—the smarter brother, apparently—and was just as completely in lust with me as the rest of the world
. He was, I was sure, totally wrapped around my pinky finger.

  Sitting in the chair—his back straight, his legs crossed—it was easy to get a good look at him. He was a large man in his late forties, tall and naturally bulky, with a thick head of dark hair. That day, he had a five o’clock shadow creeping around the edges of his jaw and chin. He had on a navy suit, tailored just-so to fit snug on his form, and a white shirt that had been unbuttoned near the top. His tie was on the floor next to him.

  “Have a seat, Lucy,” he said, waving his hand at the ottoman in front of him.

  I raised an eyebrow, not really believing him. “Is there not a chair for me?”

  “Chairs are for adults. You want to act like a child. You get a child’s seat. Sit down.”

  I wasn't really sure where this attitude was coming from. Usually, he was completely sweet with me.

  “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  “Sit down, or you will never see another cent from me for as long as you live.”

  His voice had a steely edge to it. I knew, right away, that for whatever reason, he wasn’t kidding. I had never seen this side of him before.

  “Geez, fine.”

  Sullenly, I sat down in front of him, keeping my knees together. My brand new boots were only inches away from his legs—I could see him examining the sweet flesh of my young thighs, the supple curves of my breasts and hips. Trying to curry his favor, I started playing with the long, soft strands of my hair, drifting my dainty hand over the line of my cleavage. Just as I wanted, his gaze followed my hand.

  I got a warm thrill from making him watch me how I wanted him to.

  “Is there like, something wrong?” I asked, trying to use my best, big-eyed innocent voice.

  “Don’t play the fool with me, girl. You know exactly what the problem is.”

  “I do?”

  “Of course you do. For months now, you’ve been stealing merchandise from stores all over this town. All over my town. You've been gathering up speeding tickets like Halloween candy, and you seduced your way to straight As at high school. You wouldn't have even graduated if you hadn't allowed the principal to jerk off on your heels.”

  That was all true. But even so, “seducing” my way to the top implied I slept with people. There's a big difference between sex and letting a hopelessly turned on man jerk off right in front of me. I was still a virgin. I loved my virginity. I was only going to give it up to someone who could really take care of me.

  Uncle Michael's accusations, true or not, weren't something I hadn’t really expected, to be honest. How had he found out?

  I shrugged, still playing with my hair, still trying to maintain innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, Uncle Michael.”

  “I pay you an allowance. A generous allowance. What do you waste it on that you have to go around slutting it up with store clerks and getting them to lie for you?”

  Truth be told, his allowance was more than generous. Usually I just spent it on buying stuff for my friends, or tucked it away in my savings account. Why not? I had a surplus of currency just in my body alone.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Uncle Michael.”

  He leaned forward and slapped me then, casually, like he was closing a door. Then he pointed his finger at me, closing the rest of his fist.

  “Do not lie to me again, you silly little strumpet. Do you think no one’s noticed you doing these things? Do you think you’re somehow immune to the laws of the world? When you fuck up, people come to me to complain, because you're too much of a terror to deal with.”

  Truth be told, the slap did not hurt much. It had been light, barely enough to redden my cheek. I think he did it to capture my attention, to let me know he wasn’t screwing around. It worked.

  “I...I don’t know...”

  I could sense that if I tread wrongly, my world would easily begin to collapse around me. I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself.

  “I’m just...I don’t know. I’m super hot. I get what I want. That’s the way the world should be.”

  Saying it out loud like that—my secret view of the world—in front of him, made me feel incredibly silly.

  He frowned leaning forward. “That’s what you think, is it? That’s how the world works, according to you?”

  I toss my hair back, pushing up my chest. “You haven’t stopped looking at me since I moved in here. You haven't stopped looking at my legs, my tits, for this entire conversation. And you’ve let me do whatever I want, a-and given me whatever I want too! So maybe it is!”

  He smiled, leaning forward. He put his hand on my knee. I brushed it off, disgusted...and he put it back, higher this time. On my thigh. Gripping there. He wasn’t going to move his grip, not anymore. It was a knowing grip—a grip filled with all his pent-up lust over the last long while.

  “I’ve put up with all of this so far, Lucy, because you are, as you’ve noted, incredibly attractive. But it’s time for you to pay the piper.”

  My breaths had become very short, very fast. My body was heating up. What did he mean?

  “Outside, I’ve arranged for two policemen to be waiting for you. Should you try to leave this house, in any direction, you will be picked up, and you will pay your debt to society.”

