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It thrilled her that her husband was watching them fuck. She was riding so fast it was hard for her to focus on John’s cock on the screen, but she could see he was rubbing faster and faster. She was almost there and slowed as she lost control. Maurice pulled her backward, her legs flipping out until she lay full length on top of him. He was pushing his cock in out of her pussy, slapping her clit with his hand and she went over the top. Her pussy squeezed onto his throbbing cock, her stomach went into convulsions, and the dizziness flooded back. Someone screamed ‘Oh fuck!’ very loudly.Maurice didn’t stop this time. Her body was going limp, draped over his. His pumping went faster, short hard strokes, in and out. Maurice groaned and his cum shot deep in her pussy. This time it was almost refreshing, she had got him, every last drop of his load. She looked up at the screen. John was still stroking and said, “Let me see it dribble.”She looked at their picture. Maurice's cock was. Slowly I let out my pent up breath, just in time to gasp sharply as the washcloth slid over my breast. “I’m sorry Cynthia,” my father whispered. “Did I hurt you?” I tried valiantly to control my fluttering heart. “No daddy.” I stammered. “It’s okay.” Instead I wanted to scream at him that it wasn’t okay. That no one had ever touched me on the breast before. That I was feeling things that I wasn’t supposed to be feeling. Thinking thoughts that I wasn’t supposed to be thinking. Then the washcloth slid over my other breast and I couldn’t suppress a tiny moan. I opened my eyes and glance down at my father’s hand that was holding the washcloth, it was trembling visibly. “He’s as turned on by this as I am.” I thought to myself. I closed my eyes again as the hand, it was no longer a washcloth, but a hand holding a washcloth, moved slowly downward over my tummy, slowly, steadily, lower toward my mound. My mind was traveling at warp speed. Heart pounding. Steeling myself for that moment..
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