WOW-Home for Wayward Women

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[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18 WITH IDENTITIES DISGUISED; FOR AGES 21 OR ABOVE]

[I just wanted to help young, nubile women, shunned by their boyfriends.]

‘WOW’ stood for Women’s Oasis in Wizzling [Texas.] It was my brainchild all the way. It was a home for ‘wayward’ women; those who had ‘wandered off the path’, had sex, and gotten pregnant, all out of wedlock. It was listed as a charity and its only limitation was in capacity: only a dozen residents at a time.

I was married to Beulah, a wealthy scion of a well-to-do family that basically owned Wizzling, a little known tiny town outside of Houston. I had married her strictly for the money. She was as homely as the day is long. I won’t describe her because you might be eating while you read this; suffice it to say sex with her was as infrequent as I could make it. In fact, after our honeymoon, sex was mostly a series of apologies and excuses. Now if you’re wondering why I didn’t skedaddle or fool around: 1-money 2-Wizzling’s residents all knew each other. It would’ve been impossible to shake hands with anyone and not have it be known within minutes. As to travel elsewhere, Beulah turned down my 1st try at that with a dismissive scowl. I didn’t want to try another and risk a divorce.

So, what to do? Well, Beulah was not a big fan of Uncle Sam (few Texans are) and always wanted a way around taxes. When I asked her about a charity, she liked the sound of that. I told her I would think on the idea.

It took three days, but I came up with ‘WOW-Women’s Oasis in Wizzling’. It would be a home for girls, 18 and above, who had gotten in trouble out of wedlock. We had a big new barn which would be perfect for it, with a little ‘sprucing up’. The dozen women limitation was key. Not only was it a reasonable limit for that barn, but also it allowed me to pick and choose. It would be only coincidental that only the hottest babes would be chosen. With any luck, Beulah’s money would be carting in women by the dozen, just for my review and acceptance. I imagined that some would be ‘lonesome’ for attention, being out here in the ‘hinterland’. Others would be ‘appreciative’. I couldn’t wait to see how lonesome, and appreciative, they might be.

I directed the renovations to the barn, including a drop ceiling and full air conditioning. When it was through, the huge barn had a dozen small bedrooms, each with their separate door and outside window. Perfect.

Beulah was absolutely delighted with the changes and rubbed her chubby, chapped hands together in glee, mulling over the tax deductions. Depreciation, investment credit, and charitable deductions were the big ones. She thought I was a genius. She had no idea.

That next Monday I began the screening process. I had put an ad in the local paper (yes, it was one of those free ones full of classified ads and little else.) I also prevailed upon Beulah to put an ad in the distant city of Houston’s much more impressive paper. THAT was what got us our recruits. The wonders of email: The prospective residents were directed to send us a brief rundown of their situation, either by e-mail or Facebook. Photos were not mandatory (actually, they were) but ‘encouraged’. The brilliance of this was that I could pre-screen applicants and avoid the potential problems of personally turning down women because, frankly, they were ugly.

The tally was zero applicants from Wizzling, but 227 applicants from Houston and its metro area. It was fantastic, as 148 of them sent photos. If you can imagine a field of 148 women, a dozen of the nicest was bound to be just plain hot.

Well, within ten days, all of the accepted applicants arrived. Of the dozen, only one was a ‘ringer’. She had used her girlfriend’s picture, fearful that we would turn away a ‘Rosie O’Donnell’ look-alike. It was a real trap for me…what to do? I told her that we had overbooked; that one of the first twelve had asked if she could back out due to an emergency. Now the emergency was over. The no-neck ‘Rosie O’Donnell’ impersonator was not thrilled, having travelled 88 miles out to us. I paid her back for the gas, plus some extra. Receiving this smoothed the waters. Whew!

I quickly called the next best applicant in order to fill out our dozen. And so it was that our huge renovated barn was filled with gorgeous young women, ages 18 to 27. Nine of them already had had their baby, while three were about ‘ready to pop’ as they say. All twelve were young, gorgeous, and white or Latina. For reasons I didn’t know nor care about, half of the babies were mixed race (Mulatto) and another quarter from Hispanic boyfriends.

Up until this project, I had been a house husband. Now I had a ‘job’ overseeing this charity. To Beulah, the women in the charity and the facility were an abstraction; it was a charity deduction and nothing more. She never once visited the facility to welcome the women after the renovation. She never once came to give a helping hand…I was delighted.

