Chapter 1: The Storm
The storm hit like a punch to the gut, knocking Doug out of his half-asleep daze with the force of a freight train. He jolted upright in bed, the sheets tangled around his waist, his bare chest slick with sweat despite the AC humming low in the corner. The thunder rumbled again, closer this time, shaking the house like a dog shaking off water. Rain lashed against the windows, drumming a relentless tattoo on the roof, and the wind howled through the trees like a banshee.
Doug exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples.
The storm was the kind that made you feel small, like the universe had decided to remind you just how insignificant you were. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand—2:17 AM. Another hour of tossing and turning, and he’d be up for the day, staring at the ceiling like a man who’d already lost the battle against insomnia.
The bed dipped slightly as the mattress shifted under his weight. He turned onto his side, pulling the comforter up to his chin, but the storm’s fury only grew. A particularly violent crack of lightning illuminated the room, casting jagged shadows across the walls.
Doug’s eyes flickered open, his pulse quickening as the thunder followed almost immediately, the sound vibrating through his chest. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. The storm wasn’t just loud—it was angry, the kind of night that made you wonder if the sky itself was plotting something.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, the screen glowing faintly in the dark. Weather app—he tapped it absently, half-expecting to see a warning about tornadoes or flash floods. But the screen only confirmed what he already knew: Thunderstorm Warning. 20 mph winds, torrential rain, and lightning. No ominous red alerts.
Just the usual storm, albeit a particularly nasty one. Doug set the phone back down, his eyes scanning the room. The digital clock read 2:23 AM now. He sighed, flopping onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. The storm's fury seemed to be reaching its crescendo, the rain pounding against the roof like a thousand tiny fists.
At that same moment, something that wasn't rain was falling from the sky. A jagged, fist-sized rock, its surface still glowing faintly from the friction of entry, flew downward through the storm clouds. It struck the automatic pool cover with a sound like a gunshot—thunk—before plowing through the thick plastic and sinking into the water below. The impact sent a shockwave through the water, causing ripples to spread outward in all directions, though the force was dampened by the thick plastic barrier. The rock sank quickly, dissolving almost instantly in the chemically balanced pool water, leaving no trace behind—no debris, no crater, nothing to suggest anything unusual had happened at all.
Doug didn’t hear it.
The storm was too loud. The wind was too fierce. And even if he had, he would have assumed it was just another branch snapped off a tree, another piece of debris carried by the gale.
He shifted again, the sheets slipping down his waist, his bare chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. The storm’s rhythm had lulled him into a sense of exhaustion, and he drifted back into sleep.
---
Morning came with the sun’s reluctant rise, painting the sky in hues of peach and gold, as if the world had forgotten the night’s fury. Doug stretched, his muscles stiff from the storm’s restless hours. He glanced at the clock—7:12 AM. The house was quiet, the kind of silence that only comes when you’re the only one awake. His wife, Linda, was still in Chicago for work, and his stepdaughter, Molly, stayed at the dorms, leaving him with the quiet, predictable routine of a man who had long since mastered the art of boredom.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the cool floor tiles biting against his bare feet. Pulling on his frayed terrycloth robe—one of Linda’s hand-me-downs, still smelling faintly of her lavender shampoo—he slipped his feet into the worn leather slippers, the soles creaking slightly with each step.
The morning air was damp, clinging to his skin like a second layer of clothing, and he hesitated on the threshold, the screen door groaning as it swung open. The backyard was a mess.
Branches littered the lawn, their leaves still glistening with last night's rain, and the deck chairs were scattered like fallen soldiers, their colorful cushions soaked and heavy. Doug surveyed the damage, his hands on his hips, the robe flapping slightly in the morning breeze. The storm had been a hell of a thing, but it was just another day in the life of a suburbanite, he thought wryly.
He stepped out onto the deck, the wood creaking under his weight, and made his way to the pool. The automatic cover was still in place, but as he approached, he noticed it wasn't unscathed.
There was a hole, roughly the size of a golf ball, above the deep end. Doug frowned, reaching out to touch the plastic, his fingers brushing the rough edges. It wasn’t torn—it was punched through. He leaned closer, squinting. The hole wasn't clean; there were a couple of rips radiating out from the main impact point, as if something had hit the cover with enough force to tear through it, but not enough to create a larger, smoother hole. Doug scratched his head, his brow furrowed. What could have caused that?
