Author's Note: This is the fourth part of a longer story. I've done my best to make this and each of its sister stories stand alone.
They were written in this order: Conquest, Contempt, Constant, and now Contrition.
Anne Marie was the receptionist at my work. She had long, dark hair that bounced against the small of her back when she walked. Sometimes she wore glasses over her eyes --maybe to disguise the fact that one was blue and the other was green. She dressed smartly and was known to all as the office slut. She'd had everyone in the office. Me included. I had been a faithful husband until that afternoon in the motel room.
I don't know if she'd threatened to blackmail everyone with pictorial evidence.
I didn't even know there were pictures until my daughter mentioned them.
The night my daughter told me about the pictures, we'd fucked. I'd played right into her hands and she'd given me the greatest, most mind blowing sex of my life. She'd also explained to me that I could go on fucking her --so long as I obeyed her rules. I was to always respect her, always defend her, and never deny her. With her three rules intact, she imposed her first order: I was to not have sex with anybody but her --not even my wife, her mother.
I had kept up my end of the arrangement.
And she had kept up hers.
I was never in a position to tell Yvette not to have sex with other people. I'd watched her on a handful of occasions. I saw her fuck a guy with a bigger cock than mine, though my own dick is considered much bigger than average. I'd watched her break a preacher --the guy had denounced his own religion in favor of hers.
Her religion was pretty simple: worship Yvette and be rewarded.
And I was her high priest, so to speak.
Which is why, I guess, Anne Marie was standing on my doorstep with all of my incriminating photos. She pulled them out for me to see. There, printed on the page, I saw her skinny ass. Her little boy-tits had pointed at the ceiling. My teeth clenched as my knob touched to her asshole.
The shots were distant --maybe through the window.
She dropped them all into a yellow envelope with a disk.
"Why are you giving me this?"
"You know why." Anne Marie pursed her lips.
It was because Yvette had ordered her to.
"Is this all of them? No copies? No backups?" I asked and took them from her.
"Everything. Like I was told to."
"What were you going to do with this?" I raised my chin.
"I dunno. Money. Laughs."
"Thanks." I said and closed the door.
Anne Marie stuck her hand into the doorjamb to stop the door. "Wait."
"You want to see Yvette?"
"She didn't say you could." I said and closed the door.
She protested, but the sound of the door lock was louder.
"Who was that?" A voice came from the couch.
I turned toward my wife. Angela was curled up on the couch, her eyes closed.
"Girl from work. Dropping something off."
I walked toward the stairs.
Lately, Angela had been getting very depressed. Her attempts to discipline Yvette had stopped. She knew I would always defend the girl --though she didn't know why. I hadn't stuck an erection in her for days, maybe a week. She had taken to using muscle relaxers with vodka to cope.
"Stay with me?" She asked with her eyes closed.
Part of me felt like I was married and that I should help her. But the dominant side could only serve one woman.
"Go back to sleep," I grumbled.
I went up the stairs with the pictures under my arm.
Yvette was in her room. She had left her door wide open. On my approach, I glimpsed her naked ass and the tattoo above it. I gazed up at her beautiful blond hair. She was shimmying into a tight white dress. I put my hand on the fabric and pulled it down to help. I felt the material glide between my fingers and her skin. The skirt was short.
I lifted my fingers touch the spot between her asshole and her pussy.
She took a step away. Her attention was on the mirror. She was putting her lipstick on --copiously.
"You're looking very dressed up," I offered. I knew that if she was going out to meet a guy, or two guys, or on her way to an orgy --I couldn't say anything about it. She was the only one allowed to be jealous. And that's why my cock was actually her cock.
The white dress clung to every curve and fold of her body. Her bountiful, D-cup breasts were barely covered by its intensely low scoop. I could make out the shape of each piercing, just below her flat nipples. Thin golden rings pinned down by satin.
"Gotta go to church tonight," she said flatly.
I set the pictures down on her vanity. My hands went right to her hips.
"Not Carl?" I mocked, putting my chin near her neck.
Carl was the preacher man who wanted to fuck Yvette. My daughter had refused him. He had to prove himself worthy. He had to have sex with a married woman in his Church --then he could have her. That was Yvette's condition. The woman was a Russian named Nadia. Carl wanted Yvette, but I didn't think he had the balls to actually rape a woman.
