Melissa Tales Ch13

Chapter 13
Nicholas took Melissa home to meet his parents. When they got to the door a maid, Glenda, answered. She looked about 25. She was hot, nice b-cup tits six foot one and in great shape. Her orange red hair in a pony tail, her grey eyes looking Melissa over, her thick pink lips pushed together in a tight line then she smiled.

“Melissa meet Glenda; Glenda meet Melissa, Melissa is my girlfriend and Glenda go to the college near by and work for my family for extra money.”

“Nice to meet you Melissa, Let me get you guys bags,” Glenda, Melissa and Nicholas took the bags to the guest room. Then they headed down stairs.

Nicholas saw Glenda look at Melissa’s breast. Glenda was bi-sexual and loved women breast. Glenda would fuck he and Scott when there was nothing to do and their parent were gone; well sometimes.

Nicholas escorted Melissa to his dad’s study. His dad was sitting at his desk looking over scripts, with as stack of videos on the left. The man looking at Melissa was very handsome. He had black hair but his sons got his face and full lips. His eyes were green thought, he was very good physical condition.

Nicholas’s dad Markus look over at the women his son had brought home. She was sexy in an innocent sort of way. The girl looked so nervous. She had dark skin, brown eyes long curly hair. Thick brown lips with a rack to die for must be DDs. The blue and green sun dress did little to cover up her assets. She was cute and petite, Nick did always have a taste for curvy women.

” Hi son who is this gorgeous woman you have brought home,” his dad asked throwing on the charm. Melissa was holding Nick’s hand.

“Dad meet my girlfriend Melissa, and Melissa meet my dad Mark” Nicholas introduces them. He and Melissa walked up to the desk. Nick looks at some of the videos, his parents were more than likely going to go through them together, maybe he and Melissa would watch one with them.

“When your mom get home we’ll go out to Anthony’s, you to go find something to do while I finish my paper work,” he gestured them to go out the door.

Nicholas knew his dad had been checking out Melissa. His dad like beautiful women without them their house wouldn’t be so big or they would have this much money. Many people didn’t live in 4500 square feet house with a pool house that had two bedroom. Nick family was much better than well off.

Nicholas and Melissa went to the kitchen. Nick was hungry. They had a little something in the fridge. He spotted a fresh carrot. That gave him an idea, plus he needed some dressing.

“Melissa come here baby,” he puts Melissa up on the island, he kisses her. Thank goodness the dress was above her knees. Nicholas lay the carrot on the counter beside them. He rubbed his hand up her thigh, his girl didn’t have on any panties. He kissed down her neck, his hand stroking her hairy cunt lips.

“Nick what if your parent catch us?’ Melissa asked worried that that his parents would be angry. Nick just laughed, pulling Melissa’s tits from her dress and bra. Nicholas sucked her nipple into his mouth.

“Oh Nick that feels so good, oh yes,” Nicholas pinched Melissa nipples and twisted it around. “Oh fuck oh yeah,” she moaned knowing she had gotten wetter. She could hear Nicholas undoing his pants. Then he tilt her hip slamming as much of his cock as he could into her tight hole. “Oh Nick its so much so much oh yes yes fuck me please fuck me.” Nicholas put more cock into fucking her like she asked. She was coming, wetting his cock. Nicholas removed his cock and Melissa felt empty, ” Nicholas what are you doing please baby,” Nicholas lick the carrot getting it wet he rubbed it up and down Melissa wet cunt he slid it into her opening. Melissa felt Nicholas fucking her with the carrot going in and out of her.

“Melissa get on your knees,” the end of the carrot was sticking out of Melissa cunt, Melissa cunt muscles were working the carrot in and out of her. He had Melissa get on her knees her ass was toward the front of kitchen, toward the kitchen doorway. Melissa was now deep throating Nicholas. She wanted to taste him so bad his balls were full ready to feed her. The carrot was still causing Melissa body to go into shocks of pleasures. The carrot was almost sliding out, but he cunt muscles would pull it back in and hold it tight. Nick push his mammoth cock into her mouth his love juices dripping down her chin onto the marble floor.

Nicholas dad cleared his throat. Melissa is so shock, she pulled her mouth from Nicholas cock, his juices are all around her mouth, her tits are hanging from the dress, Nicholas pulls the carrot from her cunt it was wet with her juices. Melissa started getting her clothes back together, she take a big gulp swallowing the cum that still in her mouth. Markus thought that was the hottest thing when she swallowed the cum some still around her mouth, he pink tongue licking it up. She looked around for something to wipe it off with. Nicholas mom thought the chocolate beauty looked so innocent and hot try to get her son’s cum from her face.

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by Oediplex 8==3~

His two aunts discovered his big tool, and he drilled mom too!

[My thanks to Robbie for the first edit pass and Bill Morgan for the excellent second edit, true OediPals both. God and my regular readers know I can always use it!]

The Sisters Savoy they were known as, when they had their nightclub act. They sang and danced and told funny stories about growing up triplets. They were each as beautiful as the other, even though they were never that famous. I broke up the act you see, when mom became pregnant with me. That bulging belly broke the symmetry of the three and they never got back into show biz after that. Susan, my mother, married my dad, a local hardware store owner. Shortly after, Aunt Sylvia wed a rich man, who died when his private plane went down, a few years back. Aunt Sally hitched her wagon to a long distance truck driver, who was seldom in town.

Dad worked day and night to make the family business profitable. So often, I was the only fella available when any of the three women needed a man, even when I was just a youngster in his teens. By the time I was out of high school, a tall muscular youth of nineteen, I was helping pop at the shop. The family in-joke was that the kid (me) had a ‘big tool’. I mean, I knew I was fair size, from the locker room at school. But I didn’t realize that this had been the source of chuckles ever since I was born, until I overheard the three sisters talking one day in late spring.

Sally: My, Susan, your boy is getting so big; he’s taller than his dad.

Sylvia: Well, he’s got more muscles than even your spouse, Sally.

Mom: He used to work out at school, but with all the heavy lifting down at the store, he needs those strong arms.

Sylvia: I bet another of his muscles is nice size too!

Sally: You mean his calves? I’ve seen him in shorts. Great buns! (She giggled.)

Sylvia: NO, I mean . . . you know what I mean, you used to change his diapers as well, Sally.

Mom: Girls; that is my son you are talking about!

Sylvia: So have you gotten a peek when he comes out of the shower?

Mom: Maybe…

Sally: Tell, how long is he now?

Mom: Sal! I’m not going to…

Sylvia: Oh! Come on Sue, we all did his diapering and noted how well endowed he was compared to other infants, so I’m sure that holds true still. How long?

Sally: Wouldn’t you have to see it hard, to tell the important measurement? (She giggled again.)

Sylvia: Yes! Have you seen him hard, how big was it?

Mom: I never…

Sylvia: You always were peaking at dad’s. I bet you did.

Sally: You sure got a gander at our hubbies’ at the lake, when we all went skinny dipping that time. You like to look at dicks, don’t you Susan! Don’t deny it!

Mom: He’s my boy…

Sylvia: A man now and you’re evading the question, which means that you know the answer. Tell!

Mom: It has to be over seven, maybe eight inches. (They all broke-up into shrieks of laughter.)

For the record it’s eight and a quarter, when I am my hardest, but I was born with it so I don’t brag, just a fact, like my brown hair and hazel eyes. My other muscles took work to develop and I am proud of them. They continued the conversation on the topic of my equipment.

Sylvia: Well, I guess that he has the biggest tool in the whole store then!

Sally: When did you get to view the boner of your ‘big boy’?

Mom: I accidentally started to go in his room when I thought he was out. He normally has music or the TV on. The computer was on, but muted and he was looking at porn. He didn’t realize I was there, but I could see a side view and God; was he beautiful and such a hunk. He takes after daddy.

Sylvia: Daddy took after you, did he ever corner you?

Sally: He had me in the tool shed once. I had to try that stick of beef once, just to see. You know how curious I am about sex.

Mom: You and Daddy? In the tool shed?

Sylvia: Oh! Don’t be so shocked, I tried him down in the basement, when mom was gone on that trip out West. Dad always wanted to have us three girls. So he got two out of three, twice with me and once with Sally. That’s three times for the triplets, he averaged it out.

Mom: Four.

Sally: I knew it! I knew the horniest of us couldn’t resist letting daddy into her pants once!

Mom: Three times, truth be told. (Now she giggled.)

Sylvia: So that makes, let’s see, three into seven…

Sally: Well if you want to do the math, I’ll make it easier and throw in the two times we did it in Oldsmobile’s back seat. Didn’t you ever wonder why the ice cream was melted when dad and I went to fetch it?

Sylvia: And none of ever knew about the others until now. We were supposed to share everything, no secrets among the triplets. Remember?

Mom: We did share, daddy that is, only one at a time. I was scared mama would find out, so I didn’t dare let on.

Sally: Me too.

Sylvia: She knew, and was glad that the horny old bastard was letting her off the hook sometimes. She got tired by the time we had turned 18 and started to mess around with our father.

Mom: When did she tell you that?

Sylvia: At his funeral. We were sitting together alone when you both were looking at him in the coffin.

Sally: That all ended when we were twenty-one and they let us go on the road with the act.

Mom: Then mama had to put up with the old goat once more. I hope she liked big cock. I sure did! (She giggled.)

Sally: Me too.

Sylvia: Me three.

Mom: Well you girls keep our hands off my son then!

Sylvia: Who us?

Sally: Going to keep him to yourself? I thought we three Savoy sisters shared and shared alike. Isn’t that our rule?

Mom: So are you saying that your husband is available?

Sylvia: Never around enough for Sal, much less anyone else. How about the hardware king?

Mom: The hammer in his pants is a ball-peen, round at one end and flat at the other, not much good for getting nailed I’m afraid.

They all went into hysterics then and the party broke up. But it was a very illuminating conversation. It turned out that their chat had unexpected consequences subsequently, as I will relate how I got to use my ‘tool’, just like grandpa managed to do.

Aunt Sally like to garden. She ordered some seed and fertilizer and a hoe that I delivered. Working with Aunt Sally in her flower bed turned out to be a dirty job indeed!

Aunt Sylvia liked to go to charity events. She requested that I go with her to a society fund raising soiree. Accompanying Aunt Sylvia and dancing with her turned out to be a ball doing escort service!

Mom was outraged when she found out. But the other two convinced her that just like with grandpa, she could have her share too!

Comparing mom to her sisters was a study in contrasts, despite the fact they were triplets.

I don’t blame Grandpa for desiring his daughters, for years I have had a yearning for my mother. By proxy, that yen extended to my aunts since they were all but clones of mom. However, while when younger – especially for their act – they deliberately tried to be as identical as possible, now days though they were less concerned about triplication, as they termed it. Sally wore her hair in a short page-boy or variant, Sylvia went to the hairdresser’s once a week and always had had coif of one sort of another. Mom wore her chestnut brown hair long and straight, like when she had been my age, or sometimes in a ponytail.

I discovered other variations of their hair styles in more private places, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I was a little stunned by the revelations of what my inadvertent easedropping had divulged. Not so much shocked as bemused and enlightened to the workings of the inner circle of the threesome. Who knew that they were such naughty nymphs in their younger years? Clearly they were still rather saucy in their mature stage as well. I had had no inkling as to their familiarity with my ‘tool’, much less mom having had a peek when I was pumping my prick. I wondered if any or all three had any ideas about trying out my love muscle.

I wasn’t a virgin. The locker-room scuttlebutt had gone from the guys’ envy to the girls’ ears, the way high school gossip spreads across a campus. I had no trouble getting dates. Particularly the gals, who were looser with their charms, and morals, were eager to go out with me. I tended to have steady girlfriends though, where our relationship went for long months. While at the moment, I was between ladies; my last sweetheart was with me for over a year, until she left for college. Now, between working at the store and most of my buddies either off to school or having jobs, my social life was pretty much in hiatus. I was getting horny, since I was not getting any lately.

My thoughts returned to that raunchy chat. Jeez! What was that about the three couples skinny-dipping at the family cabin at the lake? Had they done more than that? I couldn’t conceive that they had, though at the moment new scandalous information would not be surprising in light of the incestuous trysts the trio had with their dad. Grandpa Savoy had long ago bought a fair size stretch of lake-shore some hundred miles north of the town we live in. He had a lodge built for the family to enjoy summer stays at and for hunting during the season, a retreat we still had for our extended family use. That the privacy of its isolation allowed for some sort of hanky-panky was not unknown, even I had taken some girlfriends up there. But the six; aunts, uncles and parents, naked and splashing – and did any swapping go on? It was not like I could ask.

So for a few days I had the chance to mull over this new and salacious information, and contemplate the auspicious insights to my closest female relatives. Then Aunt Sally dropped by the store and put in an order for her spring planting needs. Her garden was her pride and she loved working to raise flowers and a few vegetables and herbs for her home. Since her husband, the trucker, was away often, this kept her occupied during the warmer months. In winter she sewed, knitted, crocheted, did hook rugs, and any other hobby with fabrics or yarn you could think of. She wasn’t lonely, since there were garden clubs and sewing circles. But she sometimes could use a man around the house. Dad learned early on to avoid that trap; he was busy enough with the store. But he had no problem is sparing me to help.

Thus I found myself pulling into her driveway with a load in the back of the pickup; sacks of fertilizer, packets of seed, and boxes of seedlings and a new hoe. Dad was wise to her schemes. So when she said she needed to do the rototilling of her garden, I was the handiest man to be enlisted, to be the Mr. Muscles of the moment. I didn’t mind though, Sally was perky and funny and always provided plenty of beer and homemade snacks to feed a hungry helper. Now though, I saw her with a fresh perspective. Those loose blouses that were never buttoned up all that high, so that you could look at the ‘buttons’ inside, from the side, as she never wore a bra for gardening. The view of her firm and fair breasts was titillating, and while I would never get fresh with her, those yams were yummy to glimpse.

As well, while we worked in the soil, she would bend down, even get on her hands and knees to weed or plant. The baggy shorts she wore were providing a gander at her thighs and hips, the pale skin of her rear was quite on display from the angle I had. Her ass was quite attractive, and now that I had been cued-in to her curiosity about things sexual, it was arousing to think about her and grandpa ‘in the tool shed’. In fact, I developed a nice boner from such contemplation. Thank God I had the rototiller to hide my erection, or so I thought. But once or twice I thought Sal was peering sideways at me with a little smirk of a smile. I wasn’t sure, but if we had been contemporaries, I would have suspected she was flaunting her charms and flirting.

The plot she was working was finished for the day, after we had spread a couple bags of ‘all-natural fertilizer’, i.e. sanitized manure, over it. I had not expected to be drafted into service, and while I was in work clothes, I had not brought a change of shirt and jeans. Sally insisted that she run my duds in the laundry machines in her basement, while I relaxed afterwards with a beer, even take a shower. She was quite firm that I get cleaned up there at her place, since she did not want me going home smelling like ‘shit’, her word. I was glad for the break from the store and chores at home, even though I probably worked harder at Sally’s. But she made it seem like fun.

She brought me a beer to drink before I went in, and that got chugged. Then she followed me upstairs to the bathroom with two more and told me to strip, hand her out all my clothes, underwear also. “Enjoy your suds while you suds-up!” she spoke to me through the door, as I hid behind it giving her my smelly apparel. I got the impression she wouldn’t have minded peeking in. I downed half a brew and jumped in the shower and lathered up. I was just doing my hair with shampoo, eyes shut, when I heard the door open. It never occurred to me to lock it. I thought that perhaps she was bringing me a fresh towel. Then I sensed another body in the spray with me. My aunt giggled that girlish giggle she had given, when speaking about my buns.

Speaking of which, she was now grasping as she clutched me in an intimate naked hug. I rinsed to clear my vision and beheld the tan and fit form of my mother’s sister. I put my arms down around her waist, but then thought ‘what the hell’, and lowered them to her haunches as well. She tilted her face to mine and the look in her eyes said plain as day, “Kiss me”. So I did, and her tongue wiggled in between my lips and Frenched me. Her nipples scraped their hard points against my chest. She was not shy, as she reached for my growing stalk. The gardener knew where she wanted that planted, in her bush and wanted my seed. “Hoe, hoe hoe!” said the rakish fellow, as he squeezed her melons.

Sally handed me the soap and I understood that she wanted me to be dirty and wash her too. All over. What a delightful handful that squirming female proved to be, as I slipped my palms over her skin. I touch everywhere, including the mons and the clit and even her anus. She squealed as I discovered ticklish spots and gasped as I groped her gash. She got in the act and lathered my length of manhood even as I was fingering her hole. Then I inserted a second digit and began to move them back and forth within her vagina, front to back, with them as deep as I could stick them up and in. This resulted in my aunt rolling her eyes back and open mouthed cumming at least twice.

She recovered while I held her up to keep her from falling, as her knees had gone weak. She dragged me out of the stall, so fast I hardly had time to shut the water off. Sal, took the half beer, giving me the full one, as we stood dripping and nude on the carpeted floor. I was still hard as oak. She drank the half in quick gulps as I popped the other and quenched my thirst, but we were both hungry for what was next. In all this, not a word had been said, now Sal spoke, “Ready?” I nodded. She got down on her hands and knees, like she was weeding, with her ass pushed out at me. She wanted it from behind that was clear. I knelt between her legs and looked at her hips. Two little roses, one tattooed on each bun were there.

My gorgeous and steamy aunt looked back over her shoulder; she knew what I had espied. “Rosy cheeks!” she explained. I chuckled at the in-joke. Mom always had said that Sally had a good complexion and ‘rosy cheeks’ from working in her flower garden. But I now knew that mother was referring to more than her sis’s face, when she quipped the phrase. Well, it was time to plow. I took my instrument and slowly pushed into the furrow that was presented to me. Then I slipped my cock back and forth as I gave Sal what she needed. Her husband was hardly home, and she got too little physical loving from the trucker, that was obvious.

What a sight, her butt being on the skewer of my lance, like some lamb being roasted. How so right it felt to be lunging in her cavity and showing her my ardor. Mighty tight, the twat that thrust back at my prick, her pussy seemed a perfect fit as it automatically adjusted to my measurements. This was good, this was hot, this was my aunt and she was a great lay. If I was her husband I would find work closer to home and have this woman fucking me every day! I gave her the best I had, I worked that cunt with my spear for I don’t know how long, but finally she was cumming and cumming. I reached around and held her tits as I drove hard into her to allow my own release.

I felt my balls literally jumping as they swayed and thumped on her pudendum, while the stream of semen flowed like a garden hose within the humid haven of her hole. Her own emulsions frothed out too, like some sort of milky sap, then my spume back-flowed and dribbled out. We slowly settled to the rug and tried to catch our breath. “Don’t you dare tell your mom, or Sylvie, about this! And for being such a good nephew, I’m going to have you over for some nice eggplant parmigiana and to ‘water my roses’ when you’re here.” She giggled; then paused. “I think that your clothes need to go in the dryer by now. Get a few more beers and meet me in my bedroom.” Her mattress linens were floral prints, and we lay in her ‘flower bed’ and made love again.

When I got home, dinner was just being set out by mom, dad was already at the table. Mom asked where I had been. Dad answered for me and said he had sent me over to Sally’s with the stuff she had ordered. Mom raised an eyebrow and commented that it didn’t take all afternoon to make one delivery. I explained that I had been drafted into service to do the rototilling.

“Oh ‘Drafted into service ‘?” Asked dad with clearly a double entendre intended. Mom shot him a look, that meant ‘don’t you dare spill the beans about my sister, mister!!’

Mom then commented, “There was quite a bit of sun today, I hope you didn’t burn, Honey.”

Dad, still with the gleam of deviltry in his eyes, said with a straight face (but his tone indicated that he was still having amusement by sniping about his sister-in-law) wisecracked, “Well, as you always say, gardening flowers made Sally’s ‘cheeks rosy’.” I remembered that dad had seen Sally (and Sylvia too for that matter) in the altogether. Had that been during the day or night? He must have known about the tattoos! That’s why he was making with the smart-mouthing!

That realization struck me and I felt my throat choke a chuckle back down. If I hadn’t just finished my swallow of soda I would have sprayed it out, like the comedians do when they make the gag to show a big surprise. As it was, an odd little sound escaped; just enough that my mother looked at me askance; but said nothing. I did catch her out of the corner of my eye making a ‘cut it’ gesture to pop with the flat of her hand drawing across her neck. I excused myself for a moment and made my escape on the pretense of having to wash my hands. I got control of myself and came back.

I spoke in a normal tone, I wanted to insure that my folks knew that I might return to offer more help to my green-thumbed aunt. “Aunt Sally said she wouldn’t mind if I was to work for her some more, now and then. She said I could water her roses.” It just slipped out of my mouth, like soap in wet hands. I didn’t think about what I had just said, until I saw that mom was doing a slow burn. Then she threw down the towel she was holding, and stormed out of the dinning room. I looked at my father and frowned. I still didn’t directly connect the phrase that Sal had used to the previous conversations, but then dad spoke again.

He had a serious look, but I could see that he was trying to not laugh. He wasn’t sure I understood what had made mom angry or not. I might be innocent, or guilty, he wasn’t sure. However he just shook his head, and said, “Son, Sally doesn’t grow roses.” Then it clicked, she had said, “I’ll let you water my roses”, which was quite a provocative promise of more sex to come, at the time. When I had quoted it, I thought it was a good cover. But instead, I may have let the cat out of the bag that I had my aunt’s pussy in the sack! Mom came back after a few minutes and acted like nothing in the last ten minutes had happened. Dinner was good, but quiet, unusually so.

Then a week later, Aunt Sylvia came by one evening. She had a favor to ask her favorite nephew, that being me. In fact, I was the only child of the three sisters. I knew that Sylvie and her husband had decided not to have kids. He was older, it was his second marriage and he had two by his first wife. They were in another state and got a sizable inheritance when he died, and would receive the bulk of the rest when Sylvia passed, since there were no other heirs. Sylvia was on friendly terms with them, but they were not her kids. Sally had a bad miscarriage and was unable to conceive after her operation. Mom and dad wanted more than just me, though it never happened for some reason.

Sylvie had an important charity ball to attend, but her usual escort, since my uncle had been gone, was going to be out of town. She thought of me because I had some dance lessons and was good at the waltz, foxtrot and could ‘boogie with the best of them'; her words. Besides, I was old enough now to have champagne and there was my tux left over from the proms, just hanging in the closet gathering dust. So I was all set if I wanted, if I would be so kind, “I’ll make it worth your while,” sultrily entreated the most elegant of the three sisters Savoy. How could I refuse? I wondered if I might get as lucky with Sylvia as with Sally; and had they talked? ‘Make it worth my while’ sounded not only promising, but perhaps a bit like a proposition!

I dressed in the tux at Aunt Sylvia’s house (small mansion) where the limousine was picking us up. I came down the curved stairs first. Then Sylvie made her entrance. She was wearing a designer dress, a black number made of a material that clung to her every curve, which were all over and in all the right places and proportions. The front and back were symmetrical, with an opening like this (), which ran from breast bone to just below the navel and from the shoulder blades to just above the split of her buns. The sides had smaller similar but narrower gaps that ran from the outer edge of her breasts to the top of her hips. It was held together and up by inch wide straps over the shoulders. The lower part of the dress had knee-high side slits to allow freedom for dancing. It was stunning.

We arrived and found our table, a mix of younger well-to-do and middle-aged wealthy, but nice folks, friendly. The music was quite varied, even if the orchestra did favor the slower rhythms. There was plenty of wine and great hors d’oeuvres. I enjoyed Sylvia’s company as she was a vivacious and witty woman who loved her life and had the charm to enchant others with her joie de vivre. We had a great time. The thing I liked the most though, was dancing with her. Dancing close and slow and putting my hands on her, smelling her perfume, her body pressed against mine. Being so near, I could tell that the dress was the only covering of her pulchritude, and there was no hint of panties, or thong either for all I could perceive. Just thinking about that made me begin to swell in my pants. I had to loosen my tie as things warmed up.

Eventually, my tumescence was full and upright. Still Sylvie pressed with her legs and abdomen against what she must have felt hard on her tummy and thighs. It was like she expected it, enjoyed it, had planned it and was getting a thrill from my condition. I certainly didn’t mind the soft cushions of femininity pressing on my chest. I took off my jacket so that there was less between us. Sylvie looked me straight in the eyes as we tangoed with verve and flair. The sparks were definitely zapping from our contact and it wasn’t static electricity! Then came a slow waltz and we were quite tight together, my manhood pressing and rubbing on the bump of her mons as we swayed.

After that Sylvia grabbed her purse from the table and took out a check, beckoning me to follow with a crooked finger. I grabbed my coat and obeyed, using the jacket to hide my still protruding erection. She went by the head table, dropped the bank-note in the big glass bowl for donations and we exited out the hall. She fished out her cell and made a call, within a minute the limo was there to pick us up. In the back of the long sedan, she rolled up the dividing window for privacy. She half turned to me and taking my hand furthest from her, placed it on her thigh. I turned toward her expecting a kiss. Instead, she said in a soft husky voice, “This is what you have done to your Aunt, you naughty boy!” She moved my hand up to her crotch.

As I had surmised, there were no panties, nor a thong, all I felt was bare bald pussy and a wet slit. She continued, “If I had to sit down, after that last dance, I’d have a very telling wet spot on my tush when I arose. We were too public to have that happen. As it is, now that I am sitting, this gown will need a trip to the cleaners!” Then she kissed me. Can she kiss! Even without the tongue her lips made a marvelous tender mushing on my mouth. When our oral digits danced it was a sensual ballet of slippery squiggles, an art of knowing the inside of the other’s face. Meanwhile, my hand was rubbing the squishy place she had shoved it, and she loved it.

Nor were her fingers idle, as she was stroking my boner through my pants. It was a short drive back to her home, so we didn’t undress until we were through the front door. Sylvie just unhooked the front clasp at the top of her dress, and shrugged off the straps. It fell to her feet and she was like Eve before the fig leaf (but after having tasted the apple)! She drew me by the hand to the living room and picked up a remote. With some practiced button pushing the lights dimmed and romantic music started to play. Then she stripped me like mom had done when I was little and tired. Only I was not tired, even after the wine and fancy food, and I certainly was not little; you know where I mean!

When I was down to my pants puddled at my feet, I shed my shoes and stepped forward, now Adam – sans leaf also. She gathered me into her arms and said, “Let’s dance a little more.” I put my arm around her waist to lead, and moved slow to the music, my bare cock against her clean pudenda. But of course, she really was the one leading me, down the garden path, just as Sally had done in her own salacious way. My pre-cum dampened her mons, my shaft was grinding the greased groove of her womanhood and we shuffled on the shag carpet not moving much from where we started from, most of the motions was at our pelvis level.

Finally I just stopped moving my feet and hunched my hips, so that my hard-on was sawing at her notch, it was planing over the nub of her clit and her head tilted back in an open-mouth gasp of passion, her tits lifting and making the perfect target for my sucking lips. She then came forward and pushed me so that I lost balance and went back on my ass. That was as she wanted; for she straddled me as I stretched out, her dripping center hovered over my prick and she reached down to guide it to her pussy. It happily was a solid awl to puncture her tissues, slicing up the cavity it widened in her body. That heated snug casing was fabulous, as Sylvie sank and rose upon the handle of my masculinity.

My hands went to clutch her bosom as the pendulous mams hovered over my torso. I gave a gentle pinch to the protruding flesh that was in the middle of the rosettes. My aunt’s pelvis rocked back and forth, to and fro. “That’s right Baby, just let mama do all the work for us. Did you ever want to do this to your mom, kiddo? Be honest, tell Aunt Sylvie the truth, don’t you have a lust for your own mother, somewhere deep in your loins?” My surprise at her words made me speechless for a moment, but my libido answered involuntarily as my dick lurched and my hips thrust, as the spice of that even more sinful incest spiked my pike.

“I knew it!” cried Sylvia in triumph, not at my expense but in delight at her insight as to what secret lust lurked within her sister’s son. “It’s okay, Darling, that streak runs all through the family. You’re just the next generation of Savoy degenerates!”

“But, I always had a hankering to hammer you too, Sylvie!”

