Little House Lewd: Chapter 18

Thursday morning when Laura woke she found the quilt over her mouth had frozen from her breath, and the tip of her nose was raw from rubbing against the ice. She was stiff with cold even under the blankets; before she managed to dress she was already shaking so hard she could not make her fingers work the buttons. Laura went into the other room holding her unbuttoned dress closed so that she could thaw her fingers over the red hot stove.

Despite how cheerily the sides of the stove glowed, the heat barely seem to warm the air around it. It was several minutes before her fingers were able to manipulate the buttons through their holes.

She had just finished the last button when Mr. Brewster burst through the door. He slammed the door behind him and hobbled to the sofa, dropping onto it and quickly tore his boots off, rubbing his feet violently and cursing. Mrs. Brewster ran to him.

“What’s the matter, Lewis?” she demanded anxiously, kneeling down and taking one of his flaming red feet in her lap and rubbing as he did.

“I ran all the way here from the schoolhouse but my feet are dead to the touch,” he answered. “I can’t feel them at all.”

Mrs. Brewster rubbed hard, her face so consumed with worry and concern that Laura was briefly convinced that the other woman had become someone else.

“Am I hurting you?” Mrs. Brewster asked, searching her husband’s pained face.

“Yes, but go on. The blood is coming back into them is all,” he responded, then turned to Laura. “No school today. You’d all freeze to death in that schoolhouse.”

Laura immediately protested. “The students don’t know that school has been canceled. I must be there in case they-”

“No,” he cut her off with finality. “No one will send their children out into this kind of cold, and even if they did I’ve built a fire. They can warm up and go straight back home.”

And that was it. There would be no school that day. She would be in the house with the Brewster’s all day long. She would not see Clarence for their afternoon lessons. Weakly, she sat down in her chair at the table and stared at the fire, trying to think of what she was going to do to get through the day. After a moment she determined that she would get her books out and study all day once the morning work was finished.

Laura went about getting breakfast while Mr. and Mrs. Brewster worked to save his nearly frozen feet. By the time the food was ready his feet were no longer in danger, but they smarted too much for him to stand yet. He ate his meal on the sofa. Mrs. Brewster ate next to him.

After breakfast the day became long and wretched. Mr. Brewster’s feet were painful. Mrs. Brewster sat wrapped in a quilt close to the stove sullenly rocking in her chair and staring into the flames as if she did not see them at all. Laura did all the housework, doing the dishes and making the beds and bringing in firewood. When the work was done she sat at the table to study, but Mr. Brewster interrupted just before she could begin.

“Come with me to the barn,” he said. “I need help to get the animals taken care of with my feet like this.”

Her heart dropped and raced, afraid and excited to be alone with him. It had been almost a week since the last time she had been touched and the bit of flesh inside the belt throbbed at the implications.

She put on her wraps and followed him outside. The cold took her breath away and she gasped for a moment to make her lungs refill. Inside the barn was thankfully cozy-warm with the body heat of the animals and the thick sod walls that did not allow any drafts. The familiar scent of animals gave her a momentary nostalgia for home that quickly dissipated as he handed her a pitchfork.

“I’ll get the milking done. Go ahead and clear out the stalls and lay down fresh hay,” Mr. Brewster directed as he hung the oil lamp from a ring in the ceiling to light the whole space.

Laura had cleaned more cattle and horse stalls in her life than she could count, and had her task completed quickly. By the time she finished he had already fed all the animals and was milking one of the two cows.

“I’ve finished the stalls Mr. Brewster. Do you need me to do anything else?” she asked.

“I’ll need your help to carry in the milk pails,” he responded.

With nothing else to do, Laura watched him milking. It was a long time before the last drops of milk dropped into the foaming pail. He carefully pushed it to the side and sat back on the stool, leaning his back against the wall.

“Take ‘er back to her stall,” he ordered, and Laura did.

It took only a minute to guide the old cow home, but when Laura returned, she saw that he was still sitting against the wall, long legs spread and slowly stroking his privates fully exposed in the cheery lantern light. Her heart leapt into her throat and pulsed hard inside the cold belt. She had rarely seen the thing in anything but snatches of dim moonlight before now. Dumbfounded, she stood stock still simply staring for long seconds of silence, the motion of his hand on himself reminding her so much of the one interaction she had had with Clarence in the schoolhouse. The image sent another powerful throb through her.

