Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, NonConsensual, Coercion, Blackmail, Heterosexual, Humor, Cheating, Slut Wife, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, Spanking, Rough, Humiliation, Gang Bang, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Voyeurism, Size, 2nd POV, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This energetic teenage newlywed uses her hands, mouth, boobs, pussy and ass to bring off just about every man in town! But beautiful, busty Brenda is no common slut. She takes pride in her work, customizing her efforts to the needs of the cock at hand. She's Everybody's Girl: a wife, a customer, a teacher, an employee, a parishioner, a girlfriend and - well, I don't want to give away the ending, but someone in a gray sedan has been following Brenda, and he wants some, too...



"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?"

Brenda sneered down at Mr. Clark, who looked helplessly up into the busty teenager's sparkling brown eyes. His only consolation, other than the fact that she would soon be helping him pull out an overdue wad of sticky cum, was that, statistically, he could not expect to live long enough to see young Brenda grow old and unattractive.

The giggling bitch quickly stripped off her tangled blouse and bra so that the old man could more conveniently molest her soft, warm knockers. "Jesus, Mr. Clark, take it easy!" Brenda remonstrated, the ridicule thick in her juvenile voice as he bit and snorted and spilled hot saliva all over her tits. He began to dry-hump both her sexy legs at the same time. "Down, Mr. Clark!" she scolded. "You're being bad! I think it's time to make you squirt!"

Brenda hopped off the counter and dropped to her knees, wiping the spit off her breasts with the palms of her hands as Mr. Clark unfastened his trousers. His desperate erection sprang out and slapped the kneeling teen across her pretty face, but she decided not to waste any more time criticizing Mr. Clark's inappropriate behavior; no, the two of them had some serious tit-fucking to do!

"Now, Mr. Clark," Brenda advised patiently as she used both hands to slowly, carefully stroke the frantic man's angry cock between her smooth, delicious breasts, "just relax and let it happen."

She spoke soothingly, as a nurse will speak to a delirious patient. "I'm going to milk your big dick with these things, and you just need to stand there and don't do anything except think about big boobs, and hot goo getting squirted all over pretty girls' faces." She looked up at the man's face to see if he understood, all the while pumping his rock-hard cock.

"Okay?" Brenda asked. "Just relax and wait for it... I don't think I need you getting all over-enthusiastic, pinching my nipples and using them as handles to jack yourself off with my breasts, like you did Tuesday. That hurt."

Brenda continued slowly, persistently, deliberately fucking the milkman with her ample cleavage, looking up at him, curious to detect any clue that he was listening to her. Mr. Clark's eyes were closed and his fists were clenched, and Brenda wondered if he was already close to ejaculating.

"Can you even hear me?" she asked timidly, just before a hot, slimy wad of cock-sauce splattered her lovely face. "Oh!" she exclaimed, surprised at the temperature and volume of the gooey stuff, and angry that she had once again forgotten to make sure a towel was nearby to catch his viscous discharge.

But, as they say, no use crying over spilt milk. Brenda kept massaging his trembling member as it flung its thick white ropes all over her face and hair and boobs, reminding herself to have a towel or some napkins ready next time. (She had just finished with her hair and makeup before Mr. Clark arrived, and now she would have to start all over again!)

After Mr. Clark thanked her and left, Brenda spent another thirty minutes in the bathroom, but when she was finished, she was as alluring as before Mr. Clark had emptied his seed onto her.

But now she was running late; she still had to buy a newspaper before walking to her part-time job. True, the school where she worked as a teacher's aide was only six blocks away, but Brenda always found herself being detained by one or more complicated interruptions.

The Adorable Imbecile

As Brenda exited the gate in front of her house, she noticed a gray sedan with tinted windows parked across the street. Why does that car look so familiar? she wondered silently. Brenda suspected the mysterious vehicle had been parked in the same spot when Mr. Clark arrived, but that she had been too excited, given her anticipation of once again toying with the milkman's genitals, to notice the suspicious automobile.

I certainly hope Jonathan hasn't hired a private detective to follow me around, Brenda thought, a little amused at the idea of her pompous, conservative spouse being so overly concerned with his young wife's well-being.

But as to how she might explain Mr. Clark's extended visit... well, the twelve minutes it had taken Brenda to satisfy her old friend was the same amount of time it would have taken to prepare, serve and drink a mug of one of Brenda's imported herbal teas. So there, she rationalized to herself, somewhat rebelliously. We had tea.