He glanced around the backyard, his gaze landing on the tall oak tree at the far end of the yard. A few branches had snapped off, their jagged ends pointing accusingly at the sky. Could one of those have fallen and hit the pool cover? But no, that didn't make sense. The hole was too small, too precise, and the branches were too heavy to have fallen without making more of a mess.
Doug exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t a man who let things fester, and he certainly wasn’t one to ignore a problem just because it didn’t make sense. So he made a plan—first, he’d shower and eat something substantial. A man couldn’t think clearly on an empty stomach, and the last thing he needed was to start the day with a headache.
Then, he’d clean up the backyard. It wouldn’t take long, just a matter of gathering the branches and resetting the deck chairs. After that, he’d properly inspect the pool. He'll check the recirculation and filtration systems and test the water for any chemical imbalance caused by whatever hit it.
Molly was bringing some friends over tomorrow to swim, and he wanted to make sure it was safe. He couldn't have them diving into a pool with who knows what floating around in it.
The pool at the university was closed for repairs, and Molly had called him last week, her voice urgent but polite. "Hey, Dad, the pool’s out of commission. Can we use yours for practice? Just a few of us—no big deal. We’ll be careful."
Doug had hesitated. "Of course, but you know it isn't an Olympic-sized pool. You sure you'll have enough room?" Doug had asked, his voice laced with concern. He knew Molly was serious about her swimming, and he didn't want her to feel like he was holding her back.
"No, it's perfect. We just need to practice our turns and some drills. It's not like we're trying to set any records," Molly had reassured him, her voice light and breezy. "Thanks, Dad. You're the best."
---
Doug wiped his hands on a rag, the chlorine smell lingering faintly on his skin. The pool had passed every test with flying colors—no clogs, no unusual chemical readings, no debris. The water was crystal clear, the filtration system humming smoothly, and the recirculation pumps were running like clockwork. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Whatever had hit the cover last night, it hadn’t damaged the pool itself. Molly and her friends could use it tomorrow without a worry.
---
The next morning, the doorbell rang just after 10 AM. Doug was in the kitchen, making coffee, the rich aroma filling the house. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and made his way to the front door, pulling it open with a quiet creak.
"Molly!" He said with a warm smile spreading across his face. "You're right on time."
Molly grinned, her hazel eyes sparkling. "Hey, Dad. Thanks again for letting us use the pool." She stepped inside, her gym bag slung over her shoulder, her brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail.
Behind her, two other girls followed, both carrying their own bags. Doug’s gaze flickered to them as they stepped into the dimly lit foyer.
"These are my friends, Beth and Jenny," Molly said, gesturing to the girls behind her. "Beth, Jenny—this is my stepdad, Doug."
Doug nodded politely. "Nice to meet you both. Come on in."
Beth, with her sharp green eyes and black hair pulled into a tight braid, gave a small, cautious smile. "Thanks for letting us use your pool. We really appreciate it."
Jenny, auburn-haired and radiant with confidence, grinned widely.
"Yeah, thanks, Mr. Anderson. We won’t make a mess—promise."
Doug chuckled, the sound warm but slightly hesitant. "No promises needed. Just… keep it clean. And no diving unless you’re sure the deep end’s safe."
Molly laughed softly, nudging Jenny’s shoulder. "He’s just being careful. We’ll be good."
Doug led them through the house, the floorboards creaking underfoot. The glass doors at the back slid open with a whisper of sound, revealing the backyard in morning light. The pool glistened under the sun, its surface still rippling faintly.
"If you need a place to change, the pool house is right over there," Doug said, pointing to the small building at the far end of the deck. "It's got a bathroom and a shower. Just make sure to leave it as you found it."
Molly nodded, her eyes scanning the pool. "Thanks, Dad. We'll use it after we finish," she said while removing her shirt, revealing a blue one-piece swimsuit. Beth and Jenny followed suit, their swimsuits matching Molly's. Doug averted his gaze, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I'll leave you to it then. I'll be inside if you need anything. I'll leave the doors open." He retreated, leaving the girls alone by the pool.
