The Satyrist's Wife
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Coercion, Heterosexual, Humiliation, Black Male, White Female, Oral Sex, Size,
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Jenna finds out her husband is part of a cult trying to create the perfect race. Her husband has the DNA secrets. Villaians are trying to get the secrets. They use her and her daughter to force her husband to give up the secrets.
Jenna was euphoric. She would not shut up as she drove home from the KU Relays. Her daughter, Stephanie, her fourteen-year-old daughter had just won the high school Mile Run. She had just shattered her mother's high school record that had stood for all of these years. What's more, her mother had been a senior when she set it.
Stephanie was oblivious to what had just happened. Being one of her earliest races of her freshman year, she didn't get the enormity of it. She had run a 3: 45 mile in one of the early national meets of the track season. She was too young to realize the magnitude of having Jim Ryan be the honorary starter to fire the gun at the beginning of all the mile races. She didn't get the significance of having her picture taken with him handing her the gold medal for MVP for the Relays.
The old men in the stands, with the stopwatches, were distracted by her beauty. Some forgot to record the final time. Stephanie was wearing what more and more girls seemed to be running in now.
She had a type of tissue-thin black spandex suit like the women swimmers use. It looked like a one piece swim-suit. The part from her belly button down was black. The bottoms were cut very high on the sides and front. The part from her belly button to the bottom of her breasts was a transparent, golden brown, making it look like it wasn't there. The top was black. Her perky long stem pink nipples strained against the tissue-thin fabric. Finally, about the beginning of the third lap, she was soaking wet. The suit was, for all practical purposes, transparent because of the perspiration. She was so exhausted, she felt she had crapped her pants, but she refused to change her pace.
When she made the final turn, the crowd was standing, screaming and clapping to where you couldn't hear yourself think even in the open outdoor stadium as she passed several other girls on the home stretch. Everyone could see the time clicking off on the field house scoreboard. The numbers flew by: 3:40; 3:41. 3:42 ... The scoreboard stopped at 3:45. The crowd roared at the new Relay time by fifteen seconds.
Stephanie just didn't get the enormity of her accomplishment. Her mother did. Being forty nine, this was an accomplishment she had the perspective of many years of competition to appreciate. Jenna felt fifteen feet tall as she hugged her daughter. The gold medals for the mile, two mile, half mile, the 4 by mile relay and MVP were dwarfed by her overwhelming pride for her daughter.
She and Stephanie had going on two-a-day runs all summer before and after her eighth grade year. During track season they had gone on 15-mile jogs before school. All the track coaches knew was that during interval training in the afternoon, Stephie was miles away from the other girls. They had put her in with the boys during track practice and was beating a good number of them.
The girls ran like gazelles on their morning runs. They ran on the balls of their feet, and did not have the typical slap-slap of heel-to toe sound as they ran along the road. Most of the other joggers never heard them coming until the shadows appeared and the two women appeared briefly as they went by.
Stephanie had come a long ways from her days as "Thumper." "Why do you call me that?" she used to say as an eleven-year old. Back then, she had trouble keeping up with her mother. Jenna would stop, turn around and say: "Come on, Thumper." When Stephie first started running, she had the typical heel-first; then the slap of the front of her foot hitting the pavement. Jenna lovingly called her "Thumper" until she learned to land on the balls of her feet, and not let her heels touch. Occasionally, as a sign of affection she still called her "Thumper."
Jenna could hardly wait to tell her husband the exciting news. This was her second husband, and not the father of Stephanie. Jenna had met and briefly married on of her coaches when she was in college. She had dumped him after she found out he had been very friendly with some of the other girls.
Jenna struggled a little with getting her degree in Microbiotics. She was interested in the new research with DNA. That was how she met Joe. He was a mousy little bastard with a skimpy pecker, but he was prominent in their field. That made him a good provider.
Just as a homely woman can change from a rating of 7 to 9 if she gives good blowjobs, a skimpy dick clown can go from a 3 to a nine if he makes enough money. Jenny was a moderately happy woman with the eternally optimistic belief that she would eventually grow to love this man deeply over time. That was her belief when she married him.
