Dad's Kinky New Wife Ch. 02

He was perturbed that those thoughts always arose when he tried to fight the urge. As before, he found himself unable to block the fuzzy memories of those horrendous three-days. He'd been a fool to think she'd allow him to forget his traumatic transformation.

Like a digitized movie, his portrayal as a servile girly-man reran in his head.

The catastrophe began on a day of celebration. It had started as a party with a group of close friends. It had been intended to commemorate his future marriage. In a drunken stupor, he'd acted impetuously. He should've never called that gypsy, a trashy cock whore. How could he have known he'd be damned by those three demeaning words or that they'd be used to define him.

To him, it was the most diabolical of curses. The cruelty of that affliction was that it allowed him free will but it measured the leash by the length of his hard cock.

On the first day, under the sway of that condition, he'd found restraint difficult. With minimum guidance, he degraded himself by performing acts that he assumed would give a reward. He'd soon forgot the woman neglected to tell him or mentioned the number of tasks he'd be expected to complete. This was a day of humiliation.

On the second day, he'd been dressed as a woman. He'd performed clumsily as a gang of men spewed forth incessant demands that were meant to confuse, frustrate, and demean him. By day's end, he'd been broken. Like a bitch, he'd heel at the woman's feet and ardently begged for his well-earned release.

The third day had been horrific. That had been the day of awareness. It was when he'd realized he'd conformed and transformed. He'd been made to look in a mirror and that terrifying image reflected the mockery of a woman he'd become. It wasn't the idea that he dressed and performed as a female, it was knowing he'd begun behaving and thinking like one. He'd been made to perceive himself as a woman in a man's body.

He grasped the totality of it all. It had become clear that his identity had been twisted into one akin to a man whore. He wouldn't survive the fourth day. He'd most certainly be lost. That vile woman seemed determined to make him some freakish cock slut in mind, body, and spirit. He'd make any deal to stop that from happening...and he did.

Those visions now haunted him to comply. Never again would he allow himself to be used as a cum bucket for a group of heartless men. To be free, he had simply to complete the bargain.

With increased urgency, he followed the bouncing bulbous head of his cock. He no longer felt concern over the consequences of his next intended action.

***

Pleasured Horny

"Shush," was whispered into Martha's ear in a barely audible tone.

She ceased to struggle and allowed her captor to manhandle and bend her over the edge of her daughter's old bed. The weight of her abductor pressed against her rump and pinned her in place.

She quivered nervously as the man's hardened member pulsed lengthwise between the crease of her butt cheeks.

A click sounded and a digital TV came to life. The screen flickered in her direction and drew both eyes.

Like a business presentation, a series of words materialized. It said, don't scream. We're playing a game. Suck my dick and you'll be pleasured horny.

She gave a hesitant nod.

When the room returned to darkness, he removed his hand from her mouth.

"Harold?" she said.

In a low audible tone, he said, "Uh huh."

She quipped, "I don't like this game. I don't understand any of this. That porn video—damn it, I have questions. This whole day is weird as hell. You had me driving all over town wasting time doing stupid stuff. Explain yourself."

Again, she was manhandled but maneuvered into a seated position.

"I'm not playing this silly game of yours. Are you going to tell me what's going on? For Christ sake, say something."

The answer came as a rounded fleshy knob bobbing against her mouth's bottom lip.

It stimulated imagery that made her yelp.

...a large white strap-on dildo. Presented with the head of a rubber penis, she greedily gorged and nibbled its crown.

That overlaid impression was enacted against a backdrop of blackness. She didn't recollect performing such an act. Yet, that visual representation now coincided with the rigid dick bouncing at her mouth. It was identified as some awkward fantasy that produced pleasurable thoughts. It shifted her mood and rushed her heart. Staring out into the dark, she imagined her husband's tubular shank barreling towards her welcoming mouth.

Her shy lips hesitated, then parted. When his warm dick touched her lips, she responded by broadening the orifice and gobbling the spongy bulbous tip.

In conjunction with her action came a sensation that made her to jerk.

Placing a hand on his balls and wrapping the shaft with the other, she pulled her head back. Confused and dazed by the phenomenon, she cried, "Not possible."