As Doug sat down at the kitchen table, he glanced through the glass doors. He saw Molly, Beth, and Jenny pulling their blue swim caps out of their gym bags, the caps stretching slightly as they slipped them onto their heads. He smiled, shaking his head slightly at the sight of their eager expressions.
The girls' laughter echoed through the open doors, and Doug could see them chatting animatedly, their faces flushed with excitement. He poured himself a cup of coffee, the steam rising in a thin column, and took a sip, the hot liquid burning his tongue slightly. He watched as they walked to the edge of the pool, their movements graceful and confident. Molly looked up, catching his gaze, and waved.
Doug waved back, his fingers curling around the warm ceramic of his coffee mug. He took another sip, savoring the bitterness, the way it grounded him.
He watched as Molly stuck her toe into the pool, testing the water, before giving a thumbs-up to Beth and Jenny. They grinned, and in a flurry of blue, they all jumped in, their laughter echoing through the open doors.
Doug watched them for a moment, their forms cutting through the water with practiced ease, before turning his attention to his cell phone. The screen lit up, casting a faint glow on his face, as he scrolled through his emails, the girls' splashing and laughter fading into background noise.
"Mr. Anderson?" A pair of voices called from the pool.
"Dad?" Another voice called, pulling Doug's attention away from his phone. He looked up, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the glass doors. Molly was treading water, her head barely above the surface, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Yeah?" Doug replied, setting his phone down on the table.
"Can you come here for a sec?" Molly asked, her voice casual, almost nonchalant. But Doug knew that tone—it was the one she used when she was up to something.
"What do you need?" Doug asked, his brow furrowing slightly. He stood up, his chair scraping against the tile floor, and made his way to the glass doors.
The heat from the sun hit him as he stepped outside, the air thick and humid. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, the sweat already starting to bead on his forehead.
Molly was still treading water, her body glistening under the sunlight. Beth and Jenny were next to her. Doug took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he approached the pool.
"Everything okay?" Doug asked, his voice slightly strained. "Where are your swim caps?"
"Oh, don't worry about it," Molly said, her voice light. "Come closer. I want to ask you something."
Molly's voice was low, her lips parted slightly as she treaded water, her body glistening under the sun. Doug looked at her, his eyes flickering between her face and the girls swimming in the background. "What is it?" he asked, his voice a little rougher than usual.
Molly reached out, her hand brushing against Doug's leg, sending a jolt of electricity through him. "Can you come closer?" she repeated, her eyes never leaving his.
Doug hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with a million thoughts. But he found himself stepping closer to the edge of the pool anyway. "What's going on, Molly?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Molly, in one fluid motion, leaped—her body arcing out of the pool. Doug’s breath caught. She wasn’t wearing a swimsuit. No cap, no straps, nothing. Just her smooth, sun-kissed skin glistening under the sun. Her hands moved behind Doug's waist, and she pulled him into the pool with a force that took him by surprise. He barely had time to gasp before he was submerged, the cool water closing over his head.
The shock of the plunge made Doug's lungs burn, but he didn’t resist—he was too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden, reckless abandon of her move. The world around him shifted—sunlight became a golden haze, the pool’s surface a distant blur, and then, through the murky water, he saw them.
Beth and Jenny were right by him, their skin glistening under the water’s surface. No swimsuits clung to their hips, no straps cut into their shoulders. They were naked too, their bodies smooth and wet, their movements fluid.
Then, he noticed the bubbles.
---
A few minutes earlier...
Molly’s toes broke the water’s surface with a delicate ripple, her foot sinking just past the first knuckle. The water was cool but not cold, the perfect temperature for a summer morning—like slipping into a well-lit bath after a long day. She wiggled her toes, feeling the gentle resistance of the chlorine-treated pool, and let out a contented sigh.
“How is it?” Jenny asked, her voice bright with anticipation as she stood beside Molly, her own toes already curling against the edge of the pool.
Molly grinned, pulling her foot back out and shaking off the droplets. “Perfect. Not too cold, not too warm,” said, giving them a thumbs-up. “Perfect for a morning swim.”