Jenna parked the car in their drive as the darkening clouds seemed ready to explode. It looked like tornado weather and they scurried to get their equipment in before the bad weather started.
Jenna got the final bags in and slammed the door shut as Stephanie ran through the house looking for her father to hug and tell him the good news.
The lights began to flicker. Jenna saw the unattended laptop on the dining room table. She went to hit "Save" before Joe lost whatever he had open. She was puzzled by the strange color and display on the screen. She noticed a USB flash drive in the side of the computer. That seemed strange, because they had the hard drive, external hard drive, and an online hard drive for backup.
Jenna copied the Flash Drive and emailed it to her email address before she saved everything. Knowing everything was saved, she ignored the laptop as though she hadn't even noticed it.
She ran upstairs and hugged her husband as she and Stephie couldn't contain themselves as they repeated all the excitement of the day. Joe was intrigued with the results, but not that demonstrative as the two women hugging him madly.
After the euphoria of the event was over, Jenna tried to contain herself at work the next day. She had to remind herself that nobody at work cared about her daughter or their interests. She tried to make it just another normal day.
During her lunch break, Jenna went to the cafeteria and pulled her sack lunch out of the refrigerator. She peeled the orange as her laptop came to life. She checked her email. The file she copied from her husband was several megabytes. Jenna copied it to a spare thumb drive she had in her purse. She switched to the thumb drive to examine it.
The folders had some curious terms she was not familiar with. The main folder had the name: Satyriasis 001.
Jenna started to Google the term. She looked up the word on the internet. It was a noun, taken from Greek Mythology and had several meanings:
· From psychiatry, it was used to describe a condition in men with a compulsion to have sex with as many women as possible.
· From Greek Mythology, it described a woodland creature having the head and body of a man connected to the body of a horse.
· A licentious man; a lecher.
Each day during her lunch hour, she poured through the files. She found out that her husband, in part because of his work, had been researching the results of many very old research studies.
She found studies from the Nazis and their genetic research. During the war and even before, they were obsessed with their results of selective breeding. They were convinced they could create the master race.
There were other studies. The American scientists had been studying the effects of selective breeding with the African slaves. They were studying the results of the huge black athlete, and their seemingly superior athletic ability. Her husband, Joe was trying to see what there was common in all the DNA that could be used or combined to create more outstanding athletes.
Suddenly a flash of horror swept over her. Some seemingly insignificant incidents at home seemed to make more sense. Jenna had noticed that Joe had recently taken more interest in Stephanie and her training. She had noticed that he had taken more interest in her diet. He had no interest in track, but had asked more and more seemingly innocent questions about her training and performance.
She had also noticed, to her discomfort, that her skimpy pecker husband's performance in bed. He seemed "bigger." Although he had never seemed that interested in sex, his interest seemed to be perking up lately.
Curious, Jenna wasn't quite sure what to make of all of it. That night, Jenna took a shower. Instead of her usual shower after her husband, she took his hand and led him into the bathroom. She sat down on the toilet seat and playfully undressed him.
The thing seemed noticeably "wider." He got into the shower as Jenna undressed. Joe didn't wait for her to finish. He got in first. When Jenna was ready, she got in and closed the curtain. Joe was mostly done with his shower and ready to get out. Jenna took the new soap bar from him and started to go over him again.
She saw it flinch. It seemed to gradually uncoil, rather than just straighten up. Jenna was curious. She kneeled down in front of him, talking about her run with Stephanie that morning. She was telling him that she was probably getting too old to wear the sheer running suit that she had been using. She felt Stephie would need to start using a training bra because her nipples were starting to show.
The damned thing uncoiled a little more. The longer her story went, the more it uncoiled. It was beginning to get alarming. Jenna tried to appear casual as she tried to control her stare. Her soft soaping of him and story was creating a monster. Jenna looked up at him trying to appear oblivious to everything.
