Wife Stories: Kristen

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Shuffling up slightly, her mouth touched mine, soft lips closed, pressing against mine. I closed my eyes and pulled her tighter to me, her sexy little body fitting me perfectly. I could feel her pussy pressed to my shaft. She was so sexy, so small, so desirable.

I smiled. How could she be ten and not have had French toast and syrup? "You make it like this," I said. "Do what I do. Melt butter on the French toast like this." By the time I had the energetic minx in my arms she suddenly calmed, her giggles becoming soft. Surprisingly two icy feet squeezed between my legs. What was it about her feet? They never warmed up. Showered and refreshed I headed to the kitchen to prepare a meal. It was close to dinnertime and my stomach was grumbling. Strangely, Dracula wasn't hovering at my feet. When a giggle echoed through the house I smiled. Paws scrabbled on the hardwood floor. Michelle came charging down the hall, Dracula close on her heels. The fading purple and yellow bruising on her face couldn't detract from the attractive shine of pure childish delight that radiated from her. It was good to see her happy. Hugging her tight, she relaxed. Excitement had been too much for her. Ten minutes after warming, Michelle was sound asleep. Another powerful wave of excitement shook me. Suddenly I didn't want to be the first. I wanted Michelle to cum first. I knew if it was me I'd have no energy left to do anything but breathe.The dream faded away, an ethereal wisp one could never cling to. Regret and a feeling of loss filled me. Then a scent arrived in my consciousness, an aroma familiar and deeply attractive. Cold morning light intruded. The air was cold on my face, my nose chilly. My body was toasty warm. Smiling and sporting an erection that felt like it could split at any moment, I asked, "Can I try?"

I hadn't noticed until now that Michelle would come to the breakfast table in a nightshirt and how short it was. I had never been so conscious of the flash of cotton panties, loose, some with prints, some solid-colored, some plain white. I'd never felt what I did when catching a glimpse of her pantied crotch. Michelle smiled to herself. Kevin needed to shave. His cheek was like sandpaper. She sort of liked the smell of tobacco, though.

Amy Bonnaffons

A horse whinnied loudly reminding me I still had work to do. Hefting the feed, I continued to the stable. Sitting with my heels up on the coffee table, I smiled to myself and sipped a beer. Dusk was arriving. I'd been lazy all day and basked in the pleasure of Michelle's company. She'd played rambunctiously with Dracula, watched television, frowned and got angry at me when I refused to make French toast for lunch and, as punishment, refused to sit on the sofa next to me, instead taking to the floor and using Dracula as a pillow.

Then her eyes opened slowly. Pale olive green stared at me. I watched realization hit her; she was in my bed. She smiled softly. "Morning, Mitch." She'd watched Uncle Mitch interact with other people when they'd gone shopping and seen how he was polite and respected by others, but he was cool. The remoteness he exuded was palpable, a "don't get near me" aura. Yet, when he was with her, or Dracula, or Kevin, or the horses, he showed deep care and spoke gently. Michelle couldn't remember him raising his voice. By the time my heart calmed I realized just how wet we were. Michelle's crotch was soaking wet with warm semen. Slowly my heart calmed. Michelle was sexy and soft and lovable in my arms. She smelled delicious. And when she sighed and murmured, trying to cuddle closer to me, I quite lost myself. There was no trace of regret in me. I wanted more. I wanted her. I'd just experienced something completely new and suddenly I felt jealous even though we were alone. I didn't want to share. I didn't want anyone else to feel what I had felt at that moment. She was mine, no one else's, only mine. Uncle Jim is married to a woman named Rhonda, whose hobby is crochet. No, not “hobby,” exactly: her crocheting is a compulsion, perhaps some kind of illness. Rhonda crochets cozies not only for the extra toilet paper rolls, as I’ve seen in some of my friends’ bathrooms, but also for the phone and the phone book and the dog and my uncle’s guns and both of their toothbrushes. This cozying does not make the objects look cozier; it makes them look ashamed.Standing at the counter, cutting small slices of a store-bought pie and waiting for a partial erection to subside, I pondered my growing attraction to Michelle. I had no problem with the strength of my affection for her; she was charming and even-keeled with a bright outlook on everything. But it was having no problem with my physical reaction to her that had me reassessing myself. MICHELLE FELT HER HEART still racing. She ran to the bathroom shivering from cold. She still felt the fright at being so high in the air on Lucifer. But the way he moved, big and so strong, and so fast, it was much, much better than she'd ever thought. Since forever she'd dreamed of riding a horse and, since coming here, Mitch had refused saying he wouldn't take the risk of her falling with her head still not healed.