Domestic Relations Story – Rachel – Part 2

Domestic Relations Story – Rachel – Part 2
by ESBink

It was great, waking up to find Rachel’s naked body snuggled up against mine. The previous night, at her mother’s insistence, I had beaten Rachel and butt-fucked her, but Rachel says she is so happy that I care about her. I was confused; I’d had less than eight hours to get used to the fact that I had a step-mother and a step-sister.

We went downstairs, and Mother suggested Rachel cook breakfast. We ate, behaving as if nothing strange had happened the previous night. Rachel left for work, and I went out to look
for work.

Rachel got home minutes after I did, and Dad showed up, back from a run to Duluth, just in time for supper. He kissed his new wife at the door, and then he saw me.

“Howard!” he yelled, “You are home.” He pumped my hand, hugged me, told me how happy he was to see me. “You’ve met your Priscilla and Rachel, I see. Aren’t they a pair of beauties?”

“Yes, I’ve met them. And yes, they are quite a pair.”

Mother smiled at me approvingly.

Dad and I monopolized the conversation over dinner, as I filled him in about my life in the Army and he told me about his new job and meeting Priscilla. He’s a deacon of the church. She just showed up one Sunday, and one thing led to another.

“You know,” he said to me conspiratorially, “after your mother died, I wasn’t much interested in women. But Priscilla, she’s something special. When I realized how she could turn me on, I just had to marry her. I tried to invite you to the wedding, but I couldn’t contact you; you’d already been discharged.”

After dinner, Dad handed me a twenty and said, “Son, why don’t you take Rachel out tonight? She doesn’t have to work tomorrow. Stay out late, at least until midnight.” He glanced at Priscilla, who smiled back at him.

I was happy enough to do that, to give him and his bride some privacy. Rachel and I changed into more casual clothes and stepped out onto the front porch. “Rachel,” I said as we left, “should we stop at Riley’s for a drink?”

“I don’t touch alcohol,” she said.

“An ice cream soda, then?”

“Let’s just go for a walk.”

We walked around town until it got dark, and we found ourselves close to home. Rachel led me quietly across the lawn and lay down in the grass, close to a cellar window. It had been painted over with black paint, but there were some scratches in the paint, like peep holes, and a corner of one pane was broken out. We lay side by side, holding hands, and peered in.

It was the same part of the cellar that we had been in the night before, lighted with several candles. My father was there, still in his work clothes, pacing the floor. Then Rachel’s mother came down the cellar stairs.

She was wearing a bizarre outfit. She had on a black hood and cape. Around her throat was a leather band, like a dog collar, with gleaming spikes sticking out. Her ample breasts were held up by a leather bra, each cup a kind of network of narrow leather straps, with a gleaming metal stud riveting each intersection of the straps. The tip of each cup was open, so that her nipples stuck out. Unlike Rachel’s, they had no gold rings through them. Beneath the bra was a tight leather corset which went from her tits to her hips and gave her an hourglass figure. She had high-heeled black boots that reached halfway up her ample thighs. Between the black of the corset and the black of the boots was only pale white skin and a triangle of curly black pubic hair. Chrome plated chains criss-crossed Mother’s torso, draped across her belly, and her arms had metal bracelets above and below her elbows.

“Did you miss me, when you were away?” she said.

“Yes, Mistress.” His prick hung limp.

“Don’t deny it, you have sinned,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress, I confess, for he who has lusted in his heart has committed adultery,” said my father. “I deserve whatever punishment I get.” I had never seen him like this; he always dominated my mother when she was alive.

“Take off your clothes.”

He did, hanging them neatly on nails in a floor joist. I had never seen my father naked. Rachel just looked and said nothing.

While Dad was getting undressed, his new wife shed her cape and hood and went into the dark part of the cellar. She came back dragging a thing that turned out to be a pillory, like the pictures of old New England. Submissively, my naked father put his head and hands in the notches of a lower board, while Priscilla fastened the upper piece over them. After that, we couldn’t see his face, just his naked body bent over with his ass toward us.

“How many times did you sin, Husband?”

“Many times. I lost count, Mistress.”

“Then you have much repenting to do,” she said. She fitted a black cup over his balls and laced it into place. Then she ran hot water from the laundry tub faucet. From the cupboard she took out an enema set, poured some liquid soap into the bag and filled it with hot water. She slipped the slender nozzle into his anus and let the soapy water flow. “Don’t let anything come out,” she ordered. She fitted a bridle-like thing over his face, with a bit in his mouth, which gagged him. Father patiently endured this and his enema. All this was new to me; I didn’t remember our ever owning an enema bag, before Priscilla came.