With a very loving and tender manner, she planted a soft kiss on the end of him before she stood. Joe could not control himself. She had turned her back to him and handed him the soap. She had placed her hand around him and squeezed briefly before she felt the hot splash of semen across the back of her. Jenna reached around behind herself to hug her husband. He reached around to cup her breasts.
What was happening to her husband? He had never been this interested in her before. She couldn't understand the change. They dressed and went downstairs to get supper ready.
When Jenna entered the dining room, something wasn't right. Two huge men were standing in the dining room. They had Stephanie tied and gagged. Her eyes were ready to explode out of fright. The duct tape over her mouth kept her from screaming, but she had a soft mewing sound as the only sign of her terror.
"What is going on?" Jenna screamed. Before she could get the whole sentence out, a huge hand reached out from behind her to muffle it. She felt the point of a knife against her throat. She struggled to turn to her husband, hoping for help from him. She could see him at the top of the stairs behind her, with a hand over his mouth and a huge switch blade at his throat too.
"We want the fucking research work asshole!" the man holding Stephanie snarled.
"I don't know what you are talking about." Jenna heard her husband stutter. She knew he was lying, because she had seen it.
"Either you produce the file, or I'll cut your nuts out!" the man behind Stephanie said once more. Joe was silent.
"I guess he is going to be hard to break. While we are waiting, I think we will let him watch us entertain ourselves with these women. Once more, Joe was silent. He weighed the value of the information he had against his appraisal of the women in front of him.
He had spent years evaluating the research of the Nazis and the Americans on selective breeding. He had spent years concocting different formulas and tracking different DNA genomes. He had been able to significantly alter the physical ability of his wife and daughter. Stephanie wasn't really his biological daughter, but he had been able to observe her growth and alter her performances by selectively grafting some of her DNA with some of the very smart Germans and incredibly fast black athletes.
Joe had been playing with his own DNA, and experimenting with the most well endowed men he had observed. He was going to have to dial that down, because Jenna was beginning to notice something was different.
When Jenna heard them discuss their interest in her Daughter, she screamed, broke free and rushed to her daughter. That was the last thing she remembered. One of the men had hit her and knocked her unconscious. When she woke up, her husband and daughter were gone. She was the only one at home.
Jenna was now alone with this stranger. He was Bruno Schmidt, an Aryan Brotherhood Disciple who had founded the Aryan Satirist Movement. He had the belief of the Aryan Brotherhood, that the Germans were the chosen race, and they had to preserve it and improve it.
He was about six feet six inches tall, 240 pounds, blond haired, blue-eyed and extremely athletic in appearance. He spoke a number of languages. We are going to get this information out of your husband one way or another. You are to come with me.
Jenna did not know where her husband or daughter was, and had little choice but to go along with his orders if she wanted to see her family again.
Bruno handcuffed her with her hands behind her. He blindfolded her and guided her into a car. They drove to the airport. It was getting dark, so nobody noticed as he helped her into a small, six-passenger Lear Jet. It was a short flight to Quebec. There, they were picked up in the dark by another car that led them to the Fairmont Le Chateau Frontenac,
The Château Frontenac, a "château" style hotel, was built during the late 19th and early 20th centuries; the newer portions of the hotel—including the central tower, opened in 1893. The Château was built near the historic Citadelle, more commonly known as "The Old Walled City."
The "Old Walled City" was the fortified compound built by the French at the mouth of the Saint Laurence. The massive old fort walls are massive defensive walls fortified with huge cannons around the entire perimeter. The cannons facing the river can fire clear across and keep any ships from entering the river and going into Canada.
The fort sits on a bluff, about 300 feet above the river. It is a steep walk down the cobble stone roads to the two or three story warehouses that sit along the river where they were used to receive and send shipments from deep down the river on back to France or other countries.
One of Quebec City's buildings, the landmark hotel is perched atop a tall cape overlooking the Saint Lawrence River, has a spectacular view for miles, overlooking the mouth of the Saint Lawrence. The building is the most prominent feature of the Quebec City skyline as seen from across the St. Lawrence.
