Stallion Brood-Mare Cuckold Virgin

"But Alan, you're going to have to deal with women like that in the workplace. You can't let your fantasies distract you."

"Well, listen to this then! Halfway through the interview, she reached inside her jacket, cupped one of her breasts and adjusted her bra." In his childlike way, Dad dropped his voice to a stage whisper as though that would prevent Mom and me from hearing him - he is so clueless! "At one point she dropped her pen and bent over to get it. She has this incredible ass, and with her skirt pulled tight over it, I could see every detail, no panty line!"

Jack did not reply and waited for Dad to go on.

"Needless to say, I don't think I made any sense at all. At one point she asked, 'Did you hear what I asked you?' It turned out I had said that the exchange rate of the euro depends on the price of beer! I could not think straight with her acting that way!"

"Everyone makes a few mistakes in an interview," said Jack.

"That wasn't all," said Dad. "She made some notes after I said that and then her phone rang. She took the call, right there in front of me and started talking in this honeyed tone, saying the most explicit things in her clipped British accent."

"Like what?" asked Jack.

"She said 'I'd love to get your ramrod one in my mouth right now, big boy. And after I've got you good and hard, I'd like to sit on you, get you really deep inside me. You drive me wild!' Then she mumbled, but it sounded like she was talking to someone named Jack. For a moment, I thought it might be you!"

Jack laughed heartily, but Mom flushed, the red slowly suffusing her face.

"That is one of the funniest things I've heard," said Jack. "Of course, Jack is one of the most common names in the city."

"Yes, yes," said Dad. "I didn't think for a moment that it was you."

"Alan, Alan, don't be downhearted," said Mom. "Things always seem worse than they are. I am sure you did not do as badly as you think."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I got a text message as I pulled into the driveway. It was from Ms. Hojjat and it said, 'Thank you for coming for the interview, Mr. Peters. However, I do not think that there is a good fit between your skills and our needs.' So that's that."

There was a short embarrassed silence. Mom reached across the table and tried to take Dad's hand, but he pulled it away petulantly.

"Well, Alan, it is not all bad news today," said Jack, putting his arm familiarly around Mom's waist. "You will be happy to know that Trixie Ann is really hot stuff." Dad looked up and smiled proudly when Jack said this. "I've been forwarding her all this really technical stuff that our software engineers have sent across and she has put together detailed designs for patches and amendment protocols. You wouldn't think that she is just an English major with half an MBA's worth of night credits."

Under the table, Jack's hand caressed Mom's flat stomach and then slid under the waistband of her tights. She squirmed, but all she accomplished was to get Jack's hand deeper into her crotch. Dad couldn't see because he was across on the other side of the table, but Mom knew that I could see. I wondered if she would have squirmed if I had not been there. I felt my throat going dry and my nipples hardening again.

Mom managed to squirm free and walked over to the fridge saying, "I'm getting an carrot from the crisper, would anyone else like anything?"

"Just get the ice cream out for me," said Dad.

As she walked towards the fridge, I watched her tight ass carefully and could discern no panty line. Was she commando under her tights? Why wasn't Dad watching her? But he was trying to get Jack's attention about another interview. I felt sorry for him and my anger towards Jack flared up again.

"I'm going up to my room," I said, draining my coffee cup and rising.

"Wait," said Jack. I stopped and turned around. "Your Mom was telling me about how hard you are practicing on your new piano. I'd love to hear you play."

"Not now," I said curtly.

"Now, Judy, that's not a nice tone of voice," said Dad sharply. "Mr. Grierson has been very good to us. Without him, you wouldn't have that piano. Just play a little party piece. Then you can do whatever you want."

I looked over at Mom for support, but she was still mad that I hadn't sent Jack the 'thank you' note.

"Oh, just play a little piece and be done with it!" she snapped irritably. "Don't make such a big deal about it."

I shrugged my shoulders and led Jack to the living room where the new baby grand sat in the corner. As I sat down on the piano bench, Jack said, "Play Debussy's Petite Suite, please, Judy."

"I can't," I said, looking at him with irritation. "That's a piece for four hands."

"I know. I'll play with you."

"You play the piano?"

"Not like you, I didn't have lessons growing up. But I've been taking lessons the last few years."