“Of course, you did dear boy, and I bet that goes for Sally as well. We three are like the triple scoops of ice cream on a banana split; you want to have the whole she-bang. And your banana is doing so nicely in my split! But stay put; I like to ride in reverse too!” With that she made a practiced maneuver and actually turned around on me with my penis still up her vagina, to face the other way. Away she went up and down some more. I was looking at her fine posterior, an ass to be proud of on any woman, when I made an observation that hit me like a thunderbolt. There on her hindquarters, in the exact same spots, were two tattooed flowers; same as Aunt Sally’s but a different bloom, and blue not red.

“Sylvie, you’ve got flowers on your tush too!” It’s funny how fast the mind can work sometimes. I had blurted out the line about ‘watering Sally’s roses’, and possibly spilled the beans about our making love. Clear as if she were in the room, I heard Sal say, ‘Don’t you dare tell your mom, or Sylvie, about this!’ I immediately tried to cover my rear about the intimate discovery I had made with both of them and added, “Uh… two blue flowers on your buns.” I hoped that Sylvie had not caught the barest hesitation that was the millisecond I took, as all that flashed through my brain. “When did you get those?” The question was a diversionary tactic. It failed, but in an unexpected way brought more revelation!

All the while the exquisite sensation of our fucking was continuing full out. She laughed as her derrière bobbed upon my dick and felt like warm butter that gripped me like a rubber glove. Her Kegels were highly trained I realized as she bounce on my boner, the interior muscles of her sex surrounding my manhood. Before answering she shuddered, and a fine coating of perspiration broke out over her whole back. That was her first cum. She dismounted and pulled me over to the couch where she slouched so her hips hung on the edge of the cushions and I knelt between her thighs, then plugged in for more action. “New Orleans.”

I had lost track of the conversation, with the switch of positions, but her next words brought understanding to my lust fogged head.

“Those flowers on my rump are bluebells. I used to have a favorite pair of slacks which I wore constantly. My sisters even teased me about them. So when I got my tattoo, I made a pun about my pants, they were a cobalt blue color, bell-bottoms.” I looked slightly befuddled as I fucked her. “Blue – bell – bottom, bluebells on my bottom, get it… oh! Yeah! Just like that, more – harder yess! YESS! AHH!” She came again.

“Damn! I can’t believe how turned on it makes me that you got the hots for your mom. You naughty boy, I’ve caught you out!” I was confused about what she meant, though now I understood about the in-joke of Sylvia’s tattoos. “You’ve been peeking at your mom’s ass, haven’t you? Or did she show you? No, Susan wouldn’t be so bold. So you had to see her butt sometime when she didn’t know. Was she sleeping naked on top of the covers and you peeped? Yes! You wanted to see mommy naked because you lusted after her and want to fuck her so bad! That is soo exciting, I’m cumming again you dirty nasty little boy!!” And she did, twice.

I wasn’t sure why my lechery for my mother was a turn on for my aunt, but it seemed to get her off quite nicely. I was happy to be doing the honors. I was getting close myself now to blasting in her pussy. I was vaguely aware in my jumble thoughts while working on my own orgasm, that it must mean that mom had a set of tattoos, like her sisters did, on her own ass. What Sylvia guessed about my feelings was true, even though I had not had the pleasure of spying on my mother’s naked body in such luscious circumstances. My current paramour was indeed a fair substitute physically for my maternal parent. I began to fantasize with the inspiration that my aunt’s words incited.

Sylvia could tell that I was beginning the rush to the rumble, the pace quickened and I gripped her legs harder to gain leverage to sock my raging rod into her genitals. Slap-slap-slap went our flesh clapping together as I beat her with my club of love, our crotches smacking. Her tits were jiggling with the banging as I pounded away at her pussy. “Think about fucking mommy, fuck your mama!” she urged me. That pulled the trigger and I was engulfed in the reverie of screwing mother.

I cried out my thoughts and deepest desires and most secret of lusts. “Yes, mom Susan fuck me! I love you mom, I need you! I have to… I have to…”

“Yes, Baby! Cum in mama, squirt it all into mommy’s tummy. Do it, Darling! FUCK ME! FUCK ME NOWW!”

We were cumming together, mom/Sylvie and me, a wild and chaotic pistoning in her cunt by my out of control cock. Son was slamming into aunt/mother with all the energy that had been withheld for so long, wanting to give my parent the love she had given to me. But in this wonderful physical way that brought her and I together and provided such a grand pleasure to our united bodies. I made “uh-uh” grunts and “ah’whoo” wails as I release the load that had waited to fire from my balls into the receptacle of her loins. I felt my prick pulse in big throbs of gushes, in the burning wetness that held me and drank the flow that streamed through the tube of meat planted in her.

At last we rolled off the sofa and onto the floor hugging one another, still connected for moments, until withered and well satiated, my tool lost its insane fury and retreated to be its softer self. I think we fell asleep like that, for the next thing I knew, the faintest light was glowing through the curtains. With the movement of my waking, Sylvia stirred as well, and we struggled to our feet. Both of us were a bit rubbery in the knees as we staggered, holding on to one another, and found our way to her bed. We kissed and she managed to pull the sheet over us before we drifted off to dreamland again. I sort of remember my last thought before unconsciousness, what was the type of flower my mother had on her tush?

When we finally woke it was about ten in the morning. It being Sunday, the shop was closed and I didn’t have work. My parents had expected that we might get out of the dance late and that I’d spend the night at my aunt’s. What they were not going to find out was that we came home from the ball relatively early and screwed long and hard. I balled my relative, I was both long and hard, and I spent the rest of the night sleeping in her bed. That was not going to slip out, the way I had almost slipped up about Sally. I still was unsure if the aunts had talked, or if each was independently seducing me. Not such a difficult task either time. Sylvia ordered a brunch delivered. I went back to my house in the afternoon.

Mom wanted to hear all about my evening at the gala. So I told her a sanitized version of the event. Then I made an error in judgment. “Aunt Sylvie showed me her blue bell-bottoms.” I could see that raised mom’s suspicions, but it was true. I continued. “You know; the pants you and Aunt Sally used to kid her about? She still had them hanging in the closet and brought them out to show me. Told me how she used to wear them constantly, as they were her favorite clothing, back in the day. She even tried them on, they were a little too tight. And they split!” This made mom burst out in a fit of laughter.

Mom wouldn’t have thought it very funny if she had known that her sister had not been wearing underpants at the time. It left her whole crotch open and exposed. I took advantage of the situation and took my aunt right there on the bed. She was bent over and she lay prone on her stomach getting fucked by her nephew, still in Adam’s un-attire. I put it through the split fabric into her crack and fucked her in her blue bell-bottoms, while her bluebell bottom was held inclined to give full access to my fat tool. It was the best cure for a hangover I ever had!

I then asked mom if I could get a tattoo. That got her eyes narrowed and I knew she was wondering where that idea had come from and if any hanky-panky HAD gone on between me and her sister. But she decided that she was not going to ask and open that can of worms just yet. So she answered, “Not until your old enough.”

“I’m nineteen, almost twenty, I’m old enough.”

“No, you have to be older.”



“That can’t be the law?”

“It’s my rule, your mother’s rule; that’s a higher authority than the law!”

“But you got a tattoo before you were twenty-five!” Whoops! Me and my big mouth again.

“WHO told you about my tattoo?” She was angry, maybe that I knew about the fact that she had a tattoo, but more likely thinking that I knew the intimate details about her decorated derrière.

I bluffed, “Uh… dad mentioned that you had one in an unmentionable place which he didn’t mention where.”

“Your father knows about where it is, of course, but not when I got it. Did Sally tell you about… mm… what age I got it? Or was it the other blabber-mouth aunt?”

“It was a while back and I don’t remember which one it was, but they just said that the three of you got them on . . uh . . in New Orleans while you were doing the act. Since I was born when you were twenty-four, that means you had to be about twenty-two or three. ‘Elementary, my dear Watson!’ I quipped the quote.”

“Oh, uh . . . yeah that’s right. And no, you’re not getting a tattoo until you’re twenty-five and have grown out of that silly notion! End of discussion.” Well it was at that point, I was just glad to have escaped from the ‘Susan inquisition’ on aunts and private matters. Me and my damn big mouth!

It wasn’t until next Friday that I really upset the apple cart. I was home waiting for dinner, I had set the table and dad would be down soon from changing his clothes. I had a pad of note paper that we kept by the phone and a pen. I was drawing. Mom came in, saw what I was doing, and looked over my shoulder. “What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s just a design I was working on, for my tattoo.”

“What is it?” she puzzled at the big X with flames rising from it.

“Well I wanted something masculine. I can’t very well get butt-rcups.” Mother flushed slightly, and I just had to push my luck. “I’m going to get one on each side.”

“I don’t get it, and you’re not getting them until you’re twenty-five Mr.!”

“It’s easy. It’s a kind of a pun.” I paused to see if she might catch on, but I was too subtle. Me and my big mouth. I explained, “Hot crossed buns!”

Mom stood straight up like she had been jerked by a string on the top of her head. She looked at me with the most peculiar expression and suddenly I realized that I had really torn it this time. She didn’t know the details but she was certain that either one or both her sister’s had sex with me. She walked back into the kitchen. I just sat there mentally kicking myself. Dad appeared a few minutes later.

“Where’s your mother?”

“In the kitchen, she’s upset.” Dad went after her to find out what the matter was. I figured he’d be steamed too, when he found out. But he reported she wasn’t there. We looked all over the house for her but didn’t find her. Dad determined that her set of car keys was missing and got on the horn to Sally, no she wasn’t there. Same with Sylvia. Sylvia called back a few minutes later and asked to speak to me. When I confessed what conversation had taken place shortly before mom disappeared, she let out a big sigh. Then she told me to get ready, she was picking me up in half an hour.

The horn on her sporty Beamer honked thirty-five minutes later and I came out to ride with her. I told dad only that Sylvie and I were going to look for mom. Sally was in the back seat as well. I rode shot gun. Sylvie hit the interstate and headed north.

Leaning forward, Sal asked Silvie, “Have you got the medicine?”

Her sister nodded and I wonder what that was about, but instead asked, “Do you know where mom is?” Medicine sounded ominous.

“She’ll be at the cabin. She always goes there when she is totally pissed off, or very upset, and I’m sure she’s both.”

“Can’t blame her,” spoke Sally.

“OH! For God’s sake, Sal, she knew this might happen. When she started talking eight inches, like dad, she knew. She even warned us; but what did she think was going to happen in THIS family? Considering the past transgressions? Sorry kid, but while part of the conversations might be over your head, you’re going to have to trust your aunts, or should I refer to us as your lovers?”

I decided that too much shit had hit the fan already and being open and honest with these two . . lovers would be better in the long run, if things were to get smoothed over with mom. Besides, if they knew that I knew, then it would be easier to pour oil on the waters, if they weren’t so afraid that I’d get splashed with things that stained our familial history. So I told them I had overheard the conversation a couple of weeks back and knew enough of what the trio of troubled troubadours had tried to hide, and the trysts they had with grandpa. That was a relief, to everyone, from then on for the rest of the trip, I was regaled with reminiscences of their freewheeling past on the road and how they took their liberation to a very heady high.

That was the medicine. Sylvia had an ounce of primo with her with, some joints already rolled. Before we arrived we did a couple of doobies to help keep calm in the face of storm Susan. Sure enough mom’s car was parked by the lodge. We went in. When she saw the three of us, she got red, and then looked each of us in the eye so that we saw how hurt and angry she was. Then she just collapsed onto the overstuffed sofa and broke down into tears. We pulled chairs in front of her and Sylvie brought out the medicine. At first mom shook her head, but Sally took the lit joint, took a puff, passed it to me. I took a toke and passed it on to Sylvia, who took a hit and held it out to mom again. This time she accepted the J and sucked a lot of smoke then she had another hit. After her third hit, Sylvie muttered the standard Bogart line and took the doobie and passed it around again.

I could see mom starting to loosen up some. Sally said, “Sue, your son knows about daddy.”

Before mom could freak out again Sylvie jumped in and spoke, “He overheard that conversation we had, when we all found out that we had been holding back from each other all these years. Nobody told him, he didn’t intend to hear our secrets, but there it is, out now between the Sisters Savoy and our only child among the three of us. He doesn’t think any the less of you, or us.”

“Sue,” Sal reached out and took her hand and at the same time stuck the joint in mom’s mouth to keep her quiet. “You know that what we did; wasn’t the first time incest has happened in our family, not with me, or Sylvia, or you. And that won’t be the last time it happens with me, or our sister, or your son… or you.”

Sylvia said softly, “I think you’re more upset that we had the lad, and you think you can’t; because you’re his mother. But parent and child didn’t stop you and pop, did it? You’re the most beloved and belusted of your boy. He wants you. You want him. Don’t you Sue?”

Mom nodded a little and took another big hit. My cock was getting hard. This was a development I had not foreseen on the way to the lake!

“Look, he’s getting hard just thinking about the possibility of you and him!” Sally pointed out.

“He wants to see your tattoo. How about we show him his mother’s art work?” Sylvia started to unbutton mom’s blouse. Sal reached down and took off her shoes. My aunts were seducing my mother for me! Sylvia took off mother’s shirt and Sally unzipped mom’s skirt. Mom lay back as the clothes were pealed from her one by one. At last, her bra was unhooked by Sal and I saw the wonderful pair of mom’s mams I had always dreamed of. Sylvia turned her over as mom lay lengthwise on the couch so she was on her tummy. Then she pulled down the panties and there, just like the other sister’s were two purple flowers, tulips. I bent over and kissed them.

Then I began kissing my way up mom’s spine. If the moment hadn’t been so tender and moving, it would have been funny to see my aunts getting me stripped as I kissed and kissed my mother’s back. She was still face down and couldn’t see the face of the son being denuded by the other two. She lay calmly and waited until I had come to her shoulders. As she turned back around, my shirt was helped off and we were naked in each other’s presence, certainly for the first time since I had been a toddler. Now I was a man and she a woman, I was hard and her pussy glistened. I moved over her onto the sofa and she spread her legs. Everything seemed to be slightly in slow motion, and I was taking my time not rushing this special moment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my aunts stripping, but I really only had focus on mom and her beautiful body. She has a full bush, the furry triangle spread as I neared. Sally had a small ‘landing-strip’ patch, and Sylvia was clean and bald. I found mom’s au natural state the sexiest of the three. But I was not saying a word, only acting, being the lover she had waited for since her last time with Grandpa, I imagined. Her arms rose to embrace me, I let myself down on her, my big tool resting on her thatch even as my weight was on my elbows. I kissed her two lips. Then Frenched her, as my dick began to rub, to find the soft wet slot midst her labia. She raised her legs to help me center, then I was skidding the slick path that led to her hole with the pole that would fulfill her and fill her full.

Then down – down I went, sliding into the heated depths; up – up the hot tube of tissue that enveloped me. Tight, so that I could feel every millimeter of progress I made of penetration, because my mother had practice in making my dad’s dick seem bigger, so my mighty missile benefited from squeezing muscles that mom applied out of habit. My prick was super-sensitive from the buzz I had on; from the knowledge that this was the ultimate vagina that I had lusted after. In short, my full length was provided the greatest fuck in all my eight inches and score of years, or in all my twenty years and 210 millimeters, I had ever had the pleasure to score. I bet it was the best balling that old couch had ever hosted as well!

They say an artist is only as good as his tools. Well, my tool was doing damn good! I sawed in mom’s box with my cock, I hammered her cunt with my hard-on, I screwed her twat with my driver, I drilled her hole with every bit of energy I had. We went at it like we were in a porno film, one that had slow-motion at times, and then back to regular speed. The variation in pace was keeping things from climaxing too early, yet we couldn’t help ourselves in our hunger for one another’s bodies. So it was a balance of desire and prolonging the exquisite physical excitement unleashed and running rampant. Meanwhile adding to the sheer dirty, nasty and sinful milieu, if not melee, were Sylvia and Sally naked, seated right close to us side by side, and diddling each other’s pussy while they watched!

“He’s fucking her! He’s fucking his mom!” Sylvia was letting out her turn-on about my lust for mom verbally, her excited tone pitched higher than usual. “Look Sal, they’re doing it, mother and son having sex finally, like they always wanted to. Oh God, that is so hot!!”

Sally also was commenting from the inner demons that possessed her, “Just like daddy, he’s fucking just like daddy; with that big dick, that beautiful handsome huge cock! It’s all the way in her, Sylvie, it just can’t stop plunging so deep and hard and all the way, all the way in!”

But while I was only peripherally aware of my aunts and what they were burbling, mom was in my ear with her own rant of crazy lust. “Yes, give it to me, your wonderful hunk, your special meat, that mighty muscle I have craved for so long. Ever since you started to have pubic hair I had a hankering for the dick dangling between your legs. And when I saw you beating-off and all erect I got so hot that I soaked my panties, just thinking about if this ever happened. I somehow knew it would. Just like with daddy, I couldn’t resist the temptation. I realized that I would fuck you if I ever got half a chance. And now, you’re doing it, we’re doing it and I love it, I love you; I love my sisters for bringing you here and getting us together. Did you know that, that mommy wanted to fuck you? Fuck her BIG boy?”

I was spurred by her words; I went in to overdrive and slammed into her vagina so that I was knocking against the cervix every stroke. I needed to release my cum at that very center so that my semen might gush into her womb and impregnate her. Sylvia had informed me that she had her tubes tied, right after being married, as they didn’t want kids. Sally had her operation and was unable to get knocked up any more. But as far as I knew, mom was still fertile. I had wondered about pop, if he had a low sperm count or what was the story about me being an only child? But if mom still had viable eggs I was out to fertilize any that were in place for my swimming wrigglers to reach. It was was animal, it was emotional, it was the fundamental drive to reproduce, there was no thinking – just the mating instinct.

I began to cry out the words that Sylvie had first released from me, “Yes, mom, Oh YES! Susan fuck me! I love you mom, I need you! I love you mom, so much, so much! I have to… I have to…. fuck you, I have to fuck you! I have to… I… I have to cum… CUM IN YOU NOOWWW!!!”

Mom answered my orgasmic outburst, “YES!! Baby, do it to mommy, do it to me, give me your cum, shoot in me, shoot in mommy all your sweet sperm! OH! YES! I FEEL IT! I’M CUMMING TOO! MOMMY’S CUMMING WITH HER BOY!!”

Both the two on the chairs were wriggling and writhing around as they were triggered by the lewd scene they were witness to. Then we all were gasping for air and sweat poured off four people like we had just come in from a rainstorm. “LAKE!” yelled Sylvia.

“LAKE!” Echoed Sally.

“LAKE… Laakkee!” my mother took up the chant and drew it out as a long squeaky call as she struggled to get up. I gave way and saw my aunts headed out the door toward the water, in the twilight. Mom was close behind, but she was dragging me along by my hand, the arm nearly pulled from the socket the first jerk was so unexpected.

But I understood in a flash that the steamy overheating from that wild sexual saturnalia could be best refreshed by the, “LAKE!” I shouted as I ran holding my mom’s hand and first Sylvie, then Sal, then mom and I together jumped off the side of the dock; mom just missing Sally. The water felt perfect. For about three minutes as we treaded and floated in the six to seven foot depth. Then Sally started to shiver and began to walk out toward the shore. The rest of us followed and when we were standing there on the grass, dripping again, but cooled now and beginning to dry in the warm air. We looked at on another and I realized that this was a very unusual event the four of us there together naked and knowing that I had had sex with each of them.

In fact, it then occurred to me that two had been having fun while mom and I had screwed. It did not seem like that was the first time they had done that sort of thing, they were too practiced. That was an area for inquiry, knowing my aunts and mom also being the fallen angels of the salacious Savoy household. There were other questions that the skinny dipping reminded me of too. But for the moment we were headed back inside, once there the towels and blankets were broken out. But none of us got dressed. Nudity seemed to be a standard mode of fashion at the lodge. Certainly sex had been a common activity, that had to be a given, knowing what I been privy too about the trio of wayward women with me.

Back at the cabin, several more joints got rolled, while drinks were procured as well, the sisters Savoy knew how to party. We settled down on the furniture, Mom and Sylvia on the sofa and myself next to mom, aunt Sal sat in one of the close by chairs. With another joint making the round and beer for me and mom, screwdrivers mixed for the aunts, I thought the time had arrived I could ask some questions. I began with what I had seen my aunts doing, my curiosity bursting. “So, I guess triplets… uh… help each other to… uh” the words just wouldn’t come out and not seem prudish, which I wasn’t obviously.

“You mean help each other get off?” Sylvie; always to the heart of the matter and never shy.

“Yeah,” I grunted.

“Oh, when you’re triplets, or I suppose it goes for twins too sometimes, playing with your identical sibling is almost like masturbating.”

“Only when one of you is doing it to the other, it’s even better,” mom explained. Then she reached over and lightly pinched Sylvie’s nipple and her sis reciprocated; like some medieval painting I once saw. “You should see the sisters Savoy in our daisy-chain!”

“It blew my husband’s mind!” said Sylvia.

“Mine’s too” declared Sally.

“Mine three,” chorused mom.

“Was that when you all went skinny dipping, or another time?” I had to ask about that.

“That’s right; we mentioned the orgy, when you overheard us talking about… lots of things.” Sylvie chuckled.

Mom was not quite as amused, but Sal smirked and said, as she held in a toke, “About your long dong!”

“It wasn’t an orgy,” mom explained and took a hit, then drank a swallow of brew before she blew it out.

“It was Sylvia’s idea; she got your mom and me to agree to her plan.”

“See, my husband, in fact all the boys, after a while,” Sylvia began, “were a little curious. We all got married in our mid-twenties and after a few years of family get togethers, seeing their wives and their clones at the same time, the guys were wondering if the three of us were identical in certain ways, sexually to be blunt.”

“It’s not as if they were wondering if we like the same kind of pizza, or preferred romances or mysteries. But did we screw the same? Did we dig cunnilingus or fellatio, did we cum the same way, make the same sounds?” Sally elaborated.

“It wasn’t blatant questions, but subtle hints of interest. One day we, your aunts and I were comparing notes on our hubbies, and the topic came up.”

“Whereas, I suggested that we have a little shindig up at the cabin and settle their questions.”

“So you swapped partners, had an orgy. Did that happen often?”

“NO!” Mom took a deep breath and calmed herself down. “No, we did not swap, but we did skinny dip, so all the guys got to see that there wasn’t much of a difference between the three of us, physically.” Sylvie lit another doobie and gave it to mom after she took a big inhalation, mom toked and gave it to me; I had a hit and passed it to Sal.

“The idea,” Sylvie explained, “was to answer their questions and douse any lust by showing them that they had made the best choice of the three for themselves. That each had gotten the right woman for him.”

Sally passed the J to Sylvie and continued illuminating the strategy. “They saw the tattoos of course, and our bodies naked, but when we all screwed it was with each of our spouses.”

“To put them in the hot and horny mood though, we did our triangular daisy chain. That really got them raring to go!” laughed mom, now looser and she chugged the rest of her beer.”

“So,” Sylvie took up the narrative, “Each of the couples were fucking in the room here, I was on the couch with mine, Sally rode her hubby on the rug and your mom sat on your dad’s dick while he was seated on one of the chairs.”

“How did they reach the conclusion they got the best of the three of you for their wife?” I pondered, since that was not obvious to me.

Mom got up. “Come here for a minute, Honey,” she said to me going over to a framed something on the wall. I followed her. “See this? Remember that thing?” It was three hand prints of the triplets from when they were little girls. On one piece of paper, about six by eighteen inches horizontally, a row of right hands in red and blue and green. “We did these when we were in first grade, the teacher thought it would be cute to have all three together and daddy framed it. Which is which, can you tell?” I looked. I had seen it before of course, but it was background, like the fish over the fire place, which Grandpa had caught and had mounted. But the meaning was not much beyond my general knowledge until then.

I shook my head, and mom continued. “Of course not right off the bat, no one can tell the difference between us three, if we don’t want them to. Especially when we were younger.” She held out her hand, the palm facing me. “Look, now study my lines. Now which one is my hand print?”

I looked at her hand and back at the three prints in the frame on the wall. “The red one, the lines split, just like on your palm.”

“Right!” She took her seat and snatched the joint from Sylvie. I resumed my seat as well. Mom sucked smoke; then passed me the J as she exhaled. “See, that’s what our husbands all discovered that day we had our little . . . uh . . . perhaps ‘saturnalia’ would do as a description. They realized that while we looked the same outside . . .”

Sally spoke, “Except for our tattoos of course.”

“That we were all quite different in many details, especially when it came to sex,” finished mom.

“Except for liking big dicks like daddy’s and yours, of course!” said Sylvia reaching over and handled my member, it grew a little more. The thought of their erotic wingding with the six having sex all at the same time, even if not all together or swinging was touching up its tumescence already.

“But we couldn’t tell them about that. In fact, as you heard, we hadn’t even told each other about our flings with our pop.” Mom said with a wistful tone. She absently took a hit. I grabbed the doobie as I was buzzing good but this was blowing my mind.

Sylvia made the point clear. “Remember, that we all had been married by then for several years. So each of us knew what our partner’s turn-on’s were and what made them tick sexually. The others were not treating their spouses with the kind of TLC that made each of the couples’ screwing unique. Thus, they concluded that their wife was the right one for them. Plus what man could stand the challenge to his ego, that his gal was not the fairest of the three, or should I say hottest sex kitten.”

“Exactly. Your dad still thinks I’m top-cat in the pussy department, just as you have a special spot for me in your heart too, Honey.” mother put a cap on the matter.

“Tell me about the tattoos, I’ve seen all three by now, but what’s the story about when you got them.” Sally got up and retrieved an old album from some shelf on the far side of the room. She gave it to Sylvia who searched through it, but mom seemed to know what they were looking for and flipped to it right away. I was handed a blow up of a photograph of the three of them out of the scrapbook.

“Mom explained, “This is from when we had a gig in New Orleans, at the height of our short career in show biz. We visited during Mardi Gras and had these tee-shirts custom made for us. That’s just before we got the tattoos, so you could tell one from another of us, if you were that intimate. Also, so we couldn’t pull the classic switcharoo, where one girl substitutes for her sister on a date, and the fella can’t tell the difference. We used to do it sometimes in high school to a new boy, if the other sister changed her mind about going out with him. It didn’t quite work so well after the guy got to know you. Too many details to keep straight about previous dates.”

“But when Sylvie snuck in and did a switch with a guy that Sally really liked, that was ruled out of bounds. So that no one of us could ever pull that off in the future, ’cause when it’s husbands that’s a whole different ‘ball’ game, we made a pact. We would get small tattoos of flowers on our lower buttocks so that any man who got us in bed could be sure of which one he was screwing. Sally got the roses, like her tee-shirt. See in the photo? That set the pattern, I got the tulips and Sylvia the bluebells. So Sally had ‘rosy cheeks’, Sylvie had bluebells on her bottom, like her favorite blue bell-bottom pants. With me, ‘kiss my tulips’ meant you can kiss my ass!”

In the picture of the trio they looked so alike that no one could have figured out who was who. But they each had a different tee-shirt on. Sally’s was beige and had two roses, the stems crossed so that the blooms were situated over her breasts at the spots where her nipples would be. Underneath in Kelly green letters it read:

Sylvia was in the middle, it had to be her because you could see she had on her infamous blue bell-bottoms. Her shirt had a pair of bluebells placed in not quite so risqué fashion. Hers was light blue and read in bright blue lettering:

Mom’s purple tulips were straight stemmed, but like aunt Sal’s right over the nips, as you could clearly see them poking up under the lavender fabric. In green letters it declared:

There were definitely no bras under those tees, and the tits teased any guy with six nubile nubs poking out. The Sisters Savoy were clearly having lots of fun in Louisiana. They sported big grins and were the ‘girls gone wild’ of their day. For sure, they were not quite tame yet, as recent events had proven. I was positive that when the photo had been taken, from what I knew by that amazing conversation I had been privy to unbeknownst to them at the time; that they each had long since been deflowered. Perhaps by Grandpa himself?

“Hey! I think his battery is fully recharged!” announced mom as she took hold of my boner. Sylvia gave her a sad puppy dog look and Sally followed suit. Mother rolled her eyes and stood. “UP! Everybody up!”

“He already is,” Said Sylvie dryly.

