While the cost of their new home is a constant worry at the forefront of Maggy's mind, she can't deny that the benefits are worth every penny. A bigger floorplan means more cleaning, yes, but it also means there is room to grow as a family. Which is exactly what Rick wants.
He hasn't said it out loud, but his insistence for not one but two guest bedrooms has made it painfully obvious.
Maggy doesn't mind, of course. She's not inclined to get a bun in the oven right away considering they just moved to St. Crow and she is yet to even begin at her new job—but eventually. Maybe a year or two from now, when the sprawling house is fully furnished and they've made friends with the neighbors.
Neighbors that are…rather far away. Not too terribly, but Rick's desire for change had him move them from a crowded city to a reclusive slice of woodsy paradise out in the boonies. They're technically within walking distance, but the winding roads guarantee that hopping in the car is the safest option.
The backyard is wonderful, however. The back patio is still being built, and will include both a pool and a hut tub, but it's the space beyond the markers denoted by little green flags that calls to her.
Their land includes a chunk of the forest. Rick swears he'll learn how to hunt, but she's sure he'll try it once before deeming it too gruesome to continue.
She likes walking through the tall trees and vibrant greenery that remind her of her childhood. It's a different climate altogether, but it weighs on her shoulders like the comfort of a favorite blanket. The isolation she is in control of, the knowledge of how to get back home when no one else knows how to navigate the area; therefore, allowing her to disappear for as long as she wants.
And, yes, it is perfectly safe. There are no bears or big cats in the area, no throughways that lead onto their land…which means it is the perfect place for her to fuck herself.
When Rick is at work, she makes a day of it. Packing a lunch, a picnic blanket, a bottle of wine, her favorite vibrating dildo. She's done so at least twice a week since they moved in: hiked a good fifteen minutes into the dense woods, towards a small clearing that lets in just enough sunlight to keep her warm.
She sprawls the blanket out near a sturdy pine she sits up against, her dress bunched up in her lap. There's no point in wearing panties, and she loves the soft caress of the wind against pussy while nursing a glass of wine.
The dildo doesn't come immediately into play, mostly because she enjoys teasing herself. Her fingertips ghost over her pussy-lips, occasionally spreading them to expose her cunt to the elements. It makes her wet because there is a possibility, even if infinitesimally small, that this may not actually be safe.
She can't tell her husband that the thought of getting raped by some stranger gets her off—not when she's the perfect wife lined up to become the perfect mother. She's worked all her life to mold herself into this beautiful ideal because she refused to turn out like any of her other siblings.
Maggy married a virgin, only wore makeup in natural shades, watched her figure—even if Rick paid for some minor modifications to suit his personal tastes. Her breast enhancements were achieved through natural means. No surgery, no plastic; only a bit of targeted hormones and the right food. Even if her breasts were already embarrassingly big, enough to get her called a slut all the way through high school, Rick wanted them to be bigger. So, she obliged.
She likes them very much, too; loves looking at them bounce in the mirror and making them sway as she walks. It's impossible to find bras this size, but it's alright because she prefers her natural shape.
These, too, are things she doesn't tell Rick. Having huge tits doesn't make a woman a slut, but liking them might.
If not a stranger, then maybe a bear. She has no idea what a bear cock looks like, but she bets it must be big.
This is the part when she usually pushes the dildo into her cunt, when she starts to consider that maybe they should get a dog—a big dog, a big boy dog, to keep any wild animals off their property—to keep her pussy stuffed with its slimy dick and hot, pulsating knot.
Maggy pushes the dildo all the way in, then nudges a seat cushion between her thighs to keep it in place while she polishes off her lunch, idly grinding on the fake testicles at the flared base.
At the second glass of wine, she pulls down the elastic neckline of her dress, and snags it underneath her tits. She pinches and rolls her stiffened nipples, basking in how bad a girl she's being. Touching herself without Rick's permission, penetrating her pussy with something that isn't her husband's penis, doing it out in the open where anyone could see—
There's shuffling across the way and Maggy freezes.
For a moment she thinks that one of the construction workers has wandered into the woods, maybe because she wasn't minding her volume all that much.
…She wonders if he can keep a secret.
She strains her vision but sees nothing; figures it's just the wind.
She clicks on the dildo's vibrating function and moans when it brushes against her clit. Maggy keeps her ears trained however, and this time doesn't pause when she hears the sound again.
