Filling in For Beth
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Filling In For Beth free porn video
"Filling In For Beth - Prologue"
by CassandraB
(c) 2017
- Prologue -
"Your daughter is lovely," a high, whiny voice says with a sniff, drawing
my attention away from the text I'm reading. My youngest, Suzy, is away at
a weekend soccer camp, hence my inattention to the festivities. The texts
so far are reassuring. She's meeting new girls and having fun.
I push back my hair and raise my eyes slowly, taking in the legs, the
curvaceous body then the face of Donna Hendricks: The town's former beauty
queen, wife of the towns wealthiest car dealer, self proclaimed expert on
all things fashionable, church leader and our host for the afternoon. If
our small town has a queen, it's her. Her hair and makeup are perfect as
always and the dress is both simple and expensive. It clings to her curves
like it was made for her because it probably was. Underneath it's all held
together with full body Spankx, I can tell. Her jewelry is too flashy as
well, in my opinion, but that's jealousy and strong dislike talking.
"Thank you. Your daughter is always so beautiful," I reply, keeping my
tone even and remaining seated. I have no interest in correcting her
mistakes or listening to her opinions.
"Well, I hope you enjoy the party," she says after an uncomfortable
silence. She speaks in a forced, little girl voice that's like nails on a
chalkboard to me. I just can't talk to her and eventually she moves on,
navigating through the crowd of girls with ease, the queen mother in her
home. At 38 and somewhat overweight after three kids, she's still the
sexiest woman in the room. The tit's surely aren't real and there are
rumors about other parts of her body too but I can't judge her.
Her daughter, Tiffany, stands with another girl, let's call her Amber,
both chatting excitedly with my Rachael in the far corner. Both girls are
wearing 4" pumps while Rachael wears flats. She's not ready for such sexy
shoes and doesn't need the height advantage anyway since she's easily the
tallest girl in the room. Her dress and makeup are much more conservative
than the other two girls as well. You might think that odd considering how
religious everyone is around here and you'd be right. Tom and I just have
to be extra careful. It's a long story.
Still, I couldn't put a bag over my beautiful girl. I couldn't let her be
ashamed of her shape. The plain red, cotton dress comes to her neck and
the hem brushes her ankles, so she's covered. She's even wearing what they
call a 'minimizing' bra (she's already a D cup with the possibility of
more growth) but with her narrow waist and hips there's only so much we
can hide. I caught a couple of the dad's looking too long and gave them
the same useless glare I give when men stare at my chest.
Tiffany is wearing Spankx too. She isn't a skinny girl by any means and
the dress is short and strapless, so it took some engineering to get her
in there. She looks fantastic though. There's padding and lifting in the
bosom, no doubt, since she appears to be as big as Rachael up top. With
the pinched waist accentuating her hips and bust, the big hair and heavy
makeup, she looks ready to walk onto the stage of a beauty pageant. Amber,
equally made up, dressed and quaffed, is actually a little taller and
leaner but lacks Tiffany's presence somehow. Like her mom, Tiffany is in
her element, dressed to the teeth in public.
At 16, this is Rachael's first trip into this world and I'm nervous as
hell. A boy asked her to Prom, I said no, Tom said no, she said yes.
That's why we're here. The kid doesn't even go to Rachael's school, since
Crestwood Academy is girls only. That's why we're at 'Handsome' Harry
Hendricks' house (say that three times fast) on a Saturday afternoon for a
pre-prom party (say that three times fast). The elite of the local high
school, parents included, get together for photos before being transported
to dinner and the magical event on a chartered bus.
There must be a dozen couples and three times that in parents although
it's hard to tell to who goes with whom. The moms congregate in the
kitchen while the young ladies clump together in the living room, talking
excitedly about their clothes and snapping pictures. That's where I'm
sitting when Donna passes: minding my own business in a straight backed
chair in an out-of-the way corner with legs crossed, hands in lap, one ear
tuned to Rachael's faint conversation and one eye on Tom out the picture
window.
All the boys are outside. Most of the men are standing, talking in pairs,
iced tea in hand. There's a group of 6 or 8 young men in tuxedos clustered
around Tom out in the middle of the grass. Somehow, at a prom party, a
football has appeared in the man's hand. That's Tom. All these guys are
football players for the high school team and Tom's the big shot college
coach so naturally he's the center of attention. It doesn't hurt that he's
6' 3" tall.