The three of them, all in their snug blue one-piece swimsuits and matching blue swim caps, stood at the edge of the pool. Molly’s fingers brushed against the cool tile, her muscles coiling like a spring. Then, with a shared grin, they jumped.
The water swallowed them whole. The impact sent a shockwave through the pool, ripples spreading outward in concentric circles.
Molly, Beth, and Jenny burst to the surface in unison, their bodies slicing through the water with practiced precision. Their arms cut through the liquid like blades, their kicks powerful and synchronized as they began their laps. The rhythm was hypnotic—their strokes smooth, their breathing steady, their focus absolute.
Molly led the way, her fingers breaking the surface with each pull, her legs propelling her forward with effortless strength. Beth and Jenny followed closely behind, their bodies gliding through the water like sleek fish, their forms cutting through the resistance with practiced ease. The pool was their domain, their sanctuary, and for these few moments, nothing else mattered.
But something was happening beneath the surface.
Tiny bubbles began to form around their swimsuits and caps, rising in delicate streams like champagne bubbles in a glass. The fabric, once taut against their skin, now rippled slightly, as if caught in an invisible current.
None of the girls noticed as their swimsuits began to dissolve—tiny threads unraveling, fabric dissolving into nothingness with each powerful stroke. The water around them shimmered, not from the sun, but from the chemical reaction eating away at the synthetic material, turning it to liquid and dispersing it harmlessly into the pool.
By the time they completed their second lap, the girls surfaced together, gasping for air, their bodies glistening under the morning sun. Molly was the first to realize something was wrong. She reached down instinctively, her fingers brushing against smooth, bare skin where her swimsuit should have been. Her eyes widened slightly, but instead of shock or embarrassment, a slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
Beth and Jenny followed her lead, their hands gliding over their own naked bodies with a mix of surprise and amusement. The water lapped against their bare skin, the sensation strange yet exhilarating.
They wanted cock. They wanted it now.
"Mr. Anderson?" Jenny and Beth called out.
"Dad?" Molly called, her voice carrying over the water.
---
The present...
Tiny, insistent bubbles rose up the water from around Doug's clothes, swirling upward like a slow-motion eruption. His shirt—once crisp and starched—began to fray, the fabric stretching unnaturally, as if pulled by an unseen force. His jeans split along the seams, the denim peeling away in jagged threads.
His shoes—once sturdy and reliable—cracked open, the soles curling up like dead leaves. His socks, still clinging to his feet, began to dissolve, the knit unraveling into thin, wet strands.
Doug’s breath hitched in his throat. The water around him was doing something impossible. His clothes weren’t just wet—they were unraveling, as if the pool itself was rejecting them.
Doug surfaced with a gasp, his lungs burning as he sucked in air. The water was warm against his skin, but the shock of the plunge still made his breath come in ragged gasps. His clothes were gone—completely gone. Just as naked as the girls.
Doug’s mind raced through the absurdity of it all—his body rigid with shock, his mind still trying to process the fact that he was standing in a pool with three college girls, all of them completely naked, and his dick was rock hard. Really rock hard. The cold water should have shriveled it up, but no. If anything, the chill made it throb, the veins pulsing beneath the surface like a stubborn, traitorous heartbeat.
He glanced down, his eyes widening as he realized just how obvious it was. The water rippled around his waist, and he could see the outline of his erection, the head swollen and flushed, the shaft standing straight up like a flagpole in a stiff breeze.
Molly’s eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting slightly as she took in his reaction. She didn’t look away, though. If anything, she looked more interested, her hazel eyes darkening with a mix of curiosity and something else—something that made his dick throb even harder. Beth and Jenny were floating just beyond Molly’s reach, their eyes fixed on him with a hunger that made his stomach clench.
“Fuck,” Doug muttered, his voice rough with shock. He tried to cover himself with his hands, but the water made it impossible—his arms just flailed uselessly as he tried to shield his erection. The girls laughed, the sound low and throaty, and Doug’s face burned with embarrassment.
Molly reached out, her fingers brushing against his chest.
Her touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to his dick. Doug’s breath hitched, his body tensing as her fingers traced his nipples.