Then she lashed his ass with a cat ‘o nine tails from the cupboard. I realized the whip must have been soft rubber or something like that, for it didn’t do any real damage. The cup over the balls protected them. Still, each blow left nine pink stripes on Dad’s ass, until it was pink all over. Priscilla surveyed her handiwork and walked around her pilloried husband, commenting on the consequences of sin. Soap bubbles oozed out from between my father’s buttocks, and Priscilla screamed, “Hold it in, or I shall give you twice as much next time.” She gave him three more lashes, as hard as she could. A stream of soapy water poured forth.

“Howard,” she said, “I’m disappointed with you. You disobeyed me.” She repeated the enema procedure, twice. I was amazed that Dad could hold it all, a gallon or so of hot, soapy water. When she had removed the nozzle, warning him again not to spill a drop, she postured in front of his face, taunting him. She fingered her bushy cunt, while he was unable to do anything. Finally, she said, “All right, Howard, you may let go of the water now.” Water gushed out, spraying soap suds on the floor. The soapy water ran slowly toward a drain in the floor. Then let him free of the gag and of the pillory.

His penis now stood tall. Priscilla bent over a padded bench, presenting her backside to him, the curly fur coat of her cunt contrasting with the pale white skin of her ass and thighs. “I wife should never leave her husband in such a state of arousal, Howard. You may relieve yourself, now.”

My father plunged his prod into her from behind and fucked her violently, holding her hips as I had held Rachel’s. Priscilla must have been aroused, too, for Dad’s prick slipped right in. It didn’t take long before he was pumping his semen into Priscilla’s cunt.

When Dad had withdrawn from her, she lay down on her back on the bench, with her feet on the floor either side of the bench and her knees spread. “Howard,” she said, “wash me, with your tongue.”

Submissively, my father got down and put his head between her thighs. She reached down to hold his face against her as he lapped at her damp bush.

“What do you suppose they’ll do next?” I whispered to Rachel?

“I think they’ll be a while, doing that. Mother seems to enjoy that. We can’t go back in the house until they are done. They will expect us to stay out until midnight.”

“Has anyone ever done that to you?”

“No, never. You are the first man who has ever touched me there.”

“Where should we go now?” I said, quietly into her ear.

“There’s the old barn, behind the house,” she whispered back.

I helped Rachel to her feet, and we tiptoed across the darkened lawn to the garage.

Rachel and I slipped into the old barn by the back door. It had once been a stable, but there had been no horses for years. It simply smelled of old hay and dust. An ancient Hudson sedan was parked behind the big sliding barn door, up on blocks. To our dark adapted eyes, just enough moonlight seeped in so we could find our way.

Rachel, without being told, climbed the ladder to the hay loft. She climbed a great mound of hay and sprawled across the top. The door in the gable, where they had hauled the hay up, was open, letting in the ghostly moonlight. Through the door we could see the back of the house, but, of course, no one could see us, deep in the shadows. A light was on in our parents’ room.

“Rachel,” I said, “you are the most beautiful woman in the state.”

“You are just flattering me.”

“No, I mean it. Just looking at you makes me wild with desire.”

“It is not right for a woman to so tempt a man. If I could hide myself, I would.”

“You know I have seen you naked, soaped every bit of your body. We slept naked in each other’s arms. You can’t take the memory away from me, so it would do no good for you to hide.”

“But still, it is wrong for me to incite lust in you.”

“Take off your clothes.”

“No.”

“Do I have to do it for you?”

“Yes.” I reached for her, but she rolled away. I reached for her again, but she threw a handful of hay at me. “I mean to have you naked, Rachel.”

“You will have to do it yourself.”

I chased her across the unsteady surface of the hay; she was quick and agile. At last, I caught an ankle, and she tumbled, face down, in the hay. Quickly, I sat on her legs and dragged her skirt up over her back. There wasn’t much she could do to stop me.

I had to reach behind me to take off her shoes, one by one. She wasn’t wearing pantyhose, just white cotton panties. I pulled at the waistband, trying to pull them down over her hips. She wriggled, as if trying to escape, by the effect was to make it easier for me. However, I could slide the panties only as far as her mid-thighs, for I was sitting on her knees.

When I shifted my weight, to pull her undergarment under me, she squirmed and tried to get away. I rolled her on her back, and she put both feet against my chest, trying to kick me away. In the resulting scramble, I grabbed her wrists and wrestled her face down, over my lap. I could hold her there with one hand, and with the other fondled her fleshy ass. She squeezed her legs together. I tried to force my hand between them, right at the top. “OW,” she squealed.