Yvette obviously thought differently, because she only lit a cigarette to respond to my question.
"Do you like the pictures?" Yvette blew smoke, her voice was a smolder.
"Yeah. Thank you."
"Don't save them to jack off to."
I smirked at her. She seemed pissed for some reason.
"I can't believe you did her, Kyle."
"You did her too," I shrugged.
She slapped me across the face. "You fucking asshole!"
Her blue eyes swelled and she pointed to the floor.
I knelt before her.
"Do you regret what you just said to me?" Yvette breathed, gazing down at me. Her golden bangs were teased to perfection.
"Then say it to me..." She said, putting the cigarette to her full lips.
"I regret what I said."
"Now..." Yvette turned and lifted her skirt. The amazing shape of her backside was presented to me. She had no panties. I was treated to a view of perfectly ripe ass cheeks. "...give me a rimjob, you little bitch!"
I stood up and turned for the door.
"Are you denying me?" Yvette asked coldly.
"No," I said as I reached for the door. "Angela might see."
"Leave it open."
I stood between my daughter's rock hard body and the threshold to her room. From this position, I could plainly see the stares --but over my shoulder I could see Yvette's tanned, solid ass. She clenched the cigarette between her teeth and snapped her fingers at me like a dog. She then pointed at the space right behind her ass.
"Lick my shitter right now."
I went down on my knees behind her. She urged me with her words, "that's it Kyle... brown nose me..."
I stared up at her twin cheeks and pulled them open to reveal her dark sphincter.
"If you talk shit, you eat shit. I hope you understand me." She parted her legs a little and took up her mascara.
My tongue reached out and touched to the outside of her asshole. I felt it pulse against the tip. My nose inhaled her pungent and most defiling odor.
She was applying mascara. "You don't talk about who I fuck. Put your tongue in me if you understand."
I pushed my tongue into her asshole and felt it flinch open just a little. I then flattened my tongue around the inside of it. I tasted her sticky tang. I shoved around the texture there. She responded by pushing her ass into my face. "I am so tempted to put a bit of chocolate in your mouth, daddy..." She hissed the word 'daddy'. "...that is the dumbest thing you have ever --ever fucking said to me."
I was silent. I only nudged my tongue in deeper. I filled her brown eye. If this pleased her, she made no action and she made no noise. There was no act of encouragement as she selfishly punished me --a cigarette burned in one of her hands and mascara was perfectly applied with the other.
"I hope mom fucking walks by..." Yvette continued in her evil tone. "...bet you've never eaten her ass."
My daughter was right. As agreeable as sex with Angela was... the two of us had never engaged in sex quite like Yvette and I. This revelation reminded me of my rightful place --obeying and serving my daughter. Her observation warmed me and I wanted to consume everything about her. I wanted her sweat and her cum. If she would only fart in my face I would breathe her private stench and call myself lucky.
She lifted herself away from me, now finished with her make-up.
"Brush your teeth," she spoke hastily. "I'm late for church."
Yvette opened a bottle of whiskey on her vanity and I was briefly reminded that she wasn't yet old enough to drink. She shot straight from the bottle and capped it again. Her eyes watched me through the mirror as I left. Her eyes were bright as ice, but framed in shadow, and her lipstick was thick as every fat-fucks favorite stripper. Her dress was still up around her ass as she blew smoke toward my reflection.
I washed my mouth out and I bathed my nose in Angela's designer soap.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Yvette was standing at the banister near the stairs. I eyeballed her perfect form from behind and joined her.
"Look," Yvette whispered as she pointed down to the living room.
Angela lay asleep. Her soft snore filled the air.
"Daddy..." she snorted softly, "...you gotta do me here... right above her."
"What about church?" I asked.
"Let me worry about church."
Yvette's hand went to pants and she gripped my dick. My daughter had power over my mind, spirit, and body. Now it was my body's turn to jump to attention.
And jump it did.
My meat, thick and proud grew to her palm. Satisfied, her fingers turned their attention to undoing my pants.
I placed my fingers between her thighs and found her pussy. The flood I found there was like hot water poured over fresh clay and three fingers slipped into her easily. I heard a little growl from her mouth. The acrid scent of my daughter's sweet creamer filled the space there above the stairs as her quim melted against my knuckles. It was the smell of only the most rabid sex.