"Relax, Dad," Molly whispered, her voice soft but firm. "We're just going to have some fun." She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. "You don’t have to be embarrassed."
Doug’s mind was a whirlwind of confusion and desire. He had never imagined this—three beautiful, naked girls in his pool, and Molly’s breath hot against his neck.
His dick throbbed painfully against his stomach, the water clinging to his skin like a second layer of skin. He wanted to turn away, to tell them to put their clothes back on. He's married to Molly's mother. She's his stepdaughter, for God's sake!
But his body betrayed him, his cock twitching at the sight of her, at the feel of her fingers on his chest. He tried to push the thoughts away, but his mind was a whirlwind of images—Molly's body, glistening and wet, her nipples hard and pointed; Beth's long legs, her pussy a dark, inviting slit; Jenny's full lips, her tongue darting out to lick them, leaving a glistening trail behind.
"Fuck," he muttered again, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the pool.
But before he could say anything else, Molly closed the distance between them, her lips crashing against his with a hunger that stole his breath away. Her kiss was hot and demanding, her tongue slipping past his lips to tangle with his own. Doug’s mind went blank—every rational thought dissolving under the weight of her mouth, the heat of her body pressed against his.
Molly’s hand slid down his chest, her fingers tracing the hard planes of his stomach before wrapping around his cock. Doug gasped into her mouth, his hips jerking involuntarily as her grip tightened. She stroked him slowly at first, her thumb swirling over the swollen head, smearing the pre-cum that had already beaded there. His cock twitched in her hand, pulsing with need, and he couldn’t stop the low groan that rumbled in his chest.
"M-Molly," he stammered, his voice rough with shock and desire. He should have stopped her. He wanted to stop her. But, he couldn't. He was too far gone. His hands found Molly’s waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as she pulled him closer. The water swirled around them, the ripples lapping against their skin as their bodies pressed together. Molly’s tits were firm against his chest, her nipples hard little points that dragged against his skin with every movement. He could feel the heat of her pussy, the slickness of her arousal, even through the water.
"Fuck, Molly," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. His cock throbbed in her hand, the veins pulsing beneath her fingers as she stroked him.
Doug’s breath came in ragged gasps, his mind a chaotic storm of desire and guilt, but the latter was rapidly being drowned out by the overwhelming need coursing through his veins. Molly’s lips were still pressed against his, her tongue hot and demanding as it tangled with his own. He could taste the chlorine on her, the faint metallic tang of the pool water, but beneath that was something sweeter—something that was undeniably her.
"Fuck, Molly," he groaned again, his voice muffled against her mouth. His hands slid down her back, his fingers digging into the firm flesh of her ass as he pulled her closer.
"Fuck me, Daddy," Molly whispered against his lips, her voice thick with lust. "I want you inside me."
Doug’s breath hitched, his cock throbbing painfully in her grip. He knew he should stop. He knew this was wrong. But the way she looked at him—like she wanted to devour him whole—made it impossible to resist.
He cupped her ass, lifting her slightly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her pussy pressing against his stomach.
The pool disguised Molly's wetness, but Doug could still feel the heat of her cunt against his skin. He groaned, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he held her up. Molly’s lips were still on his, her tongue fucking his mouth with the same rhythm she wanted his cock to fuck her pussy. His hands moved to her thighs, spreading them wider, and she gasped as he lined himself up.
"Fuck, Daddy," she moaned, her voice breathless and needy. "I need you inside me."
Doug didn’t hesitate. He thrust upward, his cock sliding into her with one smooth, powerful stroke. Molly cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as she took every inch of him.
Her pussy clenched around his cock, hot and slick, pulsing with each thrust. The water swirled violently around them, their bodies colliding with desperate rhythm. And in that moment, as their eyes locked—both their minds betrayed them with the same impossible thought:
She turned eighteen two years ago. They lived in this house together for most of that time. Why the hell did we wait so long to do this?
The question lingered between them, unspoken but undeniable. A question they would never have had if it weren't for the pool.
Doug’s hips snapped forward, driving himself deeper, his hands gripping her thighs hard enough to leave marks. Molly gasped, her back arching as pleasure coiled tight in her belly. The water sloshed violently around them, the ripples slapping against the pool’s edges like a second heartbeat.
