My timid new girlfriend - Ch. 1 - 10

“Oh yes, she loves coming here several times a week, and each time as often as possible.” He answered with a mocking look and then left me, me still waiting for her. Funny way of speaking, I thought. Besides that, she must have quite some money if she could afford to come here so often.

“Do you have latte macchiato with salted caramel?” I asked another waiter.

“Even better, sir,” he replied. “If you wish, we can make the same filling for your latte macchiato as you had in your dessert, but it takes about 20 minutes.”

It sounded a bit long to me, the preparation time for a simple latte macchiato, but what the heck, and I ordered the special latte. I had enough time. Indeed, roughly 20 minutes later my latte macchiato was brought to me by the same waiter, but he looked a bit sweaty. As if he had to handle something heavy and big.

What annoyed me a little bit was that, as the large Black waiter was standing very near me, the waiter's zipper was open, and he had some white stains on his pants. I could even see he wore no underwear, because through the zipper's opening, I saw a large glistening, flaccid cock, all shiny from some kind of moistness, as if he had just used it. I made a gentleman's remark about it, not wanting to embarrass him, that his zipper was open.

He was clearly shocked and apologized profoundly to me. What surprised me is that he undid the button of his pants and lowered his pants all the way to his knees, showing me not only his massive cock, of at least 8 inches, but also his two big shiny balls.

“I need to readjust everything, sir.” As he grabbed his enormous cock in his hand and held it in plain view, the cockhead pointing towards me, close to my face. He then tucked everything away and closed his pants properly.

“Enjoy my self-made latte macchiato, sir.” He politely said it and left. The good thing was that I could see that the upper third of the latte contents was the delicious cream. This time I would be able to drink the special filling with big gulps, instead of having to use a straw. Some kind of grains and jelly-like clumps got stuck between my teeth and under my tongue as I was drinking it, but after moving my tongue around and moving the cream left and right inside my mouth, I was able to swallow them too. With one last big swig and a satisfied look on my face, I emptied the long glass, feeling well fed.

Nevertheless, I drank too much latte macchiato with my creamy black dessert, so I went to the men's bathroom. As I walked through the corridor, I passed the lady’s bathroom, and I heard some rhythmic thuds against its door. Accompanying the thumps was, in a matching vocal cadence, some kind of groaning, as if somebody was being hit with something large. It didn’t sound violent, though, more like a willing grinding, as if somebody was in the gym doing sets with weights a bit too heavy but was still focused on accomplishing the challenge at hand. Those typical “Oh!” “Oh!” “Oh!” cries.

I walked on and found the men's bathroom. Once I was done, I washed my hands and returned to my table, but she was still not back. That must be quite a deep discussion, I thought. I hope she was showing him right!

Finally, she came back, somehow walking slowly, as if she had hurt herself.

“Are you OK?” I asked because, as soon as she sat down, somehow, she sat on only one ass cheek, as if she was being considerate to her butt, leaning to one side. After a minute or two, she was able to sit straight, letting out a content long sigh, her face having a very satisfied expression.

“Yes, I am very OK now.” She answered, almost contemptuously.

Weird, I thought. I noticed she no longer wore a bra, and her nipples were jutting hard against the thin fabric of her top, as if she was cold. Poor her, the bathroom probably had no heating, although I could see small beads of sweat on her forehead.

“Could you handle the waiter?” I asked, “Did he give you something at least?”

“Oh, yes, he gave me plenty.” She smiled. “But let’s go home; I feel worn out, honey.”

“Any discount?”

“No, not this time.” She smiled. “But I took care of his surcharge.” She replied, smiling.

…

Back to now.

As my hardworking girlfriend greeted me in the hallway and for the very first time, she gave me a long French kiss, invading my mouth with her tongue, spiralling around mine, and distributing all her spit deep inside my mouth. It even felt as if she had some extra spit stored in her mouth especially for me, and she was transferring it all into mine. I loved her soppy spit, but after doing this, it tasted salty, and she was the only one so far in my life who had this. No other girlfriend in my past had this gene defect, but I never mentioned it to her.

“Come with me to the bedroom.” She said with a hushed tone, holding my hand, leading me quickly. I followed, very excited about the chance that she might exchange more than just the large amount of spit she just shared with me.

Switching off the lights of the bedroom, she told me in an urgent but very sexy and persuasive way that she needed to be licked quickly before it was too late. I didn’t understand the hurry, but normally, in the first weeks of any new relationship, you do your best to make your partner happy.