The hotel is probably over sixteen stories tall, depending on which floors are counted. There are several underground floors, which are used as access from different roads, shipping and receiving. They can also be used for surreptitious access or exit. The paparazzi may track celebrities entering at the main entrance, but be unaware that the same people could leave from another car on a different level on a different street.
The horse drawn carriages entering under the stone arches have an elegant sound of the steel- horse shoes echo off of the cobble stone paving and the interior courtyard walls.
Jenna's handcuffed and blindfolded figure had been draped in a thin silk hooded cape. Her blindfold had been concealed by full face wrap around sunglasses and a hood. Her arms did not show. She was ushered from the car into a private elevator to the penthouse suite. She could sense the elevator moving, and she struggled to keep herself still as the elevator stopped.
Jenna was ushered from the elevator into the penthouse living room. She fought with her eyes, struggling to adjust to the brightness when her glasses and blindfold were removed. Her terror for the situation she was in made her oblivious to the magnificent view of the view over the outside terraces and beyond over the mouth of the St. Laurence River.
As she adjusted her eyes to the interior, she could see that her husband and daughter were sitting in different couches nearby. Her husband was bound and had an uneasy expression on his face. They had all been brought to the grand hotel separately on different planes and cars, so they would not know where the others were or what their situation was.
The Aryan Satirist Movement had a number of permanent suites, meeting rooms and restaurants for permanent meeting places in the hotel. Bruno had brought the family here for a concerted effort to extract Joe's DNA secrets. One way or another, they were going to get their way.
Slowly, Jenna began to remember the situation they were in before they were kidnapped and brought here. Joe was not going to reveal any of his independent research and they were going to coerce the information out of the family by torturing their daughter and forcing Joe to watch. Just how long would he hold out before he capitulated?
Joe and Jenna were bound to large solid oak chairs. "Are you sure you are not going to give us your DNA studies, Joe?"
Joe would not look at Bruno, and refused to acknowledge the question.
Bruno walked over to Stephanie. Bruno reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a 12" long white ivory covered stick. That stick was the handle end of a huge switch blade. He held it in front of Stephie and pressed the button. Although the blade opened instantly in a fraction of a second, the event unfolded in slow motion in Stephie and Jenna's minds. The seemed to be able to follow the tip slowly coming into view and swinging a 189° arc. As the blade snapped to a locked open position, the metallic click sounded like freight cars coupling. The sound echoed off of the high vaulted plaster walls. The curtains seemed to flinch with the noise.
Bruno slid the point under her gag and it flittered to the floor. He swiveled her chair around. The nylon ropes floated to the ground as the knife point disappeared behind her. Stephie brought her hands around in front of her. She rubbed her wrists to get the circulation going back into her hands.
She was now even more nervous than before. What was in store for her now?
"Well, young lady, your dad is not cooperating for us. We are going to see how much of your welfare and dignity he is willing to give up to keep his records from us."
"Stand up young lady."
Stephanie did as ordered, shifting her weight from foot to foot uneasily.
"Now, if you don't cooperate, I am going to slit your god damned mother's fucking throat!'
Stephanie whimpered as she brought her hands up to her face.
"Take off your fucking clothes!"
Stephanie looked at her mother. "Can they make her do this?" she wondered.
Stephanie dropped to her knees and covered her face with her hands in humiliation of what she had been asked to do. Again she looked up to her mother. Jenna was being held in her chair by another man who had a switchblade of equal size poised across her throat. Jenna was afraid to move or speak.
Stephanie stayed on the ground, resting her butt on her ankles, and her face close to her knees. Slowly, her fingers started to move towards the buttons around her neck. She had to raise up a little to undo the rest of the buttons down the front of her dress top. Without looking up, she unbuckled the wide leather belt around her waist. She then started at the hem, and worked her way up to the last buttons at her waist.
The dress fluttered open. Stephie held the sides together for as long as possible. She heard her mother's stifled groan as the knife was pressed tighter against her throat. Stephie refused to look up at anybody as she raised her head, arched her back and slid the dress over her shoulders. She gathered the dress in her hands and brought it around in front of her for cover.
"Stand up and throw the dress over here." Bruno ordered, extending his hand with palm up.
