Shooting in Hannah - Version Alpha

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Chapter Eight

I'm sure most of you have said, "If I only knew then what I know now," on one or more occasions in your life. I know I have. And in more than one case, it had to do with women in general and Hannah in particular. It would have been nice, for example, to know that she was completely comfortable with our new relationship. I think that was for multiple reasons. One, she really did trust me. That sounds simple but it's really quite complicated. Her trust was on multiple levels. She trusted me not to tell anybody she was having sex. She trusted me to do, basically, what she wanted and not to push for more. She trusted me to genuinely care about her and love her and keep loving her forever.

Another part of this is that a woman never forgets losing her virginity. If that happens under happy circumstances, then it's a really good memory that can make her horny just by remembering it. Hannah's "loss" had been under happy circumstances.

Yet another part was more mercenary. Not that there was any money involved, but I think that, in some ways, I think she reversed things on me. I had told her I wanted her to be my cum bucket. Yes I had been trying to shock her but the fact was that I didn't want any other penises in her. Maybe ever. I knew that was ridiculous, but it was how I felt. Ironically, I think she thought of me as her own, personal, living dildo, or at least sex toy. Not that she was unfeeling about that. She assumed I felt the same way, or would, sooner or later. I was available, handy, a complete secret, and satisfying in the extreme. And it cost her nothing to get all that advantage.

Finally, as happens with some people, she assumed that what she believed was the truth, and inviolate. She was right about what she wanted for us. To her it was really that simple. She had faith that it would all work out and that nothing would go wrong.

I, on the other hand, wasn't so complacent with things.

I worried about getting caught. I worried about getting her pregnant. I worried about people looking at me and knowing something was off, or strange, or something. I worried that I'd only been half kidding when I told her I wanted her to be my sex slave. Basically I worried about everything.

A confident woman, though, in the absence of violence or conspiracy and all that sort of thing, is an immutable force of nature. Hannah didn't live in a world where anyone wanted to be violent with her, or conspire to ruin her dreams.

I won't say we arrived at where we are today by along the primrose path. It wasn't painless. But she knew what she wanted and she basically badgered me into compliance with her terms.

What were those terms? I wish I could list them. They became folded into my whole lifestyle. I can give examples, but that's all.

One is that, after banishing me from her room so she could plot how to avoid dating without building Steve's reputation, later that night she slipped into my room. She was wearing a T shirt and panties. She came to my bed and removed the panties immediately. Then she climbed on top of me and sat on my thighs.

"Hi," she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for her to act like she was acting.

I put my book down but said nothing.

"I need a favor," she said.

"No," I responded.

"Oh, come on," she wheedled.

"No," I said, stubbornly. At that point, it didn't matter what the favor was. Doing the last favor for her was what got me into this pickle. Granted the favor I was thinking about had been done over a year earlier, but that didn't matter. It was so strong in my mind that I responded to it verbally.

"If you want to tell Mom and Dad about me going to the mall instead of Kevin's, fine. Tell them. No favors."

She actually laughed, and then lay down on me and tried to kiss me. I turned my head but eventually she got what she wanted. I had to admit it was a nice kiss.

She pushed up on her arms and stared down at me.

"Everything will be fine," she said. "I promise."

"You can't promise that," I argued.

"We'll be careful," she said.

"What if Mom or Dad came in here and found you like this?"

"They're asleep."

"They could wake up."

"When was the last time either of them came in your room after ten?"

I couldn't answer that one. I tried to change the subject.

"What do you want?"

In answer, she pulled the T shirt over her head, making herself naked.

"I want you to suck my nipples," she said.

"Damn, Hannah," I groaned.

"You don't want to? I suppose you're tired of sucking all those nipples of the girls you take out on dates."

"You know I don't get that far," I said.

"Neither did any of the guys I went out with," she said. "I still want to know what it feels like, though."

"If I do that I'll get a boner and then you know what I'll want to do," I said.

She leaned down to kiss me, a fairly short, but warm peck.

"I might let you," she whispered.

You can see how even a man with strong convictions might be drawn off track by persistent temptation.

I sucked her nipples. She decided that she liked that a lot, and that it was a very good thing she'd never allowed Steve to do so.

Then she rolled over and spread her thighs in welcome, letting me sink into her silky depths again.