So, it was a typical day at the eryaman escort home. As I rang the buzzer, telling them of my visit, the ladies could buzz the door themselves when I could come in. At first, there was not one time I could come in immediately. Always someone would feel she needed to cover herself up. My first visit took 45 minutes until someone buzzed me in. However, as we got more and more comfortable with each other, things got better. They got MUCH better when they realized that I could provide them transport on day trips, as well as spending money.

Pretty soon, I was welcome, REAL welcome, in their building. You can only imagine how nice it was. The common area for them had a big screen TV, cribs, toys galore, and a small kitchen. If it were a man’s shelter, it might’ve turned into a dump. With women, even if some were ‘casual’ about cleaning up, there would be enough who were obsessive about cleanliness to mean the place would sparkle.

So, one Sunday, I could only self-congratulate myself. Here I was, an unemployed bum. I couldn’t fool around on my wife in this gossipy little burgh. What was a man to do?

Well, with my little idea now in play, I was watching the Houston Astros on a big screen. I had a cold amoretto in my hand, served by a blonde who could easily be Miss April in Playboy. Okay, sure, she had had a black baby which was now back in her room, being watched by her neighbor. Her black boyfriend split when he heard she was preggers. So, here I was with a cold one sitting in the cupholder in the thick armrest of the Lazy Boy; seated on the other armrest was Jill, the blonde I had mentioned. Like all of the lucky dozen who were so well cared for by us, she was grateful, REAL grateful. With absolutely no modesty, she had unfastened one side of her nursing bra and was giving me a drink of her warm, sweet, breastmilk. The other young ladies did not bat an eyelash as I hungrily suckled that milk. As I greedily finished one breast and was moving to the second, a gorgeous Latina came up, also ‘wanting to play’. She opened her thick white terry robe, grabbing my free hand and placing it atop her triangle. I proceeded to get her to moan in orgasm by some deft ‘fingerwork’ as I finished up on the dairy smorgasbord provided by Jill. With a final kiss (by the Latina and Jill), we were finished.

The beauty of that buzzer was that I could never enter their building and have someone complain. After all, they controlled the buzzer. Better yet, if heaven forbid Beulah were to arrive, she would have to wait to be admitted, giving us a chance to cover up. That was a comforting thought that I reflected on as Jill offered her hand. I stood up and followed her to her room. Her black baby, a cute toddler, was immediately gathered up by her neighbor (who was still pregnant, her swollen belly unable to diminish her beauty) and taken to the common play area. Jill closed her door and we had a sliver of privacy.

Jill was a waitress at a ‘club’ in Houston, which is the capital of strip clubs. Waitress is a polite term; in those clubs, everyone but the male manager was a performer, as was she. She told me that if we installed a pole, she could perform for the whole group. By the time of our first New Year’s party, I had installed one, ostensibly for the kids to play maypole. That party was a gas; besides me, all the ladies cheered wildly for Jill. Her dance was sexy, savage, and just plain hot—and that wasn’t just my opinion, either. I have to confess that I had fantasized about the ‘goings on’ in there when I wasn’t around; well, after that pole dance, I just moved to the back of the common area and ‘took notes’. It was fun to watch…

So here I was in a room paid for by my homely nasty wife, carousing with a woman who my wife saw only as a charitable deduction. This particular ‘deduction’ was about five foot six, 110 lbs., blonde hair, blue eyes, and a waitress’ (i.e. stripper’s) figure. If I had to guess, I’d guess 35C-23-35. She had the finest little bum I had ever seen, with the proverbial two dimples right above it. Her legs were so shapely, tanned and perfect that I would have been happy just to stare at them endlessly. She sported a little tattoo on one ankle, a sexy gold ankle bracelet, and even some discrete rings on her darling toes. Her gorgeous smooth delicate feet were a fitting ending to her spectacular legs. Oh, mama…

Jill: “Oh, sir, we are so grateful to be here; I am so grateful. Of all the needy women in this region, you chose me as part of the first dozen. I don’t know how to thank you!” [That was a fib; she DID know how and she was in the process of proving it.]

The women there were provided big white terry robes as well as simple dresses with three big white buttons on the side. Jill undid her dress, making me gasp. Her hourglass figure was back after having given birth only three months before. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to be put back in the ‘family way’ right quick.