Stephanie tossed it to him and crossed her arms in front of herself.
Stephanie looked around, hoping she had misunderstood, or that somebody might change their mind.
Feeling she had little choice, she brought her hands behind her to unhook her bra. Once unhooked, she trapped the sides under her arms until she could get her palms back in front to keep it from falling. She fought to keep the bra in front of her. Bruno walked over to her, stuck the point of the switchblade between her hands and used it to flip the bra away from her.
The cool St. Laurence River air swirled through the open balcony doors and stiffened her coral pink long-stemmed nipples so they stood out and away from her. Her nipples stuck out like fresh erasers on a number two pencil, about 3/8 of an inch. They were magnificent.
Stephanie stood there with her fingers cupping her bare nipples. She stood on wobbly legs on her brown suede high heeled boots that zipped up the side. Her only clothing now was her blue paper thin thong underwear.
Bruno slipped his blade between her hip and the blue fabric. First one side then the other melted away from the gleaming blade. Stephie couldn't hide everything. She chose to hide her pink nipples and let them gaze at her downy soft reddish brown pubic hair. It was soft and thin, the result of a young woman who had just recently grown them.
Stephie stood in front of the strangers, her mother and dad; too terrified and humiliated to know how to turn for cover or how to hide herself. Her long reddish brown hair had been permed. In spite of the tight curly ringlets, her hair still hung down to her waist. Her beautifully tanned and toned skin contrasted with the alabaster white portions hidden by her time in a bikini. She had the figure of Kendall Jenner and the lithe athletic lines of Blanka Vlasic, the world champion women's high jumper from Croatia. The droplets of perspiration formed from her humiliation and terror made her skin glow and sparkle in the faint afternoon sun shining in from the thinly curtained dormers. Her embarrassment only added to her stunning figure as tried futilely to hide herself.
"Do you have a boyfriend young lady?" Bruno asked.
Steph could barely manage to shake her head in a "no" response, more concerned with her nakedness than the question.
"Do you know what a blowjob is?"
Stephanie could not respond. She and her friends had giggled and covered their faces in embarrassment after Goggling the term in response to an article in "Cosmopolitan." They were able to investigate the term on her computer, but to that point it was an abstract porno term that had no more relevance in their world than the horns on a unicorn. The young girl was humiliated at the situation she was in; having to interact with a stranger while being naked.
"Would you rather have us just fuck you or would you rather just give a good blowjob?" Bruno asked as he looked back and forth between the young girl and her father. Bruno was trying to get some expression out of Joe; trying to get him to change his mind about hiding the secret research of his.
"No! Please! She's just a little girl!" Jenna groaned. Before Jenna had time to blink, one of the men reached out and cuffed her on the side of her head so hard it knocked her and the chair she was bound to over. Jenna lay there, stunned and still bound in the chair.
"No ... No ... No ... Please don't hurt my mother." I'll listen to you she said as she scurried over to her mother and helped one of the men straighten up her chair. It took a while for the bells to stop ringing in her head, and her vision to become un-blurred.
When her eyesight came back to normal, she could see Stephanie walk back over to face Bruno, with her head down and her arms crossed in front of her; one hand over her vagina; one forearm across her breasts.
"Hands down, young lady, or we knock your mom down again. How would you like to see us stick a broom handle up her cunt? You know what that is don't you?"
Stephanie fought to keep her hands at her sides. She had them over her eyes; caught herself, and brought them down.
"Don't fuck with me now; do you know what a blowjob is?"
Stephie momentarily brought her hands back up to her mouth again as she looked in terror over to her mother, knowing there was no good answer.
"O.K. Mom, would you rather have us fuck your daughter in the mouth, ass or cunt? If she's going to give a blowjob, the rest of us want to enjoy the show. She needs to get her hair out of her face, so we can enjoy the in-and-out action. What will it be?" Bruno said with a smile that spread from ear to ear.
Jenna chocked on her words. "Please untie me." She shuddered. The men untied her from her chair.