Her outburst was a short-lived response of surprise that ended when she felt the urge to experience that stimulation once again. She plunged her mouth back on his dick.

How could she feel it on her clit when pleasuring him? It was biologically impossible.

As she nibbled, slobbered, and traveled her tongue along the circumference of his prick, that same pleasuring action was reflected as an amplified sensation along her loins.

This is so weird, she thought, it's like I'm licking and sucking my own pussy.

Between a flickering tongue and an enveloping plunge, she said, "Fuck—Harold. How?"

That broken question caused a neglectful lull in the pleasure. It was a momentary lapse that evaporated when she returned to pleasuring the engorged knob.

Slithering her mouth from the base to the tip, her clitoris tingled and her movements became more animated.

As fervor increased, her thoughts rambled as she tried to make sense of it. It was crazy and confusing. It was driving her to perform wildly.

Oh, my god, Harold, why is this happening to me?

She tried to verbalize those questions, but they came out as blubbery fragments intermingled with loud moans. It became a futile attempt. With an obsessive need to pleasure herself to orgasm, she'd practically bound herself in place and gagged herself on his cock.

As her abductor's chest heaved with a heavy exhalation of air, she removed her playful hands from his hairless ball sack and slid them up along his body until they settled upon his bare chest.

She grasped and tweaked his nipples. That action produced an unbridled rumbling groan which reverberated out from around her rapidly bobbing head. It was as if she were teasing her own sensitive tits.

It swelled the need and brought her towards the climax. Like a balloon filling with water, it accumulated, swirled, and surged while expanding the container. She was joyful while awaiting the welcomed release.

At the stage before the crest, the balloon reached a point of bursting. It was an instance of expectation that abruptly ended when the thin membrane suddenly became like stone.

One minute she was driving towards a cliff's edge and then a wall appeared to block her plunge. The fictitious vehicle's airbag deployed and it knocked her senseless. The impact was jarring.

The result caused her to stiffened in place. The very idea that a person could be locked at the precise moment before orgasm was inconceivable. With no conclusion to her climax, the unresolved tempest swirled like a maelstrom behind an immovable barrier. She sat upright like a statue, dumbfounded and confused.

She didn't flinch when the room unexpectedly lighted from a lamp on the nightstand.

Although she found herself unable to move, she could still shift her goggled eyes to her companion.

She screamed.

At least she tried. It came out as an exhalation of air mixed with a gurgle. Her mouth was agape and her tongue was unresponsive. She jiggled once and then flopped backward like a domino to lay prone and limp upon the bed.

She was fully aware that Paul stood naked with a boner between her splayed legs.

***

The Chain That Binds

Paul gawked at Martha's nudity. Even without his curse, seeing his mother-in-law naked and sprawled on the bed with a welcoming invitation would've excited him just the same.

He said, "I have to say, you're a sexy mama, in the literal sense. It's unbelievable how much you and Carol look alike. Minor differences, but a mirror image none the less. That woman did a good job painting you up to look like a slutty version of your daughter."

In jest, he added, "I've always known you never liked me. Although, right now, seeing you lying back on the bed with your pussy open is a sign that tells me that perhaps you've changed your mind."

Leaning over, he began at her knee and walked his fingers up her sweaty leg.

"What you're feeling is exactly what I experienced my first time. I couldn't move for over thirty minutes. I'm not entirely sure why. I know you have lots of questions. I'll attempt to answer, but understand, I can only explain my suffering."

As his hands touched her inner thigh, she began hyperventilating with short puffy breaths causing her chest to quiver.

"Martha, I'm not going to harm you."

Moving his hands to her vulva, he grasped both inner lips and spread them like a curtain.

He then looked up from her genitals and directed it to her befuddled composure.

"What I'm about to do isn't my idea. I'm apologizing beforehand. Like you, I'm also a victim of this dreadful gypsy curse. No doubt your experience is identical to mine. If it's the same, I know the turmoil swirling in your mind. You're disgusted at yourself for what you're not feeling. You want to be horrified at finding your naked son-in-law between your legs, but instead, you're stimulated by it."

Pivoting his head down, he returned his gaze on her open crack.

He felt obligated to feed her more information.