But everybody stood. Mom dragged the cushions from the sofa to the floor moving the chairs out of the way with Sally’s help, and arranged them in a tee formation. She directed me to lay down with my head on the wide end. “Sally loves cunnilingus and doesn’t get enough from her hubby.” She maneuvered Sal to sit on my face. “Sylvia misses fellatio, since her old man died, and she would like to lick your fat lollipop.” Sylvie knelt down between my legs and promptly began to suck. Mom placed herself alongside the three of us and just watched as she fingered herself. I was lapping at Sal now steadily and everybody was getting some sort of jollies. Sylvia knew what she was doing and inspired me to give Sally great head. Mom was making suggestions to each of us and then she was on her knees kissing Sal.

Sylvia called, “He’s ready for you Sue!” She joined the kissing, the three sisters were for a moment a trinity of luscious, lascivious ladies, then like they were doing a practiced gymnastic move, mom mounted my stiff staff of pleasure and it slid into her well oiled cunt, Sally switched with Sylvie who was instead, facing mom, while my tongue tickled her cunt. Sally moved behind mom and ran her hands over her sister’s breast and down to her clit and labia, then back up. Mom brought my hands to Sylvie’s tits and I plucked at the rosy erect caps and squeezed the ripe fruit I had been provided. Mother rode up and down my saddle horn, at the same time reached back and found the mons of Sal and rubbed it. Then as I was beginning to bounce and another cum was rising in me, she scooted forward and Sally hopped on to my tool. Now I was straddled by all three gals.

Mom and Sylvie kissed and diddled each other as I had to gasp for air. Seeing mom in a lez thing was too much and I blasted away in Sally a full load of cum. She grabbed mom’s hooters and held on as she climaxed on my blasting rod, mom came with that sibling satisfied, and I gave three long licks to the length of Sylvia’s slit and that brought her to gush as she orgasmed also. Once more the four of us were coated with spit and sperm, sweat and orgasmic juices. There was no outcry for lake, we just wandered out on into the night still shaky legs and waded out until we were about waist deep then rinse each other off. Which turned into a splash fight fest, instigated by Sylvia. When we had our fill of the chilly water and had started up the lawn, we heard the ring-tone of Sally’s cell back at the house.

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How I accidentally fucked my father, on purpose

By Oediplex 8==3~

If I ever meet God face to face, and he asks me about it; I can honestly say it was an accident – sorta.

Well, three accidents really, so it’s not actually my fault I fucked my father. I mean, you can’t blame me for the first two, and only partly for the third mishap. Of course, my nickname is Miss Hap, because as a kid I was always in the middle of whatever trouble there was. It’s not like I’m accident-prone, I just sort of wind up in the middle of trouble by happenstance. In fact, my given name is Happy. Mother was a Republican from upstate New York, and there was this Governor Rockefeller (like the Plaza in NYC), who became Vice-President (I think). Anyway, his wife’s name was Happy, and I’m named after her.

The moniker suits me. I am a pretty happy person. And happily I’m a pretty girl too. Not to brag, but above average. I had no more to do with it, than my name. Blame my mom’s politics and genetic material for both. However, the fact I look like her, and she was a runner-up for Miss New York State when she was 19, is part of the reason that daddy and I did it. Fucked. I must say, it was not his fault at all, as you will understand when you read my story.

It was fun too. But then sex is, if your a normal, healthy and active female of 22. Which I am, except now I’m a year older. I became sexually active, in my first year of college, at 18. I was ready. We used protection, but then I went on the pill, since I fully intended to screw often with the fella I was in love with. That torrid romance lasted two years. Since then, I have had several relationships of various lengths, and dated quite a bit. So you don’t think that I was an innocent, and got taken advantage of. Not at all, but neither am I a slut.

The first accident was with our car. We were on a back road, daddy and me, taking a short cut back from grocery shopping. The right front tire got a flat. It was a bad place to try to fix a flat, and out of the way. We have auto emergency service, but just as I was about to call on my cell, this pickup truck stopped to see if we needed help. Dad thought it would easier for the wrecker to meet him at home, and he could then ride with them back to the car. I would be back home and could start dinner. So we accepted a lift home from the good Samaritan.

I was the woman of our home, graduated from college, and back until I found a job. Mom had died of cancer a couple of years ago. That is the saddest part of my life, but I won’t dwell on it. I took care of the domestic stuff, like cooking and errands to the cleaners, etc. Dad lived on pizza and hot dogs the last two years I was at school. But he did help around the house, just he wasn’t much good at that sort of stuff. Mom had always been the homemaker; he, the breadwinner. I am determined to marry a man who can cook!

So we accepted a ride from this nice man with the farm truck. Only, the back was all dirty and he had a big tool box on the seat beside him. But we made do, with the tools in the middle and myself on dad’s lap. Uh-huh. You see where this is going now. There was one extra tool in that pickup cab. It belong to dad. It was smack dab in the middle – of my butt. I don’t know why, of all the times I have sat on daddy’s lap, this time he had a boner. But there was no mistaking that feeling. The old man had wood. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was older now, or if it was just a natural reaction, after a long abstention, since mom had passed.

I didn’t mind. I figured he couldn’t help it, he seemed a little embarrassed even. But I had not had a man prod me in a few months and it felt nice. It wasn’t as if he was putting the moves on me, not anything that overt. In fact, though we were somewhat casual about dress around the house, since we were family; and were honest about what had been our past sex lives, both being adults; actually there had been but only the chastest of relationships. It was a normal father / daughter thing, which was open and honest, the upright way my folks had raised me. No naughtiness happened as I was growing up, nothing salacious ever, I stress.

But that incident, fifteen minutes of my father’s penis pressed against my buns, planted a seed of curiosity in my cunt. It let the faintest hint of incestuous intrigue insinuate itself into my innards. I found myself wondering what dad’s dick looked like. It seemed rather large. Mom had hinted as much once. Was he circumcised? Was he veined? How hairy was he, how did his balls hang, did he squirt a lot when he came? Questions on another day I would have gone, ‘Ooueh! (with a shutter) Too much information, my mind does not want to go there!’ But for some reason, with the instrument intimate in my ass-cheeks, I had the strongest interest in them then.

But I would certainly never had had the gall to try to peek at dad, to discover the answer to any of those questions. That was what the second accident took care of. Now some people say there are no accidents. But certainly unplanned events are not considered to be anything but innocent occurrences. Even if they prove to be fateful. It turned out, that that ride in the truck on my pater’s prominence, had an impression on more than just me. Dad too, was erotically stimulated, though, to his credit, he never let on afterwards. I discovered his having been affected by accident, about a week later.

I was going out to see some friends, and had left the house. I told my father that I would not be home for hours. But as I got just a block down the road, I realized I had left my wallet in my other purse. So I turned around in a neighbor’s driveway and doubled back. I wasn’t silent when I came in, but didn’t make a big ruckus. Nor did I call out, because I knew dad was about to take a nap, just as I was leaving. So I was more quiet, than my usual boisterous self. As I passed his room, on my way to my own, I heard him call my name.

I though, ‘Oh, he’s checking to see if it’s me he hears, I’ll pop in on pop and confirm that I came back for a second.’ I opened his bedroom door. There he is, rampant. He was masturbating. He was calling my name. He was cumming. A stunning moment in a girl’s life, believe me. I wasn’t offended, but I was surprised. I wasn’t startled by the sight, but I was – uh . . . agog. I stared, I have a mental photograph of the vision, which I will never forget. I frankly liked what I saw, and noted, for later analysis, many factors which answered the queries that had arisen, when my father’s hard-on had risen under my tush.

He was big, make that BIG. Not monstrous, and I was not using a ruler to measure, but he must have been maybe eight inches, and nice and thick. So mom was not kidding, when she had let it slip, that “dad’s dong was a strong long schlong.” I remember laughing at the phrase at the time, slightly flushing, amazed that my mother would use it, or even speak it. He was circumcised, the head a wonderful plum color at the moment. Two blue veins slightly protruded along the shaft. He wasn’t overly hairy, and I could see that his sacks were large and loose. And my goodness, did he have a lot of jism erupting from the tip!

From his lips, he murmured once more, “Happy”. I could tell he was, but he didn’t mean that. It was obvious that he was thinking of me, because he then added, “Sweetheart, I love you!” I wasn’t about to respond, “I love you too, daddy!” Of course I do, and strangely enough, I did even more just then, knowing that he had sexual feelings for me. If it had been anybody but him, I would have said something either sarcastic or amusing. But seeing my father in a very human condition, with needs and desires and vulnerable; I simply loved him the more. I felt tender toward him. It was odd, but there it was . . .

So I tried to close the door as quietly as I could. I thought I had, since he didn’t call out to me, or curse, or make any kind of sound that would have acknowledged that he knew I had come upon him cumming. I silently as a kitten scurried to my room, grabbed my wallet and slipped out of the house. Driving away with a minimum of noise, I hoped that the whole thing would be as if it had never happened. But it had. And DAMN! I realized I was damp between my thighs. I had gotten turned on, and not even been aware, until I was making my get away. But I couldn’t deny the fact that my dad was one sexy dude and I had seen him in action!

In action and calling my name as he came! What about that! What about that? I stopped the car a half mile from the house and tried to sort out things. What had happened, not the events, but the images? Why had he called out my name, not the reason, but what did it reveal about his feelings? What were my emotions about this? What was the impact on our relationship? What did it mean for the future? What would it lead to, or perhaps nothing would come out of it? Well, something did come out of the immediate aftermath of the second ‘accident’. Me, I reached into my panties under my skirt and fingered myself to a climax. It took all of forty-five seconds to reach orgasm, I was so primed!

I deduced that the truck ride/lap dance over the rough road, had stirred up erotic feelings in my father. Such lewd thoughts which he had hidden and never shared, but none the less had allowed to be fantasized when he jerked off. He had to be horny, as mom had been gone close to two years. I knew they had had a good sex life until she got sick, so make that better than thirty months for his celibacy. Poor Daddy! I doubt that I could go that long. In fact, I was already chafing a bit for a chap, or even chomping at the bit for a chump, make that champ. Yeah, I could use the real thing, rather than the dildo I was doing.

I had never thought of dad that way, until the erogenous ride. There’s a ‘pick-up’ line; “Want to sit in daddy’s lap, little girl?” However, as I sat in the car, having just diddled myself, thinking of my own father, who had been thinking of his own daughter and thinking things incestuous; it didn’t sound so ridiculous – my (dirty) old man and little lonely me. Lust is an peculiar phenomena. It has no logic, though it does have it’s reasons. It’s power is sneaky and can blindside you when you least expect it. Once it has become manifest (man-ifest?) it is hard to resist. Once you have given in, it is so delicious, and even more difficult to give up. Combine that with true love, and it is overpowering.

I did love my father, but now I lusted for him too. Knowing that he felt the same, made the situations incredibly irresistible. With things getting so hot, there was bound to be combustion; spontaneous, or at least sparked by an ‘accident’. The burning yearning in my body was gathering strength, in short, I was in heat. “Heaven help us, when Hap has it in her head for something to happen, it usually does!” mother often would say. It’s true, when my mind is made up, I have a way of somehow making the circumstances work to accomplish what I want. In this case, an ‘innocent incident’ that would lead to incest!

The third accident could have happened even if I had not helped things. But I did, so I’m just a little guilty. Dad was painting the trim on the house. He did this about every three years. The last time was before mom took ill, and he decided that with me home, he wanted to gussy-up the place. He was out back, on a warm late Spring day. It was sunny, so I wore my sun-suit, a bright yellow one piece shorts/halter top; like painters’ overalls, but hemmed at the thighs. I asked dad what if he wanted a beer, he asked for ice-tea. When I brought it to him I put the glass to his left, on the board he was standing on.

This was arranged between two stepladders. It gave about four feet of height for him to work on the top of the window sills. He put the can of white paint on the top of the right ladder so he could move along from left to right. I watched him for a little. I noticed that the structure was not the sturdiest, so I went to steady it, holding on to the right end. It swayed every time he bent to get a sip. The can was moving more toward the edge each time. I should have said something. Instead, I maneuvered so that when the inevitable happened, it happened all over me. Dad bent one last time to get a drink.

If I had not noticed the precarious can, it could have cascaded on me anyway. But the opportunity provided possibilities, some of the scenarios gave rise to intimacies with dad. I did not have an exact plan of action, I just sort of acted instinctively. I admit, in the two weeks since I had seen dad on the bed, jerking off, I hadn’t thought of any way to create a ruse to reenact his arousal, to allow his reaction to be resurrected if you will, to raise the rearing rod in my direction. You get the idea. I didn’t know how to institute any situation that might let dad make a pass at me, or visa versa. I wanted it to include the chance that he could back down, if he didn’t want to pursue it.

But I thought that perhaps he would go for the goal of getting me in bed, if he knew I felt the same, had lust in my loins also. Then he decided to do the trim. Well, it looked like he was going to have the prospect of doing a different sort of trim, mine. I could have chosen to not ruined my sun-suit, but I put myself in harm’s way. You might say, I knew it was going to be a paint in the ass, literally. Because for my idea to work, I had to be covered, top to . . bottom, front to backside, in white Sherman-Williams’ best. Dad straightened from the frosty glass, the whole thing wobbled and down the can came, conking me on the head. It didn’t hurt, but the ivory latex went down all over my tits, and washed down the spine to my tush, like a skunk’s stripe!

My squeal of surprise was genuine, since I had not expected the liquid to be so cold. My father was off his perch in a flash with apologies and looking abashed at the disaster. I knew I had to disarm the guilt factor for him, so we could move on to the real agenda, which this stunt was designed to facilitate. I smiled at him through the dripping paint, looking like something out of a Max Sennett 1920s slapstick comedy, and said, holding my arms out palm up, “Miss Hap strikes again!” that did the trick, for then both of us burst into sidesplitting laughter. Now I had changed the mood from catastrophe to simple mess, from ‘What have I done to my daughter?!’ to ‘Doesn’t Happy look silly, but what a sport she is about it!!’

“Come help me get cleaned up, pop.” I suggested; more like instructed the flummoxed male before me. He followed me tamely into the garage. Just inside, I stripped the soaked and ruined sun-suit off. Leaving me in just scanties and a wet tee shirt. My hair was streaked, and both front cleavage and the flesh from shoulders on down my to my behind were coated. I told dad to lay some newspapers down, from the door to the bathroom, so I wouldn’t drip drops of white on the green carpet. He did so, and I scampered to the shower to begin phase two of my seduction. Without bothering to close the door, dad being attendant to whatever I needed, I took off my shirt and undies right in front of him.

He acted like I was still six and was not outwardly affected by his grown daughter’s nudity. However, the eyes widened slightly and he most certainly did not look away. I had him hooked, now I had to reel him in. I told him to throw the clothes in a plastic garbage bag, they were ruined, so I didn’t care. Then he should return, in case I had more requests. Dad commented, “Thank God it’s water washable at this stage, the paint takes an hour to set.” He continued, “You ought to be able to wash it off easily, just jump in the shower, Hap, and it’ll be fine!” advised my father, as he carted away the painted panties, etc.. I got in the spray and did my hair, first thing, that was important. I didn’t want to be pre-maturely gray, make that white!

As I heard him returning, I called out, “Dad! I need help! Come here!” he came through the still opened door of the bathroom, though the shower stall glass made my image blurry.

“What do you need, Sweetheart? What can I get you?”

“I can’t reach some places, to make sure I got it all, come in here with me.” He started to open the stall and enter with all his clothes on, including his boots! “No! You’ll get your clothes all wet. And I don’t want you stepping on my toes with your big shoes! Take off your clothes, then come in.” He stripped down to his boxers and joined me. Progress, but while I was nude, I wanted him to be as well. “DAD! I know what a man looks like, for goodness sake, don’t be such an old fuddy-duddy prude!” I yanked his shorts down before he could rationalize an objection. Then they were a swimming swath of material at his feet, so he kicked them into a corner.

I handed him the bottle of liquid soap and my scrub sponge, turning my back to him. “Make sure that you get everything on my back, I can’t reach there.” Mt father was in a daze. He scoured my shoulders and backbone gently to clean the skin to a glowing pink. Then I made it real tough on him. I couldn’t see if he had a boner yet, but I was pretty sure this next move would make him sprout his manly stalk. “Make sure you get any that went down the crack.” I bent over, exposing my crotch, crude but effective. “Kneel down daddy, to see if any got in there, please. That’s important!” he did so.

He rubbed just a little at the top of my backside split, to insure there was none. Then said in a husky voice, like he had swallowed too much of a mouthful of hot potatoes, “You’re good to go.” When he stood up, I was slower to unbend, and I could feel the risen and rigid royal scepter that went with the family jewels. I turned around, so close to my pop that my puckered hard nipples scrapped against his chest. “Happy,” he began with a contrite whisper, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get . . . It just . . . forgive . .”

I put my fingers to his lips to stop him from trying to talk, he wasn’t managing it well, anyway. “Dad,” I said softly with a tender tone, “I know what a man looks like . . . like that.” I put my arms around him and hugged him. My heart seemed about to bust with love for the dearest man in my life, and the nearest man in my world too. Indeed, we were so close that my pubic hair was tickling his erect penis. I put my cheek on his, so I could whisper in his ear, “I know what you look like . . like that too!”

My father put his arms around me then, and hugged me back. His hard-on was pressed firmly into my pudenda. “So that was you! I thought I might have imagined it, it was so surreal, the timing, just as I released my ejaculation. It was the ride, I haven’t been able to not think about it. You look so much like your mother when I met her. I guess that’s what the psychologists call transference. If I didn’t know better, Happy, I would think you tipped that can of paint on purpose. Why am I in the shower, naked, with my incredibly sexy daughter?”

“Because I wanted you to be.” I kissed his lips. “Because I want you.”

“Hap . . .”

I stopped his mouth from talking, with my mouth. I gave it something else to do, by sticking my tongue in it. He let our oral digits dance. His hands slid down to my nether globes and squeezed. My breast swelled into his chest with a deep breath and my left hand went up to the back of his head and caressed his hair. “Daddy, I love you too. Like the way you meant it, when you were cumming, thinking of me. That made me hotter than you can imagine. I want you to make love to me.” My other hand reached down and grasped his manhood, it was a marvelous mass of muscle. “Fuck me, Daddy, Please?”

Then, I could sense a change come over the masculine being in my arms. Like the sunlight returning after a cloud has passed, the energy and spirit were filling him. The grief that had haunted him since mom’s death seemed to pass, the shadow no longer covered him from the shade of her loss. He was now dominate, not in any cruel or crude way, but he took charge of our situation. It was not anything he did specifically, but some how a mental adjustment that I was aware had come upon him. His hands were running over my body, up the spine and round to the twin globes of my bosom, fingering my points. His mouth was firm and purposeful, in the lips as they kissed in a caring way. It was altogether thrilling!

The water still ran, the soap had long been rinsed. But I was wet and slippery down there, and ready to be screwed. Dad turned me around a few moments after the shift of the fresh new man had taken control. He made me bend slightly at the waist. Flexing his knees, he reached between my legs and made sure of his target, then move his hips so that his member entered me. He didn’t thrust hard, but it was a steady penetration, a movement knowing of angles and tissues. Flesh firm, met flesh yielding and made it’s way in, not even using the full length! It withdrew, but maintained enough of a presence that the next stroke was right to the heart of my pussy.

So my father began to have me. I gladly gave myself to him. We continued this fantastic fuck for long minutes, but then he disconnected. I was certain that was but a good start, and I was correct. Dad turned me and backed me up to the solid wall on the side. His hand moved the spray out of our faces and then he reached behind me, his big paws clutched my haunches and he lifted me. Then I was wrapping my arms around his neck, my thighs supported on his pelvis as his cock centered in my sex. Then we were going at it again! With this position I received more depth of his instrument and could enjoy his girth even more. While this was a more athletic stance, it allowed us to have direct eye contact. His look was mirrored in mine, the pent up lust had to be unleashed here and now!

I clutched him to me, to drive my tits into his pects, to feel the slap of our stomachs together as the joining of our bodies worked in unison to make the most of the moment. As is there were never going to be another time we got to grind our genitals together. I was pleased that he had not cum yet, but that was oh so near for me right at that point. His pushes picked up pace and I knew instinctively he was striving to bring me to climax. I let it happen. It was like I had been holding back, like when you save the icing for last, on your birthday cake. Now it was time to release the tension that had been building since that wild cum in the car. In fact, I realized as the tremors began to shudder my whole self, I had not had one since then. Like I was waiting for daddy to do it to me and make me cum.

And I came. Quaked, shrieked in ecstasy, wailed in womanly heaven; as I sailed up to clouds nine through thirteen, then floated for long moments, until I descended, not quite landing. About six inches off the earth, though dad had to let my feet touch the tiles eventually. Yeah! Make that YEAH!

My father drew me out of the stall, turned off the water, and began to dry me with a big fluffy towel. It was like I was six again. He was rubbing my hair and running the terrycloth over my parts like he had sixteen years ago. He examined me, looking for any signs of paint. “Good as new!” he pronounced. He had said that too, back then. I had giggled as a girl, and I did again. I kept looking at his handsome, if middle aged body, sans any covering at all. It made me remember that it was just minutes ago he had ravished me, to my great delight. His dick still had some tumescence, the pubic hair beginning to crinkle as it dried. The head had a bright color from our recent encounter. The thinning hair was displaying even more scalp damp. His abdomen was flatter than I expected though.

My thoughts were interrupted, when my father scooped me up, then carried me, like a bride in a groom’s arms over the threshold. He was very careful not to knock me into door frames or walls, we went the short distance to his bedroom. He set me down on the mattress, like I was a patient who was delicate. The way Cary Grant carried Deborah Kerr at the end of the movie, romantic . . .

Then my pop did something they didn’t do in those old movies. He moved between my legs and crawled up to put his face at my most tender spots. He began to lick. Lightly, on my thighs, moving up and inward, getting closer and closer, teasing until at last the lapping reached my labia. But that was not the only point pop nibbled. He was a master at cunnilingus! Lucky mom, lucky me now! As his mouth made love to my most private parts, I was close to peaking, then I did! And again! He had me going like a backfiring old car; bang, bang clitty clitty bang bang! It was Happy hour, you know exactly what I mean. Finally, I had to catch my breath.

I pulled him up by his still nibbling head to lay on me, though he did not rest his whole weight on my torso. I ran my hands over his back and we hardly said much but “I love you” “And I love you!” donut holes, sweet nothings. Then I reached down and fiddled with his stick, in fact, he had a cello, he was a big fellow. The cock came to life once more, under my practiced manipulations. I thought I perhaps knew why my father had foregone his own pleasure so far.

“Dad, I’m on the pill. It’s safe to cum in me. I want you to. I want to feel you release that huge load of jism in my cunt, and have your climax throb in my body. Do it again, fuck me. This time don’t hold anything back. Do it the way you want; hard, if that is your pleasure, fast when you want to, any position that you like. I’m yours. I love you. Make love to your Sweetheart, just like you fantasize, but this is for real. And not the last time either, just the first night!”

With that speech, he had full permission to do as he pleased. I knew, whatever he did, it would please me too. I was not disappointed. THE END.

Oh! you want to know what happened next? Well I guess, since we have cum this far – I’m such a tease!

Okay, the next thing was he was getting on top of me, missionary style. There is more to what we did on subsequent evenings, but that was what was on the menu for that course. I spread my thighs to allow him access, and he reached down, I thought to guide it in, but he’s a tease too! The tip just played in the outskirts of my womanhood. It addressed the parts I kept under my petticoats, with nudging and dipping and all manner of manly messing about. Until finally, my mind was mentally shouting, ‘Come on already, deliver the male!’. And like he was reading my mind, he sank the plum to plunge in my vagina. Three inches, five; it kept going – smoothly, silky and fat, and I swear, now I could feel those veins as seven was made within. Then at last, the stretched, incredible entire long strong schlong was right up to those family jewels, the balls bumping on my buns.

I was surprised that it felt full but not stuffed, I had expanded to fathom my father’s abundant meat. He had a package to be proud of. I guess mom was genetically a match, to make the most of his missile. I inherited that part, as well as her looks. Inner beauty – so to speak, as well as her smarts and perky personality. But right then I wasn’t thinking, about anything, I was simply a vessel for the pestle my dad was grinding in me. Happily so, loving every second of the awesome sex he was socking to me. Yes, he was touching bottom at my womb, the nubs were having a great time, but he was everywhere else too, so much more than just circumference and size. He knew how to use that prick to ram all areas of my erogenous zones inside, while his mouth and fingers made magic on the places outside. In ways no guy had before, just as he gave my guts all the glory they could handle.

I really don’t remember how many times I came with all that wild fucking we did. But he must have been pacing himself. When it came time for his cum, his climax was simple and satisfying. The pace quickened, and didn’t slow like it had when he was doing his showboating in my pussy. Then it became a little jerky, irregular and obviously urgent. Ultimately, he just locked in tight as possible and let go. I felt the thick steam of goo blast out in a warm gush, in my vagina. It triggered one final paroxysm of my own. And we were done for the night, but there were many more nights to share. I’ll share, but let me tell about our post-play, and bed talk. Afterwards, we caught our breath and wipe the sweat from our faces.

The sheets were drenched, like if we had fucked in the shower with them on the floor. Neither of us cared, it was warm enough, and they weren’t clammy. Later we slept in my bed. But generally I would sleep with dad. However, I’m getting ahead of myself. I told dad that I had masturbated in the car, after seeing him. He admitted that he had his libido restarted in the pickup, and had jacked to my imagined image every day since. He had sworn an oath to himself, that he would never touch me, nor let me know of his lusty urges. Well, the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry, when there is a wily female on the prowl. They don’t call us foxes for nothing! Miss Hap had it in her head for something to happen, and it did. And dad was glad.

Dad had marvelous hands that smoothed over all my skin, using only talc to lubricate. He put me to sleep that way that first night, that and a little wine I went and got. We talked about what we had done, not analyzing, but me saying how I really liked his oral technique tonging my tummy and he said I had great tits. I made him suck them a bit to taste them, so he could really be sure. Then he had me go down and try pop’s ‘lolly-pop’. We like oral, but we saved more adventures for the next day. He stayed home and his morning woody is a great breakfast treat. But it was time to go to sleep, he gave me that nice massage, then drifted off. I think I heard him say, “Honey, you understand.” but he wasn’t addressing me. Mom was his Honey. I think she would have too.

Maybe she can explain it to the Divinity, “Your Heavenly Holiness, it was an accident. That’s why we called her Miss Hap. Honestly, I’m not trying to white-wash what she did in the shower, your Majestic Mightiness, but when she has it in her head about something . . . Happy things just seem to happen!

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She blew my mind and then other things.

By Oediplex 8==3~

{ Adult literature. The author neither advocates nor encourages any illegal or harmful activities which may damage oneself or another; either physically or emotionally or in any other way. If you find sexual situations offensive you are free to not continue reading this story. This story is based on real people, real situations and real desires.}

The graveyard was quiet. In the space enclosed by a cedar hedge, I sat on the bench toking a fat doobie in remembrance of my Granny. She would have shared it with me, if she was there. I felt her spirit like a presence, a wisp of pungent smoke rose ghost like from the joint and seemed to signal she was with me. The buzz pervaded my whole self; the tingling in my groin was a memory of our secret life. No one knew of what we had shared. We were more than simply family, not just close; she was my buddy, I was her lover.

She installed the seating and insured seclusion so that I could visit her in peace and privacy and enjoy the time when I was here. She had left me her wealth to make sure that I could live the good life after she died. I took another hit, holding it in, letting my mind wander as I pondered her final resting place. There, carved in the rock which stood upright across her plot from where I sat, were the words Granny had written herself.

Below this headstone lies the stoned head of
Grace Elizabeth BonGrasse
b. Jan. 7, 1946 – d. Dec. 28, 2008

I Hope to be High in Heaven

The marble that marks my resting place,
The rock which notes the grave of Grace;
Does tell the tale of how I coped,
By toking up my share of dope.
My marijuana made me full of mirth,
For being high was paradise on earth.
If I have gone to my hoped reward,
I’ll be talkin’ and tokin’ with the Lord;
So now in death I make my point,
Heaven must be a hell of a joint!
by Gracie B

Yeah! Granny was a real fucker, literally. I know. She called her cunt, ‘The Deceiver Beaver’, because she did it on the sly with me. I would be up in her room and we’d close the door – lock it – and have a quickie. Other times, when my folks were gone for a few days, we would romp on their queen-size bed. Of course we never left any sign or evidence of our playtime. Gran was a firm believer in being covert and stealthy. And she taught me those skills, passed down from generations of my ancestors. There were no angels on her side of the family, though she claimed that my dad seemed to have suppressed the training she provided when she was trying to raise him to be a rascal; though he proved to be something of a rake later on.