I sat in an oak chair (donated esat escort to us) while Jill gave me an impromptu floor show. God, you talk about hot! Every few seconds, she would close up to me and drag her erect-nippled boobs across my chest, against my arm, or into my eager hands. Another time she let me pat the furry entrance to her garden of delights. I even snuck a finger in there. When she came back for her next ‘close encounter’, I eschewed subtlety and just grabbed her. I pushed her once again extremely fertile cunt onto my steel hard ten inch cock. Living with Beulah as I was, I had forgotten how big I really was. With this hellcat performing for me, Mr. Johnson made a guest appearance and at full size.

I told her that I had no condom and wasn’t going to wear one anyway. Did she want me to stop? She just smiled and then kissed me—hard. With that go-ahead, I grabbed her pert bum and proceeded to use her to ‘jack off’. Up and down she went in my powerful hands; up and down went her tight vaginal walls, made oh so tight by some impressive muscles in there. It was hard to get any rhythm going.

Meanwhile, her perfect breasts were bouncing up and down enticingly, the hard as thumbs nipples dragging against my chest. Very soon after we began this, those tempting nipples starting leaking her delicious milk. At first it was just dampness there; by the time I had my closing-to-a-climax speed, my chest was just dripping with her white fluids. All of that warm milk coated my chest and splashed down to bathe my unit. Swollen due to the barren years I was imprisoned with Beulah on this desolate Texas plain, my balls were the size of Texas oranges. Heavy with seed, they drooped to the chair and extended over it to hang freely in front.

It was instinctive. This young woman was obviously gorgeous, obviously fertile, and obviously welcoming. Nature took its course. My hands gripped her bum like a printing press, held tight, and then unloosed a torrent of sperm-laden cum into the deepest recesses of her unprotected womb. If her uterus could have somehow charged ten cents for each visitor that day, she would’ve been a millionaire, perhaps a billionaire.

I had my first ‘conquest’ from this charity idea, and I had her insides coated white as I hoped. She collapsed after having had a simultaneous orgasm, a really Big ‘big O’ as I was getting off. She kissed me and whispered (just in case her nosy neighbors were listening…and they were.)

Jill: “I can’t believe I had unprotected sex after having gone through what I did because of that very thing. I’m a fool, but God, it felt good after all this time.”

Me: “Sweetheart, if anything comes from this little visit (and I prayed that it would), rest assured that the charity, or I, will take care of you.” [She kissed me, my cock still inside of her, still shooting mildly.]

It was fortunate indeed that Beulah paid so little attention to the building or the girls. She might have noticed that Jill arrived with child, stayed on our campus (of the charity, i.e. our ranch) without straying, and yet got pregnant again. The few ranchhands that we employed worked out on the utilities and fences, far away from the charity building. There was only one male that visited that building: lucky me.

Well, I could regale you about the innumerable times that that type of scenario occurred, with a nubile young woman from 18 to 29 ‘thanking me’ with a swig or two of fresh mother’s milk, a caress or two, and then a wild roll in the hay back in her room.

By the end of the third year, Beulah was about to burst. She was absolutely ecstatic about the tax credits and charitable deduction we got for the charity, as well as the outside contributions that came in. Beulah would rain praise upon me as I stood before her, my cock still dripping from the commingled essence from some sexy tryst just minutes before.

We even got a visit from the ‘revenooers’ (we were in Texas, remember) of the IRS. They saw the top notch facility and all of the checks. I was careful to pay for any questionable items from my own checking account, so the records were spotless. The agent didn’t know, couldn’t know, that the whole thing was a charade. Those nubile young (over 18) women were all with swollen bellies or newborns. However, by that third year, nine of the twelve residents had gotten ‘in trouble’ from me and not some long-gone boyfriend.

The charity went on for ten years, which I thought was the limit before I pushed my luck. In that time, my grateful wife had gotten tons of tax benefits. She was so happy that she asked what improvement to the charitable organization we could make. I said that we could have a contest within the building for a lucky pair of women who would go on a ‘barefoot’ sailing junket. It would be a great thing for our brochure. To my surprise, Beulah ‘bit on that’ and said that that would be great. Best of all, I already knew that Beulah was unlikely to want to go with us, being prone to sea-sickness. I also knew ankara escort that she was cheap and would insist that I be the skipper, to save on hiring a professional, if at all possible. Sure enough, she asked me if I could be ‘a darling’ and do this task by myself. I pondered that for a polite few moments and said ‘yes’. So we were off.

