Another wonderful Christmas. Aside from the two final tasks that lay before me – one self-assigned, the other directed by wife – every aspect of the day had so far been a success.
Our four-year old twins, Jenny and Julie, were in bed, quite asleep. They had been finally worn out with their new toys, their grandparents' daylong visit, and the late Christmas Eve church service the evening before. My wife, Cindy, had asked me to clean up the wrapping paper and packages strewn about the tree while she drove her parents back to their home in Mt. Norton, about thirty miles distant.
I paused in my primary activity to scan the living room, with its wrapping and ribbon scattered about as though a tornado had just ripped through it. This had been a good year for us all. We had many blessings to count, and the bounty of our children's Christmas was a mark of that. I honestly felt that this past year had been a gift from heaven.
This notion reminded me that it hadn't been such a good year for everybody. Our nanny, Marta Rivera, had been deported in August. The INS had caught up with her and sent her back to Peru. Thankfully, they had taken her into custody at her at her own apartment, and she had categorically refused to discuss who had been employing her, so my wife and I had completely dodged any legal difficulties or fines.
Marta had known they were closing in. That is why she had approached us, asking for our assistance in one matter. We had agreed, and for this reason I had known not one moment of concern that Marta would breathe a word of our hiring her.
So when the agents had shown up to apprehend her, they found Marta alone. They found no one else, nor any trace of anyone else. As a result, Marta had been sent back to Peru and difficult economic circumstances alone.
Days earlier Maria, Marta's thirteen-year-old daughter, had moved into our basement guest bedroom, along with all her worldly belongings. Marta had wanted to ensure that no matter what, Maria would grow up in the United States, and especially not have to return to her home country. You see, Marta had intimated, without coming right out and telling me, that Maria was not safe back in Peru, where her uncle had been wont to take certain inappropriate "liberties" with the young girl. In fact, this had been a major reason for Marta's illegal immigration to the U.S. in the first place.
I recall the very last instructions Marta had given her daughter, on that fateful day when she had left for her own apartment and a date with deportation. She had made it very clear to Maria that no matter what happened to her, Maria was to obey us in everything, and to never give us any reason to send her back to South America. The cute little teen had nodded her head gravely, and answered "Si', Mama."
Sweet little Maria had never given us the slightest cause for concern, for she was a very obedient and quiet girl. She helped Cindy with the twins, as well as some of the cleaning and cooking. She was also helpful to me in more important ways, and a delight to look at. She was small for her age, with little bobbin breasts and a narrow-hipped bubble butt. Her finely chiseled, exquisite face suggested a mixed Castilian and Incan ancestry from each of which only the best had been borrowed. And her huge brown eyes always bore a somber, serious aspect.
They bore such an aspect right now.
I chuckled to myself, and glanced at the clock. Still plenty of time, but I had to complete the task I had assigned myself before I could finish the task my wife had given me, cleaning up the wrappings. No problem, Maria would help me with both jobs.
Staring into those deep brown eyes, I drove my hips forward. With a satisfied sigh, I felt my iron-stiff penis seat itself firmly in the silky depths of her reluctantly yielding vagina. She grunted quietly, and bit her lower lip, but after the past four months of my frequent penetration, there was no longer any surprise in her face. And certainly no complaint. She was a good girl, and her mother had told her to obey me.
.... There is more of this story ...