The unseen driver of the gray sedan started the engine and pulled away from the curb, and Brenda concluded that she was merely being paranoid. She did see the same car pass her as she approached the magazine stand, but reminded herself that this was a small town, and a stranger who was lost would have a very limited number of streets at his disposal.

"Hi, David," Brenda said to the dim-witted man who ran the magazine stand. David had been injured in some war, or dropped on his head as a small boy - Brenda could never remember just what the story was on the poor imbecile - and needed to be spoken to as one would address a child. "How is my favorite businessman this morning?"

"Oh-hi-Miss-Westcott," David answered nervously, then repeated: "Hi, Miss Westcott."

"David! I'm not Miss Westcott anymore," Brenda countered. "You don't remember? I was married last February; I'm Mrs. Winter now!"

"You got married?" David asked dumbly. "Why couldn't I go to your wedding?"

Brenda's smile was both sly and affectionate.

"Would you be ashamed to have a retard at your wedding, Miss Westcott?" he asked, all the while gawking at Brenda's breasts.

"You're not a retard, David," Brenda scolded, "and you were at the wedding!"

"You forgot to invite me," David accused, unable to stop staring at the beautiful girl's firm tits.

"You sat in the front row," she reminded him, her tone suddenly turning dull.

"You were the one in the white dress?" David asked hopefully, looking at Brenda's pretty face now.

"Ding-ding-ding, you got it," Brenda replied, smiling at the idiot on the other side of the counter. "Why would I forget to invite the smartest businessman in town?"

David was quite embarrassed at the compliment, and looked at the floor; but, spotting his bulging hardon, he quickly looked up again and blurted out: "You wanna copy of today's Chronicle?" David handed the newspaper to Brenda before she could answer.

"Thank you, David," she said sweetly. "Now, you wanna squeeze my big boobs for awhile?"

"Yes, please, Miss Westcott," he answered, again avoiding eye contact.

David rested both hands on the counter, palms up, as he did every morning. Brenda settled her blouse-encased breasts into the moron's sweaty grip. "David likes that, I'll bet," the young tease observed in an encouraging tone of voice as he surfed all ten fingers around on the bursting set of tits. "I'll bet David has a hard dick."

Just then, Brenda felt a man's hand petting her curved ass, and she looked over her shoulder to see her boyfriend, Charles.

"In the middle of a date, Brenda?" Charles murmured into her ear.

"Charles!" she whispered harshly. "Get out of here! I said I would meet you at the park at three o'clock!"

"I know, I know... It's just that I love your little butt almost as much as I love you. I'll see you at three." Then Charles pinched Brenda's rear end affectionately.

"Asshole," she whispered over her shoulder, and Charles walked away, chuckling.

Brenda returned her attention to the simpleton with his hands on her boobs: "Now, where were we? Oh, yeah... I'll bet David has a hard dick."

But rather than respond to Brenda's supposition, David's eyes rolled back in his head, and nothing came out of his mouth except for a lot of choking and gurgling sounds. Whenever David handled Brenda's breasts even for a minute or two, he was able to unload in his pants without even touching himself.

Brenda snickered indulgently at the sight of her trembling, ejaculating dolt. "Not anymore, though, I'll bet... huh. I'll bet David's big erection was just replaced with a gooey mess!" (Brenda loved this part of her morning!)

David didn't answer - he just let go of the young lady's breasts and turned away from her.

"Are you going to be okay, David?" she asked, smirking cruelly at the poor man.

David turned back and looked at Brenda as if he was seeing her for the first time this morning. "Oh, hi, Miss Westcott," he said cheerfully. "Yeah, I'm okay; I just got a little dizzy, that's all."

"Remember, David, I'm Mrs. Winter now."

"Did you get married?"

"Uh huh - the day you sat in the front row of the church and goggled at the pretty girl in the white dress," Brenda reminded him.

"I always remember you because you're so beautiful, and nice, and you have such big boobs," David jabbered eagerly.

"Well, thank you, David," Brenda responded, looking at her wrist watch.

"Maybe you could let me touch them?" David asked hopefully.

"I'll tell you what," Brenda said in her best conspiratorial tone. "I'll let you touch them tomorrow morning, when you're not so dizzy. How's that?"

"I'll be right here, Miss Westcott," he promised. "You wanna copy of today's Chronicle?"

"No thanks, David, I already have one," she replied, holding up the newspaper and treating the drained, confused brute to her most radiant smile. "But you'd better clean up that sticky mess you made in your pants right now, you nasty pervert, and I'll see you tomorrow morning!"

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