I had secretly licked her before, but only once, as she was very drunk. But this time her pussy felt larger, as if it had been stretched, and her juices tasted somehow different. As she was grinding her faithful pussy on my mouth, I did my very best to satisfy her, because she was very wet and I had trouble swallowing it all.

Her juices had a new flavor each time; it tasted slightly different. Sometimes sweeter, sometimes saltier. As if she had several different layers of milkshakes stacked on top of each other. The weird thing was that I could barely put my mouth over her outer cunt lips. As if she had been working out or something. Somehow, I managed to swallow it all and lick her clean. I felt proud.

“Honey,” she whispered, “I had a little mishap at work.”

“What do you mean, dear? You can tell me everything.”

She understood that I was open minded, “I am truly sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t say no to their strong, seductive arguments.”

“What was that?” I asked.

“My colleagues. They asked if I wanted to have a Black baby bulge. And I could not decline their kind request.” She answered.

“What do you mean? So how many were there?”

“I just don’t know; I lost count after the fifth cock filled my slit with Black baby seed. But I promise you I will count next time!” My girlfriend added, with a resolute tone.

"But they were very kind to me; I was always alone with only one big throbbing cock in the office's bedroom; the others waited patiently outside. They were very considerate, until of course, they started plowing me." She added.

Damn, I was so lucky. I had just successfully prevented her from having an illicit Black baby. Because those cocks must have been very large, Black baby makers. There was no other explanation. That's why her pussy was so stretched. Did she scream as the first one penetrated her? Did she come on the first big Black cock as it was impaling her, reaching her womb easily, hitting that cheating cervix?

“Don’t worry, honey, you only cheated once, and you are truly sorry; I believe you. I am not a cuckold because of one single affair, even if you emptied with your pussy at least 10 big pulsating balls.”

“Well, honey, that’s partially incorrect.” She replied with a smirk on her face, which quickly disappeared into a pouting look.

“They convinced me to suck them first, because they didn’t want to hurt me.”

“What?” I asked, not understanding the “hurt thing.”

“Yes, they were all going to fuck me anyway, but they had no lube. So, they recommended sucking them first, to make lubricate their exquisite cocks”

“And you did?”

“Well, eh, yes, until things went wrong.” She replied.

“What do you mean?”

“I did suck each cock, but I lost track of time with the first one until he erupted in my mouth, making me swallow all his sweet Black baby cum. After that, I was determined not to let it happen anymore, but the second one tasted so good that it happened again.”

“So how many did you give a full blowjob to?” I asked, almost speechlessly.

“I gave at least four a proper blowjobs, as expected.”

“What do you mean with ‘expected’?”

“Well, you know, the whole thing, licking their throbbing cock heads, playing with their balls, making them cum and filling my stomach with their lovely warm seed.”

“And number five?”

“Well, as I was sucking him, and I swear, I was really doing my utmost best to make him come, but his staying power was endless, so he decided to fuck me instead. Well, I was very thankful for that, because after so many loads of Black cum, my stomach was very full with their rich proteins. I even had to burp two or three times.” And she chuckled, finding it hilarious.

“Ok, so you only gave four men a real blowjob.”

“Well, yes and no… There is more.”

“What do you mean?”

It was “bring your kid to work day”, so I brought your daughter with me.

“So, she didn’t come home with you, where is she now?“

“Well...” My girlfriend replied. "She loved helping me out as I was working those black shafts. So I decided to assist her as well and I held her firmly, once or twice, until she was able to handle the penetrations of those beautiful cocks all by herself. After that, she wanted to stay a little bit longer than me..."

…

Chapter 2

"Let's go hopping, Daddy!"

I was so relieved. My girlfriend wasn’t cheating on me. It was just a little misfortune she had. Could happen to anyone. And it only happened on one single day. It was not as if she were doing this every day. Not to my knowledge. No, I wanted to treat my future wife as fairly as I could.

And my daughter, well, she was growing up. I was just happy that my new girlfriend and she got along so well; it sounded as if they were best friends, “sharing experiences,” as my daughter explained to me. She mentioned something like choosing together their next Johnson catch. I believe it was a sale of a fashion brand; I heard them chat about this in the living room, and I also think it was a well-known worldwide brand for women, because my daughter Lika kept saying to my girlfriend things like "Big Johnson” or "Large Johnson.” I was very happy they found a common interest, even if it was most of the time about shopping.