He's addressing the whole group, waving the ball while the other arm
drapes casually around Rachael's date for the night. His name is Randy, if
you can believe that. The star lineman or something. The kid is almost as
big as Tom. The rented tux jacket looks about ready to split at the
shoulders and the bow tie appears ready to pop off his thick neck . I
don't know what Tom is saying but the kid has a nervous expression and
everyone else is laughing. Tom is probably issuing dire warnings to the
group concerning the fate of anyone who upsets his baby girl. Good.
Not that I have to worry about my girl. We've had the talk, many talks
actually. The last four years of my life have been dedicated to preparing
Rachael for just such events as this. If Randy is a very good boy tonight
he might get to second base, (if you'll forgive a baseball euphemism.)
That's the deal. She's prepared to let him unzip her dress as far as her
bra strap and even slip the dress off her arms for some over the bra
touching - that's the limit. This is the compromise Rachael and I came up
with. Women actually plan this shit out. We have to.
Of course, if Tom knew the plan he wouldn't have allowed her go to the
Prom. If Randy knew the plan he probably would never have asked Rachael
out in the first place. He, like all the other boys here, will be
expecting sex before the night is out. Tiffany and Amber's dates can
probably count on it. Rachael will get her first practical experience
dealing with a huge, horny man one-on-one and she isn't going to waste it
groping in the back seat of a car with a boy she barely knows. She's got
mace in her purse just in case. So, if you're here with hope's of reading
about Rachael's sexual exploits you are wasting your time.
Eventually everyone makes their way outside to line up for pictures. All
the girls line up in the sunshine with their beefy dates close behind.
Randy's hands snake around Rachael's waist, just like a lot of the boys
do, and he leans in to whisper in her ear. I'm waiting for her to push him
away but she just smiles at the cameras and places one delicate hand on
his. When I glance up at Tom he is glaring and his jaw muscle is clenched.
I take his hand and pull to get his attention.
"She'll be OK. I promise," I say.
"Why couldn't she go out with a nerd or something?" he growls.
"She wants a man like dear old dad I guess."
He grimaces, steps behind me and his arms slip around my waist, just like
Randy is doing with Rachael. Tom is hard I realize.
"Donna wants me to fuck her. Should I give the slut what she wants?" he
whispers right in my ear.
His breath is hot and wet. I can't get away and don't even try. He isn't
expecting an answer anyway. The way he asks is exactly the way he used to
ask when we were teenagers and some MILF caught his eye, except that back
then I would have slugged him if he'd bumped his cock against my back. He
wasn't kidding back then either. In his senior year of high school, just
before he met Beth, he was fucking two housewives that I knew about,
neither of whom could hold a candle to Donna. If Tom wanted our hostess
she'd give it up. I'm not worried though.
His hand slides across my ass and finds one garter strap. When he begins
to finger the clasp like he might unhook it I have to speak up.
"Stop," I say softly. That's all it takes. The hand stops then moves to
rest on my hip. The hard-on is still there though, resting in the small of
my back. The look on Rachael's face suggests she is experiencing the same
thing. Fortunately we've cover this topic as well.
++
When we get home hours later he's on fire and drags me to the bedroom
immediately. I'm barely in the room before he's unzipped and shucked off
my dress, then my slip. He's only a foot inside the door, still in his
suit, and I'm already down to my underwear. When I attempt to move forward
he tugs my bra strap, hooks a finger in-between my breasts then flicks the
bra off and across the room in a practiced motion. The key is to keep your
arms up and forward.
It's only a few heartbeats before he steps closer and cups my left breast
in a rough hand. I can't help noticing all the clothes on the floor. Then
he's pinching my nipple way too hard, gripping my hair and almost humping
my side. That's when he really surprises me.
"Do you think she'll be OK?" he asks quietly.
We don't talk about the girls in this room you see and certainly not while
he's got my tit in one hand. Am I wrong to be bothered that he's rubbing
his cock against me while thinking about his daughter possibly having sex?
"Eww. That's creepy," I say. "She's in perfect control. Don't you worry."
Tom stops for a second, shakes his head, and his face changes. The worry
lines around his eyes and mouth disappear, replaced with a sneer that
would be frightening if I didn't know my man. His grip tightens in my hair
until it hurts. He is pulling me down.
"Get on your knees and do something useful with that mouth, stupid slut,"
he growls.