He gestured for her to kneel in the thick floor of hay in front of him, and to her own surprise she did without a fuss. He unbuttoned her top and opened it wide, pulling her corset down until her breasts were fully exposed, but did not touch them as she expected him to. Instead, he leaned back and rested against the wall again, spreading his legs wide.

“Squeeze ‘em around my shaft and stroke it with ‘em,” he instructed.

Her face was hot; she couldn’t look him in the face, but she nervously did as she was told. She grasped the hot member and lifted it to rest against her sternum, then, using her hands to push them together, began to stroke him.

The shame she usually felt during such acts was nearly absent, replaced by an intoxicating desire. She had felt it becoming worse as the weeks went on, knew it was due to his conditioning her to become used to such things, but now her body was betraying her in a way it had not before. The sight of the bulbous tip emerging from her cleavage, the scent, the heat. All of it seemed to be going straight to the button between her legs, and for the first time also the channel that went far up inside her was pulsing. It had gotten extremely wet before, especially after long periods of torment, but never had it ached and flowed as it did now.

One hand slipped, causing her knuckles to rake across one solid nipple in such a cacophony of sensation that she doubled over with a moan. Before she could think she did it again and nearly shouted with how good it felt to do so. Faster and faster she moved until she was nearly bouncing against his cock, her finger tips flicking her own nipples uncontrollably with each bounce.

She could not stop. Her body did not feel like her own anymore. All the long weeks of being brought to the very brink of release without being allowed to finish seemed to have finally broken the damn of reservation within her. Unable to control her own manipulations she was over wrought with need. One hand frantically scrambled with her skirts, desperate to reach the screeching little organ below.

Before she could comprehend what was happening her wrists were snatched away from her body with a tremendous tug and nearly threw her flat on the hay. Her mouth opened to make some protest but was stuffed full of Mr. Brewsters shaft before any noise could escape her.

He held her head down with an iron grip on the back of her head as she thrashed, bucking his hips so that the entire length of him sank further and further past her lips, the tip filling and blocking her throat.

What little noise she had been able to make before snuffed out. She could not breathe. She could not back away. When she pulled her head back she was able to claw a whisper of air into her lungs, but it was cruelly cut off again as he yanked her further down. Finally, his hips pulled back and she was able to gasp ragged lungfuls of air interspersed with cries of anguish at having been denied yet again.

“Suck it on your own, and if you do it good enough I’ll let you touch yourself,” he offered, and she was only dimly surprised to find herself willingly obliging.

She didn’t know what to do, but bobbed her head up and down as much of the length as she could. All thought was replaced with the desperation to make the torment end. If she could get her hands back from him she could finally make the throbbing, aching, and delirious need end. She no longer cared that it was immoral to touch herself, or the promise she had made to Ma. God forgave sins, and if she didn’t do something to end it soon she would go mad.

His massive hands grabbed either side of her head and he pushed and pulled it with lightning speed up and down, pistoning his cock in and out of her throat so hard she gagged continuously, drool flowing down to the floor. With no warning he pushed her head down into his crotch, every last inch of him filling her throat and mouth, hot seed gushing straight into her stomach.

She was weak from lack of air already, but the total lack of it drained what little strength she had left. Her blue eyes were glazing over as she stared blankly up at him, suddenly terrified that he was actually going to let her suffocate when he yanked her back and tossed her backwards into the hay.

It was a long time before she caught her breath. Her head ached and swam. She could hardly string thoughts together. When her sensed returned she was hazily surprised to find her wrists tied far apart to hitching rings in the walls.

“You didn’t do a good enough job and I had to finish myself,” Mr. Brewster said from where he was lifting the milk pails. “As desperate as you were acting I couldn’t risk letting you break your chastity with yourself, so figured I’d put your hands where they couldn’t hurt you.” He was walking to the door now, away from her. “I think a couple hours out here to think about things and calm down will help you get your head back on straight, so I’ll come get you around supper time.”

And with that he was gone.

Laura’s head drooped in exhaustion and weariness, and looking down she realized he had not righted her clothes! Her chest was still on full display with the tips brazenly erect. She tried desperately to wiggle, to make her corset shimmy upwards but all she managed to do was make the top stiff edge of it rub against her nipples maddeningly. The top of the corset had bent inwards and now could not get past the stiff bits of flesh unless it was bent outward again. Now with each breath or movement it stimulated her.