But that’s not completely accurate. I didn’t want to eavesdrop too much, but I also heard some parts of their chatting showing a wide interest in, among other things, I believe, floors of “wood.” They talked about flying, mentioning “chopper” a couple of times. I heard them talking about nature and mentioning “peckers,” which I was sure they meant woodpeckers, but simply abbreviated the word. They also chatted about London; I guess because I heard words such as “tube” and "Rod," which was of course Rod Stewart.

I expected to have to give my daughter a higher weekly allowance for the shopping, but to my surprise, she didn’t need any extra shopping money. On the contrary, as I was cleaning the house just as any good husband would, while both “my girls” were gone having fun, I found on her nightstand a large stash of cash, all 20, 50, and 100 USD bills. Did my girlfriend give her the money? Was my 18-year-old daughter already making money? It almost looked as if she were bringing money home instead of spending it. And why didn’t she take any money with her, not that they were at the mall? She must have forgotten. Ah, these young people! Always forgetting things! I was sure my girlfriend must have told her how to make an easy buck with whatever my young daughter liked doing best. Maybe they were even teaming up. Or did they go to the gym?

What irritated me a little bit was the amount of dirty laundry lying around in both bedrooms, especially from them. I found many slips, all being sticky wet in the crotch. As if the slips could not handle the amount of leaking they had to absorb, of both my daughter and girlfriend. I sincerely hope they had all the hygienic products they needed, I thought. Perhaps I should carefully place this at dinner but not hurt anybody's feelings. Female hygiene was none of my business; I just wanted to be a good, caring father and husband. The only thing that kept nagging me in the back of my mind is that the sticky stains were not yellow, as I would expect from urine, but white. Funny.

I just finished cleaning the entire house by 5 PM, as the girls came back, looking exhausted. No wonder; they had been gone the entire day. Well, "exhausted" was not the right word; it looked more like "worn out." For me it was like a mix between having had a lot of exercise, those muscles getting drilled, and feeling very good afterwards. Because they had some kind of happy glow on their faces, as if they were very content from their workouts. It was probably legs and buttocks day since they both had trouble sitting on the couch without placing a cushion under them. They both giggled about it, discussing it with me.

“We are both so sore, Daddy.” My daughter Lika said, giggling again. “April just didn’t let me breathe and made me take so much I almost passed out. Thank God, she assisted me with every drill I was going through. Sometimes she had to hold me to keep me in place from the assault I was getting.”

I listened with interest to what my young daughter was saying, but I really had no clue what kind of machines modern gyms had these days.

She then added, “But I took revenge on April by making her stretch her muscles more than ever. And she took it all, Daddy! But now she can’t walk anymore,” as Lika kissed April softly on her lips.

If I didn’t know any better, I would say they bonded a lot since my young daughter visited with April in my office.

“Shall we go take a shower and rinse all those juices off us?” April asked my daughter.

“Yes, good idea.” Lika answered, grabbing April's boob. “I will rinse those myself.” She added.

Was this a hipster thing, I wondered? Grabbing your BFF's boobs? Whatever.

“Dinner is ready in 30 minutes, girls; don’t play too much with the water.” I said as the true man of the house.

“Oh,” both said almost in sync, “we will play with other things, Daddy.” And they walked away towards the bathroom, holding hands, giggling about the fun that was about to come.

I didn’t follow what they meant, but I had more important things on my mind, such as the turkey almost being ready. And what about the oven fries? Did they really need 40 minutes? As I was busy in the kitchen, I ran out of tea towels, so I had to get some fresh ones from the washing room. Walking by the bathroom, I didn’t hear them giggle anymore. Finally, they got serious, I thought. But I heard my daughter moaning; perhaps the water was too hot? And then I heard them both moan. Maybe they took extra hot water for those spent muscles? “Oh! Deeper!” My girlfriend moaned.

Ah, now I understood. Just like with pro athletes, they were massaging each other's raw spots. Makes sense. And since both received the same hard and long workout, they knew exactly which muscles were well stretched and worn out. So, they had to rub those intensively to make them ready for another deep workout. I couldn’t help peeking through the unlatched bathroom door; there was a very small gap open, but I could barely see anything because of the steam. Right now, only Lika was moaning. April was on her knees checking something on Lika's stomach, having her lips very close to her lower pelvis. Such a great, caring girlfriend I have. Poor Lika. Some sessions are, perhaps, at her young age, too much for her, even if she regenerates fast.