I gave her a firm but playful spank on her upturned buttocks and said, “Be quiet, wench.” She was quiet. I worked her panties downward until they bunched around her ankles. The white skin of her fleshy globes seemed almost to gleam in the gloom. Tenderly, I stroked the smooth skin with my finger tips. Rachel just lay there, lying across my legs, her face in the hay, her knees pressed together.

For a long time, it seemed, I was content to fondle her ass and to trail my fingers up and down her thighs or tickle her behind her knees, which made her squirm. Whenever she moved, her hip would rub my tall pole, through my jeans, and I thought I might ejaculate just thinking about her.

I found a dried weed stalk in the hay, and I used the end to gently prick her tender skin. It caused her to giggle and wriggle on my lap, and that really turned me on. I pulled her blouse free of her skirt, reached up her back and undid the hooks of her bra. But then I couldn’t keep myself from attending to her beautiful bottom, stroking, poking, squeezing, until I could hardly control my lust.

Without warning her, I wrestled Rachel onto her back and pinned her down with my weight. Her skirt was bunched at her waist, and in seconds her blouse and bra were pushed up to her arm pits, exposing her beautiful breasts with their rosy nipples.

On her back, Rachel could have used her arms to push me away, to scratch and fight, but she lay there, passive, allowing me to do what I would. I kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her ears, her mouth. Then I addressed each breast in turn, kissing, then licking, then gently sucking, taking each of the gold rings carefully into my mouth.

“Why do you torment me so?” she whispered. “Have I displeased you?”

I wedged my body between her knees, spreading them wide. I kissed her belly, there below the bunched up skirt, and said, “Rachel, my love, I am not punishing you. I am worshiping you.”

“That is sacrilege. One can worship only God,” she said, but she drew her knees up higher, contracting her stomach muscles, so I could get an even better view of her upturned slit. Reverently, I kissed her mons, kissed each vaginal lip. I lifted her knees with my arms and shoulders, so that she didn’t have to exert herself, and I began to blow on her inner thighs. Rachel sighed, relaxed, and lay back in the hay.

I found, as I licked her, that her pubic hair was beginning to grow back. In contrast with the silky smooth of her ass and inner thighs, there was just enough stubble in her crotch to increase the friction of my tongue on her most private places.

“Oh, Howard,” she moaned, “you make me think impure thoughts. You mustn’t.”

I slipped the tip of my tongue between her outer lips, which parted easily. I could taste the pleasant juices which drenched her cunt. When I tried to lick her inner lips, the metal studs which sealed her tunnel got in the way. But above the studs was another bump. Her little clitoris, like a pea, was accessible in her gaping groove.

I clamped my lips upon it, and she moaned. I sucked it into my mouth until I could flick it with the end of my tongue, and she gasped for breath. I opened my mouth and licked furiously. “Oh. Oh. Aaahh,” she cried, and she tried to clamp her thighs over my ears.

To have a woman respond like that is the thrill of a lifetime. I licked and sucked without relenting, as Rachel moaned and heaved her hips and pleaded, “Oh, Howard, don’t torment me. I can’t stand it.” I couldn’t count her orgasms, as she writhed under me, thrashing her arms, turning her head this way and that, and making animal-like noises in her ecstacy.

At last I released her and sat back. My face was wet with her juices, and my tongue ached from hard work. Rachel was utterly spent, sprawled there in the hay like a rag doll, covered with perspiration. The wet, white skin of her breasts and thighs reflected the faint moonlight, contrasting with the darkness of the barn.

I noticed that the kitchen light was on in the house.

I knelt beside her and kissed Rachel on the mouth.

Dreamily, she put her arms around me and kissed me back. My hand fell on her breast. “Mmmmm,” she hummed through our kiss.

Then we just held each other, lying together, there in the hay. My prick still strained at my jeans, but Rachel was so relaxed, so dreamy, that I wouldn’t ask her to take care of that. There would be time, later.

The kitchen light went out, and a minute later, the bedroom light went out. “I guess we can go home now,” I said to Rachel.

“Mmmm?”

“Time to go home.” I helped her up. Her panties were still around her ankles, full of hay. Had I simply pulled her panties up, she would have had bits of hay pressed into her crotch. It was easier just to have her step out of them. I fondled her breasts, briefly, and put her bra back where it belonged. We tucked her blouse back in her skirt and tried to pull the hay from her hair and clothes.

In the solitude of the summer night, we walked together across the lawn, holding hands. A gentle breeze stirred her skirt, and she shuddered at the unfamiliar feeling of cool air on her naked cunt. Quietly, we let ourselves in the back door and made our way to our room. I had been home for only a day, but already I was in love.

[to be continued]

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