Doug’s cock throbbed inside Molly, her tight cunt gripping him like a fist. The heat of her pussy was almost unbearable, the walls fluttering around his shaft with each desperate thrust. He could feel her clit grinding against his pubic bone, the friction making her whimper into his mouth.
"Fuck, Daddy," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. "You feel so good."
Doug groaned, his hips snapping forward with raw, animalistic force. The water splashed around them, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing off the pool’s walls. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, her muscles tightening as she neared the edge.
The water was hot now, or maybe it was just the heat between their bodies, the friction of their skin rubbing together, the way her tits pressed against his chest with every thrust. Doug’s hands slid up her back, his fingers tangling in her wet hair as he pulled her head back, exposing the smooth column of her throat.
"Fuck, Molly," he growled, his voice rough and guttural. "You’re so tight. So fucking wet."
Doug ’s breath came in ragged gasps as he pounded into Molly, her tight cunt gripping him like a vice. The water sloshed violently around them, the pool’s surface churning with their movements. Molly’s nails dug into his shoulders, her back arching as pleasure coiled tight in her belly.
Then—
A pair of hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the hard planes of his muscles.
Doug’s breath hitched. He barely had time to register the touch before warm, wet lips pressed against his neck, followed by another set against his cheek. Beth and Jenny. Their hands were gentle at first, their fingers gliding over his skin like silk, their mouths leaving trails of kisses along his jawline.
Doug’s cock twitched inside Molly, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the girls pressed closer. The water rippled around them, the pool’s surface churning with their movements.
"Hello, girls," Doug managed to say, his voice strained as Molly's pussy clenched around him. "Nice of you to join us."
Beth’s lips parted in a wicked grin, her green eyes darkening with hunger. "We couldn’t resist," she purred, her fingers sliding down his stomach, her nails dragging lightly over his skin. "You look so fucking good like this."
Jenny pressed against his other side, her auburn hair slick with water, her blue eyes burning with need.
Her fingers traced the lines of his chest, her nails scraping lightly over his nipples before sliding lower. "You’re so fucking hot, Mr. Anderson," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.
Doug’s breath hitched, his cock throbbing inside Molly’s tight cunt. The girls’ hands were everywhere—Beth’s fingers teasing his nipples, Jenny’s lips trailing down his neck, Molly’s pussy clenching around him like a vice. He groaned, his hips snapping forward with a desperate thrust.
All four of them knew this was how it was meant to be. How it was supposed to be.
How it was always supposed to be.
Doug was always supposed to be with Molly, her friends, her mother, and anyone... Anyone... who used this pool.
They would all be his to use.
They would all be his to fuck.
The pool had decided.
Doug’s entire world narrowed to the three girls pressing against him, their bodies slick with pool water and the heat of their own arousal. Molly’s pussy pulsed around his cock, her walls fluttering with every desperate thrust, her nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood. The water churned violently around them, splashing against the pool’s edges as their bodies collided in a frenzy of need.
"Fuck, Daddy," Molly gasped, her voice breathless and needy. "Fuck me harder. I want to feel you all the way inside me."
Doug's cock throbbed painfully inside her, the heat of her pussy enveloping him like a velvet glove. He gripped her ass harder, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he lifted her slightly, changing the angle. His next thrust was brutal, his hips slamming into hers with a wet slap that echoed off the pool walls. The water churned around them, splashing against their bodies as he pounded into her.
"Oh, fuck!" Molly cried out, her nails raking down his back. "Right there! Don’t stop!"
Doug didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
He didn’t want to. The way her pussy squeezed him, the way her breath hitched with every thrust—it was too much. Too fucking perfect. His cock swelled inside her, the veins pulsing as he fucked her harder, his hips snapping forward with brutal force.
"Fuck, Molly," he groaned, his voice rough with lust. "Your cunt feels so good."
Molly moaned, her head falling back as pleasure coiled tight in her belly. The water sloshed around them, the ripples slapping against the pool’s edges like a second heartbeat. Doug’s hands gripped her thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he lifted her slightly, changing the angle.