The Cottage Part 3 - Family Ties - Sex Stories

The Cottage Part 3 - Family Ties

In all the fuss, she hadn’t noticed her shorts around her ankles or the fluids dripping off her trembling knuckles and down her thigh.

Instead, Cherie’s eyes—horrified and gaping—bore through the window and into her husband’s. His—at first a reflection of her horror, but then ever slowly filling with sinister satisfaction—crawled over her from top to bottom like she was a rabid animal.

The sun pressed its sharp heat into the tops of her pale shoulders, down the exposed portion of her arched back, and onto whatever pastel-white buttocks hung free from her floral-patterned panties askew around her crotch. But the wind, a small gust no more than a whisper on her loins, brought her to straighten, rearrange her panties, and pull up her acid wash shorts. Her ears began to ring as she struggled with the button at her beltline, and the only meaningful response she could muster to discovering her husband trying to breed her best friend was to stammer incoherently into the lush grass of Maggie’s backyard. Shorts secure and mind swirling, Cherie looked back to the glass and, for some reason, at her husband’s spent cock. It hung indifferently, half-hard and gooey with cum and fluids. Her mind flashed to the first time she took its bulbous head in her mouth, struggling with it but wanting it inside her, and how it hurt ever wonderfully when they made love for the first months of their relationship. But she hadn’t seen that cock—the same one that, only moments ago, filled her best ...

... friend’s fertile womb with the seed that bore Cherie’s two daughters—in years. She had come to think of it as a friend who had long passed, a ghost of colourful days past, a reflection of times that were. Seeing it now was like seeing the brother of someone she once knew—similar but different. Now, as a gob of cum bead off the tip and to the grey carpet below, she saw the cock for what it was: a piece of meat. Cherie wiped her hand against her shorts, straightened, and looked wildly from her husband to Maggie and back again. “So, this is it,” she said curtly, knowing they probably couldn’t hear her through the glass. “This is how it is.”

Her husband, face distorted from withholding a smirk, reached for his left hand, pulled off his white gold wedding band, and lobbed it to the floor with disdain. When it had rolled against the window and flopped to its side, he turned to Maggie, who had pressed herself against his side, her mammoth breasts swallowing his arm. He reached between her legs and slid three fingers effortlessly into her sex. She drew a sharp breath, lifting her heels and smiling in surprise. He rummaged roughly inside her for a moment, pulling his fingers free as if cupping something. He brought these cupped fingers above Maggie’s mouth—high enough that she had to point her chin to the ceiling—and let his cum ooze onto her eager tongue.

Cherie—sweating from the heat and her rage—swallowed hard. Despite the urge to smash through the glass and strangle them, she ...