"I'm so sorry Thumper," Jenna sobbed into her daughter's ear as she used her fingers to stroke her daughter's hair back over her shoulders and away from her face. "I'll think of something to stop them." Her mother whispered.
Jenna pulled her naked daughter's hair back and started a French braid high on the top of her head. She added hair to it as she braided it down the back of her head.
"Bruno, why can't you use me instead? I'm much older and more experienced. She won't know what to do. I know how to please a man. You won't be sorry." She pleaded as she took as long as she could to braid her daughter's hair.
"Why should I substitute a fourteen-year-old for a forty-year old mother." He asked with a smile that showed he was immensely enjoying the family's predicament. Maybe Joe would be more indignant about his wife getting fucked than his step-daughter.
"Convince me, Cunt!"
Jenna turned white. This was it. This was her opportunity to distract the men away from her daughter. She had hardly ever done this. It was evil and abhorrent to her. She had managed to avoid the situation at all costs when she was growing up. She had managed to put her husband off most of the time too.
Jenna led her daughter over to the chair she had been bound in, and sat her down in it. Jenna turned around and walked back to stand in front of Bruno.
Jenna looked over at her husband, and then forced herself to make eye contact with their abductor. Trying to hide her humiliation and terror, she reached for the ties on her Oscar de la Renta Silk Faille. It would have been incredible to have had this dress under normal circumstances, but the design went un-noticed in her humiliation and despair.
The dress parted down the middle after Jenna loosened the strap holding it together. She fidgeted with the Velcro tabs. The dress parted to reveal her. She was naked beneath the dress. Jenna could not stop the tears as she tilted her head and arched her shoulder back to slide the dress off. She let it puddle on the floor around her feet. Jenna fought to maintain eye contact with her tormenter, hoping somehow she could gain his full attention away from her daughter.
Jenna's time sun tanning in a thong bikini had left her breasts and vulva an alabaster white, accented by the bronzed and toned legs and abs. She was magnificent. Her nipples were at least 3/8" of an inch long. Her fear and terror caused them to tighten and stiffen so that they seemed to extend themselves even farther.
Jenna had shaven herself into a "landing strip" pattern above her slit. The rest of her pouty vulva was bare. The pubic hair that she had was a soft and downy like growth of reddish-brown hair that was darker in the middle, tapering into a fern-like soft blonde fuzz at the edges.
She was a complete contrast in softness and tenderness compared to the coal-black, rock hard muscled creatures holding her prisoner.
Jenna closed her eyes, fighting for time to measure her options. She had to appear willing enough to divert his fascination away from her daughter. She was humiliated to know that her husband was in the same room watching. What was she to do?
Jenna dropped down to her knees in front of her abductor; the man who held her daughter's fate in his hands. Jenna looked up at him to make eye contact as she brushed her beautiful long hair behind her. She raised her shaking hands to slowly weave her hair into a long French braid. When she was done, she had to just let the end drop. It was not tied off with a rubber band, so eventually her movements would unravel it.
Never in her life would she have considered doing this for any other reason. This was different. She had to do it to divert attention away from her daughter.
Jenna leaned forward. She reached for the man's buckle and opened it. She unsnapped the brass button behind it. Slowly she unzipped his fly. The man put his thumbs in his waistband and slid his slacks and underwear down past his knees.
Jenna leaned forward a little more. She had to adjust her seating position by moving forward. She reached up with her left hand and wrapped her index finger and thumb around the base. They wouldn't fit all the way around. Not wanting to really touch him, she used the end of her index finger and thumb to make contact. Without moving, she used the contact to get her mind adjusted to what she had to do.
Jenn slowly wagged the monster from side to side. With each movement, the thing slowly jerked forward, slowly increasing its length. It got heavier and heavier. Jenna leaned forward, but turned her head sideways, unable to open her eyes to look at it. She could tell by the heat and the touch of her left hand, where it was.
The uncoiling of this monster was horrifying. Each wag aroused him and the thing responded by uncoiling in spurts. Suddenly Jenna understood the meaning of the word for their organization: Satyrist.