"Oh, all right," I said. I hoped my irritated tone would get through to this disgusting man.

I sat down, ran my fingers over the keyboard and I felt Jack sit on the bench beside me. I began, just wanting to get it over with. The piece was thirteen minutes long. Just as the music swelled to fill the living room, he leaned on to my shoulder and whispered in my ear, "Don't stop playing, but I saw you watching as I fucked your mom this morning."

I missed a few keys, but kept going to avoid my parents coming into the living room. You bastard, I thought.

"Your mom is a great fuck. You heard her say that I've gotten her pregnant, didn't you? That I've bred her for the second time?"

You are such a pig, I thought. I was playing the major hands and kept going. He entered with his left hand at just the right time.

"You liked watching, didn't you? I saw you take off your panties. They must have been very wet."

All I could think was - I hate you, I hate you. But I did not know what to say, so I just kept playing, louder and louder, hitting the keys with energy to cover my confusion. I was too nonplussed to recognize how well he was playing.

Then he cupped my right breast with his right hand whispering, "You have great tits. And a great ass. I bet you are a great fuck too."

"I ... I ... don't know," I faltered.

"You're eighteen. A young woman."

He kneaded my breast through my mesh top and thin red-and-cream bra. My nipples betrayed me again, stiffening and standing out proudly. He kissed my ear as he whispered, "My, my, look at those nipples! You've got to take off your bra and show them to me."

Now there was an interlude where he did not need to play for three full minutes. He took advantage of this to slide my mesh top up. He cupped both my breasts through my thin bra and kneaded adroitly. I don't know how to describe it exactly. He was rough, but he was adept. He was possessive of my body, but he looked genuinely happy as I began to pant. I could not believe that my nipples could actually get harder and longer, but they did. They got so they were almost painful. I was frightened, I knew I should stop him, but I had absolutely no idea how.

"Mr. Grierson," I gasped. "Don't - "

"Keep playing," he said. He had to play now and he released my breasts to pick up his part of the piece flawlessly. How could he stay focused, while he was driving me out of my mind? I knew I was playing worse than I had in years, but his playing was spot on. He was an excellent pianist; I could not believe that he had only been taking lessons for the past few years.

Finally, the piece reached its crescendo and ended. I immediately tried to get up and get away from this horrible man, but he held me fast with one powerful arm. His other hand drifted down to my lap. I panicked, remembering again that I was commando - I had no panties on! But it was too late, for he undid the button of my jeans and pulled down the zipper. His hand found my moist, naked pussy.

"Ah, Judy, you're such hot, young woman! You're commando, no panties!"

Insinuating his hand into my unzipped jeans, he drove two fingers into me. He pistoned me, while stimulating my clitoris with his thumb. My panting was beginning to turn into something far louder, when he twisted my head and kissed me. I felt his thick tongue in my mouth. It was far more aggressive than Manny Slink, my high school boyfriend. He probed and sparred, constantly looking for a response. I put a hand on his shoulder and another on his invading wrist, trying to push him away, but it was a losing battle. I learned now that exchanging copious amounts of saliva could be exceedingly erotic. He was getting me to a state I had never known before. My excitement began to befog my loathing for him.

His fingers continued to manipulate my clitoris, unaffected by my frantic attempts to dislodge him. With my inexperience, I could not last. I began to cum, mewing into his mouth like Mom. My whole body was convulsing and just at that moment, I remembered that Mom and Dad were in the kitchen. Somehow, it made me cum even harder.

Finally, as I wound down, I realized that I was drenched with sweat. My bra and mesh top clung to me. My pussy was wet all over again and now I had drenched the seat of my jeans. I disengaged myself and Jack did not hold me.

I grasped my bag of thongs and stood up.

"You're a beast and I despise you!" I hissed. "I'm going to my room to have a shower to cleanse myself. Then I'm going to put on one of these thongs."

I showed him the bag with Victoria's Secret prominently printed on the outside. I ran up the stairs, not quite believing what I had just said. I got to my room, expecting Jack to follow me and not quite sure whether I wanted him to or not. I shut my door, but did not lock it. I stood staring at it with my jeans still hanging open at my waist and my mesh top rolled up under my armpits. I had just had the hardest orgasm of my life on my piano bench. I am ashamed to admit that I even made up disgraceful scenarios in my mind of Jack saying, "Your Mom is a great fuck, but you are even better!" But the minutes ticked by and the door remained stubbornly shut - Jack did not come. I managed to convey my loathing to him, I thought. I had escaped his scandalous attentions.