We flew out to the marina closest to San Padre Island, near Corpus Christi, Texas. I talked them into putting the boat into my hands. I had actually raced sloops in my youth in New England and was sufficiently adept. The sails filled beautifully with wind and soon we were out on the gulf–two bikini-clad beauties and yours truly. I handed out two fishing set-ups, thinking there’d be no takers, but there were: both Jill and Paula, my 1st two conquests back in the charity dorm and the winners of the [rigged] contest.

As the sun set, a gorgeous golden beacon in the west, we were hugged by the warmth of the Gulf waters. We kept our pilot lights on, of course, being anchored in navigable waters. In the relative darkness of midnight, the full moon illuminating the teakwood decks as best it could, my two favorite nubile young women proceeded to leave their bikinis in the cabin and ‘moon bathe’ on deck in the nude. As I, their boat’s captain, proceeded to visit them on deck, I could only keep thinking “Beulah paid for this…wow, what a plan!” As the magnificent schooner gently rocked in the placid warm waters of the Gulf, Paula got on top of me, my powerful ten inch cock skewering her to the deepest reaches of her incredibly fertile vagina. Not to be left out, Jill kneeled above my head, lowering herself down so that I could suckle her warm milk. The gentle Gulf breezes, the warm milk, and the welcoming warmth of Paula’s fertile depths…it was overwhelming.

My oversized cockhead played with Paula’s clitoris for a long-time before submerging into the tight, tingling, sensitive depths of that gorgeous young woman. As she went up and down with the speed, power, and ferocity of that old queen of cinema, Ginger Lynn, I was overcome with desire. I had a desire to get Paula back in the ‘family way’ right quick. As she stopped to have her fifth orgasm of our little moon-lit dance, I grabbed her firmly, forcing Mr. Johnson to get ‘pert near’ her uterus. My intention was to fill her fertile unprotected womb with every one of the millions of vibrant, eager sperm that were weighing down my testes, making my balls swollen with seed. It was with incredible pleasure and total relief that my huge cock expanded as it propelled that ocean of baby-making sperm into the fertile depths of that young lover. Talk about a white wash job, the excess white liquid started dripping out of her, making the teakwood deck slippery.

Eventually, I had had the honor, the pleasure, of servicing Jill and Paula repeatedly throughout our brief weekend at sea. The two young women actually caught fish when we weren’t having fun in the cabin (by day) or nude on deck (by night). Unfortunately, they didn’t feel like cleaning fish, so we gently returned them to the Gulf, safe and sound. With all the fishing that we did, we did not take a single life that weekend. In fact, we created life, as both women conceived my baby during the course of our voyage into ecstasy.

On our last night, I found myself on top of Jill, pounding into her with almost desperation, wanting to fill her full with potent baby batter before our return to the yacht rental docks tomorrow. My powerful hands slid underneath her tight bum resting on the teakwood deck as I leaned into her. With my gigantic cock engulfing her pubic depths, I cut loose with a torrential outpouring of potent seed. If she wasn’t pregnant by now, she’d have to be after that. With the deck rolling a bit from a distant storm, she got to her feet uneasily, staggering back to the cabin to freshen up for bed. We were so active during the day and evening that we went to our bunks to actually sleep and nothing more.

With two bikini-clad beauties bouncing their tootsies over the side, I guided the beautiful schooner into the marina on our last day. We had had the cruise of our lives, and all on Beulah’s ‘dime’.

Well, the final tally was in. The charity cost us absolutely nothing in the end, between contributions and tax deductions. Beulah, my homely wife, was delighted with the tax benefits and the ranch improvements, depreciated and paid for too. The contributors thought they had done a noble service; well, many young women WERE helped out of a predicament, to be sure. However, the predicament that was really fixed was mine. For, at the final reckoning after ten years, we had been visited by 36 women and cared for their 41 children. Oddly, though the women came under our care with 41 born or due children, the final tally actually was 63 babies cared for. What was the source of those other 22 babies? A real head-scratcher, that one was.

As I said, the story came to an end after ten years. At that point, Beulah, who had just received her inheritance of millions, suddenly passed away. Now that I had her wealth, I discretely closed the ‘charity’. I returned any contributions that were received after the official ending date. I reimbursed the government for any excess deductions we had taken. I wasn’t a fool, though.

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