I inhaled more weed and thought about the wild heritage Granny detailed in our sharing of pot and sex and secrets. For the past hundred years at least, a skein of scoundrel seems to have been inherited through my paternal genes. But I’m getting ahead of my story, being high does that to me. My history lessons started on a hot August night a few weeks before my Junior year in college. I was out on the deck of our suburban home, when out of nowhere a gruff voice growled, “Don’t bogart that joint, kid!” I almost shit myself. My folks were gone for a week’s vacation and Grandma was in bed asleep, or so I thought.

It was her though, she stepped through the sliding glass doors from behind the curtains and boldly snatched the doobie I was smoking from my hand. She took a long drag, held it like a ‘old’ pro and gave me a huge wicked grin. The moment was frozen as I freaked out at my sixty year young Gran, who stood in her robe and toked my grass. “Primo!” was all she said before sucking deep again on it and passing the dope back to me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I took another hit myself. I never would have guessed! Looking back, it ought to not have been so shocking, just that the topic had never been breached in my hearing. Grandma Gracie was good at appearing innocent when quite the opposite.

“Have you got any more of this?” she asked?

“Uh . . . a another already rolled and some in a baggie, Gran.” I confessed, astounded at her conspiratorial tone.

“Get the other joint and come with me!”

I was unsure of what she had in mind, but I dutifully handed her the doobie and fetched the second.

“Take off your tee and get bare foot.” She ordered when I returned. What the hell? What was this crazy coot planning? I shed my shirt and kicked off my sandals. She passed the smoldering marijuana cigarette to me and took me by the hand as I took a hit. “We’re going to the Benjamin’s pool!” she whispered.

Our next door neighbors, the Benjamin’s were out of town for this month, up to their cabin in Vermont. They had a nice swimming pool they didn’t mind us using, but that was always in the day. It was certainly warm enough for a late night dip, but I never expected Grams to initiate such an adventure. “I’ll get my trunks in a jiffy,” I offered.

“No need! We are going to skinny-dip. And don’t tell me you never did! You and your girlfriend slipped in, back in July at three AM! I watched the whole thing through my window.”

‘Jeez!’ I thought – ‘she must have seen us screwing too!’ ” Do you have your suit on under your robe?” I asked. Not getting the concept yet of grandma and grandson in the all-together in the Benjamin’s pool in the dead of night.

“Skinny-dipping is in the raw youngster, so I’ve just got my birthday suit on underneath. Savvy?” She scampered across the lawns still hanging onto my hand, like lovers eloping, we scurried.

“Jeez! Grandma, what if we get caught?”

“What if we do? It ain’t like it’s never been done before in the history of the world. Just keep it quiet ’cause I don’t want you busted for possession.”

I hadn’t considered that aspect, being befuddled by the prospect of swimming in the nude with my own flesh and blood. We reached the fence and she opened it silently. Going directly to the water she dropped the robe and the white of her skin was even paler in the moonlight. Gran walked down the steps, dipped to get wet all over, turned and came to the side, looking up at me.

“Fire up that roach, and let’s get a good buzz on!” I did, took a toke, then leaned down to give it to the wet and wild lady. “Been quite a while since I got stoned, too long.”

“Gran, I didn’t know you ever had smoked grass.”

She drew a big toke and then said – without exhaling, ” There’s lots you don’t know, kiddo – ’bout time you learned. We got so many skeletons in the proverbial closet that . . .” she ran out of air, expelled the puff and took a breath before she continued. “That . . . damn, what was I saying? I do that when I get high.”

“Skeletons . . . ”

“Yeah, lots, back to your great, great grandfather at least. What are you waiting for? Get in, the water is wonderful!” I took off my jeans but left my jockeys on and began to climb down a ladder into the pool. “Come on! All the way. I know what a guy’s got. Don’t be shy! Let it all hang out!” I shucked my shorts and dived in bare-assed.

We swam around for a while then Grandma climbed out and sat on a lawn chair by the side of the water watching me. Her body was not so flabby, a bit thick but firm and while her breasts sagged some, the nipples were pink and pointed. Her thatch was still a brown bush. (Yeah I looked, not like she was modest. She acted totally nonchalant about her nudity.) I realized she was still attractive, maybe even sexy in a mature way. How come I had never been aware of that before, I wondered.

“Come up and let’s light up the other joint. You got matches right?”

I hauled myself out of the pool on the side right in front of my Grams, dripping all over, my cock dangling for her to see, a couple feet from her face. Shit if she didn’t mind, why should I? “They’re both in my back pocket.” She fished and came up with them immediately, lit up, sucked smoke and passed the maryjane to me. “Thanks, Gran.” I took a lounger and pulled it beside her and stretched out. My length lewdly displayed, lolling in my lap.

“You can call me Gracie when we are intimate like this. We are going to be best of buddies from now on.” For a while we toked in silence. She pinched out the end to save the last inch or so, to have for later. “Feeling mellow, my fine fellow?” She quipped. “I am nice and high, you?”


“Then, I’m going to let all the cats out of the bag and the pussy loose too! Your dad never told you, and your mom would have a fit if he had, but our family money came originally from Canada in the Nineteen-Twenties, the ‘roaring-twenties’.”

“How so?”

In gallon cans marked maple syrup, but it wasn’t. It was booze, my grandpa was a bootlegger. By the truckloads.”

“Gangsters? Like Al Capone?”

“Nah . . . he just ran an import operation that included the basic ingredients for bathtub gin. The rest was legit, so when Prohibition ended, he had the rest of the business to fall back on, while he set up to bring in Canadian whiskey of top quality, lumber and raw materials for the auto industry. Made a fortune. Since then my father and husband carefully nurtured the investments and diversified, so that today, while we ain’t Rockafellers, we are damn well off.”


“My Grandpa bought land and had a cabin up on a lake in up-state, rather isolated. I wish we still owned it, but it’s all developed now. Anyway, that’s where my grandparents and their best friends Jack and Florence would go to and swap partners.”

“GRANNY! . . . Gracie . . you mean that they were swingers? ”

“Just between the two couples, but faithfulness was never a strong suit in our family. For sure about your dad too, I know; but you never can tell with us BonGrasse what naughty tricks we’ll think up next.” (Grandmother had kept her maiden name when she married in the Sixties.) I was beginning to get a boner from the thoughts of family infidelity. She went on , “Oh, Yes! My mom caught your Granddaddy with the babysitter, whom they regularly employed to watch me and my brother. And your great uncle Chuck woke up one night when he was ten and mother was balling my dad’s best friend on the floor right next to Chuck’s bed! She was getting even you see.”

“Wow!” I was getting stiff for thinking about the erotic tales I was listening to. “What about you . . . Gracie?” immediately I was embarrassed to ask her about her personal secrets, but she laugh musically and answered.

“I went to Woodstock, honey! Free love and lots of grass and I screwed the three guys in the tent we were sharing. All on that weekend! I went to a love-in in Greenwich village, which was our generation’s term for an orgy. My pussy still looks good, don’t you think?” She leaned back and raised her legs, spreading her thighs. I got a beaver shot of a red maw framed by a hairy tangle of damp pubic hair. I was now at full mast, my cock a flag pole with nowhere to hide.

“Grass always makes me horny. How about you?” her gazed was fixed on my crotch. I thought I had to be misunderstanding what she was suggesting.

“Uh-huh.” I dumbly replied.

“Wanna? I got a really tight pussy. I haven’t had any since Grandpa died. I’m hotter than a pistol and loaded to go bang. How about triggering me?”

That was the most unique and unusual proposition I had ever heard. My Granny just suggested we have sex.

“Let me do all the work.” She said softly as she got up and pushed me flat on the chaise. She assume that I had no objections, since I was too stunned to do anything but comply with her manipulation. She straddled me and took my penis in her fingers, as she squatted down on my form. Guiding the staff to her juicy cunt she made progressive penetration getting the tip lubricated with love lotion from her pussy, then sinking slowly so that I entered the burning hole. And she was right, that was one tight cunt! I enjoyed the sensation, as weird as fucking my grandmother was. She rose and dropped and found her rhythm.

I reached up and grabbed the double titties that bounced in front of my eyes. She leaned toward me and we Frenched, her fingers caressing my head lovingly. Then her hands clasped mine tight to her breasts and she began this awesome roll of her hips to and fro, creating a friction on my cock that was driving me nuts and I knew I was going to shoot in her soon. She began to moan, it built volume and climbed in pitch and was echoing in the dark. She bit her knuckle to keep from crying out as the first wave of climaxing washed over her. Her haunch hunched making me pound deep, hard enough to feel the nubs of her womb. The pace was a staccato of rapid slaps as I shot a huge wad; spurting inside the gripping cunt of Gracie.

She collapsed on top of my body, our sweat slick and sticky, as my cock shrank and slipped out of that special space. We both panted as the clock stopped time for our moment of intimate joining, hugging and kissing and murmuring words like ‘incredible’, ‘mind-blowing’, soo-goood’, and of course, “I love you” – “I love you too”. Then Granny Gracie, with unexpected strength stood and pulling me to my feet, toppled us back into the cool water to rinse the sex off. But it did nothing to cleanse my thoughts, they were as dirty as ever and I fondled my new lover all over and she me.

Then I turned her around so that my fresh woodie was between her ass-cheeks. She took the hint, bending at the waist and I crouched so that I was aiming at that place of Grace I had recently frolicked in. Grams reached back and guided my phallus to her pleasure palace and away we went again! The surface was choppy with our action, the contrast of cool and heat, liquid and flesh, heightened our physical passion. My hands held her hips and she reached for the edge to steady our stance, as my stalk sheathed in her sex cavity again and again.

Grunts and groans merged in a chorus, an erotic soundtrack adding to the mix of sin and sinsemilla which had seduced us both. At last, in a mutual spasm of orgasms, our bodies could take no more and our lust was slaked. Gracie turned and we clung to one another like honeymooners who can’t get enough of closeness. Kissy face and giggles ensued.

I raised my eyebrows and whispered in her ear, “Well there’s another boner for the family skeleton closet collection!” Grams howled with laughter, then I did too. But having made a racket, we grabbed our things and naked as jay-birds and guilty as jailbirds we walked hand and hand back to the house. Once inside, without either of us actually verbalizing the notion, we went to my parents bed and fell asleep on the spread, cuddling together like children; blanketed by only the warm night’s atmosphere and the after glow of our stupendous stoned fucking. It was the most special love making I ever had, that first time with Granny Gracie, no matter how many times we got it on following, number one was the most fun!

I looked at her plot, the lawn green, the grass making me emotional and I wept a little. But then I heard her words to me like she was speaking right at my ear, in soft dulcet tones, “Don’t cry if I die, be happy instead, and when I’m dead – remember our joy, lover boy. Get stoned for me, recalling our balling will make you smile, be high and get happy for Granny’s in heaven, and my spirit lives on in our love my sweet Kevin Kyle.” She was not a great poetess, but it was the thought which counted and I did grin and take another toke.

The rest of that summer was too short, as we snuck off every time we could to ‘make whoopee’, as she named it sometimes. I took a long weekend off from school in October and drove the six hours home, was back at Thanksgiving and Christmas vacation was not enough – so she flew down in February as my valentine gift. I was home for Spring-break, the whole week we partied, even renting a motel room one night, so we didn’t have to worry about my parents catching us sleeping together. I was back and out of school for the summer by late May and our shenanigans began again. It was the best of times when the folks went on their trip for two weeks and we had the house to ourselves.

Meanwhile she had no problem if I hooked up with girls at school. She made sure I had lots of spending money, and I was her personal dealer for dope. It worked beautifully. As our time in each other’s company gave opportunity, more dirty details of my family history were related. Chuck at one point ran a brothel in Nevada. Great grandpa and grandma almost got caught in a raid on a speak-easy set up in a Midwestern farmhouse. She tore her favorite dress climbing out of a window. Their car was faster than the local cops’ and they got away clean, save for the ruined dress.

My dad had been to the infamous Plato’s Retreat sex club during the Seventies in New York City, with his secretary; mom never suspected. But she did almost catch on when the college-age daughter of old friends of theirs came to visit. “Your father and she took a room at a motel, rather than go sightseeing in the City as they said.” Gram chuckled. “Evidently that was a continuation of a brief interlude from before, when she was in high school. If a colleague of his hadn’t covered for him there would have been hell to pay, and maybe alimony.” Grams finished the narration.

I shared losing my virginity a month after graduation with a good friend of mom’s. How I had been in a three way with my best friend and his girl. I told her of my fantasies about mom and how I used to sneak around the house to peek in her windows and watch her masturbate when dad was on long business trips. We swapped stories of getting drunk and high and how both of us had nearly gotten arrested for silly pranks. Gracie was right, we became the best of buddies, a bonding that would never leave me, even though she only lived a couple years more, before cancer killed her.

Jeez! Time for another toke! I laughed at how we did it under my folk’s nose there in the house, with the door closed and having to keep quiet as we had our little quick sessions; mom and dad none-the-wiser. She would be sitting in her easy chair and I on the big footstool in front of her. Gracie would raise her nightgown, no panties, I dropped my pants to my feet, no underwear either. I would go down on her for a few moments and if I needed it, she would suck me.

Often we were both hot to trot and primed for action. I’d stretch over her and supporting my weight on the arms of the chair pumping at that pussy with my prick, like to beat the band. Sometimes I would slow down and make long strokes, but it was never ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am!’ She was ever warm for my form, and readily came, even multiples if we had opportunity to mess around at our leisure, which never seemed to be enough.

Gracie grabbed my buns and squeezed as I pumped into her from that position inclined over her seat. She tilted hips and her cunt captured my cock in her clutches, milking the cream from my loaded balls. I shot gobs of goo into that sweet meaty cauldron. She had plenty of tissue to wipe up the aftermath of our messy merriment. Mother would sometime try to find out what we took so much time ‘chatting’ about, but the answer was always “old times” or “gossip about people”. Too bad mom was so conservative and shy, I think if she let her hair down she could be as wanton as Gran was. I wondered if I could get her stoned, and if the circumstances were just right . . . ?

Well, thank God for Grandma; and now Gracie is with Him, high in heaven. Of course, we never were angels!

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A Small Gift

A Small Gift

Why had the mail man winked so suggestively as he handed her the parcel! He pointed to the store label prominent on the packaging. Vicky certainly wasn’t expecting a delivery and didn’t recognize the store name.

In the house she located the letter opener and slit open the wrapping. Inside was a nondescript small black box devoid of any hint as to its contents.

With anticipation the lid was eased open; Vicky peering through the tiniest of opening trying to anticipate the contents. The darkness inside thwarted her efforts.

Her hands began to tremble slightly, she felt like a kid with a surprise present. Finally there was no alternative but to fully open the container.

What greeted her eyes was small golden cylinder; for an instant her mind was blank, what was it? Then, as all became clear, she inadvertently let out a small but not too quiet scream.

Hubby Danny looked up from his newspaper, “more bling darling, why do you waste your money on that rubbish?”

“Oh it’s just girlie stuff baby, and it wasn’t at all expensive and Vicky knew that she wasn’t telling a little white lie as sometimes she had to do.

“How soon will you get tired of that one as you do all the other?sighed Danny.

“Well… I don’t think that I will do that soon; if only he had bothered to take his nose out of the newspaper Danny would have seen her eyes so bright and sparkling, her face rapturous, her hand unthinkingly dropping to her crotch.

Now the house was quiet. Danny at work, her chores done, Vicky took the black box from its hiding place. She had quite deliberately hidden it so that if her husband had been curious, a casual check would not have revealed it. Time was needed to explain, if necessary, this small, bright object. Most certainly not allow Danny to know its true function; he most certainly would not approve.

Her hand reached out and her fingers almost touched the shiny object, but she stopped. She had the opportunity, she had the time, and that old familiar itch began to grow; she had to do it!

In the bathroom Vicky took out her make-up and carefully made up her face as if for a night out with the girls. NO! As if going on a date! Her hair was a mess as usual, but that was beyond minor titivation.

Such were her thoughts that her thighs were soon wiggling back and forth as if the call of nature was urgent. Mother nature was decreeing something different than emptying her bladder.

The mirror approved of her efforts and she grinned at her reflection, “Dirty little cow she laughed.

In its box on the bed the object winked at her; the sun through the blinds reflecting from it.

Vicky wondered, when John had bought this present for her how did he imagine, how would he demand that she would use it.

Would he, as usual in the chat room, want in her undies straight away? Perhaps he would want her naked. Maybe he would be considerate as she knew he could be if his horniness didn’t rule everything he did. “Vicky” he would say, “do what ever you want, it’s your gift”.

In her imagination she saw them in a car, in some parking area, dark and empty. Climbing into the seat in the back, kissing for the very first time, passionately.

Inevitably his hand would reach for her boobs and the warmth from them would penetrate her thin dress. As his fingers moved over her exposed cleavage she would want him to caress her boobs and nipples. She in turn would reach for the lump that for certain would be in his pants.

Vicky roused herself from that dream and decided to sit in the bedside chair fully dressed.

“Hmm, no instructions, oh shit… there’ll be no batteries!

At the blunt end of the cylinder she located a tiny switch; one touch and the object purred into life.

“Oh my dear gosh, it is so quiet! Only the vibrations indicated its purpose.

Changed into her most revealing dress Vicky stroked the cleavage with her gift; strong vibrations sought out her nipples and she didn’t even try to stifle a moan of pleasure.

Using the free hand she scooped a boob out of the dress and as the golden object was stroked this way and that, the other hand tugged at the hem of the dress baring her thighs. Vicky knew what was to come, her hands shook with excitement and the tiny silk panties were no barrier to impatient fingers. They dived under the thin band and straight to her mound.

Tentatively Vicky licked the vibrator to prepare it for its ultimate goal, realising as she did that no extra lubrication was going to be necessary.

Any thoughts of slowly caressing her body, aiming lower and lower were forgotten; the golden cigar was going to be smoking, deep in her pussy, and right now!

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Mason & Dorling go dogging

Mason guffawed. Captain Moss turned a steely stare at the officer. Undaunted, Mason doubled up, slapping the desk knocking the encumbrances asunder and guffawing louder.
“Shut the fuck up Mason”.
“Yes Sir, yes SIR” the detective clicked his heels, adopted a ramrod stance and saluted. The Captain sighed in resignation; if only this officer wasn’t one of his better performers …!
“One fucking glorious day officer Mason I’ll have ya ass …”. Dorling’s murmured “Ooooh” and her leering grin told the Captain to accept defeat; he would never win with this pair and rued the day he had made them partners.
“Get ya ass down to transport Dorling… NOW!” He ordered.
Mason tittered. “But Cap’, Dorling? Driving”?
His superior sighed and pointed to the door.
While his partner was put through her paces at what Mason called kiddy-car school he was restricted to the mundane tasks of traffic and minor misdemeanors; tasks more befitting an inexperienced rooky cop. And quite naturally he hated it and hated the ribbing he received from his pals in the precinct, so he was in no mood to find her occupying the drivers seat of their vehicle.
“Outta the fucking car Dorling, ya don’t get ya fat ass in the left seat of my patrol car!”
She sat there staring ahead, unmoving. “Easy or hard it don’t matter to me officer, I am senior here and what I say goes”. He drew his weapon.
She looked at the gun then at him. “If you are as expert with that as you are with ya lil weenie then I ain’t got no fears”, she grinned derisively.
Dorling sighed, there was no way her chauvinist partner was going to let her drive just yet, but her opportunity would come.
“Put the goddam weapon away Mason before you hurt yourself or the Captain sees you”.
Their partnership had endured long enough for each to get used to the other’s habits and moods and Dorling knew that his sulk would end at their first opportunity to grab some food.
Sure enough as they consumed what could only be described as an all-day-breakfast, mainly because the pair seemed to eat breakfast all day, Mason was back to his old, caustic self.
“Chief wants us on stakeout tonight” he mumbled through a mouthful of brownies.
“Tell him to go swivel, we don’t do stakeouts, that’s for the numbnut rookies”. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
“Oh we do…”, he started. “Since when”, she interrupted. “Since you couldn’t explain to the Captain’s satisfaction how you came to be skinny dipping in a stream at after midnight while on duty”.
“Oh…well ok… what ballsaching job is the Cap’ punishing us with”?
“The park down on Long and Fortune, problem with vehicles and noise. We gotta leave the patrol car outta sight and wear civilian clothes as we don’t gotta scare people off till we have the evidence”.
“Hey! This ain’t right Mason! You are tugging my pants up my crack here”!
“Ok, Ok, you wanna argue the point with the Chief, you do it! Just make it clear that I ain’t the one arguing!”.
“Fuck you Mason, if this is one of your stupid notions…!”
She scrutinized his face for any of the usual signs that he was up to no good; nothing. How was a stakeout gonna work with them in full view?
For the rest of the afternoon they did what they normally did. At the usual end of the shift Mason steered towards the place he called home in order to change into civilian clothes. As it was now well known and accepted by most that the two detectives were more than partners only at work, Dorling would have a change of clothing available at Mason’s place.
“Hey!” Yelled Dorling.” We’re on duty ya ass wipe”. Mason continued to climb into his beat up Honda compact.
“Get ya ass in here and let’s get moving, Cap’n insisted we keep a low profile”.
She looked long and hard at her partner before entering the vehicle; she couldn’t be sure but something wasn’t quite as it should be.
Dorling instinctively reached a hand to her to her crotch as the vehicle careened along the highway. Inevitably his driving would result in her being almost cut in two by her skimpy underwear. Mason knew no other way to drive, unlike the controlled manner she had just learned. Instead of the coarse material of her uniform her fingers touched the thin cotton of a dress.
Mason looked across and grinned, “can’t ya leave ya choochie alone for just five minutes?”
Despite desperately trying to look aloof, a grin creased her features.
It was already dark as the compact approached the area of the park; it looked quiet, normal, except for an unusual number of people on foot.
“Leave the car outta sight, you said Mason”.
He didn’t reply but drove off the road and into a wooded area. “Leave the patrol car outta sight is what I said. This ain’t no black n white!”.
There were other cars in the small clearing where Mason stopped. At each one a small gathering of people. They appeared to be jostling for position to see through the windows. Dorling wound down the window to better hear what was being said.
“What the goddam hell goes down here? She demanded. “Sounds like some kinda sex show”.
Mason wasn’t listening, he was walking towards one of the vehicles. As she ran to join him he turned, pulled her close and muttered “Call me Chuck, I’ll call you Doris”. Her mouth opened but before she was able to draw breath he snapped, “Just do it!”.
“What’s showing? Mason asked of a teen.
“Aw nothin’ much, they jus started. But it’s hot in the pickup and they are asking for another guy to join in”.
Dorling grabbed her partner’s arm and stopped him in mid-stride on his way to the pickup. “Dogging, goddam dogging! There ain’t no criminal activity going on here. You brought me to watch people fucking in cars?”
“Don’t shit ya panties Dorl… Doris, I didn’t bring ya here to watch this bunch of beginners. We outclass them in every respect. I just thought I’d bring my gal to show ‘em how it’s done”.
Dorling’s mouth opened and shut rapidly but no sound came out. She stared at Mason. Finally she found her voice, and it was loud. “Ya brought me here to show how much better than them we can fuck?” The area was suddenly silent, all eyes were on her. Her face already coloured from screaming turned bright red.
“Mason, you imbecile”. Her voice lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “We are police officers, we will be crucified for being here as voyeurs! You cannot be serious about fucking to an audience!”
“When did that ever stop you Doris? He emphasized the name and grinned. “Skinny-dipping?
 Driver training got ya being a goody-two-shoes? Wouldn’t dare to…?”
“Not in this city buster! Blast it down the turnpike and I’ll show who don’t dare”.
Dorling didn’t even want to begin to wonder just how her partner could drive unerringly to this place and know they would find a scenario almost identical to that they had left an hour earlier.
The journey had involved Mason describing in lurid detail all that he had seen on the nights that he had been without her company. Despite her lingering suspicions Dorling found excitement rising in certain parts of her body, and admitted to herself that her partner knew she would not fail rise to the challenge of a dare, particularly one involving some sexual activity. No matter how she worded it, Mason ignored her demands to know just what orders he had received from the Captain.
Instead of an urban park this place was an out of town supermarket car parking lot, and in the darkness it appeared that cars were widely and thinly spread out.
“I see no crowd Mason. No voyeurs”. Dorling felt almost cheated. Mason’s detailed descriptions of what he’d seen and her own diddling en route has raised her expectation as well as her libido.
“It’ll happen Doris… bet ya booty it will. Just follow my lead till ya get the idea. Mason took her hand, pulled her to him, bent his head forward and kissed her with a tenderness that took her by surprise.
“What the…” she didn’t finish.
“Shaddap ‘n’ save some of ya fire for later Doris, ya gonna need it!” he chuckled.
“Hey ya real old huh?” the teen didn’t realize just who he had addressed.
“One step nearer and i’ll have ya balls for breakfast” Dorling snapped.
Mason pushed her roughly against the car and began kissing her passionately, which took Dorling somewhat by surprise as his recent lovemaking had been a little lackluster. She returned his passion in equal measure.
 … continue?

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Uitdaging verloren

Uitdaging verloren

Het was een supper drukke dag geweest op het werk , en ik haastte me naar huis,

waar mijn vrouwtje Katrien waarschijnlijk al klaar stond te wachten om naar dit grote feest te gaan, waar we verwacht werden naar toe te gaan.

Al ging deze grote fuif uit van mijn werk , er gingen ook veel niet-bekenden zijn, het was dan ook een volle club, ongeveer 1000 man…De moeite dus om ons voor op te kleden !

Als ik de oprit opdraaide kwam ze begroetend in de open voordeur staan :

ze zag er weer super leuk uit, kort kurkje , leuke décolete, haar bruine haren mooi opgestoken.

Het jurkje accentueerde haar mooie vrouwelijke vormen.

Als ik uitstapte en ze stevig beetnam bemerkte ik een beetje teleurgesteld dat ze een slipje aanhad, alhoewel we onszelf al lang hadden beloofd iets stouter te gaan worden op dat gebied.

Ik liet het begaan, al had ik haar evengoed op haar plaats kunnen zetten en de slip laten uittreken.

Want toch doet het ons iets : dat machtsspelletje tussen de Dominant en het subje…Maar we hadden nog zoveel te leren.

Ik maakte dat ik de douche insprong en me in sneltempo klaarmaakte.

Echt op iets kinky moest ik niet gekleed gaan..werkfeestje en al zijnde…

Een half uurtje te laat kwamen we de club binnen, waar zich al een 200 genodigden tegoed deden aan het buffet.

De obligate “hallootjes” vlogen ons rond de oren. Het verplichtte handgeschud en gekus ondergingen we gelaten.

Er was nog een uurtje of twee te vullen met eten en babbelen en vooraleer de deuren open gingen voor het niet werk gerelateerde volk , dus namen we het er goed van en vlogen al snel in de pintjes…

Af en toe zag ik wel eens een man schuin naar Katrien gluren, zo wist ik dat ze in de smaak viel, wat ik altijd leuk vond.

Ik liet haar ook kennismaken met een aantal vrouwelijke collega’s waarvan ik wist dat ze bi waren…zomaar zonder echte bijbedoeling…of toch….?

Ik ging op dit feestje toch niets kunnen forceren dus bleef ik gewoon lekker socialiseren met men beste vrienden van het werk.

Tijd ging redelijk snel, want al gauw werd het drukker, ging de muziek luider en begon het dansen allemaal wat heviger te worden ; ik stond zo nog eventjes te babbelen met Caren, een collega vriendin, terwijl ik in mijn ooghoeken Katrien zocht maar niet direct vond;

Caren was lesbisch; dat wist ik want ze kwam er graag voor uit…en terwijl we een beetje over koetjes en kalfjes praatte kon ze me duidelijk maken dat ze Katrien wel een mooie vrouw vond.

” Never gonna happen” dacht ik , want ten eerste wou ik een bi meisje om samen als koppel mee te spelen, geen lesbische, en ten tweede was Caren was niet echt Katrien’s type.

Een beetje overgewicht en beetje té lesbisch uiterlijk…

Ik besloot dit gesprek te verlaten en me een beetje meer op de dansvloer te begeven…

Tussen wat collega’s etc merkte ik Katrien op; ze stond wulps te dansen…De blikken rondom haar gaven me gelijk : ze was het zowat uitdagendste stuk op de vloer.