But I was also frustrated. I masturbated hard in the shower and I did manage to cum. But it was a pale imitation of my eruption on the piano bench. And certainly nothing like the thorough fucking that Jack had given Mom in the morning. I told myself that I was relieved with my narrow escape. As the memory of my intense orgasm on the piano bench began to fade, I truly believed it.

* * * * * * *

6.The following days passed slowly. Mom left for work very early in the morning and came back late. She said she was very busy at work. One thing that did change was that I began to spy on my parents' bedroom. Dad was much more physically attentive to Mom now and it was only two days later when I managed to get a ringside seat.

The both excused themselves after dinner, saying they were tired - but neither of them was a particularly good liar. I waited fifteen minutes and then followed them up. I cracked their door open and was rewarded with Mom riding Dad in the 'cowboy' position. She was working hard, but was quite silent. In contrast, Dad was groaning. It went on for less than a minute and then Dad came. Mom remained on him, twisting her pussy on his cock that must have been softening. She did not look particularly satisfied.

That weekend, I got a package in the mail. There was no senders' address. I took it up to my room and ripped off the colorful paper wrapping. There was cardboard box inside. I used scissors to tear the tape and opened the box. The top layer was of very light tissue paper and underneath there was some beautiful lingerie. Beneath that, there was more tissue paper and some clothing. Below that was more tissue paper and there were shoes on the bottom of the box.

I took out each item and ran my fingers over them, gawking at the labels.

The lingerie consisted of a very expensive La Perla bra, red-and-cream like the one I was wearing when I had my piano bench tryst with Jack. There was a matching cream-colored thong with red trim, a St. Laurent red silk ribbon choker and Wolford Logic red stockings. There was a Medusa leather slit skirt with a reverse vertical zipper that closed by going DOWN from the waist to the top of the slit. There was a gauzy chiffon Hermes sleeveless blouse. Finally, there was a pair of Christian Louboutin sling-back pumps with oh-so-cute bows and spike heels.

I locked my room door and stripped off my clothes to immediately try on my new finery. The bra was a 32B - just my size - and it was a demi. The frilly tops of the bra cups were cut well below my nipples. I pulled on the panties and stockings, zipped on the leather skirt and draped on the chiffon blouse, but left it unbuttoned. Finally, I tied on the silk choker, slipped on the shoes and looked at myself in the mirror. I cupped my breasts with my hands and my sensitive nipples grew hard.

"How do you do, Miss Fifi la Rouge," I said to my image in the mirror with an exaggerated French accent. "You are looking sexy tonight."

I was about the throw away the package when I saw that I had dropped a card on the ground. I picked it up and read, 'Hope you like the clothes - they're a small recompense for the pleasure of playing the piano with you. Do send me a selfie when you wear them. - Jack.'

I am a shopper and I know clothes. The La Perla bra and thong were from the Soutache collection and cost over $500, the St. Laurent choker was about $300, Medusa leather skirt about $1000, the Hermes blouse over $2000 and the Christian Louboutin shoes were another $1000. Jack had sent me almost $5000 worth of clothes! I still hated him, but now I felt indebted to him. I should send all this stuff back and tell him to go to hell, I thought. But I ran my fingers over the cups of the La Perla bra and down on to the soft leather of the Medusa skirt. It was so pretty - fancier than anything I owned, even with Mom's largesse. Sending him a selfie was a small price to pay for keeping the clothes.

I buttoned up the Hermes blouse and put my phone on a selfie stick. I took a few quick shots, examined them and sent him the one with the best centering. I looked at again after I sent it - I was pouting and my lips looked full. My aureoles were faintly visible through the sheer chiffon. My nipples made clear indentations in the thin Hermes blouse. I clicked my tongue in irritation, but I was secretly quite proud of how sexy I looked.

Just then my cell phone buzzed insistently indicating incoming texts. I swiped the screen - there were two messages. One was from Jack with a single word, 'Thanks'.

The other was from my boyfriend, Manny Slink.

'Babe, need a ride to town to see a man about some stuff. U drive me?'