I'm on my knees with a thud and he's already shoving my face into his
crotch. There's soon makeup smeared on the front of his dark dress pants.
With the long nails and the way he's thrashing I can't get his belt undone
quickly enough and he slaps my hands away.
"Useless cow," he grumbles, "just put them behind your back and open your
hole."
Tom steps back, throwing his suit-coat at the bed and missing. He
unbuckles his pants slowly, watching me on my knees with my mouth gaping
open and tits hanging out. He shuffles forward, pants around his ankles,
until his boxers (plaid) are inches from my mouth then begins to slide
them down. He's already huge.
"Is this what you want slut?" he asks, slipping the band out and over the
head of his penis, showing me the angry purple head.
"Uh hu," I say. The answer is always the same. It's difficult to say much
more with one's mouth wide open.
You may wonder why I look so happy considering the situation. That's a
long story but here's a few things: Tom, my best friend in the world,
isn't worrying about the girls or his job or Donna Hendricks anymore,
because he's thinking about his cock and my mouth. His mind is on me and
me alone, urgently and obviously. He's neatly trimmed everywhere, just
like I've asked and it smells like soap when he rubs his balls across my
face. While I'm not going to exactly enjoy what's coming, I know he will
and that's enough for me.
He let's me lick for a minute, getting him wet enough before he takes
control, gripping my head in both hands and shoving into me slowly with a
loud, contented sigh. When he bumps the back of my throat he stops and
tilts my face up. He's smiling down.
"We've both been so busy this week," he says. "I bet you're hungry for
some cum?"
I nod slightly, as much as a full mouth allows and plead with my eyes the
way he likes. Then he just starts fucking, holding my head, staring up at
the ceiling and grunting his pleasure with each slow thrust.
"Oh, yeah. Uh. That is a sweet mouth, slut. Uh. God, you are such a nasty
whore." That sort of thing.
Within minutes he freezes, pulls out and begins jacking himself furiously,
the tip of his cock an inch from my mouth. I know what to do. My hands
untwist from behind me and clutch my boobs, lifting them up to him,
offering them. I gladly offer Tom everything I have in the world, on my
knees: my open mouth, my huge tits that I grew for him, the face and hair
that I spent so much time and effort on today. And Tom cums all over them.
"Gaa. Fuck! Slut. Yeah." Each word punctuated with a rope of warm white
cum hitting my face or boobs.
When he calms enough to release my hair I swallow what managed to hit my
mouth then lean in to lick up the last dribbles he forces out. It's just
easier that way and it really doesn't taste bad. Plus, there's an odd
pleasure in the way the once proud monster shrinks so quickly, as if
giving up in defeat. That's how I see it anyway. He steps closer so that I
can take him all in for a good cleaning and forces my head down one more
time. Hard abs grind my nose and hairy balls bump my smooth chin.
He pulls out with a small slurp then, in one motion, pulls up his shorts
and slacks and turns away, already searching for the TV remote.
In the bathroom I inspect the damage. My carefully pinned-up mass of dark
hair has collapsed into a rat's nest over my right shoulder. The eyes
aren't too bad but the lipstick is a pink smear around my mouth, splashed
with lines of sticky white. There's three more white lines across my boobs
and a huge glob stuck in my bangs right over the left eye. That's the
worst - cum in the hair - but I don't care. When you consider how much
time and money I spent at the beauty shop earlier today for this hair and
makeup you might think I'd be pissed off at Tom but the whole time in
front of the bathroom mirror I wear the same stupid, happy grin I've had
all day. The day has been perfect and I have nothing more important to do
tonight than Tom's will, at least until Rachael gets home and I can find
out how the date went.
It takes nearly a half hour to get freshened up. After a much needed pee I
make sure to tuck tightly into the gaff I always wear and cover it with a
tiny bikini brief. Tom must always see a smooth, flat front there. I also
apply a little lube. Not too much for now but enough to be ready in case
he's in a hurry later. The wet feeling mingles with all the other
sensations that tell me I'm ready for him.
Tom is lounging in the middle of the bed, propped up on all the pillows
with the TV tuned to a hockey game and his laptop open. Satisfied and
happy. But when I bend to open a vanity drawer I can see his eyes in the
mirror, focused on my swinging breasts. He always watches out of the
corner of his eye like a naughty boy, glancing up quickly then back to the
TV or the computer, so it took me a while to notice. Now it's so obvious
it's funny.
