Free Watching the Wilsons (Carrie & The Wilsons) by Becky Young Page A

take me long to choose two books. I carefully took the contents of the box out in layers, taking a quick snapshot with my phone so I could put them back as I found them. Tame romances and dark mysteries gave way to bodice rippers, then the covers got downright raunchy and the titles made me blush. The best stuff was toward the bottom. I glommed on to the novel with the schoolgirl on the cover, and I also selected a collection of seduction stories by different authors. The more information, the better.
    The absence of my pilfered treasure didn’t affect the look of the restocked box at all, so I returned it to its place in the closet, confident my looting would remain a secret, and dashed to my room.
    The schoolgirl book wasn’t what I’d expected. Instead of a senior high school student like myself, it was about a graduate student who discovered that her advisor has a schoolgirl fetish, and she dresses up in a Catholic uniform to entice him, but also to save him from himself--she acted out of love, even if it was doomed. That motivation added a layer of complexity to the story that made something in my tummy flicker. Like I wanted it to work out for her, wanted her to have a happy ending.
    I squirmed on my tummy as she locked the office door behind her and sank to her knees in front of him. My blow job experience so far consisted of licking Justin’s cock like a lollipop, which he liked, but left me a bit underwhelmed. The next time, he hadn’t had a shower and asked me not to go down on him. That left me really underwhelmed.
    In the book, the schoolgirl was wet, sopping wet, at the idea of the professor fucking her mouth . Her words, and as I read them, my pussy clenched involuntarily. I wanted him to do that.
    I bit my lip. What would that feel like? Justin’s fat knob sliding over my lips and back into my throat, his hands pressing my jaw open, his balls slapping against my chin. My hips jerked into the mattress and I flipped to my back, needing room to slide my hand into my panties.
    It was awkward to hold the book above my hand, on an angle that still captured the bedside lamp, and try to flip the page with my thumb, but my other hand was thrumming my clit toward a speedy orgasm. I was slick, and with each swirling pass of my fingers over the entrance of my spasming pussy, I added more lubrication to the sticky mess around my hot, pulsing nub.
    My orgasm hovered just out of reach as the professor rammed his cock down the schoolgirl’s throat, spurting his hot spunk down her throat. My fingers slipped over my too wet clit, my sex so sloppy with excitement that my usual getting off tricks weren’t working. I dipped my hand lower, grinding the heel of my palm against the top of my mound, fucking my swollen pussy now with two fingers. “Such a good little cocksucker,” the professor praised, stroking his student’s face, and as his cock slipped out of her mouth, leaving a trail of dribbling cum down her chin, blood surged to my head and my groin at the same time. I tumbled over the edge, seizing in orgasm, and then collapsed in a boneless pile, my pussy clenching hard against my fingers, pulsing even more wetness into my palm.
    I blinked hard, white spots dancing around the edges of my vision. Holy shit. I was adding have my face fucked to my bucket list. And I was only forty pages into the story.
    After I dragged a breath deep into my lungs I flipped over once again, eager to sink further into the story. My eyes were scratchy with fatigue but if I needed to prop my eyelids open with toothpicks to get to the next sex scene, then that’s what I would do.
    A small chime sounded from my phone. I glanced at the text message from Mrs. Wilson. Kids go 2 bed ok? I smiled and typed back that they did indeed, and that I was also tucked in. A minute later came her response. Sleep tight! We might stay out late.
    Knowing that I wouldn’t be caught all mussed up and smelling like sex, I leapt out of bed and padded to the