With his gaze fixed upon her glistening hole, he exhaled a humid heavy breath and then continued by saying, "Like me, you're only capable of feeling emotions directly associated to those experienced during sex. You feel lustful because you're now biologically trapped with that condition. Our curse is that were incapable of completing our climax until we've concluded some task that triggers it. That spark is always dictated by that sadistic gypsy and believe me, she's cruel as hell. This is the chain that binds us to the bitch. Sadly, the need always dictates your action. In desperation, you'll do anything to achieve it. I won't explain the heartbreak that occurs after it's completed. I'll only say it's devastating."

He flickered his tongue out and ran it across her clit.

She instantly reacted by arching her pelvis up.

It was an unexpected movement that made him stop.

"Damn, that's unusual. I mean...you're recovering quicker than expected. Are you deceiving me or yourself? Is it possible that you're remaining immobile simply because you're anticipating that I'll continue? I can only assume that you're so eager that you've decided to play. Understand, I can't achieve climax until you do. She never told me your trigger, but know this, I'll do absolutely anything necessary to make it happen. In a sense, the bitch has trapped us in an unending circle jerk. If not concluded, we'll be driven mad by it."

Unable to hold back any longer, he dove his mouth onto her pussy. Like her, he experienced the same sensational condition. Eating her, was like sucking and licking his own cock and balls. Just like he'd done to satisfy those deviant men, he now pleasured her with the same committed enthusiasm.

***

Unnatural Descent

Martha was most definitely in turmoil. Upon regaining her ability to move, she realized she'd become a slave to lust. She understood why there wasn't an effort to constrain her. Reluctant to end the pleasure, she had bound herself. The crazed yearning for gratification had forced her to become a willing participant. Humans were simply incapable of combating such passion.

Scrunching her mouth, she folded her bottom lip and furrowed her brow. With each exhalation, her cheeks puffed. Her enjoyment was voiced as a series of repeated hums, one behind the other.

Folding her legs, she grasped her knees and pulled back to spread herself wide.

She felt extremely nasty for doing such a thing. There was indeed terror at knowing her son-in-law feasted like a starved wolf between her legs. She simply had no urge to act upon it, instead, she spread herself wider as an admission of defeat. Without the slightest hesitation, she had become his bitch.

Feeling him lick her pussy like a ravished dog on stimulants was causing conflict within her mind. Part of her was desperate to shriek out in dismay over how she responded to those caresses. The other was more dominate and voiced its winning declaration as a loud moan that welcomed his pleasing tongue. How could she so easily accept the insanity of it all?

As if she were a cheap tramp purchased from a backwoods whorehouse, she gyrated her pelvis and lunged her mound like a repetitive motion cotton gin. She wanted to feel every tongue pleasuring graze.

She was blissful, but deep down on the fringe of her muddled thoughts, she was truly confused by what was happening to her. It was impossible to express true dread when it was continuously pushed down by the weight of desire. Compelled to perform she was forced to play a role as some consenting whore.

Curling his hair in both hands, she pressed his face down against her sex and cried out, "Do it, Paul, make me come. Fucking eat my pussy. Make me a nasty slut!"

His reaction was spontaneous. Grasping the front of her lingerie top, he gathered a crimp of cloth in each hand and then frenziedly tore it along the middle. Both meaty bags jiggled and bounced while he hastily exposed them for ravishment.

Shuffling up her torso, he clinched a boob tightly in each hand and then descended with a gaped mouth to molest each conically shaped nipple.

In such a moment, with blind passion leading her astray, she had become some other woman. She no longer cared who suckled her breast. Their name or relationship had no bearing. Motivated by need, she wasn't repulsed by the idea of accepting any man's dick, no matter the color, size, shape, or length. She had no reservation as to how many men nor which orifices were used if it resulted in a gratifying resolution. At that instant, she'd do absolutely anything if it led to completing her orgasm.

"F—Fu—Fuck me," she said between a succession of moans.

With her pussy gaped wide, he had only to move on top and plunge himself with one ramming lunge. He followed the action by rapidly thrusting himself repeatedly into his mother-in-law's steamy wet cunt.

Those creamy smacks played in concert with her titillating squeals.

Like passionate lovers, they lustfully joined their mouths and crazily bounced, badgered, and entwined their tongues.

