A taste of things to come

Lucy Powell took the stranger’s cock into one cheek, then rolled it around into the other. She balanced it on the platform of her tongue and massaged around the flanks and flanges. Giving head with the same thoughtful, patient diligence she did any mindless task. There was a joy in simple work with obvious rewards, and she had always found sex to fit squarely in that category. She finally took the length of him into the embrace of her oesophagus, and tried to beat her previous depth with each gurgling swallow. Hot flesh filled her throat and cut off her airways for seconds at a time. Gnarled hands of a man she had only just met wound their way into her hair and pulled her in still deeper. Behind it all she could feel the despairing gaze of her husband; watching aghast at what, really, he should have known all along. Somehow it all felt more freeing, than entrapment… despite the loaded weapons laying weight upon the situation. After months and years of frustration, she could just lean forward into this debauchery and let the saliva dribble down her chin.

On either side… she watched her adult children try to keep up. Watched them **** and falter, spluttering for a few seconds. But then always return to position as their own ruffian guided them. Her heart filled with a strange burst of pride, to see the resilience she had built up in them. To witness their willingness to follow, wherever she led. Even Sam, acting against everything that society seemed to demand of his gender, was setting himself to work with a spine her heart beamed at. The mother even had to admit it gave her a taboo, little thrill: to see her darlings devoting themselves to such an unseemly task. Was it everything she dreamed for them in life? Perhaps not… But in the end, what other skills or trades could they learn out here on the frontiers? That was the gap in her husband’s grand plan: understanding just what his small family were and wanted.

The lead stranger took hold of Mrs Powell’s ponytail, and used it as a handle to begin thrusting down her neck. The others followed suit, though to the result of a lot more spluttering and stuttering. Soon every wall of the empty saloon echoed with the coughing and gurgling of inexperienced fellatio. Bill could only watch on, and listen, as the faces of his three dearest were used as little more than warm holes for vermin to burrow themselves in. Worse, he could see the expressions on their features: Jane so eager and determined, diving back in of her own accord whenever she gagged and choked. Sam simply passive and accepting, his eyes watery as he gazed up at the man making unkempt use of his gullet. And then Lucy... His wife and his world. Who was guzzling down on this older man’s cock with what seemed like a talent and gusto far beyond what he knew of her. Had she always been such an overtly erotic creature, but he’d never noticed? The slobbering, salivating creature he was bearing witness to seemed so far from the quiet, sensible woman he knew. Was this who she’d always been, underneath all that? Had he simply never managed to reach or draw out that side of her?

Searching questions raced around Bill’s head, as the scene unfolding before him tore the rug out from under all his sense of self and surety. How could he be letting this happen? Yet there was no inch of him which could move to stop it… and all the while, down below the counter, his own pants were tightening. With every dribble of saliva and precum that dripped down from his son’s chin. With every gasping, gagging moan his daughter was allowed to grab. With every time his spouse leaned forward and buried her chin in another man’s pubic hair. His legs shook and trembled under the complicated mix of emotions flooding through his body. He thought he might pass out, just from the sights and sounds alone.

However he was denied even that climax, one way or another… for the invaders themselves were reaching their limit, one after another. Jane’s went first: deliberately pulling out and splashing sticky ropes across the teen girl’s face. She giggled deliriously and anaerobically to be painted so. Next Sam’s heaved forward, finally managing to roughly bury himself all the way to the hilt and clearly spurting everything he had right down the back of the boy’s throat. The Powell’s only son would proceed to spend the next few minutes retching up a small puddle of murky-white drool, but almost certainly swallowed more than he failed to. Last but not least, Lucy finished her work ably… pointedly keeping the old man on the edge of his toes, for a while. She caught every last drop of seed he was spraying, to proudly present the whole mouthful back to him. She played with it on her tongue, perhaps even savouring the taste of the moment… before visibly gulping the whole lot down in one go, to the whoops and great cheers of their ‘guests’.