Glimlachend liep ik erop af en kuste haar vol op de mond, als om iedereen te laten zien dat ze van mij was….

Katrien fluisterde me in het oor : “hey rustig ik was hier wel een grietje aan het versieren he…”

en ze lonkte naar achter haar waar een prachtige brunette met leuke krolletjes stond te dansen en regelmatig onze kant op keek .

Ze was jong, en zag er redelijk onschuldig uit..;maar uitzicht kan bedriegen…hoopte ik.

Ik was niet van plan om Katrien’s plan te verknoeien nu ze eens initiatief nam en werk maakte om één van onze talrijke fantasietjes , zijnde een triootje, te realiseren.

Dus ik liet ze even voor wat ze was, en ging richting toog..vers sap halen.

Met een nu nog bredere glimlach op men gezicht..want het was leuk te weten dat mijn vrouwtje bezig was met iets waar ik ze enkel in haar fantasie toe in staat zag.

Met men verse pint liep ik weer enkel collega’s tegen het lijf , waarmee ik niet anders kon dan een praatje te slaan.

Algauw was het een klein uurtje later, en kon ik me niet meer inhouden, ik moest zien hoever de kansen op een triootje deze avond waren gestegen…

Mezelf tussen het volk drummend, begaf ik me naar hun laatst bekende positie…maar daar zag ik niets.

Ik liep wat rond tot ik ze zag : midden op de dansvloer, Katrien redelijk dicht tegen het jonge meisje aandansend, af en toe een woordje wisselend, afgewisseld met een korte aanraking…

Er zat zeker iets in de lucht, maar het was precies niet al te makkelijk.

Of was die onschuld dan echt, en was het prachtige ding echt verlegen? Het zou alles een stuk moeilijker maken , en eerlijk :

zo veel ervaring had Katrien nu ook weer niet in het versieren van vrouwen..

Terwijl ik deze gedachte rustig liet bezinken klopte een stevig handje op men schouder ; het was Caren met een grijns op haar gezicht.

“Dat vrouwtje van je, met wie staat die nu te dansen ?”

“Tja, een lekker ding he, en Katrien ziet die wel zitten. Af en toe is ze wel voor een vrouwtje hehe.” repliceerde ik gevat.

“Tja”, grijnsde Caren, “ze heeft wel smaak..dat meisje noemt Rebecca trouwens, en ik dacht er straks mee naar huis te gaan..

“Jaja, dan zal je je beurt moeten afwachten Caren, en waarom zo zeker dat je lukt waar Katrien nu al een uurtje voor aan het werken is ??”

“Jongen toch, ze weet niet waar ze mee bezig is. Terwijl jouw vrouwtje haar best aan het doen is, heb ik al 2 drankjes van Rebecca gekregen. Trouwens, als het op vrouwtjes versieren aankomt zal de jouwe toch de duimen moeten leggen hoor.”

“Misschien….., misschien niet” zeg ik al lachend….”Al denk ik niet dat je zomaar iedereen kan krijgen hoor…zo’n “looker” ben je nu ook niet” zei ik een beetje bot, om haar op haar plaats te zetten.

Ze lachtte me enkel toe,

kneep haar ogen dicht en stapte iets dichter : “Als ik men zinnen zet op jouw vrouwtje, beloof ik je hier en nu, dat ik je straks haar slipje kom brengen, en het zal niet droog zijn…”

Ik denk dat mijn mond bijna openviel van deze reactie.

Ze was direct en zo vol zelfvertrouwen dat ik onmiddellijk een tinteling door men buik tot in men kruis voelde.

Ik wist niet direct wat terugzeggen, en stond wat te gapen, waarop ze in lachen uitbarstte.

“Maar Geertje toch, als je het niet wil zal ik het niet doen ze, ik wil je vrouwtje niet afpakken hoor, dat ga ik je niet aandoen.”

Dit was gewoon kleinerend.

Dus ik stoer terug tegen Caren : “alsof dat zou kunnen! Eerlijk , jij krijgt mijn vrouw nooit zover, of je moet het met geweld doen, en daar is niet veel versieren aan, wel ?”

” Nee hoor Geert, je moet me nu ook niet op ideeën brengen hoor, alles op zijn tijd haha …. Maar laten we dit wedden : ze gaat me ,deze avond nog, haar slipje vrijwillig willen geven….en misschien laat ik haar wel even smeken om het te mógen geven.

En weet je wat, omdat je nu net zo grof deed tegen me , kan het me weinig schelen wat jij ervan vindt.

Ik bewijs je het gewoon en zal die vrouw van je ineens ook wat manieren leren, zo achter mijn prooi te durven gaan terwijl ik er op sta te zien nota bene !!”

Zonder me nog aan te kijken verdween Caren in de dansende menigte, ze liet me perplex achter.

Direct keek ik rond of er iemand getuige was geweest van dit tafereel en of men rode hoofd niet al te veel weg gaf van de aard van deze conversatie ;

Katrien was ondertussen weer van dans-tegel verandert, en uit mijn zicht verdwenen ;

Ik liep rond tot ik bij een goeie maat kwam die half zat tegen een pilaar stond, met zen rug naar de dansvloer. Achter hem, tussen de menigte door zag ik Katrien verder rond Rebecca dansen, het ging blijkbaar de goede kant op.

En geen Caren te bekennen.

Ergens was ik opgelucht, en toch met een raar gevoel in de buik begon ik een praatje met men halfzatte maat, terwijl ik de dansvloer achter hem nauwlettend in de gaten hield.

Even verslapte men aandacht blijkbaar want toen ik terug Katrien zocht keek ik direct in Caren’s gezicht die naar me knipoogde terwijl ze richting Katrien danste.

Ze liep zo achter Katrien door, en zei ze bljjkbaar goeiedag of zo, want Katrien zei kort iets terug en ging verder met dansen, schijnbaar ongeïnteresseerd en snel nam ze meer afstand van Caren tot ze er weer een meter of 5 van afstond.

“Zie je wel”, dacht ik bij mezelf …

Een kort minuutje erna (de DJ had ondertussen het tempo wat opgedreven) zag ik Caren terug op haar af schuiven, iets in haar oor fluisteren en een lichte aanraking in haar zij maken.

Een glimlach bij Katrien verraadde dat het een complimentje of zo was.

Maar de glimlach verdween vrij snel, waarop ze haar hoofd weer afwendde en terug verder ging met dansen.

De afstand tussen beide vergrootte weer snel, maar toch leek het of ze iets dichter bij elkaar bleven.

Zo ging het even door, en elke keer nadat Caren Katrien benaderde bleven ze iets dichter bij elkaar hangen, maar steeds ging Katrien met haar gezicht afgewendt van Caren dansen, en was het Caren die moest afkomen.. Hehe, Caren kon wel jagen wat ze wou , deze prooi ging ze nooit helemaal kunnen binnenhalen , leek me.

Deze gedachte was nog niet helemaal koud, of ik zag Katrien even haar gezicht omdraaien terwijl haar ogen die van Caren zochten , als een kind dat niet genoeg aandacht kreeg.

Dan ging het snel. Dit teken van interesse was het teken waar Caren opwachtte vooraleer de aanval volledig in te zetten.

Caren overbrugde de kleine meter tussen hun twee lichamen in met een forse danspas, legde een hand in Katriens nek, trok haar hoofd iets naar haar toe en begon in haar oren te fluisteren.

Eerst bood Katrien een beetje tegenstand, maar naargelang de zinnen in haar oren vloeide liet ze zich dichter en dichter tegen Caren trekken, en ontspande haar lichaam zich tegen dat van Caren.

Plots, en iets of wat ruw vond ik, liet Caren haar terug los met een kort duwtje tegen haar hoofd.

Katrien wankelde even een paar stappen verder , alsof ze haar evenwicht even kwijt was,waarna ze verder begon te dansen, trager nu, al was het tempo de hoogte blijven ingaan, ze draaide rondjes, eerder zwijmelend. Ze was knalrood geworden in haar aangezicht en op haar mond speelde een raar glimlachje.

Vanaf toen veranderde haar houding helemaal. Caren kwam dichter tegen haar dansen en ze liet zich volledig leiden door haar. Ik kon het niet verklaren , maar Caren leek ook plots een pak groter dan haar. Katrien week geen seconde meer van Carens zijde…bleef ook altijd naar haar kijken. Al was kijken iet het goede woord, het was meer staren .

Van Rebecca was geen spoor meer.

Ook Caren haar houding was verandert, alsof ze de interesse een beetje verloren was; ze liet Katrien nu telkens achter haar lopen, als een speeltje.

“Ze was nog steeds aan het vissen, maar er hing nu wel degelijk iets aan haar lijn” spookte het door men hoofd.

Dan danste ze weer een paar stappen verder,en als een kalfje schuifelde Katrien achter haar aan.

Tot nu toe weet ik nog steeds niet wat Caren haar toen heeft toegefluisterd , maar het moet verdraaid straf spul geweest zijn, want dit had ik nog nooit gezien.

Ook nooit verwacht eigenlijk.

Af en toe raakte Caren Katrien aan , op haar gezicht, dan weer in haar zij, en plots een hand op haar kontje, maar telkens liet ze haar weer los en nam ze terug meer afstand.

En telkens volgde Katrien gedwee.

Zo stonden ze al snel aan de rand van de dansvloer toen Caren de rollen nog duidelijker maakte; ze had zich zo gemaneuvreerd dat ze naast Rebecca stond, zo plots , ongepland ?

Ze wist waar ze mee bezig was.

Ze begon een klapje met Rebecca terwijl Katrien als een kalf dicht tegen haar stond, lichtjes danste. Ze had geen oog meer voor Rebecca. Zo liet Caren haar een poosje rond haar draaien, gaf Rebecca duidelijk haar telefoonnummer en een kus vol op de mond en liep toen bruusk weg naar de toog ; halverwege draaide ze zich om naar Katrien, die verbijsterd was blijven staan, keek haar vol in de ogen en toen naar beneden, alsof ze de plaats wilde aangeven waar Katrien verwacht werd. Om het helemaal duidelijk te maken wees Caren kort even naar haar voeten.

Man, dit ging mijn petje te boven, zo openlijk en zo recht voor de raap.

Maar het werkte.

Katrien huppelde bijna naar Caren en die nam haar bij de hand, bijna als bij een kind ; ze trok Katrien achter zich aan naar de toog.

Een meter voor de toog wees ze weer naar de grond en fluisterde iets tegen Katrien waarna ze aan de toog ging staan; Katrien bleef mooi wachten een meter voor de toog. Haar blik naar Caren gericht.

Ik stond niet al te dicht, en het kon men fantasie zijn, maar ik dacht Katrien’s stijve tepeltjes door haar jurkje te zien priemen. Het was er niet koud. Eerder zeer warm.

Wat ik juist had zien gebeuren , kon enkel in mijn diepste fantasietjes wel eens voorvallen, al overtrof dit nog de fantasie. Hoe mijn vrouw zo omgetoverd was van de jaagster tot een willoos klein nederig meisje.

Ik moest toegeven dat ik helemaal opgewonden was, en kon dit ook niet echt verbergen. Collega’s of niet ; het kon me niet meer schelen.

Caren had ondertussen een enkel biertje besteld en liep terug naar Katrien;

Hierna volgde een blijkbaarvrij normale conversatie die plots eindigde met Caren die het laatste bodempje bier “per ongeluk” op Katriens jurkje kapte en het glas aan Katrien gaf.

“Had Katrien haar afgewezen?” Schoot het door men hoofd.

Caren liep fors weg, kwam voorbij mij, en met een vettige knipoog liet ze me weten dat ze nog steeds op schema zat.

Katrien stamelde met haar nat jurkje richting toog,en zette het glas erop, vroeg een natte opneemvod en begon de plek van de grond op te kuisen op haar knieeën. Ik hoorde mensen rondom mij haar uitlachen voor stomme trut die zelf de grond aan het opkuisen was, terwijl er wel 30 man personeel was om dit voor haar te doen.

Nadat ze de grond redelijk mooi had opgekuist, stapte ze in dezelfde richting als Caren weg. Ook voorbij mij, maar zij, integenstelling tot Caren eerder, zag me niet staan…

Ik zag haar rode gezicht, glanzende oogjes en knalrode oren; ze liep met haar mond een beetje open richting de vrouwentoiletten en verdween naar binnen….

Nu stond ik hier mooi, ik had er echt niet op gelet of Caren ook daarbinnen was gestapt, maar iets zei me dat dat wel het geval zou zijn.

Na 2 pinten wachten begon ik me toch zorgen te maken,en af te vragen of er nog een andere uitgang was aan die wc’s …zou ik haar even sms’en ? of bellen;? Ik kon toch moeilijk zonder mijn vrouw doorgaan?

En juist als ik men gsm opdiepte, kreeg ik de schok van mijn leven, en wat ik aanschouwde zorgde voor een instant steenharde erectie waar men broek bijna van scheurde : Caren kwam zeer statig uit het wc,met in haar linkerhand een mooie witte kanten bh, ik herkende hem meteen, ze droeg het gewoon bij het bandje, heel openlijk.

In haar nadere hand, even expliciet het mooie witte kanten slipje van mijn vrouw.

Mooi een meter erachter , liep Katrien.

Haar jurkje een beetje omhoog geschoven, haar opgestoken haren los. Het jurkje liet duidelijk zien dat ze geen bh meer droeg en over de stijve tepels twijfelde ik niet meer.

.Ze liep met haar hoofd naar de grond gericht achter Caren.

Ze kwamen recht op me af.”

Caren ging pal voor mij staan en hief het slipje op, recht voor men ogen; “wat zie je jongen?” “Euuh”, met trillende stem antwoorde ik , “Katrien haar slipje;”

Caren duwde haar duim door het slipje , los op het kruis waar zich zeer duidelijk een grote natte plek bevond, “en dit Geertje?” “Is nat niet?”

“Jaja tis een natuurtalent dat vrouwtje van je, of zal ik dat sletje van je zeggen?”

“Want bij de juiste persoon is ze niet meer dan dat he ?”

“Sletjes dragen helemaal geen ondergoed, vandaar dat ik ook even haar bh’-tje heb afgenomen.”

“Maar niet met geweld hoor, ze deed het heel braaf en gewillig.”

“Nu ik denk dat we duidelijk kunnen zeggen dat ik dus niet blufte hé.”

Terwijl Caren me aansprak bleef Katrien een metertje achter haar staan , naar de grond starend, vuurrood gezicht en haar benen stonde iets verder gespreid dan ik van haar gewoon was. Trilde die beentjes ook niet een beetje???

“En oh ja Geertje”, vervolgde Caren haar overwinnings-speech : “vermits jij me niet echt het respect gaf dat ik verdien, hoef ik je ook geen respect terug te betonen, dus doe ik gewoon verder wat ik wil met die vrouw van je.”

“Je ziet dat ik haar niet dwing, maar ik loop nu naar buiten en stap in men auto, rij naar huis en je zal zien dat ze vanzelf volgt.”

“Maar iets in me wil je niet compleet “droog” laten staan, dus hier is een sleutel van mijn loft. “Volg ons vanop een afstand, wacht tot we binnen zijn, en kom 10 minuten later met die sleutel binnen, wees zeer stil , en blijf aan de inkom, het is er donker in het begin van men loft en er staat een zetel in de hoek. Zet jezelf,maak het jezelf gemakkelijk (en met een scheve blik glimlachtte ze richting men kruis) en aanschouw hoe ik je vrouwtje tot mijn slet maak.

Caren liet de sleutel vallen in mijn handpalm, draaide zich om stapte trots als een pauw richting uitgang.

Mijn vrouw volgde haar gedwee en moest iets vlugger stappen om de stevige tred van Caren te kunnen volgen.

Een seconde of 5 had ik nodig om te bekomen en te realiseren dat er minstens 50 man mij aan zat te staren, de andere 100 keken nog Caren en Katrien na. Ik kon ze geen ongelijk geven.

Ik ontweek de blikken, hoopte dat er niet al teveel collega’s meer tussenzaten, en begon ook richting uitgang te wandelen.

Ik liep een goede dertig meter achter mijn vrouw en kon zien dat Caren haar woord hield : met in de ene hand de bh en de ander het slipje liep ze goed door over de parking, ze keek niet om, zei niets tegen Katrien. “Als Katrien niet zou volgen zou ze het zelfs niet weten” dacht ik.

Even overweeg ik om Katrien in te halen en te vragen of alles ok was? Zou ik ?

Maar ik kende haar goed genoeg om te weten dat ze niets tegen haar zin zou doen.

Al werd haar zin nu grotendeels bepaald door haar kut, en dus onrechtstreeks door Caren.

Maar toch, als ze me nodig had, had ze het wel laten weten…nee we gingen ervoor , ik ging dit niet verpesten.

Trouwens : ik kon altijd nog ingrijpen als ik vond dat het te ver ging, al dacht ik niet dat Caren Katrien op de hoogte had gebracht van mijn aanwezigheid in de loft, waarom moest ik anders stil zijn?..

Caren was ondertussen aangekomen aan haar BMW Z3, en stapt vliegensvlug in; zonder te wachten startte ze de motor,deed de lichten aan en zette hem in achteruit.

Katrien ging het laatste stukje sneller wandelen, en stapte juist op tijd in , op de achterbank. Caren reed achteruit en wachtte even op de rand van de parking.

Gehaast stapte ik ook in men auto , hield met 1 oog de BMW in het oog en begon erachter te rijden.

Door smalle straatje, en altijd op een brave afstand volgde ik Caren naar haar loft.

Ze parkeerde voor een gerestaureerd fabriekspand, waar ze een loft huurde op de bovenste verdieping.

Ze parkeerde voor haar deur terwijl ik zeer kalm de straat in reed.

Ik zag juist een goed parkeerplekje toen ik iets raars zag : Caren en Katrien waren uitgestapt, en stonden over elkaar; Katrien leek wel een fréle vrouwtje naast de iets grotere, maar vooral veel zwaarder Caren.

Caren gaf Katrien haar slipje en bh terug, waarna Katrien op straat,in het zicht van iedereen die het wou zien haar jurkje omhoog schoof, terug in haar slipje stapte, daarbij duidelijk haar mooi geschoren poesje even naakt liet. Daarna schoof ze de bandjes van het jurkje over haar schouders, waarbij het bovenstukje van haar jurkje over haar borsten omlaag viel en ze met de tetjes bloot stond.

Vervolgens gaf Caren haar de bh terug die ze prompt terug aandeed,en haar jurkje terug fatsoeneerde.

Nu kon ik helemaal niet meer volgen. Waarom liet ze Katrien zicht terug deftig maken als ze toch van plan was ze in haar bed te krijgen ???

Caren verdween door de voordeur, Katrien mooi achter haar aan.

Ik telde de minuten , 10 minuten…ik zag eerst het licht in de traphal aangaan, iets erna op de bovenste etage flitste er overal licht aan.

“Grote loft” dacht ik nog bij mezelf.

Als er ongeveer 10 minuuten voorbij waren, stapte ik uit men auto en liep op een drafje naar het portaal.

Met de sleutel die Caren me gegeven had opende ik de zware ijzeren deur en liep de traphal in.

Ik probeerde zo geruisloos mogelijk de trappen op te lopen tot de bovenste etage ; wat niet makkelijk was want de verleiding om zo snel mogelijk deze voorstelling verder bij te wonen was groot.

Een beetje hijgend kwam ik boven aan , voor een brede , alweer ijzeren deur, ze stond op een kier …Ik trachtte men adem terug onder controle te krijgen en duwde zachtjes de deur verder open.

Zonder een piep te geven gleed de deur verder open en keek ik recht in een donker inkomhalletje, afgeschermd van de rest van de loft door een muurtje van glasdallen.

Ik stapte zo zacht als ik kon de loft binnen en liep naar het einde van het muurtje, waar zich in een donker hoekje een zetel begaf, juist zoals Caren het had beloofd…

Vanuit de zetel had je een overzicht over de rest van de gigantische loft.

Een oud fabriekspand met bakstenen muren en vol houten parket vloer. Het was heel minimalistisch en industrieel ingericht.

De zijde het verst van me verwijdert, en dat was al gauw 30 meter, was een open keuken, links ervan stond een wandmeubel en een paar losse zeteltjes. De rechterzijde was bijna volledig glas, met een driedubbel bed halverwege. In het midden was het eigenlijk vrij leeg , buiten een grote ijzeren stutpaal en een stoel tegen deze paal gezet. Katrien stond naast de paal , recht ,met haar rug naar mij.

Wat me ook direct opviel was de videocamera, op statief, mooi gericht naar het midden van de ruimte. Pal op Katrien.

De groot uitgevallen spots die aan het plafond hingen waren me eerst niet opgevallen, maar bleken dienst te kunnen doen als een mooie driepuntsbelichting voor bijvoorbeeld een videoshoot.

“Misschien verhuurt ze de ruimte soms wel aan een fotograaf of zo”, schoot het me nog door het hoofd.

“Zo” hoor ik Caren redelijk zware stem door de loft zwalmen.

“Hier staan we dan..jij en Ik ”

“Goed , niet?”

“eeeuh ja ..” antwoorde Katrien een beetje twijfelend, al dan niet vragend..

“Ben je hier dan niet uit vrije wil sletje ?” Het woord “sletje” klonk vals en hard, bijna ongepast.

Een stilte viel en de uitdrukking op Carens gezicht loog er niet om, ze was niet van plan om dit spelletje vlug af te handelen.

“Antwoord dan meisje” siste ze.

“Ja ik ben hier uit vrije wil..”

PETS…ik schrok toen ik het zag gebeuren, maar stond versteend voor het zeteltje waar Caren al over had gesproken.

“Je weet hoe je moet aanspreken trut”

“Ja, wie?”

“Ja, mevrouw….ik ben hier uit vrije wil, sorry mevrouw” een bevend stemmetje kwam uit het precies o zo frêle lijfje dat er, met de armpjes naast haar zijde, bijstond alsof ze een standje van haar Meesteres had gekregen.

En dat was ook zo. Samen met een klets vol in het aangezicht.

“Om zeker te zijn dat je er morgen, volgende week of zelfs volgend jaar ook nog zo over denkt, film ik dit gezellig onderonsje van begin tot einde.

Zo bestaat er later geen twijfel wie hier de perverse teef is,

en wiens wens het was om hier nu samen met mij te zijn.

Want je zou niet de eerste teef zijn, die zichzelf achteraf wijsmaakt dat het maar een bevlieging was, of dat ze zelfs gedwongen werd om te doen wat vieze teefjes hier zoal doen.

Oh, niet dat ik er voor niets tussenzit hoor, ik laat je wel dingen doen,

maar je spleetje liegt niet he. ”

“Dus daarom staat die camera al aan vanaf de moment dat je hier binnenstapte.

Het filmpje kan me misschien nog goed van pas komen als ik je weer eens betrap tijdens een zielige poging één van mijn prooien te versieren, recht onder men neus dan nog.”

“Ik zeg wel degelijk zielig, want echt een serieuze poging kunnen we dat niet noemen, niet?”

De pauze die Caren liet , deed Katrien twijfelen of het al dan niet een retorische vraag was, maar om het zekere voor het onzekere te nemen stamelde ze snel “nee, mevrouw”

Caren gniffelde, en terwijl ze heen en weer liep voor Katrien , als een leeuwin voor haar prooi, keek ze recht in Katriens ogen, en ging verder.

“Nee, dat was zeer stuntelig en een belachelijk verkeerde aanpak. Zo versier je geen vrouw.”

En geloof me ik kan het weten” , en terwijl ze dit zei, wees Caren naar de immense muurkast links van haar. Die stond vol met DVD’s : allemaal witte hoesjes, rug tegen rug, met een simpel opschrift welke ik niet kon lezen van zo deze afstand.

Maar bovenop de kast stond een opschrift , wat ik wel kon lezen (al was het met turende oogjes, en moest ik het wel 5 keer opnieuw lezen) ;

Maar dat was waarschijnlijk omdat ik het de eerste 4 keer niet kon geloven of ik het wel goed had gelezen

Er stond in drukletters : “CAREN’S SLETJES”

Een muurkast vol met filmpjes, het moesten er wel 100’en zijn..

Een vorm van jaloezie kon ik niet onderdrukken bij het zien van die collectie..hoe doet ze het…

“Nu, ” ging Caren verder,” ik heb je al twee keer de kans te geven om jezelf terug te trekken, weg te gaan en me nooit meer lastig te vallen in je leven. Ik geef je nu nogmaals de kans. Ofwel loop je nu snel de deur uit, en ga je verder met je leventje, ofwel kijk je recht in de camera links van je , en beantwoord mijn vragen braafjes.”

Bijna onmiddellijk draait Katrien zich naar links en kijkt pal in de lens, een paar meter van haar af.

“Mooi zo”.

“Antwoord me nu dan eens : teef , wil je nu je boeltje pakken en hier vandaan kruipen, of wil je een nieuwe film worden in mijn collectie Caren’s sletjes ?”

Nog steeds met bevende, opgewonden stem, maar zonder aarzelen antwoorde Katrien :

“ik wil een volgende film worden in je collectie Mevrouw”

“Mooi, mooi, dat staat erop.”

“Zover zijn we al.”

Caren wandelde met grote passen naar het wandmeubel met filmpjes, trok er een uit en liep terug naar Katrien .

“Je begint het te leren, en das maar goed ook, want ik ben nog steeds een beetje” pissed” op je omdat je mijn vriendinnetje probeerde te versieren. ”

“Ja , dat hoor je goed : vriendinnetje.” En ze hield het kaftje van de film voor Katrien’s ogen : een witte kaft met in het groot “REBECCA” op en eronder een foto van het meisje uit de club;


op haar knieen in wat ik herkende als een algemeen aanvaarde slavinnenhouding in de BDSM wereld.

“jamaar, dat wist ik niet Caren, dat het ….” “PETS”

De harde, vlakke hand van Caren kwam neer op de linkerkaak van Katrien, deed haar hoofd opzij slagen, en verbrak de woorden van haar zin tot een oorverdovende stilte.

Katriens gezicht sprak boekdelen : verschrikt, opstand en een lichte woede borrelde in haar op.

Haar hoofd bleef even omlaag hangen, ze verbeet de pijn.

“Je moet me nu niet gaan onderbreken en tegenspreken, en daarbij : geen enkele teef noemt me bij men voornaam , kut !” riep Caren door de loft

“Nou, lang blijf ik niet kwaad, hoor, wat gedaan is, is gedaan…” klonk het dan ineens weer veel zachter

En poeslief lachte Caren naar Katrien, kustte haar teder vol op de mond en knipoogde.

Deze plotse uitbarsting van agressie , gevolgd door de tedere, bijna verliefde kus leek wel half schizofreen, alsof Caren ze niet alle vijf op een rij had; en de plotse stemmingswisselingen brachten Katrien helemaal van haar stuk.

“Onstabiel noemen ze zo iemand ” schoot het door men hoofd…”of soms wel zot…”

“Je moet me gewoon met respect behandelen Katrientje, dat is iets wat je man ook al vergat, en wat een van de redenen is dat je hier nu staat, met je rode kaken en je stijve tepeltjes die door dat hemdje priemen; ”

Ze liet even een stilte vallen om er dan nochalant en droog nog aan toe te voegen :

“en waarschijnlijk een druipnatte spleet.”

Ergens vond ik het spijtig dat Katrien met haar rug naar me stond, want ik had graag geweten of ze echt terug stijve tepels had , al wist ik ergens dat Caren er niet om ging liegen.

Over die druipnatte spleet had ik wel men twijfels, wetende dat Katrien echt niet zo snel nat stond, laat staan druipnat.

“Want ergens moet ik wel toegeven zelfs ik verwondert was hoe een makkelijke prooi je was, dat kom je echt gauw meer tegen hoor, een vrouw die zo snel haar slipje afgeeft.” Snel en iets stiller, bijna tegen zichzelf, voegde ze er nog aan toe :

“met het slipje geeft ze natuurlijk ook het voorrecht af om “vrouw” genoemd te worden , en blijft er enkel een sliploos sletje over.”

Met luidere stem vervolgde ze :

“Een andere reden dat je hier staat , is natuurlijk omdat je al lang op mijn verlanglijstje voor men collectie staat ; al van het eerste feestje waar Geert je aan me voorstelde.