The mythological creature which was half man and half horse showed a creature with a man's body to the waist grafted onto the body of a horse. It was wrong. This was the Satyrist. The body was all male. The horse part was the slowly expanding, twitching, object swaying back and forth in front of her face as it uncoiled like an eel venturing out of its cave.
The end seemed, on the one hand, to have an eye, scanning and searching for her mouth. On the other hand, it seemed to open and close, like it was breathing, searching for that delectable mouth of hers to enter. Occasionally, the end would open to let out a gob of clear ectoplasm to echo its excitement.
Jenna fought the urge to vomit. She had to soften her expression and show tenderness she did not have for the sake of her daughter.
She looked over at her husband, hoping their love for each other would cause him to recapitulate his stubbornness and reveal the files they were looking for. There was no expression of sympathy on his face.
Reluctantly, she lifted it straight up against his abdomen. She leaned forward and rubbed her cheek against the underside of it. She kept the side of her cheek against it without moving for quite a while, trying to wrap her mind around the indignity and humiliation of performing in front of her husband, daughter and a room full of monsters.
Jenna allowed him to place her left hand around the base of his shaft. She braced herself with her right forearm against his left thigh. She looked up at him for some sign of assurance; then back down at the thing in front of her. She squeezed her fingers around it. She wagged it slowly from one side to the other, examining the bulging veins. Each time she moved it, it seemed to uncoil an inch or so. "This is going to hurt!" she thought. Maybe she could bring him off first. She squeezed and pulled her circle of fingers from the base up towards the crown. The motion milked a slight gob of white out the end. She looked from the gob, inches from her lips up to meet his eyes and then back down. Reluctantly, Jenna leaned forward and kissed the tip as she sucked the small gob into her. She tried not to gag.
She straightened it up and laid it against his abdomen. She leaned forward to smell it. She rubbed her nose against it from the base to the bottom of the crown. The skin was as soft as a baby's bottom. How this huge, muscled black man that rippled with muscle could have such soft skin in one spot, she wondered. She stuck her tongue out, flattened it and used it to explore and examine the length of his shaft. It continued to grow.
Reluctantly, Jenna straightened it out to point straight at her. By now, she was able to place one hand in front of the other and still not cover the crown. She placed her forehead against the crown, steadying herself for what she knew she had to do. She thought about the giggling conversations she had been a part of as that teenager so long ago. She looked up again at him as she kissed the tip. She opened her mouth enough to feel the opening against the tip of her tongue. She began stroking the soft tight skin back and forth between the hand at the base of his shaft and the crown within her lips.
She felt his hands at the back of her head start to press. She felt his body tighten and shudder. She looked up to see his head go back. His body was telegraphing what was about to happen. Jenna tightened her thumbs against the canal along the bottom of his shaft and was able to trap the stream of fluid before it shot into her mouth. He groaned and shook in spasms. As the spasms started to subside, Jenna was able to accept the fluid into her mouth in small increments that she could swallow. She fought the urge to gag as the steaming hot fluid shot into her mouth. She used her right hand to "milk" the rest of it out of him. She kissed the tip and used her tongue to lather and sooth the disappearing black salamander as it seemed to withdraw from her grip.
Jenna felt a wave of shame, humiliation and embarrassment wash over her as she again realized the image she had just created for her husband and daughter. How could she ever live with herself from here on? A cocksucker; Stephanie's mother was a cocksucker. Her despair was complete; never to be undone.
Jenna looked up at him to see if her performance had met with his approval. His eyes were closed. He was drained. No thanks; no chastisement; no reaction. His hands moved from the back of her head to caress the side of her face affectionately. He pulled her head against his abdomen. Jenna turned her head as they embraced with her cheek against his abdomen. They held their position for several minutes.
Jenna slowly rose and turned, expecting to go comfort her naked, terrorized daughter. What she saw caused her to scream and drop to her knees. While Jenna had been sodomized by her captors, the men had bound Stephanie's arms behind her. She was bent over a large oak table, with her legs spread as far apart as they could get them. Her eyes were closed and she was wagging her head back and forth, desperately trying to avoid another of those huge black anacondas fighting to enter her.