Chapter 1

"When the cat's away, the mice will sing

and dance

on the dining room table."

The Imperious Husband

Brenda Winter was awakened last Friday morning by the tip of her husband's erection, which was depositing warm gobs of precum all over her beautiful lips. She was, after two months of marriage, well aware of the drill: It was morning, Jonathan was sexually aroused, and it was her duty as his obedient, submissive young wife to drain her man of his impatient load.

Brenda hadn't known, at the time she married Jon, that one of his requirements was going to be that she play the role of his compliant little morning suckoff-girl!

In fact, the first time he woke her by rubbing his hard penis across her pretty face - which happened to be exactly two weeks after the wedding (the morning after they returned from their honeymoon) - Brenda had resisted, giggling as she struggled to free herself from his sturdy grip, convinced that her new husband had to be playing! (After all, she had reasoned, her big-dicked spouse hadn't even showered yet; his anxious member would still be messy with her pussy juices, since he had put her to bed the night before with a thorough, vigorous fucking.)

But Jonathan took the time to patiently, lovingly explain to his new bride the way things were going to be.

One of the many things that she and Jon had in common was their religion; they had, in fact, met at church. Brenda's father, who was a business associate of Jonathan's, had invited him to a Sunday morning service, where he met Brenda and promptly fell in love with the 18-year-old girl. Her parents saw nothing wrong with the fact that her suitor was twelve years older than Brenda, since he was financially sound, kindhearted and, most importantly, faithful both to his girl and to his God.

So Jonathan, on that first morning after their honeymoon, had taken Brenda's white leather New Testament from the nightstand and read to the pretty girl from the fifth chapter of Ephesians: "'Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord; for the husband is the head of the wife.' Now, young lady, do you know what the word submit means?"

"Of course I do, Mr. Winter," she had responded, choosing both her words and the tone of her voice carefully. She knew from experience that it was a mistake to answer him in an exasperated manner when he was sexually aroused, or when he was being stern with her, or, in this case, both; and she also knew that the best way to placate Jonathan when he was in one of these moods was to address him as either Mr. Winter or Sir.

She also knew that Jon kept a riding crop hanging in the hall closet, even though the couple currently owned not a single horse. Brenda never quite worked up the nerve to ask what that was for!

"'As unto the Lord, ' the apostle wrote," Jon had continued. "Do you see now that obeying me is, in a very real sense, doing the will of God?"

This was old material to Brenda, who had been raised in her church and taught the precepts of the Bible from a very early age; but she had wondered if old Mrs. Slatworth, Brenda's childhood Sunday school teacher, would agree that obeying the Lord was synonymous with sucking husband's cock for breakfast!

"Yes, Sir, I see that now," she had answered respectfully; she knew better than to anger Jonathan when he was aroused.

"Then suck it," he'd ordered the embarrassed girl, gently caressing her soft, beautiful face, causing the naked brunette to close her eyes and open her mouth.

Which is exactly what she did last Friday morning, but without all the drama. She was, by now, fully accustomed to the fact that Jon needed to be contented, stress-free, drained before he left the house each morning. She opened wide to allow her man, who was kneeling over her, to slip his thick dick into her warm, wet mouth.

Brenda didn't mind too much. Jonathan was kind, he loved her, he was wealthy, and he never failed to satisfy her when he was on top of her, hammering away at her tight, young twat with that thick, throbbing, experienced erection of his. So she sucked.

Jon repositioned himself until he was more comfortably able to pump the full length of his massive cock in and out of her eager, sucking mouth. Brenda began to gag and slurp in response, and the slick sounds and teasing sensations brought her husband noticeably closer to climax. She knew that he was going to ejaculate in her mouth very soon, judging by the profound warmth and obscene thickness of his pistoning dick... so she opened her eyes wide and stared cross-eyed at the object of her diligent ministration.

That always did it - the innocent cross-eyed look. He groaned in helpless surrender and released a healthy, impressive batch of guy-goo into his pretty wife's devoted mouth, which she primly gulped down into her hungry tummy.