Toen zag ik al in je ogen en aan je houding dat je een geil onderdanig ding was.

En kijk nu…hehe, hier sta je dan.”

Met een glimlach van oor tot oor keek Caren richting Katrien, een beetje heupwiegend,als een kind dat zen goesting gaat krijgen.

Smalend ging ze verder :

“Maar natuurlijk de belangrijkste reden dat je hier zo staat als een vies geil meisje is omdat je het zelf wou.”

” Niet ? ”

“Antwoord dan kind, of ben je ook nog stom ?”

Nu moest Katrien niet nadenken of het al dan niet retorisch bedoelt was : “Ja mevrouw,……. ik wil hier zo staan….. als een vies , opgewonden sletje”

Haar stem brak bij het woord sletje.

“Hahaha, prachtig, prachtig. Je bent helemaal mee !” Caren begon euforisch te worden, en ratelde snel door :

“Leuk toch dat je sinds je eerste les, weet je nog , in de toiletten van de club, al veel hebt bijgeleerd?”

“Oh dat is waar, je blaasje zal onderhand wel op springen staan, hahaha”

” Jaaaaaa , ik kon je echt niet laten gaan daar hoor, je koos zelf om bij mij in het hokje te komen, al kostte je dat je slip en bh , PLUS de mogelijkheid om te even op het potje te gaan, want ik moest zelf dringend, dat zag je wel.

En tegen dat je klaar was met men kut proper te likken, was het dringend tijd om door te gaan. Dus nogmaals sorry dat ik je toen niet kon laten gaan.”

“Maar ik zal het goedmaken. Omdat je zooo dringend moet onderhand , mag je nu direct gaan, hier en nu. Ga maar.”

Poeslief zei ze het.

“Dankje mevrouw..maar waar is het toilet ? ” klonk het enigszins verlossend

“Volgens mij ben je doof kind, ik zei toch : hier en nu.!!”

“Niet : straks en op het toilet!!!.” Snauwde Caren kwaad

“Pis nu teef !”

Katrien stamelde een beetje, schoof haar benen iets verder open en begon haar slipje omlaag te trekken;

“Oh ja, en voor ik het vergeet : ik wil geen druppel op men vloer zien, en ik wil dat je je slip aanhoudt.

Je gebruikt dat mooie jurkje van je maar om men vloer droog te houden., ok?

“Euh …ja , mevrouw”

Katrien trok haar slipje terug omhoog, liet haar jurkje over haar schouder’s heen glijden en op de grond vallen, aan haar voeten. Langzaam stapte ze uit het jurkje.

Zo stond ze nu enkel in haar zwarte laarzen, witte slip en bh voor Caren.

Haar jurkje op de grond, met haar voet schoof ze het tussen haar benen, zo goed en kwaad mogelijk op de plek waar ze verwachtte dat haar urine ging terechtkomen.

Dan opende ze haar benen wijder en begon te urineren.

Eerst werd haar slipje doorzichtig vanonder, waarna zich druppeltjes begonnen te vormen die langzaam in een straaltje samenkwamen en op het jurkje kletterde.

Het straaltje was wispelturig en liep af en toe langs haar been omlaag , dan weer mooi recht . Haar slipje was in een paar seconden tijd doorweekt met urine, maar ze slaagde er , voor zover ik het goed kon zien vanop de afstand , goed in om de grond droog te houden.

Dit schouwspel was teveel voor me , ik zeeg neer in het zeteltje en opende men broek om men steenharde erectie ruimte te geven.

Daar stond men vrouw zichzelf onder te pissen , in het bijzijn van een ander vrouw dan nog die, alsof het nog niet erg genoeg was, smalend neerkeek op dat vieze vrouwtje voor haar.

De camera filmde dit alles. Geen weg terug.

Als het laatste druppeltje zich losmaakt van haar slipje en zich ook in het doorweekte jurkje boort, zegt Caren al lachend : “van al dat gezeik moet ik nu zelf ook dringend hoor.”

“De oefening duurt dus gewoon voort teef : op je kieen , mondje open en vergeet niet : ik wil men vloeren droog houden !”

Met een ruk dwong ze Katrien bij de haren op de knieen .

Met de andere hand pakte Caren Katrien’s mond tussen duim en wijsvinger en duwde haar mond open.

Enkel een gesmoorde “hhmpppff” kwam er uit mijn vrouw.

“Zo blijven zitten, teef.” Caren nam een stap achteruit , ontknoopte haar jeans, en trok deze uit.

Haar zwarte slip trok ze met een vinger opzij, haar volledig kaalgeschoren kut met wel 4 piercings door de lange, vettig glimmende, schaamlippen kon ik bijna ruiken tot waar ik zat.

Er hing pure sex in de lucht, pure macht en onmacht, beestensex.

Ik streelde mijn steenharde paal.

Caren staptte wijdbeens over Katrien en bleef met haar opengesperde benen boven Katrien staan “armen achter je rug, gezicht omhoog en mondje open sletje van me”

Katrien deed wat er van haar gevraagd werd, en zonder het te weten was ook haar foto voor op het DVD hoesje gemaakt : een perfecte slavinnenhouding.

“oh ja, nog iets kleins : voor elk spetter pis die op men vloer ligt, ga ik je kont een serieuze klap verkopen.”

Direct na deze medeling begon Caren te urineren, en niet langzaam zoals Katrien , nee bij haar spoot er direct een dikke gele straal pis recht op Katrien’s gezicht.

Er was geen mogelijkheid dat ze dit allemaal in haar mondje kon houden, of zelfs vlug genoeg kon doorslikken.

Het gulpte over haar mond, langs haar hals zo over heel haar lichaam.

Ook haar bh werd nu doorschijnend van het vocht en de stijve tepels konden zich nergens meer verbergen.

Caren bleef opzettelijk niet stilstaan, maar heupwiegde wat heen en weer.

Hoe goed Katrien ook probeerde te volgen, de pis stroomde over, en in haar haren , en kletterde op de vloer.

Ook het jurkje kon niet alles absorberen en tegen dat Caren haar straal minderde,

lagen er verschillende spetters, sommige zo groot dat het al plasjes waren, donkergele pis op de vloer.

Midden in de wel zeker 30 plasjes zat een kleddernatte, ondergepiste Katrien.

Haar borsten wipten op en neer op het ritme van haar opgewonden ademhaling , terwijl de laatste pis van haar lippen droop .

Ze had moeite om haar armen achter haar rug te houden en niet met haar eigen te beginnen spelen.

Haar kut stond in vuur en vlam, en ze voelde haar spleet kloppen tot in haar keel.

Caren hief met een sierlijke zwaai haar been over Katrien’s hoofd en schoof haar slip terug op haar plaats.

Ze stond wijdbeens voor de vernederde Katrien, die nog steeds met versnelde ademhaling niet goed wist wat doen.

“Ik tel er 32 slet. ”

“32 plassen op mijn vloer !!! Geeneens spetters , nee plassen !”

“Sorry mevrouw”.

Katrien hield zich niet meer in, ze had niets meer te verliezen en gaf zich volledig over aan haar geilheid en verlangen om totaal gebruikt en vernedert te worden door Caren.

Caren ging op de stoel zitten en wenkte Katrien : sta recht teef, en kom hier over men knie liggen, je weet wat er staat te gebeuren;

“Ja mevrouw.”

Katrien stond recht, liep tot bij Caren en boog over de knieen en schoot van Caren tot ze met haar handen steun had op de grond.

Haar buik liet ze rusten op de schoot van Caren.

Het kontje mooi gepositioneerd.

Met 1 hand trok Caren ruw Katrien slip omlaag, tot op over de knieen.

” Zo een vies nat slipje, heb je in je broekje gedaan ,kind? ”

“Ja mevrouw.”

Wel ik zie 32 plassen, en we hadden afgesproken 32 kletsen per spetter pis op men vloer, dus hoeveel kletsen wil je, slet?

“64 dan mevrouw…”

“Hahaha, waarom het dubbele teefje?”

“Omdat het plasjes zijn Mevrouw..”

“Jij je zin kind, tel zelf maar mee dan.”

“Ja mevrouw”

En Caren begon met vlakke hand de ronde blote kont van men vrouw onder handen te nemen.

Ze sloeg door : ik hoorde aan Katriens tellende stem dat de slagen aankwamen.

En na een slag of 5 moest ik niet meer twijfelen aan de intensiteit waarmee Caren mijn vrouw billenkoek gaf : de kleur van haar kont wond er geen doekjes om.

Bij elke slag, kreunde Katrien even , om direct erna het getal te zeggen.

Na een 20tal kletsen begon Caren na elke slag even met haar vinger over Katriens spleet te gaan.

Het was amper een aanraking, maar het gekreun van Katrien veranderde direct van toon.

Caren bespeelde dit teefje zoals enkel een andere vrouw dat kan.

” Zo zo , kleine teef, men vinger is helemaal vettig van je vuile natte kut.

Ik neem aan dat je dit leuk vindt !”

En voor Katrien kon antwoorden, sloeg Caren uit alle macht haar zoveelste aanval op mijn vrouw haar kont, om direct erna zeer vlug , afwisselend op elke konthelft korte slagjes te geven.

“Aan hoeveel zitten we nu teef ?”

“hmmm , ik weet niet meer Mevrouw” snikte katrien, want de emoties werden haar wat veel, het contrast tussen haar geilheid en de pijn werkte verwarrend.

Caren domineerde haar in een staat van totale overgave , ver weg, volledig onderworpen. Kwetsbaar. Een uitdaging voor een goed Dominant.

Ik was zeer benieuwd hoe goed Caren wel was.

“Ow, ben je de tel kwijt meisie ?”

“Jaaa Mevrouw, ….sorry Mevrouw”

Caren haar hand gleed tussen Katriens billen en haar vingers maakte circeltjes rond haar klit, plagend , rond haar lippen tot juist voor haar anus, eventjes duwend en dan weer vederlicht over haar kletsnatte kutje.

Katriens kutje stond wijd open, al was ze helemaal nog niet gepenetreerd :

uitnodigend , zo leek het wel.

Caren nam Katrien’s schaamlippen tussen haar twee vingers en trok er , eerst zachtjes, aan .

“Het is niets teefje, dan beginnen we gewoon opnieuw, tot je het goed hebt.”

En terwijl ze de zin uitsprak trok ze harder en harder aan Katrien schaamlippen.

“O wow wow , sorry mevrouw..mpph”

Caren liet de schaamlippen los,en begon weer Katriens spleet te plagen.

Katrien lag te kronkelen op haar schoot, haar kontje omhoog af en toe losmakend van Caren’s schoot door het omhoog te duwen, kronkelend van pijn..ofwel uitnodigend naar Caren toe, alsof ze onbewust vroeg om meer;

Caren sloeg met vlakke hand op Katrien’s vuurrode linkerbil, en direct erna weer , en weer, zo kort 6 keer achter elkaar, steeds harder.

Katrien kon het niet meer houden, ze schreeuwde het uit van de pijn,

“Ssstopp aub Mevrouw, owowoww”

“aan hoeveel zitten we hoer? ”

“het doet te zeer Mevrouw, ik weet het niet meer door de pijn,;;.sorry”…

Caren duwde bruusk Katrien van haar schoot die hard op de grond viel, het gezicht op haar kletsnatte jurkje, haar mishandelde kont pletste op de natte vloer neer; in hun beider pis.

“Niets ben je waard” siste Caren ; ze was recht gestaan en stond wijdbeens over Katrien.

“Ik zal je zeggen aan hoeveel we zaten stomme trut : aan veel te weinig !!”

Katrien maakte aanstalte om recht te komen, en keek omhoog

“zie naar beneden slet, ik wil je stomme gezicht niet zien momenteel” , en om haar eis helemaal kracht bij te zetten , plaatste ze haar gelaarsde hiel op Katrien’s naakte rug ;

Met één korte duw van haar been duwde ze Katrien terug plat op de natte, koude grond.

Het zicht kon niet beter voor me :

Mijn totaal vernederde vrouw lag naakt met haar slip op tot op de knieen op de koude, natte grond. Haar gezicht rood aangelopen en de ademhaling snel, alsof ze juist gesport had; hijgend, beetje kreunend.

Ik zag haar hand langzaam tussen haar benen verdwijnen, terwijl ze de ogen sloot.

Caren had het blijkbaar ook gezien.

“Héé wat moet dat ??? Vies ding ! Kan je het al niet meer aan?

Sta je zo geil dat je met je kutje wil spelen Katrien? ”

Voel je je spleetje kloppen ?”

Dat ze de volledige naam terug gebruikte maakte het des te vernederender klinken, in mijn oren.

“Jaaaaa mmm mevrouw, ….alstublieft…eeuh .. Mevrouw, ii..ik moet komen…, alstublieeft…”

het kwam er met horten en storten uit, tussen het gehijg en gekreun van een loopse teef.

“Dat bepaal ik wel teef, laat nu die beide handen zien. Als je braaf bent mag je straks als een goed klein sletje masturberen.”

Katrien schoof haar hand terug onder haar lichaam uit, en liet het naast haar borst liggen.

“Ja mevrouw…ik zal braaf zijn..” De ogen nog steeds gesloten.

Caren stapte over Katriens lichaam richting overzijde van de loft, waar zich een deur bevond;

“Blijf mooi liggen slet.” Ze zei het alsof ze tegen haar hond bezig was.

Caren verdween door de deur naar een ander vertrek.

Katrien bleef inderdaad mooi liggen, nog steeds met gesloten ogen,nog steeds met versnelde ademhaling.

Vanuit het ander vertrek klonk Caren’s stem :” we zullen je eens helpen die vieze handen van je niet meer te gebruiken ”

Ze stapte de loft terug binnen met een zwart plastieken zak in de ene hand, en een rol zwarte brede tape in de ander.

Katrien opende de ogen en draaide haar hoofd in de richting van de aanwandelende Caren, alsof ze wou zien wat Caren bedoelde…Zelfs ik had al snel door wat er ging gebeuren.

Caren stond terug over Katrien , bukte zich en met een snelle beweging had ze plots een mes in haar hand waarmee ze katrien slip stuk sneed en achteloos van haar lijf trok, om gewoon terug te laten vallen op de natte vloer. In de pis.

Katrien droeg nu nog enkel haar witte, door de pis doordrongen en doorschijnend geworden, bh’tje.

Haar 85Bcup tetjes gingen snel open neer , op het ritme van haar versnelde ademhaling.

“Ik neem aan dat je geregeld naar een gynaecoloog gaat, dus weet je ook hoe te gaan liggen nu, op je rug, trek je benen zo hoog mogelijk op en open ze wijd mogelijk.”

Katrien gehoorzaamde snel , draaide zich om en trok haar benen hoog op, gespreid.

Caren duwde Katriens enkel nog dichter tegen haar bovenbil en draaide er vlot een paar keer met de tape rond, zo deed ze beide benen alsof ze nooit iets anders deed;

In een paar seconden lag mijn vrouw hulpeloos in een zeer “open” positie

Caren nam Katrien linkerarm bij de pols en draaide de tape rond de pols en trok die dan langs haar opgetrokken knieen naar haar linker enkel

“neem je enkel vast”

Zodra Katrien haar hand rond haar eigen enkel sloot, waarbij ze toch een beetje moeite moest doen om zover te geraken, draaide Caren snel ook hier tape rond. Het verhaaltje deed ze over voor de rechterpols.

De machteloosheid van Katrien was nu volledig. Ze lag volledig gefixeerd, kon niet meer weg. Haar iniemste deel open en bloot, kwetsbaar maar oh zo kletsnat , zichtbaar geil.

Caren was blijkbaar niet geïnteresseerd in de opgewonden teef die ze al dominerend bijna tot waanzin droof.

Ze ging onverstoord verder.

“Ik ben je ff beu kind, als er al iets uit die bek van je komt is het gehijg, gekreun of gesmeek om met je vuile spleetje te spelen; en daar heb ik nu even geen zin in.”

Snel nam Caren de vuile , natte slip terug van de grond en duwde die in Katriens mond. Het lichte protest werd gesmoord door de krachtige hand van Caren die een stuk zwarte tape strak over Katriens mond trok. Met beide handen duwde ze de tape zo strak aan, dat Katrien hoofd weer tegen de grond geduwd werd.

“Beter, veel beter.”

Maar eigenlijk kan ik even jes moel ook niet meer zien , met die vragende en smekende ogen van je, heel de tijd maar aandacht vragend . aandacht voor je kut die in brand staat.

Nee, daar heb ik ook even geen zin in nu”

Ze stak één hand onder Katriens hoofd, trok het van de grond af, en met de ander zwierde ze vlot de zwart plastieken zak over Katriens hoofd.

Ze trok de zak samen rond de nek , en draaide de tape er 3 keer snel en strak rond; heel strak leek het wel.

Dan ging ze met de tape nog kuiselings over Katriens hoofd, zodat de zak mooi rond haar hoofd zat.

Ik zag ter hoogte van Katriens neus de zak inkrimpen en weer uitzetten….ER ZAT HELEMAAL GEEN ADEMHALINGSGAT IN !!!!

Ik sprong recht en wou juist iets roepen , toen Caren mijn richting op keek en met één gebaar me duidelijk maakte dat ze wist wat ze aan het doen was : ze liet me het mes zien en knikte.

Dan wenkte ze me om stil naderbij te komen; wat ik snel deed;

Hoe dichter ik kwam hoe meer de details van het geheel me als perfect overkwamen. De geur van sex, van macht en onmacht, van jager en prooi

Bij Katrien sloeg de paniek toe, haar gekreun, ging over in kreten die gesmoord werden door haar eigen vuile slip. Het ietwat heupwiegen werden lichte stuiprekkingen , een gevecht om los te komen volgde.

Caren wist goed wat tape ze gebruikte en welke houding haar subjes in vast te maken. Er was geen ontkomen aan.

Ze bleef er rustig onder en ipv van een ademgat te maken in de zak , sneed ze met het mes de bh vanvoor stuk en trok hem ruw onder het nu spiernaakte lijf van men vrouw uit.

Haar borsten glommen van het zweet en leken wel opgezwollen; steenharde tepels bevestigde de opwinding die ze nu in de extreemste vernedering en machteloosheid ondervond.

Dan deed Caren iets zeer raars, maa rongeloofelijk geils : als een dier dat zen prooi controleert, ging ze op haar knieën voor Katrien zitten, en duwde haar neus tegen Katriens kut.

Ik hoorde ze diep inademen tot bij mij, snel en diep rook ze aan het geslacht van haar prooi.

“Ik kan je rieken teef ! ” “Je volle overgave en opwinding stinken uren in de wind.” “hahaha”

Dan nam ze zachtjes Katriens gezwollen clit tussen haar duim en wijsvinger, en rolde deze zeer zacht heen en weer; met een ander vinger wreef ze over de kletsnatte spleet richting haar aars; daar aangekomen was de vinger vettig en nat en duwde ze hem tot aan haar knokel in Katriens kontgaatje

“Kom, teef, kom”

En als op commando begon Katrien’s vernederde lichaam te schokken alsof ze stuiptrekkingen kreeg, het gevecht om adem te halen ging over in een orgasme dat ze nog nooit ervaren had. De combinatie van de strijd om zuurstof en overgave enerzijds,en van sexuele lust en bevrijding anderzijds deden haar kut exploderen.

Terwijl ze al schokkend lag klaar te komen dropen er hele druppels kutsap uit haar spleet ; ze ejaculeerde.

Al 15 jaar samen met mijn vrouw, maar nog nooit had ik ze dat weten doen.

Caren stond snel recht duwde haar scheenbeen tegen Katriens spleet, boog voorover en maakte met het mes een gat waar haar neus door kon.

Snel en diep zoog Katrien de levensnodige lucht een paar diepe ademhalingen duwde, de nog steeds vooroverstaande Caren, haar handpalm op Katrien’s neus, en sneed zo haar ademhaling weer af.

Met de andere hand draaide ze circeltjes rond Katrien’s clit, af en toe zeer dicht, dan weer iets verder, even een vinger in de kut, om weer snel te verdwijnen.

“Kom, teef, kom”

En ook nu weer…liet ze Katrien op commando komen.

Deze keer kon het niet enkel ejaculeren zijn wat ze deed, deze hoeveelheden vocht die eruit dropen, bijna spoten moet wel haar blaas geweest zijn die ze onder extreme omstandigheden ledigde.

Het orgasme leek wel een eeuwigheid te duren, en het schokken ging langzaam weer over in een gevecht voor adem. Maar weer op het juiste moment, liet Caren haar een paar keer diep ademhalen , om verder met haar prooi te spelen.

Hoeveel keer Katrien zo klaarkwam weet ik niet, het leek wel 1 lang orgasme te worden.

Ik weet enkel dat Caren haar 8 keer het commando gaf.

Ik liep stil rond beide dames tot ik een goed zicht kreeg op mijn vrouws vagina.

Haar klit en lippen waren vuurrood en opgezwollen,

Haar spleet zelf stond wagenwijd open en als een klein stroompje droop het kutvocht eruit.

Haar hele lichaam glom van het zweet, ze zag er geweldig geil uit.

Caren was ondertussen weer recht gestaan , met een been tussen Katriens opengesperde benen en tegen haar kut gedrukt.

Je zag Katrien moeite doen om haar onderlijf dichter tegen het been te duwen, alsof ze wou rijden. Dat wou ze ook.

Caren nam weer de rol tape , nam een borst van Katrien en trok hard aan de tepel

Katriens ademhaling versnelde direct, en een gesmoorde kreun ontsnapte haar volgepropte mond.

Caren nam de tet nu steviger beet en draaide rond de basis van de borst tape , ze bond ze stevig in; beide tieten.

Dan plakte ze het ademhalingsgat mooi vast tegen de neus, zodat er enkel maar een klein gatje openbleef.

Het maakte de bondage er nog completer op.

Helemaal ingesnoerd schokte Katriens lichaam nog steeds een beetje, en ik kon me niet van de indruk ontdoen dat ze nog steeds in het extreem lang orgasme zat.

Caren boog door de knieen , schoof een arm onder Katriens nek en de ander onder haar kont en met verbazingwekkend gemak hof ze Katrien volledig op ;

Ik kwam bijna klaarin mijn broek :

Caren stond recht met een bijna gemummificieerde Katrien in haar handen, alsof het een uit de kluiten gegroeide baby was.

Ze liep ermee naar het bed, en legde haar neer; ze schoof haar zo over en weer tot Katrien’s kont juist over de bedrand lag.

Dan draaide ze zich om naar mij, en begon zich uit te kleden. Ze duwde een vinger tegen haar lippen, om me te zeggen stil te zijn, terwijl ze de laatste stukken textiel van haar voluptueuze ,maar toch strakke, lichaam liet glijden.

Grote volle D cup borsten met gigantisch, donkere tepels hypnotiseerde me bijna, ze gingen over in een strakke buik met navelpiercing.

Daaronder was de geile vlezig kut, waarmee Katrien al kennis had gemaakt.

Enkel haar zwart lederen kniehoge laarzen hield ze aan.

Ze grijnsde naar me terwijl ze achterwaarts over katien op het bed schoof, zich op haar hurken zo boven Katrien gezicht positioneerde, zonder te gaan zitten

Met een hand ging ze tussen haar been , trok de zak rond Katriens mond stuk en trok met een ruk de tap los, het slipje eruit.

Nu ga je doen waar ik je meestal voor zal gebruiken : braaf men kut en kont likken. En hopelijk doe je dat als een goede teef, en gun je me plezier, want juist zoals andere toestellen, gebruik ik enkel degene die werken, de rest smijt ik bij het vuil.

Ze gaf Katrien geen kans om iets te doen of zeggen, ze ging gewoon zitten; Op Katriens gezicht. Haar natte vlezige en dikke kut bovenop mijn vrouw haar mond,

Katrien”s neus zat bijgevolg zo goed als in haar kontgat

Terwijl mijn vrouw haar kut aan het uitlikken was, keek Caren me recht in de ogen en lachte.

Ze had haar weddenschap mooi gewonnen.

Mijn vrouw was haar slet geworden.

En ze deed haar best zo te zien; slurpende geluiden, wisselde elkaar af met gekreun en ademhalingsstoten.

“Even het ander gaatje kind, of ik ga te snel komen” en ze schoof haar dikke kont iets verder zodat ze nu met haar aars op Katrien mond zat.

Af en toe kneep ze in een tepel , of trok ze er stevig aan. Heel af en toe wreef ze met een vinger langzaam over Katriens buik, voorbij de schaamheuvel tot vlak voor haar clit; plagend.

Katrien’s onderlichaam schoot dan omhoog, trachtend om die vinger juist iets verder te krijgen.

Caren verschoof haar kont weer om Katrien de job op haar kut verder te laten afwerken;

“zit je neus goed in men kont sletje van me ? ,” hahahaaha

Haar vinger vond de weg naar Katriens clit vaker en vaker.

“Kom, slet , kom”

Katrien schoot in haar zoveelste orgasme, en met haar begon Caren ook te komen, ze duwde haar onderlijf ruw heen en weer over Katrien’s gezicht; ze reed zich klaar over haar mond en neus.

Ze nam Katriens hoofd in beide handen en wreef haar kut over heel haar gezicht , ze gebruikte het als een object om haar onderlijf tegen te duwen , wild, ruw, ze hield geen rekening met het feit dat ze wel op iemands gezicht zat;

De plastieken zak kreeg het zwaar te verduren en bedekte enkel nog haar voorhoofd en ogen.

Caren kwam luid en lang klaar en toen ze rechtkwam van Katriens gezicht, lag deze zelf nog te klimaxen.

Caren maakte snel één hand van Katrien los.

“speel nog maar wat met jezelf, vuil ding”

Katriens hand vond snel de weg naar haar eigen kut, en begon snel en hevig te masturberen; nog wou ze komen, het ene orgasme volgde het andere zo snel op dat ik de tel weer snel kwijt was..

“Voor mij was je niet zo goed, je zal nog veel moeten leren om mijn persoonlijk kut en aars likkertje te mogen blijven”

Hoe vernederender ze tegen Katrien sprak, hoe heviger deze kreunde en hoe ruwer en sneller ze over haar eigen klit wreef.

“Dus totdat je wat betert, zet ik je bij het vuil. Hopelijk komt je man je halen, en niet de vuilkar.”

Orgasme na orgasme.

Caren verdween weer even in het achterkamertje en toen ze terug verscheen rolde ze een groene afvalcontainer waarop in grote letters stond “stad Antwerpen”voor zich uit

Ze reed ermee tot vlak naast de nu bijna dwangmatig masturberende en klaarkomende katrien.

Ze legde de container op zijn kant op de grond en opende de klep.

Ze liet Katrien verder masturberen terwijl ze haar weer met gemak opnam van ht bed en op de grond naast de geopende container legde.

“Erin” beveelde ze.

Katrien kroop snel op handen en voeten in de container, waarna Caren de container terug recht zette. Sterk was die vrouw.

“op je hurken vuile teef, ”

Katrien zat wijdbeens op haar hurken , met haar handen tussen de benen, terug masturberend.

Wat haar nu allemaal overkwam liet niets heel van haar waardigheid, haar denken had plaats gemaakt voor lust en geilheid.

Caren smeet Katrien’s natte jurk, slip en bh bovenop de naakte en bijna in trance rakende vingerende slet.

Het container deksel ging met een smak dicht en Caren tilde container lichtjes zodat ze hem makkelijk kon verrijden.

Elke week zette ze zo het vuil buiten. Dat was nu niet anders.

Ze wenkte me haar te volgen.

Beneden aangekomen, dropte ze de container op de stoep en keek me aan :

“Het is jouw vuil, je krijgt het zelf wel in je auto, niet ?”

Zonder het antwoord af te wachten draaide ze zich om en verdween in de hal.

Ik stond op straat , een gigantische erectie in mijn broek, een totaal vernederde, maar gelukkig vrouw in een obsceen bewegende vuilniszak.

Dingen zouden nooit meer hetzelfde zijn, vanaf nu.


Uw bevindingen, kritiek of fanmail :

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De leugens voorbij

Het was altijd leuk, samen pinten pakken..nooit vervelend…

Dikwijls werden we goed zat, maar nooit werd het vervelend.

Als wist ik dat Pieter een doorwinterde homo was…, nooit was dit vreemd.
Nooit maakte hij avances.