My fuck stick, vibrant with veins was now between her fingers and thumb. It slipped from her and bounced heavily toward my shirt.
"Oh daddy..." Yvette breathed. "...looks like you want this as bad as I do..." She then whipped her styled, blond hair over her shoulder to look back at me. In that moment her cool eyes widened to punctuate our forbidden jest. "...maybe more..." She made her lipstick into a perfect circle and guided my knob to her prick pleaser.
I watched her eyelids blink themselves into half-open slits as my pipe parted her sloppy opening. Her teeth showed as a familiar gasp pleased my ears. "Don't get cum on my dress..." she moaned above a whisper as I filled her completely. Her hands went right to the banister to help her press against me.
My right hand glided upward, from her flat belly to her flat breast and I felt her golden nipple ring smear between her satin and the skin of my hand. I felt her hard, covered nipple tickle the base of my fingers. Her hand went over mine and squeezed it even harder. Her grasp made my fingers white and then whiter as she corrected and re-corrected her grasp. And then, seemingly frustrated with the satin fabric that separated my hand from her full melon, she forced my hand into the scoop of the dress. She slammed her naked fat titty into my sweaty open fist. I felt the thick nub above the ring --hard as a broken jelly bean drag passionately against my palm.
She kept her eyes locked with mine --her face lit with an I-told-you-so expression.
I drew my semen shooter backward and slammed forward. She rushed to meet me with diabolical timing. Both of us fucked without moans or groans. There was only the sound of me churning her willing and wet cum catcher. I pulled her tit toward me and she raised her chin in response. Her smile widened to absolute evil and she breathed, "...look...down at her..."
She rolled her eyes sideways and her head swiveled to follow.
I leaned over her shoulder and looked down to my sleeping wife. My phallus didn't falter. In fact it felt heavier with my sauce --more powerful. As my blond wife snored below, my cock became a heavier hollow stick that was devoid of sensitivity. I could fuck Yvette for hours like this, gazing at the woman whose only saving grace was giving me my daughter --the single greatest truth in my life.
I think Yvette wanted me to get caught. I didn't know what she had against me and Angela that would make the destruction of our marriage such an object of amusement. Angela would understandably be furious to catch us fucking like dogs. Yvette would probably order me to keep fucking while Angela screamed at me.
And I would keep fucking --even with my wife clawing my back. That was Yvette's true meaning for me. She was my goddess. And as if she were reading my thoughts, she decided to prove it.
"Get your limp dick out of me," She teased.
My very full joy branch slipped from her easily and it bounced freely. Yvette gazed down at it with appreciation as she turned to face me. Her perfect hair was getting matted with sweat and her eyes --drunk on whiskey and my fruit-giver— hooked mine hypnotically. One perfect tit was revealed through the scoop of her dress. She popped its twin out for me. Both perfect, pierced with golden rings, and supported only by her satin white dress. They were triumphant in size and I knew they had broken many men.
She hiked her skirt above her shaven pussy with a lazy smile.
"Tell me you're ready, daddy..."
She hopped up on the banister and gripped either side with her hands. It was then that she parted her legs before me and revealed her perfectly pink pudgy pleasure. Her pink peach was wide open for cock --slick with sweat and the primal function sex. She probably held a gallon of my pre-cum.
"Oh, daddy... you make a little girl wanna skip church..." She leaned toward my face. I could smell the whiskey and the ashtray. "Put it in me again... daddy... have your little girl again..."
I reached between us and I raised my long post. Yvette rocked her hips urgently, seeking a refill. I pointed it again to her trembling, open folds. I slammed it into her in one hot stroke. I felt her hands go to my neck but it was her gaze that held me. Sultry. A little bit mocking. She knew all the make-out spots and she'd fucked in them all.
I lurched forward in her arms --my hips commanded me.
"Don't cum... daddy..." she gasped. "...there's one more thing we have to do..."
Sweat beaded my forehead as I slipped my prick back. I left only the head in my daughter. I hoped her pussy lips might pinch off my impending spill.
"Shhhh...." She whispered, her hands traveled down my arms. "...put it all in me and wait..."
I had no idea what she was getting at... I only obeyed.
"Wait." She repeated.