I remember a lot more about this time, such as the feel of her clasping, tight pussy squeezing my prick just as hard as I could have with my own hand, and how good it felt to slide it in and out of her. I remember her legs crossing my back and squeezing. I remember her whispering not to stop. I remember her head turning back and forth on top of a mass of dark hair and her grabbing a pillow to scream into when she came.

And I remember feeling my spooge rising, leaving my balls, and knowing I should pull out ... but not doing that.

In fact, I remember starting to, pulling out of that heat until all but the tip of my cock was in the cool air. But then I pushed as deep into her as I could get as the soothing jets of semen left my body to become part of hers.

That's one example. There are many others. She started dating again, but never went out with a guy more than twice in a row. She did a lot of "group dating" which meant she was 'with' some guy, but in a crowd. Those dates generated emotion in her and sometimes she got pretty wound up if she really liked the guy. But it was too dangerous for her to let loose with one of them. In later years she would explain that, the way she looked at it back then was that she wouldn't be ready to have a permanent relationship with any guy until she was in college, at the soonest. So it didn't matter if she really liked the high school boy she was out with. He just never had a chance. She'd enjoy being with him, even enjoy getting sexually excited by him, but only because she knew she could always come home from those dates and "unwind" with me.

One of those was after she went out with Henrique dos Santos, a foreign exchange student from Brazil. He took her dancing and when she got home she came to my room and sat on the bed.

"Have a good time?" I asked.

"Great time," she said. "He's dreamy."

"So you gonna go out with him again?"

"No. He made my panties wet."

"I thought that was a good thing," I said.

"No, that's a bad thing. When my panties get wet I want to let a boy do too much."


"Has any girl ever played with your cock?" she asked.

"Uh ... no," I admitted.

"I wanted to see Enrique's. I wanted to touch it," she said.

"So now you want to see mine instead?"

"Of course," she said. "I've never had a chance to just play with it and see what it's like."

"You got it," I said.

Ten minutes later she was learning how to jack a guy off. She had a lot of fun doing that, and was fascinated with my foreskin. She giggled a lot when it went off, making a mess everywhere. Except then she was horny and my cock wasn't stiff anymore. So she taught me how to get a girl off with my fingers.

You wouldn't believe how difficult and time-consuming that is!

It was after a group date that something else happened. This bunch of kids decided to go to a movie and then they went for ice cream at the mall. She was "with" a guy named Tony but he seemed more interested in another girl. She didn't really care because Tony didn't make her panties wet. But while they were eating ice cream she talked to Monica Hodges who, at one point, looked Hannah dead in the eyes and said, "You're good at that. I bet you'd be good at licking pussy, too." Turned out Monica likes both boys and girls.

Hannah didn't lick Monica's pussy that night, but when she came home, she wanted to know what getting one's pussy licked felt like. Maybe she thought she'd understand Monica better. And there was no way I was going to pass up getting my first taste of quim.

We both loved it. The only problem was that after she had an orgasm she wanted something deeper in her than my tongue and I was fired up. She let me put it in her again and this time, when I felt the urge to cum, I didn't even think about pulling out. I just pushed hard and enjoyed the ecstasy of shooting in Hannah.

Enough guys asked her to blow them that eventually she said she wanted to try that with me. She was pretty hesitant about it, I'll tell you that. She got my cock hard (which required only that she come to my room in her sleeping shirt), and then crawled on my bed to lie on her side beside me. She jacked on me for a bit and then leaned over to kiss the tip.

"I don't know, Bobby," she said, jacking it slowly.

"Think of it as a Tootsie Roll Pop," I suggested.

It took another five minutes, but finally my foreskin was all the way back and the tip of my cock was all the way in her mouth. Her lips sealed right behind the crown and I felt her tongue dance over the tip. Ten minutes after that she was a confirmed cocksucker. She loved it that much and, as they say, you can't get preggers if the sperm's in your stomach.

There were other times when she didn't go on a date and just wanted to spend time with me. We didn't even always have sex. She was really cognizant of her cycle. The whole point of all this was not getting pregnant, after all. So she wouldn't let me in her if it was a dangerous part of her cycle. She knew I wouldn't pull out, even if she asked me to. She knew that just like I had become addicted to shooting Hannah for her portfolio, I was now addicted to shooting in Hannah.