Jon collapsed onto the sheets beside his naked wife and held her close, caressing her ear and smelling her shiny brown hair. "Thank you, darling," he whispered, and she purred lovingly.

"I'm glad you liked it, Sir," she responded, gingerly licking his muscular chest. "I've been concentrating on learning how to suck you off quickly. I know you don't have a lot of time to waste in the morning."

"Well, young lady, you're getting very proficient at bringing me off with your mouth - and, I have to agree, quickly, too. But you're right, I need to hurry now. I have just enough time to shower and eat breakfast before the car arrives."

"Would you like an omelet this morning?" Brenda asked sweetly.

"That sounds excellent, dear; but really! - I wish you would agree to hiring a maid to see to such mundane tasks! Lord knows we can afford servants, and I hate to see those beautiful hands wasted on common labor."

"Now, Jon, we've been over this before. Certain duties are required of a good consort, including cooking and cleaning. I would no sooner hire a girl to iron your shirts and empty your ash trays than to administer your morning blowjobs! I am, after all, your wife."

But there was another, more significant reason Brenda did not want a servant in the house. She valued her freedom, and she enjoyed plenty of it, since Jonathan was forty miles away at his office, ten hours a day, five days a week. For example, Mr. Clark, the milkman, was scheduled to arrive about an hour after Jon left the house that morning, and she couldn't very well invite the older gentleman in if she had some busybody maid snooping around!

Mr. Clark was a heavy-set widower in his fifties whom Brenda had known since she was a small girl living at her parents' house. She had always felt bad that Mr. Clark, being such a warm, considerate man, had never remarried, so when she moved into Jonathan's home, she began to do things to make the poor fellow's lonely existence a little more bearable.

Like inviting him inside to suck on her tits. Brenda's breasts were considerably thick and full for her diminutive frame, and she knew that it was a real treat for Mr. Clark to stick her pert, sassy nipples into his curious mouth. She didn't know how long it had been since Mrs. Clark had passed away - Mr. Clark had been alone as long as Brenda could remember - but she knew that a faceful of firm, Caucasian teenboobs was a goody that he would undoubtedly find only in Brenda Winter's kitchen!

The Breast-Obsessed Milkman

Brenda opened the front door as soon as she heard Mr. Clark's milk truck squeak to a stop in front of the house. After Jonathan had left for work, Brenda had showered, dressed, and strategically applied her makeup and perfume in a way that she knew would be guaranteed to produce both an erection and a hot, heavy load of sperm from Mr. Clark.

Brenda liked hot, heavy loads of sperm (almost as much as she liked erections!) - they more than made up for the unfortunate fact that Mr. Clark was old, balding, wrinkled and fat. But she tried not to think about her guest's physical appearance. He couldn't help it if he wasn't young and attractive; he was, after all, a human being, with feelings and needs like any other man.

Of course, Brenda knew all about her duty to be morally pure and loyal to her husband, but felt that if she placed that duty unrealistically above her compulsion to rid a poor old man of his nasty, pent-up cock-cream, he might eventually take his own life out of mournfulness and dejection - or, worse yet, he might... he might resort to self-stimulated masturbation! Brenda was determined not to allow Mr. Clark to fall into that sort of degrading, unnatural sin.

So she lifted her blouse and bra above her beautiful boobs and asked, "You think there's any milk in these things yet, Mr. Clark?" Brenda was sitting on the kitchen counter, and her naked breasts were mouth-level with Mr. Clark, who hadn't sucked tit since the previous Tuesday.

"Now, Brenda," the old guy chuckled warmly, "you know there ain't no milk in your boobies. You know you gotta have a baby first!"

"Let's see," the bare-breasted young saucebox suggested, smiling brilliantly, playfully fondling the bulge in his trousers with the tips of her shiny black pumps as she flicked her nipples with her thumbs. "Let's see if we can make some warm, white milk for you to drink, Mr. Milkman."

Mr. Clark dove in and began slurping away at the generous young lady's perfect breasts. "Ooh, you nasty man," Brenda cooed, teasing his erection with both her voice and the tips of her pumps. "Tit-licking old pervert!" she scolded with mock alarm. "Are you trying to get me horny?"