My Daughter My Wife Episode 8
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🧔 My Daughter My Wife Episode Eight: 👫
🧡 ANDY’S POV 🧡
My mother made me have to run home when I was yet to close from work because she was being unnecessarily harsh with my wife.
I have tried to let her know that Madonna was but a child, and needed more caring guidance than frightening cadence, but she still keeps assuming that everyone has to tremble when she spoke.
It was okay that she remained who she was to me and my siblings even after we got married, it was alright that her word was law for us, but I tried to make her understand that Madonna wasn’t raised that way.
She wasn’t raised to postthe when she sees elders, or to look down in silence when her elders spoke, but she was the one I chose to marry because she was carrying my first fruit.
I expected my mother to understand that a young girl of her age could throw tantrums, she could have mood swings and even cry when she was supposed to laugh, because she was pregnant, but no, she chose to make her cry, making me remember when she cried that way because she was getting to a height we were virtually ascending to everyday.
Madonna called to inform me that my mother was at it again, and I had to run home to give her the things she asked for and something else I know she’d be dying to have, to calm her fray nerves.
I stood in the sitting room trying to remind the house keeper why she was hired, but my mother wouldn’t even let me talk.
She kept screàming at me, making me wish Madonna wouldn’t hear her voice and come out to complain about me letting my mother control me too much, something she had been complaining about, and even threatêned to make her zip up if I didn’t stay firm as a man.
When I was still married to Madonna’s mother, my mother had complained about my choice of wife from a tribe she never wanted to have anything to do with, but I could sense that her resentment for Madonna was on a higher tempo.
I wanted to hand her the bag as she had requested and get Madonna to dress up and go out with me, but Madonna appeared, looking all smoky hot and steamy, asking that I followed her instantly.
My mother must have been shocked to see how a look at Madonna got me kicking with an erecti0n already, but I needed to go in.
I needed to do the needful and come back to my mother later, she wasn’t ever going to be my wife after all.
As soon as we got inside, Madonna stripped and began to do one of those ki!ler dances that usually got me so màd and out of this world, I could easily sign away my retirement benefits to her.
I threw the stuffs I got for her on the dressing table and jumped on the bed, practically tearing off the shirt and trousers off my body.
The neck tie seemed to refuse to get off, so I had to let it stay, it wasn’t going to get in the way of the ride after all.
“You look freàkishly hot daddy!” I heard her say as I jumped on the bed, trying to get behind her.
She turned around and got me lying on my back, sat across me, making my fully charged propagator lie between her thighs as she began to kiss me.
I really cannot count the number of times she has kissed me, but each time she claims my mouth, there was always a fire she ignited in my system, making me helplessly helpless before her.
“I’m getting too sad and mistreated in this house daddy” she mumbled a complain in-between the strokes she was giving my poor little man.
“I know baby, I’m going to do something about it….come on, don’t stop” I begged as I noticed she was slowing the pace of her gliding movement on my third leg.
“Of course not daddy, imma rock you until you get there” she told me, before her mouth claimed my shàft.
Her hair was getting in the way as she began to work up and down my weàpon of friendly assåult with her warm and soft mouth, so I had to help her hold the hair in place to enable her do her thing.
She promised to get me there before she stopped what she was doing, and true to it, she got me spûrting right into her mouth, some minutes later.
And before I could say Jack, this cråzy wife of mine had changed position, sitting across my face, such that her gateway to bliss was right above my mouth, inviting me to moments of suckling and nibbling.
Would I not be crãzy if I don’t get down to work? I began to nibble in earnest, making her arch her hips as she rowed on top my face.
I became more fierce, making my tongue go deeper, moving in and out in a sènsuous manner, and I heard her screàm my name, before she splashed her hot fluids all over my face.
And before I could react to the feeling and the ecstasy of having made her get there too, she had jumped on my fully ready shàft and began to ride in a còwgirl style. “You promised to do something about the way I’m treated in this house” she cooed as she rowed
I was howling helplessly as each movement she made, got me deeper and deeper into her, making it seem like I was about to reach the end of the road. “Yes baby, I’ll talk to the president… I’ll fix it baby, I promise” I stuttered.
Her firm and succulent sisters were jingling in disarray, each moving to it’s chosen direction as she vibrated and twèrked on top me.
I grabbed them, trying to help them stay in a place. I actually didn’t mean to massage them, but with them being so soft and begging to be squeezed, I didn’t know when I began to squeeze them, massaging until my fingers decided to concentrate on the nîpples.
Then she began to scream, pulling the sheets and moving way too fast for me to.hold it in.
“Boom!” I exploded as soon as she released the first droplets of her fluids and got them touching my gliding shàft.
She fell on top me like a pack of car, breathing heavily, and I hugged her, making us stay in that heartwarming and romantic posture for a few more minutes, before we walked into the bathroom to bath.
I left her sleeping soundly after she had eaten the goodies I got her, then went into the sitting room to see if I could find the house keeper, she was now my hope of ensuring that Madonna didn’t have complains.
“I asked her to take the day off Andrew. Yes, I sent her home for today because I need to talk to you. Sit down here at once” my mother ordered me, when I asked of the house keeper.
“Dear Lord, what am I going to do now?” I wondered, thinking of how I was going to make my mother bring her voice down, so she doesn’t wake my wife up.
TO Be Continued