Graduation day was a big deal. Hannah had her cap and gown and our parents were all excited. When it was time to go, Hannah looked at Mom and Dad and said, "Would you guys mind going ahead and letting me drive myself?"

Dad said, "Sure, honey. We know parents are embarrassing." He grinned. "Promise me you'll be careful. This would be a rotten time to get in an accident."

"Bob can come with me," she said. "To make sure I obey all the traffic laws," she said.

"I guess that would be okay." He looked at me.

"Do I have to?" I groaned. I knew what they expected.

"Look at it as your graduation present to her," said our mother.

"Okay," I said, dragging it out.

Ten minutes later Hannah was sitting on top of me, dressed in her cap and gown, my penis firmly planted in her graduating pussy.

"This is your graduation present to me," she said, rocking gently.

Ten minutes later I groaned, "No, this is my graduation present to you," and let my prick fire off in her hot pussy.

Two hours later I got stiff in my pants again, sitting right beside my parents, as Hannah walked across the stage. I got hard because I knew my sperm was still swimming around in her pussy ... right there in front of everybody.

The funny (sad) part about that was that after I couldn't see her anymore, every girl who walked across the stage after that made me wonder if her pussy had some guy's sperm in it, too.

That summer I experienced a whole range of emotions. I was sad that my sister would be going away to college, and not just because I wouldn't have a warm body to lie with at night. We'd gotten lax about that - staying in bed together after having sex. Our parents' behavior was as reliable as an atomic clock. They got up the same time every day and what they did after that was just as predictable. But it was still dangerous for us to be in bed together while they were awake. Especially naked.

I was elated because right after graduation Hannah went to Mom and said that, if she was going to college, it was probably a good idea for her to be on the pill. Mom cried a little bit, but two days later Hannah took her first birth control pill. I looked forward to being able to cum in her anytime I wanted to without all those twinges of worry.

I was terrified a couple of times when, within the month the doctor said she'd still be fertile, I came in Hannah when I shouldn't have. I tried to control myself, but Hannah had crossed over that bridge too, and when she whispered, "I love it when you spurt in me," it was impossible not to do just that.

I was happy as a lark in July, when she was protected by the pill and it seemed to increase her libido. We had sex almost every day from then until she got in our parents' old car and drove off to college.

Then I was miserable.

School started again. I was finally a senior, but it was hard to find the joy, at least at first. Hannah wasn't there. By Thanksgiving I'd gotten a lot better. Hannah and I Skyped frequently and I knew all about her college experience. She lived in a dorm and told me to do whatever I could to avoid that when I went to college myself. She said it was noisy and cramped and there was no privacy.

Just before Thanksgiving she said she had a surprise, but wouldn't tell me what it was. "You'll find out at Thanksgiving dinner," she said.

When she got there ... she had a guy with her. A guy at least two or three years older than she was.

"This is Paul," she said, introducing him to everybody. "He goes to the Vermeer Institute of the Arts. It's in Claymore, too."

"How nice to meet you," said Mom, who had no idea there would be an extra guest for Thanksgiving dinner. "Are you two a couple?"

My gut tightened.

"Oh no," said Paul. "I'm gay. When I saw Hannah, I knew she had to be my final project. I approached her and we've been planning that since then."

It turned out Paul was pursuing a degree in fashion photography. He'd been hanging around the State student union, looking for people to photograph when he saw Hannah. He talked to her and it came out that she had wanted to be a model and even had a portfolio. She'd taken that with her to school. When he talked her into letting him look at it, he pointed out the issues with the photographs and said that was probably why she got no response when she sent it in.

"They get thousands of portfolios," he said. "If it's obvious a professional photographer wasn't involved, they toss it automatically. They shouldn't do that, but it's an industry custom. They have so many to choose from that disregarding some good ones doesn't hurt them."

But he also saw, in those pictures I'd taken, real promise, and he suggested that she work with him on his final project and create a real, professional looking portfolio.

They became buddies of a sort, and since he had no family, she invited him to Thanksgiving dinner at our house.