Pieter was het gezapige iets oudere, meegaande en levensgenietende homo type.
Met zijn 46 lentes, 1m76 en 88 kilo, was hij niet metten moeders mooiste te noemen, maar dat maakte hij blijkbaar toch op een of ander manier goed, te zien aan de talrijke jonge knappe vriendjes die hij versleet.

Ik ben 30, slank, gespierd , leuk met de vrouwtjes, zie er goed uit,al zeg ik het zelf.
In een relatie ben ik redelijk autoritair, zelfs dominant naar de vrouw toe. Ik hou wel van dat machtsspelletje.
Vroeger kreeg ik vaak de opmerking arrogant over te komen, maar
ik denk dat mijn groot zelfvertrouwen door velen verkeerdelijk aanzien wordt voor arrogantie.

Tussen mij en Pieter ging het altijd over leuke dingen des levens, feesten, drinken, roddelen over werkcollega’s.

Veel drinken.

Onze nachten samen eindigden dan ook altijd stiepelzat , maar steeds leuk, nooit vreemd.

Deze keer liep het anders.

Raar, maar voor de eerste keer in onze vriendschap, bleef het gesprek niet oppervlakkig, maar ging dieper. Steeds zatter en dieper.

Pieter vertelde aarzelend over zijn “eenzaamheid”..dat hij graag iemand zou ontmoeten.

Ik vroeg uit interesse wat voor iemand hij zocht.

Het antwoord kwam als een slag in mijn gezicht :

“Iemand zoals jij” zei hij terwijl hij glazig in min ogen keek…

“Zoals ik?? Pieter toch…Ben ik niet wat jong voor je?”

“Nee hoor, ik heb altijd jonge knapen gehad, niet te jong hé, als je snapt wat ik bedoel..
Maar slanke jongensachtige twintigers zijn mijn ding, dus ben je eigenlijk al te oud voor mij”

Ik begon maar wat te lachten, beetje ongemakkelijk wordend nu toch..wist me niet direct een houding te geven , hoe te reageren op deze eerlijke ontboezeming van mijn collega/vriend.

Pieter bleef in mijn ogen kijken…dromerig , lichtjes glimlachend..

Ik hernam mijn greep op de situatie en keek hem strak in de ogen terug.
Maar hij keek niet weg, zoals ik gewend was, hij ging door.

“Vertel me es Geertje, heb jij nog nooit gefantaseerd over een penis…, een mooie grote, dikke penis..?”

Het woord penis klonk zo raar, en onwezenlijk in deze conversatie…het had een onmiddelijke reactie op me : ik wendde ogenblikkelijk mijn ogen af van zijn starende blik.

Dit was me nog nooit overkomen, ik die wegkeek , mijn ogen neersloeg als het ware onder de starende blik van een ander..laat staan van een jeannet zoals Pieter !

Andere strategie dan maar…

“Hahaha, Pieter, kom drink er nog ene…Ik probeerde hem af te wimpelen, want dit werd ongemakkelijk..zeer ongemakkelijk.
Ik keerde me om naar de toog en deed teken naar de barman voor een nieuw rondje.
Nadat ik zeker was dat hij de bestelling gezien had, keerde ik me terug om naar Pieter.

Nog steeds die priemende blik in mijn ogen.

“Nee, nee, Geert, kom eerlijk..”

“Pieter kom zeg, ik ben hetero, en mij kan je dus niet krijgen.”.
“Dat typeert zo de plakkerige nichten : altijd denken dat ze de hetero’s kunnen versieren, en dat iedere hetero heimelijk toch een jannet is…pfffzielig Pieter..”

“Dat was mijn vraag niet jongen. En ik ben geen jannet en hou er ook niet van zo genoemd te worden.
Jannet, dat is vernederend, dus laat dat.”

Weer moest ik mijn blik afwenden.
De manier waarop hij mij “jongen” noemde en me daarna een standje gaf over het woord “jannet…”
De normaal zachte, meegaande Pieter leek wel iemand totaal anders, misschien door de drank?

“Oké, Pieter, oké dat woord is er over maar je snapt wel wat ik bedoel”.

In stilte bleef hij me aanstaren. Geen antwoord.

De verse pinten stonden ondertussen op de toog, ik begon er gretig aan, steeds sneller en sneller te drinken. Van de zenuwen. Droge mond…

Zatter en zatter wordend besefte ik dat ik de greep op deze situatie aan het verliezen was.

Ondertussen was Pieter begonnen over een jonge gast in die hij verleden jaar had versiert, knap ventje, ook hetero had hij gezegd…..
Pieter lachte schalks naar me toen hij zei : “ook hetero”

Mijn zatheid begon me nu echt parten te spelen waardoor mijn spontaniteit sterk verminderde……een gevat, ad rem antwoord zat er niet meer in…

Alles werd een beetje waziger en ik hoorde mezelf zeggen,” jaaa , maar hetero en hetero, misschien is niemand wel echt 100% hetero natuurlijk…” zattemans gelul, om toch maar niet af te geven…

Maar mijn discussie partner was duidelijk nog niet zo zat.
Zijn reactie kwam snel en was onverbiddelijk :

“En jij dan, Geert?”


ik schuifelde wat ongemakkelijk op mijn stoel, staarde even naar de grond, nam nog een slok en keek op recht in zijn glazig ogen…

Pieter was niet aantrekkelijk, integendeel..overgewicht, puisterig gezicht…vettig haar.
Veel haar.

“Wat voor penis zou hij hebben?…”

Deze gedachte deed me rillen, was ik nu echt over andermans penis aan het denken??

“Zou hij een lange lul hebben? ”

Weer die rilling en iets in mijn broek begon te kriebelen…

“Nee, nee”, dit kan niet gebeuren even aan iets anders denken…

“zou hij een dikke , vette lul hebben? ”

Zijn ogen priemde in de mijne en alsof hij mijn gedachte kon lezen keek hij plots recht naar mijn kruis.

Ik was niet zeker of je mijn beginnende opwinding al kon zien door de jeansstof heen, maar het maakte me ze zeer ongemakkelijk ;
Ik verzette snel mijn voeten op de kruk en sloeg één been over het andere, hopend om zo het een en ander te bedekken.

Ik voelde mijn boxershort rond mijn penis knellen en wist dat dit geen beginnende opwinding meer was..
Snel keek ik even naar beneden….vuurrood werd ik …mijn lul stond volledig afgetekend in mijn jeans, in volle glorie, spannend alsof de broek zou scheuren…

Pieter was een geoefend jager, en of hij in dit donkere cafeetje nu al dan niet mijn erectie had opgemerkt, mijn vuurrood aangezicht kon hij niet gemist hebben.., dit liet hij niet liggen, hij ging voor de “kill”…

“Geert, luister jongen, je zou niet de eerst zijn hoor…
Als je eens wist hoeveel “hetero” ventjes als jezelf er eindigen met hun mond vol lul, terwijl ze niet meer van hun eigen piemeltje kunnen blijven.”
“Soms hebben jullie gewoon een zetje nodig. Maar daarna zijn jullie de heetste sletjes..”

Bloedserieus , maar met een vettige blik in zijn ogen vertelde hij me dit..

“sletjes” galmde het door mijn hoofd. “sletjesss”
Alsof ik één van de grietjes was die ik zelf geregeld billenkoek gaf en ruw misbruikte, tot hun eigen plezier verbazingwekkend.

“sletjes” Dat gebruik je toch niet voor mannen…

Ik voelde mijn hart kloppen in mijn penis.

En dan dat beeld : ik met mijn mond vol lul, terwijl ik met mijn eigen piemel speelde….

Ik wreef mijn benen tegen elkaar….moeilijk eraf te blijven..zou ik naar de toiletten kunnen vluchten..?

Pieter was op dreef. hij wist dat hij beet had…

En ik ook.

“Ik wil onze vriendschap niet verknoeien Geert, maar bewijs me dan ongelijk , en toon me dat je niet opgewonden wordt door de gedachte alleen al.”

“Hoe , ..hoe zou ik dat moeten doen” het waren mijn eerste woorden sinds lang en de opwinding had zich ook meester gemaakt van mijn stem…met een prop in mijn keel en veel hoger dan mijn normale stem kwam het eruit.

Hij lachte.
Hij lachte..! Recht in mijn gezicht.

“Hij lacht me uit, recht in mijn gezicht…klootzak”

“Zie me hier nu ook zitten…bloedrood aangelopen gezicht, zweterige oksels, een broek vol goesting en niet in staat om dat te verhullen…”

Pieter stond plots recht , ledigde zijn pint in een keer, nam zijn jas van de kruk en terwijl hij me passeerde , legde hij een hand op mijn dijbeen…hoog op mijn dijbeen..gevaarlijk hoog op mijn dijbeen.
Als hij mijn opwinding ervoor nog niet gezien had, dan moest hij het nu zeker voelen..zo dicht…warm en vochtige hand…

“Ga met me mee naar mijn appartement”

“Als ik daar je onderbroekje uittrek, en je hebt geen stijf lulletje, laat ik je met rust. Even goede vrienden, of niet, dat ligt aan jou.

“Heb je wél een stijve,….dan leer je eindelijk je Daddybeer kennen.”

“Weet je wat ik bedoel?”

Het raasde in mijn hoofd…het ging te snel, veel te snel…ik had geen goed antwoord meer klaar…
En ja ik wist wat hij bedoelde…een Daddybeer…een oudere , zwaardere en behaarde dominante homo …ze zochten jongere slanke, jongensachtige en onderdanige knapen…

Ik hoorde hem terug zeggen “slanke jongensachtige twintigers zijn mijn ding”…” “Iemand zoals jij” …………. zeggen “slanke jongensachtige twintigers zijn mijn ding”…” “Iemand zoals jij”

Weer en weer…

Vele stukjes van een puzzel vielen op zijn plaats…

Al die jaren had hij dit gepland..onze vriendschap had een doel…Hij zat al langer achter me aan…

” leer je eindelijk je Daddybeer kennen” ..”eindelijk”…hoelang wachtte hij hier al op??

“Geert, weet je wat ik bedoel met je Daddybeer ?”
Hij vroeg het nu wat dringender, haalde me uit mijn gedachte, direct terug in de harde , staalharde onverbiddelijke werkelijkheid…..

“B,b be ben jij dan een Daddy?” Ik wilde wel opkijken en in zijn ogen zien terwijl ik antwoordde, maar bleef hangen halverwege zijn borst…

Hij antwoordde niet. “Ga je mee?”
En zonder op mijn antwoord te wachten stond hij recht.

Hoe de dingen kunnen lopen is raar, maar nu liet hij me achter zich aanlopen straat na straat , dwars door het drukke Leuven, door menig vol plein tot aan zijn appartement.
Onderweg spraken we geen van beide, ik moest moeite doen om zijn stevige tred bij te houden.
Het leek alsof hij alleen opstap was, en ik er maar wat achterliep.
De buitenlucht deed me goed, en mijn hoofd klaarde terug op..
Nuchterder en nuchterder wordend door de fikse wandeling verdween ook de geilheid, en kwam alles wat tot rust…Waarom was ik ook weer meegegaan ? Wat was ik aan het doen eigenlijk ??

Eindelijk kwamen we aan zijn appartement. Hij opende de deur , stapte de inkomhal binnen en verdween in de duisternis.

“sluit de deur achter je jongen” klonk het uit de donkerte.

Ik twijfelde even voor ik de inkomhal binnenstapte.

De manier waarop hij me negeerde en me jongen noemde …ik werd me plots weer zeer bewust van de wederom groeiende erectie in mijn broek, en het feit dat dit mijn lot kon bezegelen..

Maar deze gedachte deed mijn erectie enkel exploderen in mijn veel te kleine broekje leek het wel…

Wat er ging gebeuren wist ik niet, maar de drank en de geilheid deed me dingen doen , die ik anders verafschuwde..

Ik trok de zware deur achter me dicht en bleef staan. De geur van een ietwat ouder, muf appartement drong mijn neusvleugels binnen.

Ik bleef wachten en wachten in de komplete duisternis, en hoorde plots de ietwat zwaardere ademhaling van een man met overgewicht naderen…
Hij knipte het licht aan ,en voor het eerst zag ik Pieters appartement .

Het was een verouderd appartement, met veel kunst aan de muren. Hoge plafonds en stenen vloeren.

Tekeningen en schilderijen…allemaal jongens…
allemaal naakte jongens…
allemaal mooie naakte jongens…
allemaal mooie , naakte jongens met erecties..
mooie erecties…
Sommige jongens waren vastgebonden, sommigen lagen op een bed, sommigen zaten op hun knieen, sommigen stonden in een hoek…

Het waren wel honderd tekeningen, schilderijen en kunstfoto’s dooreen…

“Mooi he”

Verbrak zijn dikke stem de stilte…

“Euuh…..als je ervan h-houdt wel…” probeerde ik zo goed en zo kwaad mijn coole zelf terug te vinden..

Ik stond thuis bij een ouwe, vieze homo,een pervert…misschien was dit toch niet zo’n goed idee…

“zie Pieter”, ik weet d t je dit niet slecht bedoelt en dat we beide teveel gedronken hebben..
Misschien ben ik wel een beetje oversext door de drank enzo, maar van dit kan echt geen goed komen, ik ben echt wel hetero…”
Dat had ik even goed gezegd “dacht ik trots”, en eigenlijk was dat de waarheid ook.

“als dat zo is, heb je zeker geen probleem met de test waarmee je instemde”

Pieter, wat nut heeft het om mijn lul hier aan jou te laten zien, dat interesseert me niet, en het is belachelijk , ok ?” “Als je wilt geilen op mij, doe dat dan in je dromen”

“Dat zeg je enkel omdat je het niet durft, omdat je weet dat je liegt, jannet !”

Godverdomme, de klootzak
“Ik ben geen jannet, en ik dacht dat je niet van het woord hield, dat het vernederend was !, snauwde ik hem toe”

“Ik zei enkel dat IK geen jannet ben, en dat het inderdaad vernederend is , en daarom gebruik ik het ook enkel voor echte janneten, …JANNET”
“ik heb je stijve wel door je broek zien kloppen jongen”

“Het was de drank” repliceerde ik al ietwat minder hevig..

“het was de drank, ik werd geil door de drank, ik zou zelfs een geit neuken man!
“Dat is de waarheid” !

“wel als dat zo is, dan kan je er geen problemen mee hebben dat ik even je gelijk bewijs.”
Dit zeggende kwam hij snel dichterbij en grepen zijn twee handen mijn jeans broek vast

“het was de drank die me rare dingen deed doen, ik ben geen fucking homo” zei ik tegen mezelf.

Hij rukte mijn twee bovenste knopen los en trok mijn ceintuur uit de broek

“het was de drank godverdomme…” galmde het door mijn hoofd. “dat is de waarheid”

Maar als versteend liet ik hem begaan.

Pieter’s dikke handen namen mijn hemd vast en knoopten het in een record tijd los , in een ruk trok hij het van mijn lijf .

In ontbloot bovenlijf en met half open broek stond ik voor hem…

“het was de drank!! ,ik ben geen fucking jeannet” schreeuwde het nu in mijn hoofd”

Zijn handen bewogen richting mijn openstaande jeans…

“Dat is de waarheid”

Twee zweterige handen op mijn zij..hij stak zijn twee duimen onder de elastiekrand van mijn boxers…

Ik zag alles gebeuren, maar kon niets doen..iets hield me tegen…

“De drank…geen vuil jannet…niet waar godverdomme…”

Ik had graag mijn eigen leugens geloofd, zeer graag.
Ik geloofde ze al jaren, leugens weggestopt , diep verborgen in mijn diepste fantasieën.

Maar met één grote zwaai van zijn vadsige armen, trok hij met een ruwe, diepe ruk in één keer, en in een kleine seconde al mijn langdurig en zorgvuldig opgebouwde leugens stuk .

De allesvernietigende ruk trok niet alleen mijn jeans en boxers tot over mijn knieën naar beneden, maar ook de lucht uit mijn longen wat resulteerde in een luide, ongewild hoog klinkende kreun.
De kreun bleef maar duren en ging over in een stiller maar toch zeer aanwezig en snel gehijg…
Ik zag Pieter breed smalend naar mijn kruis zien. Ik durfde hem niet aanzien, durfde niet naar beneden zien…Maar ik wist het zelf al lang.

De waarheid stond recht . Zeer recht. Knalrecht en kloppend op het ritme van mijn versnelde hartslag. , vol aders, een glimmend purperen eikel ..een druppeltje vocht op de tip…recht naar boven wijzend, naar de oude muf riekende lambrisering.

Het bewijs was geleverd en stond onweerlegbaar te kijk voor Pieter.
Ik stond volledig te kijk voor hem…open en bloot. Eindelijk.

Als het begin van hyperventilatie, draaide ik even en voelde mijn knieën knikkenen , ging er bijna doorheen …onvast op mijn benen stond ik een beetje heen en weer te wiebelen, ik zocht mijn evenwicht ..alles was zo onrealistisch en toch bijtend echt…

De koude lucht op mijn bovenlichaam deed mijn tepeltjes verstijven en voelde aan alsof er een koele bries over mijn ballen streelde…..

Mijn penis voelde zo bevrijd….zo open in de koude lucht, in die oude muffe gang…
Mijn boxers en broek hingen op mijn knieën… alles daarboven naakt, nog geen meter van de voordeur stond ik verslagen, in volle glorie tentoongespreid…

Ik paste perfect bij zijn interieur met afbeeldingen van erecties en blote jongens…
Het voelde zo kleinerend en toch ook zooOo……….juist.

Ik was me enkel bewust van mijn penis..zo hard had ik hem nog nooit geweten, zo rechtopstaand..alsof hij me verwijtend aankeek…Ik was zo vernederd…zo geil…

Nog nooit had iemand me zo ..zo….punt…
Nog nooit HAD iemand me zo…
En bij deze gedacht ging mijn penis zo mogelijk nog hoger de lucht in..alsof hij eindelijk thuis was, alsof hij eindelijk zijn baasje zag en wou wegvliegen.

“Wel wel wel ventje…Wat een schouwspel…ik zie dat ik een leugenaar beet heb.”

Ik durfde niet te spreken, wist niet hoe mijn stem zou klinken,
Ik wilde niet spreken, ik zwelgde in de vernedering, en dat maakt me enkel geiler en geiler,
zo tegenstrijdig… een vicieuse cirkel waar ik het einde niet van wou weten…en toch al wist..
Alles in mijn hoofd werd licht…zeer licht.

Ik voelde enkel mijn erectie en een suizen in mijn oren..

Mijn roodgloeinde oren..
Zo geil…
Mijn handen hingen slap naast mijn lichaam, maar ik wou zo graag aan mijn penis komen…zooo moeilijk… mijn penis, strelen..geil…mijn oren suisde op het ritme dat mijn staalharde paal klopte ..enkel een kleine streling zou genoeg geweest zijn om….om

mijn mond kurkdroog…slikken..geil…slikken..een beetje misselijk van opwinding…alsof er duizend wormen in mijn maag kronkelden.

“Leg je handen op je hoofd jongen..” klonk het droog.

Ik gehoorzaamde direct…enigszins opgelucht dat ik niet hoefde te praten, dat ik me geen houding moest geven, die werd me gegeven : handen op mijn hoofd…spiernaakt tot onder de knieën, stijve tepeltjes en een kloppende, bijna druppende paal…dat was mijn houding..

“Kijk recht voor je , slet”

Ik keek recht voor me, maar zag niets…Ik was me enkel bewust van zijn alsmaar dichter komende stem, het woord slet dat nog nagalmde en mijn kloppende penis die blijkbaar hevig luisterde naar deze roepnaam..

Plots stond hij recht voor me, zeer dicht…”Was hij altijd zo groot?” Mijn gezicht kwam slechts ter hoogte van zijn borst…ik was zo klein tegenover hem…zijn hemd stond open en tussen de dikke bos zwart borsthaar zag ik zijn donkerbruine dikke tepels priemen…

Met mijn volledige verdediging aan diggelen getrokken, kwetsbaar en volledig in zijn macht, tentoongesteld voor zijn ogen bleef er toch een klein smeulend kooltje hoop branden dat hij me mijn laatste restje eigenwaarde gunde.
Naïeve hoop misschien, maar toch hoop.

Hopend dat hij zijn pleziertje had gehad nu.
Dat hij er geen verder genot aan zou beleven om me nog verder met mijn neus in de waarheid te duwen.
Dat hij er geen genot uit zou halen me te dwingen mezelf in mijn totaal machteloze toestand verder te vernederen ; volledig toe te geven aan mijn lust..aan mijn brandende geilheid,de staalharde, kloppende drang om toe te geven….me volledig over te geven aan de waarheid.
Dat hij daar geen genot uit zou halen…

Dat hij me zou laten gaan nu, me snel mijn naakte, kloppende leugen terug liet bedekken.
Dat ik weg kon, naar huis..naar mijn oude leven.
Dat ik deze confrontatie met mezelf kon verdringen,..verstoppen onder nieuwe leugens…

Het was zijn rechterhand die me dit laatste sprankeltje hoop ontnam.
Eerst voelde ik hem de palm van zijn hand tussen mijn benen duwen..ijskoud…
Ruw dwong hij me mijn benen verder open te zetten…
De hand gleed vervolgens omhoog, langst mijn dijen tot juist onder mijn balzak…ik verstijfde, en begon weer ongewild hoog te kreunen…

Hij duwde met de palm van zijn hand tegen mijn ballen en zijn duim bracht hij tegen de onderkant van mijn penis…hij duwde hem knal recht tegen mijn buik…
Alsof ik een speeltje was dat hij dagelijks bespeelde, duwde hij met zijn middelvinger tegen mijn anus…harder en harder…
Ik trachtte de druk te verminderen door op mijn tenen te gaan staan, tot ik niet hoger kon…

Nog nooit was ik door een man intiem aangeraakt, laat staan zo dominant …me zo kleinerend..hij had me letterlijk volledig in de hand…en dan die duim die zo vakkundig de onderkant van mijn lul masseerde….
De druk op mijn kontgaatje was dwingend, maar zolang ik zo kon blijven staan bleef het “veilig”…

“nu gaan we eens praten Geert, en niet zoals in dat café daarstraks , waar je je nog kon verschuilen achter je leugens en je jezelf evenwaardig met mij achtte..
“Nee nu sta je zoals het hoort.”
“Zonder de arrogantie, zonder die leugens, gewoon zoals je bent.. : niets meer dan een kleine slet.”
“Een jannet.”

“Juist ?”

De druk op mijn kontgaatje werd opgevoerd, ik rekte mijn tenen nog uit..

“Ja”, juist…oohh..

Zijn middelvinger gleed langzaam voorbij mijn falende sluitspier, in mijn anus…wat een dikke vinger..voelde zo goed…
.ik gaf toe en relaxte mijn sluitspier..en prompt zakt ik over zijn vinger tot mijn blote billen zijn hand raakte ….
Met zijn duim bespeelde hij mijn lul op zo’n manier dat ik moest gaan geloven dat hij mijn lichaam beter kende dan mezelf..

Alles werd zwart voor mijn ogen en toen….
Toen explodeerde alles…

Mijn geest knakte en ik zakte nu wel door mijn benen, voorover tegen zijn behaarde borst…
Mijn neus in zijn borsthaar, de geur van muskus en zweet drong mijn hoofd binnen..een echte mannengeur…lekker.

Ik snoof hem ongewild diep op in mijn longen.

Ik leunde nu volledig op zijn onderarm, hij tilde me op als was ik een veertje..was hij altijd al zo sterk geweest ..en ik zo zwak..?

Mijn scrotum tegen zijn pols……

Met mijn penis tegen die sterke onderarm aan drukkend begon ik te rijden .
Te rijden als een gefrustreerde hond…..

Zijn middelvinger gleed ritmisch mee in en uit mijn wagendwijd openstaande reet. Als een vrouwenkut was mijn anus kletsnat geworden..zweet en lichaamsappen deden wonderen…

Hij duwde er ruw een tweede en een derde vinger bij..mijn kontgaatje spande rond zijn drie dikke vingers…die vingers die me infiltreerde als was ik een handpop die hij bespeelde..
Vingers die blijkbaar met het grootste gemak in mijn jongenskut gleden…

Al snel had hij mijn prostaat gevonden en masseerde volledig nieuwe gevoelens en sensaties in mijn lijf;…..was het nog wel mijn lijf..of was het zijn lijf geworden..Hij nam het als was het zijn speelgoed…

Dan klonk zijn ijzig koude, spottende stem :

“laat je maar gaan teef”

woorden die de spreekwoordelijke druppel vormde..een druppel die aanzwelde tot een dikke vette straal sperma…

alles kwam eruit…

een allesomvattend orgasme dat me deed bijeenkrampen tot in mijn tenen, stuiptrekkingen, straal na straal dik vet sperma spoot tot tegen mijn eigen dan af te druipen langst mijn naakte lichaam, kletterend op de stenen vloer..

alles kwam eruit :

“Ik ben een jeannet..ik ben je vuile slet..oohh neem me,aub..Daddy , doe met me wat je wilt, ik ben een hoer !!….je slaafje …ooh eeuh

Ik hijgde dit alles hard tegen zijn borstkas, al mijn spieren gaven op..ik hing als een lappenpop in zijn sterk armen…………..

Die me plots loslieten…

Ik kletterde tegen de koude grond. Oude tegels, her en der met stukken uit. Vuil en kil .
Pieter boog voorover en nam mijn jeans en boxershort vast en trok deze over mijnschoen uit..

Nu enkel in mijn witte sneakers met korte sportsokken aan lag ik aan zijn voeten.
Mijn borstkas hevig op en neer gaand op het ritme van mijn gehijg..Mijn penis nog steeds even stijf, en levend…

“Op je knieën jongen.” En ruw trok hij me aan mijn haar omhoog…..dwong me op mijn knieën.
Mijn kale knieën op de harde koude ondergrond

“Handen op je hoofd ”

En terwijl ik braaf gehoorzaamde (ik wilde niet liever meer, alle verzet was weg, machteloos en gebroken begon ik een warm gevoel te krijgen vanbinnen..),

Maakte hij de knopen van zijn bruin vloeren broek los en trok er de vetste lul uit die ik ooit gezien heb…
Een schouwspel van wel minimum 23 cm lang en gemakkelijk 6 cm dik…stak zijn gigantische kop tussen het dikke weelderig schaamhaar naar buiten…

Als gehypnotiseerd bleef ik naar zijn penis staren…als een goddelijk instrument stond hij in volle glorie uitdagend naar me te zien.

Een kunstwerk en zijn aanbidder..

Mijn eigen 17 cm verviel, ondanks zijn record-stijfheid, in het niets…

Ik voelde iets druppelen op mijn benen en merkte met een schrik dat ik aan het kwijlen was..letterlijk stond mijn mond wagenwijd open en het speeksel druppelde uit mijn mond…

“Nu jongen, smeek me om je Daddy te zijn, ..of kleed je aan en trap het af..”

Hij was een Meester in het manipuleren, hij palmde me letterlijk volledig in, overmeesterde me op alle vlakken..briljant…bespeelde mijn lichaam en geest alsof het een open boek was.
Ik werd totaal overklast , gedomineerd.
En nu liet hij me een keuze…een keuze die ik nog maar 10 minuten ervoor direct had gehoopt te krijgen en van dit alles te kunnen vluchten.

Maar in die 10 minuten was veel gebeurd..Hij had me volledig gebroken.

Op de moment dat ik me volledig overgaf aan hem, op het moment dat mijn onmacht en kwetsbaarheid had plaatsgemaakt voor volledige berusting, overgave en goddelijke geilheid, deed hij me definitief mijn lot tekenen. Zelf…vrije keuze…ik moest zelf kiezen…
Zo vernederend en definitief moest ik zelf mijn lot beslechten…het antwoord luidde volledig anders dan wat ik 10 minuten ervoor had gehoopt te kunnen antwoorden…

“W-w-wwil t U mijn Daddy zijn alstublieft Pieter..alstublieft”…

“Noem me Meester jongen, Pieter is voor de vrienden”

W-wwilt u alstu..bblieft Meester??..mijn Daddy worden.? Ooh..Daddy;..

Een tweede orgasme raasde door mijn lichaam en deed me schokkerig verder smeken, met een schriel stemmetje..hijgen , kreunen en smeken door elkaar. Ik had mezelf nog nooit zo kwetsbaar gehoord..en dat maakt me nog geiler…ik bleef ongevraagd hevig verder smeken.