Interlocking her legs behind him, she repetitively pressed him deep.

She'd always been satisfied by her husband's dick; it was the right length and was pleasurably thick, but Paul's prick was both reasonably chunky and a few measures longer. Until now, it had been ages since she'd had a man probe her depths and bang her cervix like a hammer.

If this was insanity, she'd committed herself to the asylum.

She broke from the kiss and swayed her head from side to side. "Fu—Fuck me hard—harder. Damn it, what's wrong with you. If you're going to fuck my pussy, then do it like you mean it. Pound it in me, you bastard!"

Like a jackhammer, he thumped into her with the sole intent to break through that wall. Always on the edge, he was also driven by that maniacal hunger. The sex became a flurry meant to conclude only one purpose.

Unresolved, frustration and exhaustion eventually took hold. Even the unnatural passion that drove them to fuck like rabbits couldn't supersede the fatigue and the energy needed to sustain such a maddening pace.

Paul pulled out and dropped prone beside her. His chest heaved as he worked to catch his breath.

Martha's immediate reaction was to cover her face with both hands and whimper.

As diminishment of the craving subsided, she began to think more clearly. She felt relief knowing that fatigue gave a brief respite, but that awkward pressure remained and continued to urge her to be nasty. It was at that moment that she garnered the true nature of her condition and where it would lead.

Mournfully, she said, "This can't go on. I feel so fucking dirty. It's so wrong. My god, it's torture."

He exhaled a sigh and then used the sheet to wipe the sweat from his chest. "What you've just experienced is what I've dealt with for over a month. I'm not telling you the things I've done, but what you did doesn't even compare."

Turning her back to him, she reached between her legs and drove a finger into her hole.

What she discovered was bothersome and perplexing. Her pussy wasn't just moist. It was sodden and dripping. How could her vagina remain so wet? It was baffling that any woman was even capable of producing an excessive amount of lubricant as she was now.

Upon pulling her finger out, a long gooey string dribbled down in an arch. It reminded her of pre-cum that drooled from the tip of a man's prick.

She felt as if she'd become something twisted. A woman that gushed as she did now, would always be wet, ready, and willing. Such a woman would make the perfect whore. How had she been made to fit that description?

"This isn't natural." She said with a whimper.

"No, it's not, but I've already explained it to you. We've been cursed if you believe such a thing possible."

As if shocked by a thought, her head whipped around to face him. Distress evident in her widened eyes, she exclaimed, "Harold? Carol?"

He'd hoped she'd forgotten about them. The tone of her words implied grave concern and it tugged his soul. As he'd felt earlier today, that hot serrated blade now stabbed at his gut.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, he sat upright and momentarily stared at the closed bedroom door. After a sigh, he leaned forward and reached under the bed. He revealed a small duffle bag and placed it upon his lap. With a hand frozen on the zipper, he fixed his stare on the floor and said, "Yah—about them."

Frantic, she scooted to sit beside him. "God damn it, Paul, tell me."

His only reaction was to slide his hand to open the bag.

Angrily, she moved to stand in front of him.

Grasping his head in both hands, she forced him to look at her. It was his watering eyes and the wrinkled crimp of his jaw that moved her beating heart to race. In that moment, a burst of true emotion trickled through the turbulence and she cried, "What have you done?"

After reaching into the bag, he handed her a baggy containing three pills and two energy bars.

She questioned, "What's this? Why won't you tell me?"

"The pills are to keep you awake and focused. One pill is to reduce the pain. If you haven't noticed, I've had a hard-on the entire time. After a spell, it hurts to maintain an erection. Contrary to belief, a cock does get fatigued. Do you think your clit is immune to the same? Eventually, over stimulation will cause pain. You can guess about the energy bars. With no end in sight, you get the picture. Our condition might be abnormal, but our bodies still experience the frailties of being human."

"Why won't you answer my question?"

"First, take the meds and eat. Here's a bottle of water. You'll be a bit flighty from the pain pill, but the other two should offset the dizziness. I'll give fifteen minutes for a rest. Then after, I want you to face the TV, get on all fours, raise your ass in the air, arch your back, spread yourself like a whore, and then invite me to fuck you. That's when I'll show you the answer."