It was interesting. Paul was the first gay person Mom or Dad had ever spent any personal time with. I knew a few people I thought might be gay, but it takes extraordinary courage to come out in high school, so I wasn't sure. I didn't care, really. One guy I thought was gay was in my chemistry class and we got paired up to do an experiment. He was okay, just another guy, as far as I could tell. Then he asked me if I was gay. When I said I wasn't, he just said, "Oh. You never go out with girls so I thought ..." I asked him not to spread that rumor and he said, "Don't worry. I have secrets of my own to keep."

He and I didn't become friends or anything, but we didn't avoid each other either.

So knowing Paul was gay didn't bother me too much. My parents were awkward, at least at first. By the time Paul had talked about photography for half an hour, and how he planned on getting Hannah an interview with a major modeling agency, I think they forgot about his sexual preferences and just saw him as one of Hannah's friends.

Of course it didn't hurt that he took a portrait of Mom and Dad, and then a whole family portrait, and gave Mom the thumb drive so she could get big prints made.

So now you know how Valerie Winston became a famous model. Apparently "Hannah Pondusky" wasn't a sexy name, at least in the opinion of the modeling agency who hired her for her first job. They weren't the last to hire her. She worked her way through college modeling and then she got picked by Sports Illustrated to go in an issue of the swimsuit edition. She was one of the topless models, with her breasts covered by her still-long hair.

After that her career took off and now she makes the big bucks. She's one of the new strain of models who refuse to get so skinny their ribs show, and get hired anyway. The big fashion houses still resist hiring models with normal bodies, but it's hard to discount a woman who gets literally tens of thousands of emails every month and has a following in social media in the millions.

And what happened to me?

Well, she needed a manager and an agent and a personal assistant. I was majoring in secondary education, with an emphasis on physical education, and as part of that I started taking martial arts classes. By the time I graduated from college I had also graduated from a course in the Emerson Combat Systems. I didn't know a heck of a lot about being a personal assistant to a famous supermodel ... but I made a hell of a good bodyguard. She hired a manager and agent. The personal assistant stuff I was able to learn.

After that I went everywhere with her, all over the world. That meant I also had to live with her.

She had a rash of "flings" with men, like lots of famous women do, but never made any permanent connections with any of them. Nobody expected her to. Everybody loved imagining who would finally claim the prize more than they would have enjoyed some guy actually doing it.

One reason those guys came and went was because Valerie Winston wouldn't have sex with them. She made it look like they were having that kind of relationship. That was required ... expected ... by both the public and those men. More than once, when a man realized he wouldn't be getting his dick wet he said something like, "You can't do this Valerie. My reputation is at stake!" Then she'd say something like, "Don't worry. We'll make sure everybody thinks you're getting in my panties constantly." She'd hang on their arms at events, and kiss them in public and all that sort of thing.

At night, though, the only man who shared her bed was ... her bodyguard.

I only had to use my fighting skills three times over the next ten years. I trained every day, though, and eventually Hannah got curious about it. So I started training her, too. It was interesting when we spent an hour grappling and ended up making love on the mat, sweaty and hot. That seemed appropriate, since the sex was hot and sweaty as well.

Modeling is a tough job, a grueling job. A lot of models burn out, either mentally or physically. I saw the signs after ten years and pressed her to back off. She'd banked most of her money and had plenty to "retire" on. The kicker was that I told her we could spend more than a couple of days on some sun-soaked island in the Caribbean, or off the coast of Greece, without having to work while she did it.

Instead of vacationing on an island, she bought a villa on one.

We were lucky, because it wasn't until she'd cut down to one or two jobs a year that the protection we'd relied on all those years failed us and one of my sperm fucked one of her eggs while my cock was fucking her pussy.

Rumors flew all over the industry. Who had gotten Valerie Winston pregnant? Was this the end of her career?

Turns out there's lots of work for pregnant models, too, especially world-famous smoking hot ones.

She's nursing our daughter, Angelique now, sitting in the nursery topless, leaning back in an antique rocker while the greedy little girl sucks sustenance from her breast. When she's full I might get a taste, myself.

And then her mother will lie back on the big bed in the master bedroom and lift her knees up, spreading them to open herself to her lover, personal assistant, bodyguard ... and brother.

She didn't start taking the pill again after Angelique pushed her way into the world.

She loved having all those photographers shoot her.

Turns out she loves being a mother even more.

And wants another baby to love.

That's where I come in.

The photographers shoot Hannah.

I shoot in her.

The End

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