I shook my head wordlessly.
Vanessa bent over and spreading her ample butt cheeks apart, revealed her gaping anus.
“They get fucked in the ass like the dirty whores they are!” she snarled.
“Are you sure?” I asked, hesitating a little.
“Take me in the ass, Mr. Roberts,” she pleaded. “Take me in the ass now!”
Vanessa gave a strangled cry as her anus gave way to my stiff cock. It was tight, but I couldn't help myself. Gripping her ass cheeks like my life depended on it, I plunged deeper and deeper inside her as she wriggled and squirmed.
“Hurt me!” she pleaded, “I want it to hurt!”
I thrust into her again and again with savage intensity. Vanessa moaned and I felt her fluids spurting from her pussy onto my balls! My dick was throbbing violently and I knew I couldn't hold out any longer. My hips bucked and I fired jet after jet of cum deep inside her.
Vanessa and I lay on our backs in the grass, breathing heavily and looking up at the sky and the falling leaves circling around us. It felt strange and surreal, like we were in the middle of a giant snow globe. I barely noticed when Vanessa sat up and began getting dressed.
“That was quite a workout,” she said with a smile as she zipped up her top.
“Yeah...” I answered, slowly sitting up.
Vanessa was already jogging in place.
“We will have to do this again some time,” she said brightly. “I'm always here on the weekends. Maybe we can jog together again... or something.”
And with that, she turned and jogged back down the path before I could even answer her.
I slowly got dressed and made my way back to the jogging path in the park. Vanessa was already out of sight. I headed home. I had had enough exercise for one day.
I haven't been to the park since then. I guess I just haven't been in the mood. But today is different. The sky is bright and clear and there is a warm breeze blowing. Perfect day for a jog in the park. It's Saturday too, so Vanessa might be there. I might as well take a look. After all, there's no harm in just looking, is there?
Story 6
“But Mom-”
“Don't 'But Mom' me, young man,” my mother said, crumbling cheese onto the casserole she was making, “ I've already called Mrs. Beecher and told her you would be there first thing tomorrow morning to paint their porch, and that's exactly what you're going to do.”
“But Mom,” I repeated, sounding even whinier and more pathetic than the first time, “the Beecher's porch is huge! It will take me all week to paint it if I'm lucky. I'll miss the camp out at the lake this weekend, and I promised the guys I would be there!”
“You have the whole summer ahead of you, Michael,” my mother replied, not looking up from her casserole. “You can go camping any time you want.”
My mother stopped what she was doing and looked me straight in the eye. “It's very important that you do this job, Michael. You know what it could mean for your father.”
Mr. Beecher owns the construction company that my dad works for. It's not the kind of construction company that fixes cracks in your driveway or replaces your roof, either. Beecher Construction is the kind of company that builds schools, supermarkets, and office buildings. Last year, they even built the new shopping mall. As you can imagine, Mr. Beecher is the richest man in town.
For years, my dad has worked as a foreman for Beecher Construction. He's very good at his job, and when Mr. Beecher decided to build his own house, he put my father in charge of overseeing the construction. I've never been to the Beecher's house, but from what I've overheard Dad telling Mom, it sounds like a real castle. It has every luxury you could imagine, like an indoor jacuzzi, a bowling alley in the basement, and an Olympic-size swimming pool in the back yard. So why does a wealthy man like Mr. Beecher need his foreman's son to paint his porch?
Well, the Construction Manager has decided to retire at the end of the month, and according to the rumors, Mr. Beecher is going to promote one of his foremen to the position. It's a great job: indoor work, regular hours, and a much bigger salary. The money would a lot to my family too. Dad could start saving up for retirement, Mom could buy that new furniture she has always wanted, and we could probably move to a nicer house too!
You would thing my father would be a shoo-in for the position, he's easily the best foreman in the company, but it's not a sure thing. Some of the other foremen are pretty chummy with Mr. Beecher, and Dad is worried that they might get the promotion instead of him. So when Mr. Beecher mentioned offhand that the paint on his porch was peeling and he would have to get it fixed sometime, my dad eagerly volunteered me to do the job for free. Mr. Beecher didn't get rich by turning down free work, and agreed to let me do it.
And that's how I ended up in this spot. My parents are convinced that my painting the Beecher's porch could be just the edge my father needs to get the promotion. Who knows? Maybe they're right.
It's not like I can't do the job. I've helped my dad paint every room in this house at one time or other. When I was a kid, I even painted my whole tree house all by myself. That's not the problem.
I love my father and I would do anything for him, but it just kills me to miss the camp out at the lake! But there is no getting out of this. Mom wouldn't let me say no, even if I wanted to.
“Okay, fine!” I shouted, and stormed out