Now, with both of us in position, her hands slipped into mine and she leaned back. She leaned all the way backward and her legs went around the small of my back. I felt my cock get pulled upward as her pussy arrived to a new position. This shock gave me a renewed sense of constitution.
"It takes a big dick to do this..." she murmured. "...little dicks would just slip out. Believe me. I know."
Her blonde hair now cascaded downward --only feet above poor, sleeping Angela.
I gave it to her slowly. My huge and slippery shooter pushed in and out of her in this bizarre angle. I imagined it treated her clit over and over as it filled her gaping gash with a handicapped rhythm. I continued to plow her... over and over as her hands gripped mine with total purpose.
"Oh... you have to be strong... daddy...." She cooed softly. And then she giggled softly, "...the worst is yet to come..."
With that, Yvette moved her hips as much as she could. She matched my clumsy beat with very little effort. She fucked as the perfect slut I'd always wanted her to be. Her participation in this position increased our pace almost by instinct. This new, urgent speed caused me to groan. It felt like the loudest groan in the world.
"Shhh...." Yvette hissed. She writhed against me and her words were broken by her own ecstasy. "...you'll wake...the neighbors...can't...you...handle...just a little pussy?"
I bit down on my lips and rammed into her to shut her up. It worked. But with this new effort, I felt my seed boil up in me. It had been held back already and now I knew I wouldn't be as lucky as before.
With a panic, I pulled Yvette upward and threw her arms around my neck. Her awe-inspired tits slapped into my face. My lips slobbered over her dense nipples with the accuracy of a blind rifleman. My sweaty chin tainted her golden rings with an unreserved fever.
"Gonna cum now?" She half-laughed in my ear.
I only nodded.
Yvette slipped my cock out of her pussy and hopped on the floor next to me. She put one hand on my prick and squeezed it like a vice. Her other went between her legs.
I felt the geyser of semen pumping through my swelling rod, but she wouldn't let it out. I glanced at her other hand and I could see that she was whipping her clit into frenzy. "Watch... Kyle..." she huffed. "...watch... this!"
I saw the orgasm flush her neck and cheeks as her body shook with the results of her own hand. She had fingered herself to a seemingly amazing climax and in that moment... she released my cock.
I realized her plan as a rope of semen shot out of my rocket launcher. That cum, followed by another burst, hurled through the railing of the banister and downward. I held back my moans of satisfaction, but felt supreme joy and relief as more strands of my baby sap flew through the air down to my sleeping wife.
Yvette was pulling on my tool now, her own hand got slick with my white goodness.
I looked at her. Her lips were flat with that most sinister smile she gave when she had what truly got her off... moments like these.
My cock dropped in her hand. The erection had served its purpose and so she let it go. I shoved it back into my pants as Yvette hid her tits again with the white satin dress. I noticed she did it all with the hand that wasn't splattered with my cum.
"Now I'm late for church, daddy," she smiled at me. "Are you gonna drive me?"
I nodded. Admittedly, I was in a bit of a shock as to shooting fuck snot all over my sleeping wife. But I was also not excited to be meeting up with Carl again. I knew that if he had fucked Nadia he would then fuck Yvette. And my daughter would probably make me watch.
Just to crack her self up.
But I could never refuse her. It was a rule.
She adjusted her hair with her semen-free hand and looked at me.
I offered to get her a rag for her hand, but she refused it. When we were ready to leave, I found out what she had planned.
"Bye, mommy..." Yvette said to Angela while she slept. The hand that was still wet with my butter was the very same hand she used to stroke her mother's cheek. She made sure to leave every drop before she turned to exit the house.
Rain pounded the mini-van as we headed down the street to Carl's church. As the rain pattered outside, I could hear the muffled rap music that blasted in Yvette's ears. She was wearing her ipod --her intention was that we wouldn't talk. I was only the driver now. I was expected to pay witness to her ultimate sexual turn --the breaking of the preacher man.
She cracked the window and lit a cigarette.
My thoughts drifted back to the house and to Angela. I thought of her being so sad, dosed, and covered in the cum I'd intended into put in our only daughter. It wasn't a conscience, but it may have been the beginning of one.
Lightning flashed outside. Its appearance gathered Yvette's attention and then she looked at me. Her face was cast in shadow --the only illumination came from the burning embers of her cigarette when she inhaled from it. She handed the cigarette to me and I breathed from her addiction.