Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
“Which ride do you want to go on first?”
“Mmm.” She scans the carnival with a pinched forehead, her bottom lip pouting out when she spots something. “Oh no, look, Draven. There is no one on the merry-go-round.”
I follow her line of sight and confirm that, indeed, there are no guests waiting in line. Situated at the darkest edge of the carnival, it’s currently not even running. A worker stands at the gate staring at his phone, since he has nothing else to do.
“We should go on it. I feel bad.”
Refusing to deny her anything, even if she’s simply feeling guilty about the neglect of an inanimate object, I bring her in that direction. “You have a good heart.”
“So do you.”
“My heart was dead until you walked in and revived it,” I say, squeezing her tight.
The carnival worker pushes off the gate when he sees us, stowing his phone and opening the entrance. I climb onto the merry-go-round with Claire in my arms and settle her down on her feet, turning her around to face the menagerie of horses and zebras. “Your choice,” I say, leaning down to kiss her shoulder.
“This horse looks the friendliest,” she says, bounding over to the most colorful one.
“Come here, I’ll give you a boost.”
I grip Claire’s hips and lift her onto the horse, the hem of her dress riding up as her ass lands in the saddle with a hot smack. God. When she leans forward to reach for the reins and I can clearly see the outline of her thong through the dress, I have to adjust my cock. And it only gets stiffer the longer I study her from behind, her lithe thighs straddling the horse.
Is this how she looks when she rides me?
My mind goes back to last night. Those long, sweaty hours I spent teaching her how to ride me in ways that I look forward to enjoying over the years. Reverse. Facing frontward. Sitting up, lying down. Legs locked tight. Legs in the air. Pretty ass bouncing. The best part is she can come in any of those positions. I have to wonder if her cunt is blessed in more ways than one. With phenomenal flavor and extreme sensitivity, because Jesus, the way she shakes...
“Listen,” the worker calls up to us, distracting from the feverish state I’ve trapped myself in thinking of my young wife’s pussy. “I was just about to go on my dinner break. I’m going to run over and grab a hot dog. You can ride her as long as you want, all right?”
Claire flashes me a look of pure joy over her shoulder.
But all I can hear is the kid telling me to ride her as long as I want.
Logically, he must have been referring to the carousel.
My body has other ideas.
As the merry-go-round lights up and begins to turn in a languorous circle, I move in behind Claire, straddling the rear of the horse’s saddle, my feet braced on the ground on either side of the horse. I’m tall enough that I can do so without sitting down, but I lower myself enough now to drag Claire backward onto my lap, groaning in her ear when her firm ass puts that immaculate pressure on top of my swollen dick.
Up goes the horse. Slowly.
Those sweet cheeks ride high on my shaft.
Down they go now, pushing my steely inches up against my throbbing balls.
“Son of a bitch, that feels so good,” I rasp into her neck.
But it could feel better. A lot better.
Being inside Claire is an experience that cannot be matched, and after our morning fuck on the couch was cut short, I’m now beginning to feel the tole of waiting. I grit my teeth when the horse lifts again, her ass teasing my bulge with a naughty drag, and with frantic hands, I yank up her dress so her thong-divided ass presses down on me firmly, so firmly.
“God, I’m so horny, baby,” I choke out, slipping my right hand around to soft mound of her pussy and using the tips of two fingers to gently circle her clit through the silk. One of those fingers has a gold ring on it proclaiming me this girl’s husband, and hell if that doesn’t make my dick all the harder. “When you get off the horse, you’re going to leave a little wet print behind.”
When the play of my fingers turns firm, she shudders, hiccupping back at me over her shoulder, the cotton candy still held in her right hand, half-gone. “Are you going to leave a wet mark, too, Daddy?”
My breaths are loud and monstrous to my own ears.
I’m like a steed after a ten-mile race.
“I’d have to come to do that, wouldn’t I?”
“Y-yes,” she whimpers.
I look around to make sure no one has joined the line for the carousel. Or that no one is watching from the carnival grounds. Thankfully, we are being ignored by the masses, though they are very close by, crowds of voices carrying toward us from nearby rides.