'Sure,' I texted back.

I was too excited by my new clothes to consider changing. I told Mom and Dad I was going over to my friend Laura's to study and would be back home very late. Then I texted her to alert her in case my parents called.

I met Manny my freshman year, just after I made the cheerleading squad. He was in my year and was then the junior varsity quarterback. We were friends, but had only started dating as seniors. By now he was the high school starting quarterback and I was quite flattered when he showed an interest in me.

Like me, Manny was eighteen. He lived with his mother, who was black. She did not have a job and I assumed she was on welfare. Manny had never met his father, but he told me that he was Puerto Rican. This made sense, because although he had typically black, frizzy hair, his skin was quite light.

Although it was glamorous to be the girlfriend of the starting quarterback, I quickly learned that Manny was rather dumb. When all of us in the senior class were getting our college offers, I found out that he was not that talented a football player either. He finally got a scholarship from a small two-year college in the middle of the state. He made a big deal about it, but after four years as a cheerleader, I knew better.

My parents hated Manny. That made him much more attractive to me and made me stick with him. We would be going to different colleges at the end of the summer and I assumed our relationship would end naturally. Manny impressed the other "popular" girls, so he was a convenient boyfriend for the time being, but I knew that I did not want to get serious about him. I guess that is why I never let him fuck me - or even get his hands in my panties.

Even in the short time we had been dating, Manny's mom had gone through a couple of boyfriends. Manny did not talk about them, but I got the feeling that his mom's boyfriends did not like him around the house. So Manny spent a lot of time with his cousins in the ghetto.

He never had much money and was constantly "borrowing" from me. However, from time to time, he sold weed and crack in school. Then he always blew everything he made, taking me out dancing to The Shake Shack, the local teen hangout.

I drove over to Manny's place. He lived at the other end of the school district, a much less prosperous part. I pulled up outside the rundown duplex and Manny came running out as soon as he saw the car. He slid into the passenger seat and said, "Can I drive? I know where we're going."

"No," I said shortly. "You don't have a driver's license."

"Oh please, babe ..."

"No," I said firmly. "Just tell me where you want to go."

"438, Post Avenue," he said petulantly. "I'll tell you how to get there."

I knew that it was a bad part of the city, but I did not bring that up. I had dropped Manny off in places like this before. Part of me felt sorry for him. We drove in silence, for apart from football Manny never had much to talk about.

We got to Post Avenue and I slowed down, looking for numbers. All the streetlights were out and it was very dark.

"Just drive, I know where we're going," said Manny.

I kept driving slowly, squinting as I tried to find some house numbers. Then all of sudden there was the roar of a powerful engine and the screech of tires. A big Hummer SUV pulled out of an alley and skidded to a stop right in front of me. I hit the brakes and brought the Volvo to a halt just before hitting the big vehicle in front of me. Several muscular young black men poured out of the Hummer and surrounded my car. Manny's door was opened and he was forcibly pulled out. A flashlight shone in through my window, blinding me momentarily.

"Hey guys, I was looking for my cousin, Jamal, ..." began Manny.

"You better pay me what you owe me first, motherfucker!" The voice was deep and very angry. It belonged to whoever was holding the flashlight and I could not see him behind it.

"DeSean!" said Manny. "I'll give it to you right away. My girlfriend has it in the car."

My hand flew to lock my door, but it was too late. My door was wrenched open and I was dragged out of the car. One of the men held my arms in a powerful grip and pinioned my body. Now more flashlights were illuminated and I saw more of scene. There were four young men wearing sleeveless muscle shirts and they crowded around Manny and me. The one Manny addressed as DeSean was the biggest - he was at least six foot six and built like a bull. His biceps were bigger than my thighs. Manny was not small, but DeSean made him look puny.

He strode up to me. He was so tall that I had to crane my neck upwards to look him in the face.

"You got my money, you honky ho?" he asked. His words were rough, but his tone was not.

"I've got ... I've got some money in my purse," I faltered. "It's in the car."

"Let her go," said DeSean and I was released. He pointed into the car. "Now be a good girl and get me my money. Then you and this retard Manny can go back to the burbs where you belong."

I reached into my open car door and got my sling bag purse. I pulled out my billfold and counted out what I had. Mom had just given me money, so I thought I had a lot.