"Who's there?" she calls out.
Someone curses.
She should recoil, pull up her dress and shut her legs, but she doesn't.
"You can come out," she says, aware of how whorish she sounds.
Who steps out of the tree line isn't one of their hired hands or an animal, but a boy. A young boy. Too young for the zipper on his shorts to be pulled down, his prick sticking straight out.
His eyes are wide, his face flushed red with shame at having been caught peeping. He tries covering himself when he could have just tucked himself away before revealing his presence.
Maggy blinks, unsure of what to say, and aware of the state she is in.
Incredibly aware that this boy was masturbating to her.
This boy with a fully erect cock standing a few feet away from her.
…
She shouldn't.
She can't.
This is too much of a dangerous line to cross, too immoral, and perverse, and sick. She doesn't want to fuck a little boy; he can't be much older than six, maybe seven!
Even if he is very pretty for a boy: with big, blue eyes and short, swoopy hair, and a soft-looking mouth that would feel wonderful latched onto her nipple.
The boy doesn't say anything as he shuffles closer to her, and takes off his shirt.
Maggy removes the cushion and takes out the dildo, turning it off and dropping it back into her bag. She scoots forward and lays back, the cushion now behind her head as she hikes her dress up further and spreads her thighs.
The boy kicks off his pants and underwear and he's so lanky; the kind of short and skinny that says he still plays marbles whenever he's not drawing superheroes with jumbo-sized crayons. And yet his balls are big enough to rival Rick's.
Maggy's crying out, her back arching before the boy's tip even grazes the soaked seam of her pussy. She spreads her legs wider, grabs the boy's narrow shoulders when he starts to move, pushing all the way before pulling out halfway, and pushing in again.
She could melt into the ground. Even if the boy's cock is small enough to not need any kind of lube or preparation, it's so hard that she can feel it make its shallow way into her cunt over and over.
The boy grabs onto her tits for balance, hips bony hips working quickly and making his balls smack against her with a deliciously loud plapplapplap that makes Maggy clench down on his little cock. He gasps and, too young to grunt like a man fucking this wildly, whines. It's a sweet sound that carries more pleasure and desperation than he knows how to deal with, and Maggy nearly drools at how delicious this all is.
He doesn't know to kiss her, and she only partially wishes he did because his lips look even more delicate and scrumptious up-close. All he seems to know is that his cock is inside something warm, wet, and tight, and that it feels too good to stop. She might as well be being mounted by an animal by how much he humps purely on instinct.
It's amazing. Never in a million years did she think a little boy could make her this horny or fuck her this good, but she loves it. Adores the sight and the feeling of a boy this young that she fears she might get addicted, that she'll crave the touch of young boys more than she will her husband's.
"I feel—weird," the boy says, his voice so high and strangled.
Maggy grabs his tight little bum and bites her bottom lip, inviting him to move faster, slam harder against her because she too feels weird, but she knows what the feeling is. She hopes she's his first, that when he cums his little brains out and his stiff prick shoots out all that hot boy-milk, that her womb is the first to ever receive it.
"I'm—!"
"Blow that load right inside me, baby boy," she moans, and clenches down.
The boy slams in harder and harder, chasing the heightening waves of pleasure that is an orgasm. Each impact rubs her pussy just the right way, sending Maggy over the edge with too-loud a shout but she doesn't care. Let Rick find her like this, lost to pure ecstasy as a first-grader pumps her cunt full of semen.
Her thighs spasm when she feels it: the boy's ejaculation. He doesn't shoot overbearing amounts of cum, but it's enough to make her insides feel wetter than they already were.
He jerks and cries out, his narrow hips working nonstop until he's spent, his balls happily empty and her cunt ecstatically full.
Maggy stays still, relishing in the glorious feeling; shuddering when he squeezes her tits. She tries not to whine when he pulls out, his lithe body flushed pink and shimmering with a faint layer of sweat.
"Did that make you feel good?" she asks, coquettishly grabbing her breasts and wiggling her hips, legs still spread and pussy dripping. The boy nods. "Our little secret. Alright?"
He nods again, and she mourns the sight of him getting dressed.
Maggy watches him scuttle off between the trees without muttering another word, not even his name.
She really ought to get back and start dinner.