  “Y-you...you can’t do th-that...”

  “Of course I can. I own this town, Lucy. You know that. You took advantage of that, throwing my name around like you have. I own the cops. I own the judges. I own half the stores and I control everybody’s money. This is my town. And you...you’re mine too.”

  The cold, hard reality that his words presented contrasted sharply with the heat I was feeling pouring off his body. And maybe...maybe mine too. Maybe I was already thinking that he was in control of me. And maybe...maybe I thought that was sort of sexy, somehow.

  “So here’s what’s going to happen. Dress up for me, Lucy. You’ve spent all this money of mine on all these different outfits—”

  I started to protest. “I didn’t know you were paying—”

  Casually, he slapped me again. Again, it hurt my pride more than my face...but it did hurt. Just a little. Even to make me focus on him.

  “You should have figured it out, then. I will not have a fool in this house. Now, you’ve spent all this money of mine. I think I deserve to see what all the fuss is about. So go upstairs, and get dressed.”

  I was confused, still. “In anything?”

  “No, of course not. I want you to dress in the sexiest, hottest outfit you have. You want to act like a slut? I’m going to treat you like a slut, my little niece. I want you to dress,” his grip on my leg hardened, his knuckles white, “like you’ve got a hot date. With me. And don't bother wearing any underwear.”

  * * * * *

  Thirty minutes later, I came down the stairs, balancing perfectly on my five-inch stiletto heels. The boots I had on earlier were plenty sexy, but I was afraid that if I wore the same pair, he would accuse me of not trying hard enough.

  So these boots were midnight black and wrapped all the way up to the midpoint of my amazing thighs, with shiny, sexy metal buckles on the sides.

  A tight, low-cut cleavage-baring red minidress was practically painted on to my hot teen form. My long brunette hair fell in perfect, hot waves, framing my gorgeous face. From behind, it was easy to see how the dress was backless, even with my mass of perfect hair, revealing my sexy ass-cleavage and the amazingly toned muscles of my back. The dress only came down six inches past my hips, allowing maybe another four inches before my tall, tall boots took over on my thighs.

  Just as he ordered, I had on no underwear whatsoever—no bra, and no panties.

  For a little extra touch, I put on a pair of silk, black, elbow-length gloves. I knew that gloves turned men on—seeing a hot babe decorating every part of herself for no good reason except to get a reaction.

  A short gray fox fur jacket finalized the look, soft and alluring, making me look just like some luxury escort. That jacket had set me back nearly five f
igures. Or it would have, I guess, if I had been made to pay for it at the time.

  I was going to pay for it now, though.

  There was no way, I hoped, that Uncle Michael would think I was trying to phone it in. And, I hoped also, that there was no way he’d think to make me do anything I didn’t want to.

  After all, a man who saw me dressed in my absolute sexiest outfit was basically doomed to do my bidding, right?

  Right?

  That was my plan, after all. I had less sexy outfits I could have worn, and he wouldn’t have known the difference. Certainly any outfit I put on for him would have been the sexiest outfit possible, in his mind.

  I didn’t care that he was my uncle. To a super babe like me, he was just another man to conquer. And the way my tits were displayed, the manner in which my entire body was advertised as being a vehicle made purely for sex, assured me that I was going to win this night. I won every night. I was a gorgeous teenager queen, and I got everything I wanted.

  Except, when I walked into the expansive dining room and presented myself, his gaze wasn’t jaw-dropped, his eyes weren’t wide, his forehead wasn’t sweating. Leaning back against the table with his arms crossed, he simply raised an eyebrow—slightly—and shrugged.

  “That’ll do,” he said.

  Of course, that drove me wild with anger. That’ll do? That’ll do?

  That’s what you say to a bowl of cereal for breakfast when you were expecting french toast. That is not what I was to be referred to at any time or place.

  He clearly sensed my anger, and was amused by it.

  The dining room table was large and oak, carved several hundred years ago by some medieval artisan. He paid a small fortune for it all by itself. Above the table hung an impressive crystal chandelier with over five hundred individual lights. He pulled out his chair and sat down.

  “All right, girl,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Give me a walk.”

  “A what?”

  “A walk. Walk toward me. Like you’re on a date.”

  Fine, then. I’d walk to him like he said, and he wouldn’t even know what to do with his boner. Tossing my long hair back, I strutted toward him, smiling sultrily. Then I struck a pose, sending out my long leg for him to admire. For my Uncle to admire.