Anyway, I went on with my husband's important business. I served the food on the dining table, taking great care in not letting it get cold as I called the girls. “Dinner is ready,” I yelled, but no reply came. I called them again, but nothing. I went looking for them, and I found them in the master bedroom, my daughter sleeping on top of April and, just as a toddler, holding one of her breasts. Lika was still holding April's very erect nipple as April looked at me, whispering for me to be quiet. My poor little baby girl was all exhausted from all the thorough sessions she had taken. There was a mild, musky scent lingering in the bedroom, and they were both sweaty. That is what happens if you shower too hot. They both still had to learn what a man like me already knew.

April whispered to me that I should sleep in the small guest room and that they would sleep in the marital bed from now on. Of course, I thought. Makes sense. I cannot sleep with my daughter in the same bed, and her room was private. I went back to the dining room and ate a bit, but I felt tired, so I went to sleep in my designated room.

…

The next day.

A voice from somewhere was saying, “Daddy, wake up.”

I woke up, all groggy from the poor night's sleep; the guest room's mattress was awful.

"We want to take you 'hopping,' Dad. Buy you some clothes," my daughter said.

“OK, give me half an hour to get ready.” I mumbled, very tired from the lack of good sleep.

I took a very long, hot shower, but it didn’t help much. I asked April if she could drive so I would have a break. Once we arrived at the mall, Lika got all excited. April smiled at her and gave me a knowing look. Yeah, young girls simply love shopping! We passed several fashion stores for men, which I normally would have checked out, but no, they took me to one much more in the back of the mall, which I didn’t even know.

“They have great clothes for you, Daddy.” Lika said. “Let’s go see what we can find.”

So, in we went, and I walked around on my own, the girls somewhere else, all the way in the back of the store. As I came back to our starting point, I saw them both from afar talking to a tall salesman close to the door of the shop's storage room, discussing something about his pants. It must be a fabric-related topic, I thought, since they were both continuously caressing his pants. Maybe they liked the fabric's softness; I could only imagine. They were chatting and nodding to each other, and both sank on their knees, evaluating the fabric thoroughly by placing their small hands on his crotch area, discussing vividly the materials used for the zipper and the fabric to which it was sewn.

I found it so sweet how much effort they both put in to find me the very best pants. Even more, my daughter Lika wanted to test the zipper quality and pulled it down to see if it was of good quality. Once the pants were completely unzipped, she then slid her young hand inside to investigate for any irregularities. She did have to rub her hand up and down several times to carefully check herself and form an opinion. She then said something to my girlfriend, giggling, and as a response, April slid her hand inside his pants too. She too had to rub her hand up and down several times, nodding at my daughter, confirming the quality of the fabric.

The salesman couldn’t help himself, but his bulge was growing rapidly. Poor guy. These girls were way too investigative in finding the right pants for me. As I was about to walk up to them to say something about this, my young daughter Lika looked up at the sales guy, and I heard her say something to him. Something like “threesome…” Probably she wanted three pairs of matching pants for me, I guessed. My girlfriend looked up at him too as she kept rubbing him, nodding. He clearly said yes and something about "ock," but I could only presume hearing what he said, perhaps "big stock” and "in the back” (or was it “crack”?). and something about “...little huts or sluts,” which I did not quite follow? Did he sell outdoor products too?

As the three of them walked past me, towards the storage room, he held his big paws on their swaying butts, checking what kind of fabric their skirts had. What a pro! I thought. He was always right on target, showing his true professionalism, with no getting distracted by mundane things such as his lunchtime. He even caressed their breasts, verifying what kind of soft fabric their tops were made of. He made an expert comment, probably about the quality of the fiber, because he pinched those erect nipples, telling them it was not the right material for the colder part of the year. They both nodded and, in sync, lifted their boobs inside their tops with both hands and pressed them up and together, showing him the mistake they made, admitting it. They bought tops that were not warm enough. As he was rubbing and pinching their cold erect nipples, explaining how to choose the proper fiber, they gave little “Oh!” shrieks, admitting their poor choices.

Just before the door of the storage room, he turned around, facing them, and told them to take off those thin tops. I guess he was going to give them warmer tops because he was measuring with his large hands what size their breasts were, grabbing, cupping, and lifting them. We all know how picky women can be regarding the choice of their clothes, and he showed true expertise by taking his time fondling extensively those perky mamillas. I think both my ...