It would be nice to slip out of the heels and garter and into a
comfortable bra and some yoga pants but not in this room, not with Tommy
watching and not on the one night the girls are away, so I pluck a shear
blue baby doll from a side drawer and tie it tight under my boobs. The
thing does nothing control them or to keep off a chill that's raising
goosebumps and hardening my nipples so that they tent the fine material
obscenely. I fight the urge to cover myself and reach for a robe. It's
white rather than blue and as shear and unhelpful as the baby-doll but it
at least covers that gap between stocking tops and ass and the way it
flows around my legs is wonderful.
"I'll have a stout," Tom says flatly, eyes still on the TV.
He had been boring holes though my robe with his eyes a moment before,
when he thought I wouldn't notice. Now he's watching the game, clicking
the clicker and absently scratching his balls. As I make my way across the
room, slowly, one heel in front of the other so that my ass and boobs only
sway a little, I can't see his eyes but I promise you he isn't watching
the game then. When I come back from the kitchen he hasn't moved and still
studiously ignores me until I lean my boobs in and press the cold beer to
his hand. Even then he won't look right at me. He just snatches it and
takes a long swig.
Just because I can I slide a hand down his hairy arm, under the elastic of
his boxers and tickle the ball he isn't scratching. No reaction. It still
amazes me that I can just reach out and touch a man's dick whenever I
want. Not that I would ever do that, except to Tom of course, but
sometimes it's fun to imagine what a man, like one of the dads at the
party, would do if I just put a hand on it. How long it would take for him
to cum in his pants?
When I press my boobs into his arm and lightly stroke his limp penis he
finally gives in and looks me in the eye. I grip the mighty beast in one
hand, enjoying the power I have for a moment.
"Kiss me," I say.
The little hesitation and the look on his face is priceless. Don't worry.
I've bushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth thoroughly, so the big man
needn't worry about semen touching his lips. But he doesn't know that,
right? While we kiss his cock shifts but fails to grow. Tame for the time
being. Who's the big man now?
I'll clean up the room for a half hour or so then, when I'm too chilly to
walk around in this absurd outfit anymore, I'll crawl under the covers for
another, less frantic blow-job. When we make love later, Tom will be
gentle, less hungry. I can take all of him now I'm proud to say. When we
fuck he doesn't have to hold back anymore. If I'm lucky, the head of my
trapped penis will find friction and we'll cum together and make the day
absolutely perfect.
Growing up
So much has changed over the last 4 years it's hardly worth telling the
story. Tom and I were neighbors growing up, normal young boys, foster kids
in a poor neighborhood. He was a year older and much bigger, the town
athlete, all that. Of course I looked up to him and even admired him.
Until he went away to college at 18 he was like a big brother to me. After
that we fell out of touch. There was some tragedy in my life, I was sick a
lot and traveled to charity hospitals all over. As I found out later, Tom
had his hands full building a career and a life with Bethany and the
girls.
Beth and I never met although we were actually in the same cancer ward for
a while. She passed away there 6 months before Tom found me. I was the
'cancer kid' featured on the local news one week. Cured at last but no
family, no friends except for doctors and nurses, no job, no home, blah,
blah, blah. I don't like talking about it so let's just say that cancer
took almost everything and left me with one testicle that the doctors
hoped might decide to produce some testosterone one day. It hasn't.
Anyway, the hospital wanted me to move out but I had nowhere to go. Tom
lived three miles away. Quite a coincidence, right?
"When I heard your name on the TV I almost choked on my beer." He told me
later. "When I told the girls about you, how we'd grown up together and
all, they insisted on helping. I think they thought it would be like
adopting a puppy."
I can hardly remember the first weeks. It was summer and the girls visited
my room a lot, I remember that, and Tom fed me and helped me to the
bathroom every day and drove me to doctor visits. When I first managed to
walk around their beautiful home I actually wept at my good fortune in
finding my friend again. He had done well for himself, except for the loss
of his wife Beth of course, the woman who changed my wild, boyhood friend
into a man.
While I was grateful to Tom, and very proud of his success, I was also
also a little jealous. The truth is I'd always wanted to be Tom Hannover,
ever since we were kids. Instead, in stark contrast to his success, I was
starting over from scratch, totally dependent of the friendship of someone
I barley knew for the foreseeable future.
Lizbeth
- 17.06.2020
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