In een uur had hij me omgevormd van arrogant hetero macho tot een zielig,
smekend homohoertje, een zaadvragende jannet…

Zijn enorme penis naderde mijn mond..mijn maagdelijke mond..
De dikke eikel drukte tegen mijn lippen, en die gingen als vanzelf open..Ik verwelkomde zijn prachtig stuk vlees in mijn mond , net als ik mijn nieuwe status verwelkomde .

Een status nog vers in mijn geheugen :

“hetero ventjes als mezelf eindigen met hun mond vol lul, terwijl ze niet meer van hun eigen piemeltje kunnen blijven.”
Soms hebben we gewoon een zetje nodig. Maar dan zijn we de heetste sletjes..”

Ik zat naakt op mijn knieën met zijn volledige lul in mijn mond,
kokhalzend terwijl hij mijn hoofd ruw over zijn paal trok..tot diep achter in mijn keel..

De heetste pijpsletjes..

Ik kon niet van mijn eigen piemeltje blijven….

Dit beeld had hij exact een uur geleden in mijn hoofd gebrand, en toen wist ik al dat het ook ging gebeuren.

Ik kwam voor de derde keer spuitend klaar.
Iets zei me dat het niet de laatste keer ging zijn .

Ik zat op mijn plaats.


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lust for dicks

I worked at this place where I am the only female among all the workers. So everyone was always friendly to me but oneday business was knid of slow, so the boss took out some wine and liquor and we started drinking and tallking B.S just to pass time. After a few drinks I started getting tipsy and I had to use the ladies room but I didn’t realise that my boss followed me and when we got inside he locked the door and started kissing me. I tried to make him stop but I was also stared to get excited and horny. He just kept pinching my nipples and kissing me. Suddenly, he just carry me onto the sink and pull off my underwear and started to lick my pussy. I was getting very horny and I didn’t understand why. I just couldn’t wait for him to fuck me. I had to begged him to fuck me. He started smiling and said ” I guess the potion really works, it would make a slut out of a nun.” Now I realise that he must have slipped something into my drinks but it is too late since i really need to have cocks in me. He wanted me to begged for his cock. I had to say” I really need to be fuck, can you fuck me and fuck me hard.” Then he stick his cock in me and started slamming into my pussy. I just kept saying yeah! fuck me harder! harder! He then pushed me onto the floor and fuck me doggie style. suddenly he pulled out and stick his cock into my asshole. At first it really hurts but after a while i loved it. When I was almost closed to my orgasm he pulled out and dragged me to the main hall where all the other coworkers were still drinking. He told them everyone could join the party since I am a horny bitch. Soon i was being fucked in all the hole at the same time. It went on for hours but when it was over i was totally satisfied.

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Holy Spunk

As Irish grunge band, The Fecking Skypilots, had sung my lullaby, so Australian skunge singer, Jezzibella Trollope, crooned me awake. I groaned and made for the shower. No hot water! Typical of this place. While fixing breakfast I discovered my fridge was milkless. Again! Just when I thought the day could not possibly get any worse there was a knock at the door.

“Got any milk, Irma?” asked Alexi sweetly. “I seem to have run out.”

“Great minds think alike!” I snapped and slammed the door.

Immediately there was another knock.

“What?” I demanded.

“Um,” she said nervously, scratching her new tattoos, “you know, I’ve seen you around and, um,” she faltered and cleared her throat. “Would you, um.”

Just then, the guy who lived opposite emerged from his flat holding his eight year old daughter’s hand and a can of beer.

“Alright,” he mumbled and staggered off on the school run with the little girl stumbling behind him.

Empty beer cans littered the floor. I raised my eyes back to Alexi who shyly looked down.

“Oh nothing,” she said, blushing, and quickly returned to her flat.

I rolled my eyes and breathed deeply. The day just had to improve. Had to. I had my rendezvous with Beau later, but I needed to venture out first to the shops.

The acid rain teemed down from the patch of leaden sky visible between Deckard House and the neighboring tower blocks, but failed to wash away the heaps of detritus littering every corner of the sidewalk. Beggars harassed me at every turn, junkies zapped out in doorways groaned to themselves, people staggered across my path with blood trickling from their nostrils and everything I saw made me quicken my steps. No reason to linger in this purgatory. Some of these poor bastards hadn’t even the money to afford the cheapest of Net connections and were thus deprived of the escape that allowed people like me to stay sane in this dying world.

On my return I showered, changed and ate before making for my bedroom and the laptop. I had been thinking of Beau all morning and I was tingling in anticipation of seeing him again. When the time we had appointed finally came I lay on the bed, dropped some ‘zap and plugged myself in. Into the search window that popped into existence before me I typed ‘’ using the virtual keyboard. Reality flickered out of existence for a few seconds leaving me in a strange limbo of sensory deprivation. The words ‘Loading…please wait’ appeared in the blackness.

Suddenly I found myself on a wooden sailing ship looking out into a blue, choppy sea. The wind was filling the sails and the sun beat down. I turned and found myself alone. An unmanned ship! Spray from the waves wetted my shirt. I was still wearing the white silk shirt from yesterday and the same tight leather trousers that displayed my ample cock to the full. I felt slightly foolish and wondered if Beau had stood me up. Then I saw his small figure climbing down from the rigging. He was still wearing the straw hat set back on his head, but was now clothed in a blue dress which suited him perfectly. A blue ribbon was tied around the hat and fell against his beautiful long black hair. He wore black shiny high heeled shoes. He looked every inch the respectable young lady.

“Hey up!” he said and ran over to me. Every movement was feminine and graceful as a dancer’s.

We kissed. He was overjoyed that I had shown up.

“Did you make all this?” I asked.

“Mm hm. Even the mermaids.”

I looked back out to sea. There were indeed naked women sporting in the waves, seemingly confident of their swimming ability. Their scales glittered enticingly.

“It’s a great way to start a journey of discovery, aye?”

“You’re amazingly clever.”

“It’s not that great, actually,” said Beau, who then shrugged and clicked his fingers.

A red telephone booth sprouted from the deck.

“After you,” he said.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n!”

I entered the booth and made room for my friend in the cramped space. As the door shut I heard a brief hiss and my ears popped. Beau lifted the receiver, dialled, hung up, gave me a wink and wrapped his arms around my waist. I loved the feeling of his cheek pressed against my chest and his tummy against my crotch. The waves rose high all around the ship, plunged onto the deck and engulfed the booth, smashing the ship to splinters and leaving us drifting in the bizarre air tight container. We spun in the turbulent undercurrents. The mermaids swam around us, waving and teasing us by fondling their breasts and waggling their tongues.

“So where are we going?” I asked Beau.

He giggled and said nothing. Eventually the booth came to rest on a hard surface. The water receded impossibly quickly and leapt into a crater nearby to form a lake. The sun shone again, only slightly paler. The land around us had dried instantly. Beau pushed the door and cool, fresh air entered the booth. We stepped onto a cobbled sidewalk and left the booth where it fitted into its surroundings perfectly. The street was most quaint with detached cottages all decorated with baskets of flowers. At the other end a small needle spired church was tolling its bell. There was no traffic and the indifferent song of finches filled the air.

A young woman with a prominent nose and dressed in a smart black skirt suit greeted Beau familiarly and asked him in a genteel English accent if he thought it would rain. A similar looking teenaged boy accompanied her. It was unclear to me if he was her son or brother.

“Definitely not,” Beau answered the woman cheerfully.

“Funny,” said the woman, “I thought I felt a splash minute ago.”

Beau shook his head innocently.

“By the way,” continued the woman, “it was so kind of you to ask Father Cruise to start a Sunday school for the children.”

“Think nowt of it,” said Beau modestly.

The woman turned to continue on her way to church, but then glanced back at me. She gawped and scowled. She tutted at Beau disapprovingly and hurried on with the boy’s hand in hers. Beau gave me an apologetic look.

“They’re not used to seeing someone like you here.”

I was unsure what he meant. We found a wooden bench and sat while more parishioners walked to church.

I turned to Beau and said with perplexity, “Sunday school?”

He sniggered.

“Yeah. Why? Don’t you think it’s awfully nice here, duck?”

I snorted.

“It’s like a fucking graveyard with warmed up corpses!”

Beau pretended to look offended. I could tell he was planning something. I was drawing more uncomfortable, not to say resentful, looks from passers by. I suddenly realised it was the ethnicity of my avatar that must be upsetting them. Everyone else here was white. He took my hand, so large against his, and placed it in his lap. He looked so cute in his dress, so completely like a beautiful debutante. The brim of his hat pushed his ears forward so that they stuck out slightly. His eye lashes were long and curled upwards. He reminded me of Jenny Agutter in ‘The Railway Children’.

He stroked my index finger and I began to feel strangely aroused. He caressed me up and down my finger, circling around the tip, then running his fingers up to the knuckle, delicately and lovingly. He lifted my hand to his mouth and began to suck on my finger. My excitement grew quickly. I gazed at his body, so slim and lovely in the dress. His creamy pale legs were crossed and he squeezed his thighs together tightly. He was becoming aroused too just from the feel of my finger in his mouth. I could tell by the small bulge in his lap. His red lips pouted around my finger as it worked in and out. He closed his eyes. He was in raptures as I fingered his lips. He held my hand and forced me into him more deeply. I moaned, feeling an incredible amount of pleasure building in my fingertip. Beau began spasming and a sticky white substance erupted from his throat to squirt onto my hand, onto my arm and down the front of his dress. The smell of hot semen filled the air. A second later my finger ejaculated into his mouth. I groaned and grunted while Beau swallowed my cum. We both sat back gasping, smothered in semen and swimming in sweat.

Eventually I looked around and found the street almost deserted. The bell was still tolling. In the distance I saw a couple hurrying to the church, casting glances behind them. Beau made a quick gesture and we were both suddenly clean and cum free.

He patted me, jumped up and said, “Come on then, or we’ll miss the service.”

He dashed off and as I followed I admired the way he had mastered walking in high heels. His hips, though flat, swung like a woman’s. He glanced over his shoulder and winked at me. We arrived at the church holding hands and found space on a pew at the front. As we walked down the aisle through the already seated congregation we drew looks of shock and dismay. Indeed some actually left, apparently in disgust at the sight of a black man. There was not one face amongst them darker than evaporated milk. Some of them had no doubt witnessed our little coitus on the bench.

It being a Catholic church there was a crucifix above the altar and a statue of the Virgin to the side, just in front of where I sat. I glanced at the Madonna’s doe eyes and was startled to see how lifelike they were. When I regarded the figure of Christ on the cross I could have sworn I saw Him wink at Beau.

The priest with his Hollywood idol features and his cherubic alter boys in tow appeared and the service began. Soon I was in danger of falling asleep. It was only Beau’s secret caresses that held my interest. After what seemed an age we all stood to mumble an ‘Our Father’.

Father Cruise then spread his arms and declared, “Let us offer each other a sign of peace.”

People all around us turned and shook each other’s hands. Beau eagerly participated, though some seemed reluctant to comply. No one accepted my offer. As we sat down again I felt deeply resentful with all around me and wondered why Beau had dragged me to this awful place. He squeezed my arm. He had noticed my irritation. He uncrossed his legs and looked away from me and suddenly seemed to find something on the other side of the alter fascinating

I noticed a twitching in his skirt. He parted his knees and a pink, bulbous object appeared between them. It grew in length and curved around his knee until it was pointing its singular eye at me. It was growing at an amazing rate. This surprising sight gave me an erection that pushed so hard against my pants that two buttons popped off and flew at the alter boys. My fly burst open and my moist, precum leaking helmet broke free from my pants in the same way a grotesque alien had once burst from John Hurt’s chest. Father Cruise could not help but stare at our lengthening organs. I shrugged and tried to look casual. My helmet spiralled upwards, groping the air like a flower in a time lapse film. Beau’s slim pink cock found my thick dark one and began to snake around it like a creeping plant. Mine was irresistibly drawn towards him and was soon sliding up the inside of his bare thigh.

Father Cruise coughed and continued mumbling his way through the service, nudging the hypnotised boys every time he required something of them. So far no one else seemed to have noticed the amorous antics in the front pew.

Beau had slid his cock into my pants through the fly and it was pushing its way down to my asshole. I twisted around to allow him to penetrate me while he turned to me, put his arm around me and guided me inside him with his free hand. Our cocks both grew that extra inch simultaneously and shot up into our anuses. We began to fuck each other passionately.

It slowly became clear to the congregation that something untoward was up. People at the back were standing and craning their necks to get a better view while others were storming out, shouting racist abuse. The altar boys were dragged out by their mothers, much against their will.

Beau’s lovely penis fucked me deeply, throbbing ardently in my bowels, while his tight bottom lovingly squeezed me. We both caressed each other’s twisting cocks which writhed like copulating eels. My orgasm erupted from the base and slowly travelled up my huge length towards Beau’s ass. Extreme pleasure burnt through the long shaft, pushing further with each throb until my semen spurted inside him. He held me tightly, pressing his cheek against my back, while he moaned and cried with every spasm of his distended organ. Eventually, after his length was filled with sweet hot cum, giving him an incredible amount of pleasure, his spunk burst from his helmet and flooded my asshole. We continued fucking and kissing until our final throbs had died. Slowly our turgid cocks shrank back to their normal size and slithered back between our legs and out of sight. Then we looked up to find we had a congregation of our own.

“You’re gonna burn in Hell!” cried someone from the back, but most people, including Father Cruise, were staring at us avidly, apparently waiting for more.

The experience of fucking before a congregation was a new one to me, but having such a perfect body allowed me to put aside my inhibitions. I looked questioningly at Beau and he pointed at the figure of Mary who stood before us on a plinth beside a pillar with her arms open invitingly. Her skin really was a remarkably authentic tint of pale brownish pink. Beau undressed and walked over to the altar which, to my amazement, he climbed and he lifted himself onto the crucifix with the ease of a trapeze artist. He pulled at the loincloth which fell away revealing the Divine Cock of Christ. And what a beautiful Cock it was! It sprang into action immediately. Somehow Beau managed to turn and press his ass against Jesus while he reached up and gripped His arms. He gripped the sides of the cross between his small feet and began to move his hips back and forth on His length. He ground himself against Jesus and moaned while his erection pointed Heavenwards.

Utterly stunned, it was a while before I realised that I was being eyed avariciously, but not just by the remaining members of the congregation. Other eyes, beautiful, sad doe eyes, were gazing at me with an incredibly deep, aching love. I wasted no time undressing and mounting the plinth. Everyone stood agape as Mary allowed me to lift the hem of her robe to reveal her stunning, naked body.

“It’s a miracle!” declared several.

She smiled up at me so sweetly I felt my erection smack against my belly. I lifted her robe over her head and flung it down among the congregation where they began fighting over it. Her long hair was a gorgeous nut brown and her eyes were deep pots of clear honey. She was holding her hands clasped tightly before her loins. I took them and gently placed them on mine. I pressed the head of my cock to her hirsute pudenda and raised one of her legs to allow me penetration. I encountered an obstruction of some kind and she winced. It took me a moment to realise I was about to fuck a virgin, The Virgin after all, and I would need to be simultaneously forceful and gentle. I held her full soft cheeks in my hands, kissed her tenderly and pressed myself slowly against her hymen. She cried out and I felt the hymen tear against my helmet. She trembled and tears sprang from her wide eyes, but she held me tightly and allowed me to enter her pussy. She was so tight it was quite an effort to penetrate her even just a couple of inches. I fondled her small breasts and stroked her wide hips while she lifted her leg and pressed her instep against my buttocks. Her soft body really felt amazingly good against mine.

“You fiends!” shouted someone from the back.

I heard Beau and Jesus grunting together, but Mary and I seemed to have drawn a larger congregation. I pulled out of her for a moment before sliding back inside. I managed to enter her more deeply this time and she responded by gripping and clawing my back.

“Vere profundus!” she moaned and bit my neck.

I lifted her other leg and began shagging her in earnest. She was so sweet and beautiful. Her tear streaked cheeks flushed and moistened even more with sweat.

“Vos es sic magnus!” she cried, sobbing with ecstasy.

“You’re so tight!” I complimented her, loving the feel of her pussy gripping me like a vice.

I felt something wet hit my back and realised people were pelting me with something. I could care less, bollock deep as I was in the Universe’s tightest snatch. I was fucking Mary so energetically now that her ass had ridden up the pillar and I was standing on tiptoe. I pulled her against me and her pussy slid all the way back down onto my cock. She gasped, wrapped her arms and legs around me and kissed me roughly. I felt her come so violently I was afraid I would slip backwards and fall off the plinth. I held her firmly as she shivered and shook in my arms. I pushed her against the pillar again, rammed my cock in her as deep as I could and spunked at the wall to her womb. She came again and her screams reverberated around the stone building. She babbled incoherently, foamed at the mouth and slipped off me. She fell at my feet in a quivering, blubbering heap.

I jumped back down to the floor and felt for the objects that had stuck to my back. They were plastic and sticky. Condoms. Used, spunk filled condoms. What the fuck were church goers doing with those?
Everyone turned their attention to the crucifix where Jesus and Beau were reaching their climax. More condoms had stuck to them. Jesus grunted, straining against the nails in His hands and feet. His eyes rolled up into their sockets and His crown of thorns slipped off. So turned on was Beau by the feeling of Jesus ejaculating inside him that he came without his own cock needing to touched. I stood below and caught all of his sweet spunk in my mouth. Although Beau shook back and forth, spattering his cum far and wide, I was able to catch every drop by dancing swiftly from one side of the altar to the other. He lifted himself off Jesus’ swollen, cum moistened Penis, turned and stood with one foot on the base of the cross where Jesus’ feet were nailed and with his other leg curled around Jesus’ thighs.

Beau kissed and fondled the Messiah, preventing His Erection from softening. Soon Jesus was rock hard again. Everyone jostled for position beneath the cross, desperate to catch some of the Divine Spunk. People pushed and shoved for a spot where they thought the Spunk would be most likely to fall. As Beau jacked off Jesus the first glob of Cum shot from the Cock of Christ high into the air and soared into the shadowed arches. It reappeared further back than people had anticipated and thus began a mass scramble over the first few pews. One large man was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time and caught the glob deftly in his gob. There was no time for admiration or consternation as Jesus had already fired off several more sticky wet love bullets which were now falling to where everyone had been crushed together before. I was lucky enough to catch one. Several women caught Cum in their hair. Beau wanked the Cock more vigorously and a deluge of Cum showered down upon us like a blizzard. Wet sticky flakes stuck to our bodies and clothes.

“The Body of Christ!” he intoned not so reverently.

“The Spunk of Christ!” Father Cruise shouted up to him, his cum drenched face a picture of unbridled joy.

Beau blew me a kiss.

“I told you I could make somewhere more fun!”

“You weren’t kidding!” I replied.

Eventually the Cum deluge eased off, though I suspected that was more from Beau’s hand growing tired than Jesus’ Balls lacking more Cum to ejaculate. The same wide eyed look of awe illuminated His bearded face, but now it was free from the look of suffering that always seemed to have troubled it. His saliva had frothed from the corner of His mouth and bubbles glistened on His beard. Mary, meanwhile, had stood down from the plinth and was kneeling on the floor, her hands pressed together at her breast in prayer, her face turned towards her Son.

“There they are!” shouted a woman’s uncouth voice from the entrance. “Get ‘em now!”

Silhouetted against the light from the doorway stood several men and women holding a variety of gardening implements.

“Shit!” said Beau and began dressing.

I quickly pulled on my pants and shirt. Our Cum coated congregation quickly understood the situation and ran out through the door. The armed people ignored them, allowing them to exit unharmed. Then a hand spade sailed though the air and hit Mary on her shoulder. She winced, but continued praying.

“Hey!” I shouted angrily. “That’s Our Lady you just hit!”

“You can take ‘your lady’, you black monkey, and fucking well pimp her somewhere else!” shouted a gothic looking woman.

“But she’s the Mother of God!” I protested.

“Don’t you dare blaspheme, nigger!” shouted a smartly dressed gentleman. “Since when was the Mother of God naked? That ‘lady’ of yours is nothing but a common slut!”

Beau grabbed my arm.

“Come on!” he hissed. “And grab her too if you want to avoid seeing something nasty. They don’t seem to know who she is with her clothes off.”

He blew a kiss at the crucifix and waved.

“Thanks, Jeez, mate,” he called. “It was awesome!”

Jesus merely nodded, shagged out as he was from Beau’s ravishment of him, not to mention the nine inch nails buried in his flesh.

I cast about for Mary’s robe but found only one or two shreds of blue material. The vultures had obviously grabbed the rest and were no doubt tearing it to pieces outside. I lifted Mary, naked as she was, and allowed Beau to usher us towards a passage that presumably led to the sacristy and, hopefully, to an exit from the church. The small army of angry villagers dashed forwards down the aisle. The three of us ran through to a room full of clothes, not vestments as I had naturally anticipated, but fancy dress party outfits.

“What the fuck?” I said to Beau.

“Pays to think ahead, doesn’t it?” he said and grabbed a pirate’s costume.

I found some clothes for Mary: a skirt and a top. It was only after she had donned them that I realised she was now dressed as a tart. The pink top squeezed her gorgeous boobs revealingly and the black skirt barely covered her slightly plump ass. Pubic hair was visible below the hem. She seemed unconcerned, however. I found a gorilla outfit and leapt into that as quickly as I could. I was thinking wryly how appropriate this choice might seem to our pursuers when they burst into the room brandishing their gardening tools with bloodlust written on their Caucasian, middle class faces.

“Fuck this,” I said to myself.

Much as I appreciated Beau’s site, I was far from willing to suffer torture at the hands of these lunatics, so I stuck my hand under the mask and tapped my left nostril to end the session. Nothing happened. I looked at Beau helplessly while the goth laughed callously.

“Do you think we’d just let you get away?” she crowed. “You bastards are frozen into this site until we’ve finished with you.”

“Hackers,” explained Beau. “Sorry.”

The woman laughed again and demanded, “So which one of you wants to feel my prong first?” while she poked her rake at my muzzle.

I lost control of myself and an unpleasant odour travelled up the inside of my costume to fill my mask. The woman turned her black eyes to meet mine and I silently cursed Beau for programming his site with such an unnecessary amount of detail.

Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2010

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A gal by the name of Silky had emailed me for a year. Since I had the free membership, I could not email her back. Then, one day I took the paid membership. We finally emailed each other and set up a date at an nice hotel. She emailed me her room number
On the day we were to meet, I brought her a red rose and a bottle of wine. I knocked on the door and Silky opened the door. She was beautiful and cute just like her photo on the site. She looked stunning her outfit and high heels. I told her so. I entered the room and we kissed. I was surprised, but she said that she emailed me for a year and I did not reply to her emails until now. I apologized and explained my free membership, but she said that she needs to make it right. She told me that she felt depressed and rejected over this. Again, I apologized, but she said that this situation must be made right. She asked me if I agreed. I said yes. If you do what I ask of you, then you can have my body. She asked if I would do something for her until it is made right. She also said that I must be submissive and humble, and I would have to make it right with her first and honor whatever request that she wants. I agreed to honor her request.
She made a quick phone call and a knock at the door. Three young studs came into the room. They came over to us and said hi. His name was J and he was the leader of the group. He told me to just relax and lie on the bed. The guys took off my shoes. Next, the socks came off and they massaged my feet. It felt good. The shirt was unbuttoned and gently they took it off. Then, J said that the pants must come off. J moved the zipper down to my crotch area. He lowered the pants down my legs and off. Silky removed my watch and jewelry and next to my clothes. My briefs were the last thing on my body. J looked at me and said that you know what has to come off now. I said yes and told J that he must do what he must do. I must make it right with Silky I told him. J said that I have a good attitude and will be rewarded. Silky gave me a kiss and said that I must do what J wants me to do, so I can get into her pants. I said okay. He said to me that you must never disappoint or make Silky unhappy again. I told him that I understand and it would not happen again. He put his hands on my hips and gently lowered my underwear slowly down my legs and off. He said that I was well endowed. He put his left hand on my penis and balls, gently massaged them, and kissed me. I kissed him back.
J told me to stand up and he walked me over to the tall bedpost. The guys put handcuffs on my wrists and ankles and attached me to the bedpost. Silky got a big paddle and told me that I will be spanked until my ass is red. She asked if I had a problem with this. I said no. She started to hit my ass hard with the paddle and it hurt. She must have did it fifty times. I knew I was in pain. Then, she got a chair and sat behind me, while I was still cuffed to the bedpost. She took her right foot and jammed her high heels into my asshole. Her foot moved the heel of the shoe inside my ass. It really hurt. She then put her left heel into the same hole pushing and moving both heels into my ass. Finally, she removed her high heels from my asshole. The guys uncuffed me and told me to knell in front of Silky. J held her foot and removed her right high heel. He held her foot and told me to kiss the top and bottom of each of her toe. Then, he removed the left heel, and I kissed her toes. I did as J said. He put her heels back on her feet.
Next, they took me into the bathroom. They put shaving cream on my body and started shaving off the hair on my chest, arms, and legs. Silky took her razor and shave around my penis and my balls, so that they were smooth as a baby’s behind. I look at privates and saw how soft they were.
Now, my skin was freshly shaven and smooth. As we walked back to the bed, J told me to stop. He got a part of 5-inch high heels. He told me to sit on the couch. He put his left hand behind my left ankle and slipped my foot into the high heel. Next, he took the other foot and inserted into the shoe. He asked me if I would walk around the room. I did as he requested. He sat on the couch and motioned me to sit on his lap. As I sat with J, I noticed that the other two guys sat next to feet and ass. I was still the only person in the room that was naked, while everyone still had their clothes on. J asked me if I had a fetish about wearing high heels and women’s clothes when I was younger. I said that I did and still do. Silky came over and took a picture of me in J’s arms. J said that to me I am a pervert, but it is fine with him. He told me to kiss him, while the guys play with rest of my private parts and feet. One guy took off a high heel and kissed and massaged my foot and lower leg. The other touched my inner thighs and privates. J kissed me soft and hard, while touching my privates with his other hand. My other heel was removed and that was kissed and massaged. Not only was I hard, but I knew cum was ready to flow. J told the second guy to suck and take in my cum. As his mouth was only my penis, J told me to relax and go with the flow. My arms were around his shoulders and my penis started cumming in the guy’s mouth. I was totally being exploited for not calling Silky for that year. I guess I did really deserve this treatment. I was just taking it like a man or their bitch. When done, my high heels were back on my feet. All of us went over to the bed. J told me to face the bed and spread my legs. I did as he requested. I heard their zippers pulled down and I knew that I was to be fucked by all three of them. J was the first and he inserted his dick into my asshole. It hurt going in, but once in, I enjoyed his pumping action. The other two followed and loaded me with their cum. When this was done, I kissed each guy. I went to the bathroom and quickly returned. J told me to kneel in front of each guy and make them ejaculate into my mouth. J mentioned that I must swallow it all down. J unloaded first and a took it all into my mouth. I did the same with the other two guys. At this point, I thought that I was done. The two guys left, but J said to me that he wants more of me to fuck. I told J that I am here for you. He told me to turn around on the bed, bend over slightly, and spread my legs. He inserted his penis again into my asshole, inching upward into my rear hole. Once, it was in firmly inside, J’s cum flowed inside me. He just kept pumping and rocking me more and more. The more he fucks my ass, the more that I wanted him to do it to me. When done, he pulled out his stick and told me to take the condom off his penis. I did this and threw it away. J told me to knell down in front of him. As I positioned myself in front of him, he asked me if I knew what I must do next. I told him that I do. I kissed his balls several times. Then, I began again sucking on his dick. Silky reminded me that J must have an ejaculation or suffered a penalty. Shortly, his dick secreted some nice cum into my mouth. I liked it.
He told me to get back in the middle of the bed. I told him that if he takes off the handcuffs that I will do and put out whatever he wants me to do. I will be totally submissive to his needs. He looked at Silky and she said okay. The handcuffs came off and I told J that all I want to do is please him and then do the same to Silky. He smiled and said to me that it is time to have sex. I lay on my back; J took off his clothes and followed me to the middle of the bed. He got between my legs and spread them wide. He told me to relax and let it happen. His left hand held my penis and his right hand brought his penis together touching both of them at its head. He swirled his penis gentle around mine with the tips of each touching making us start having the tingling feeling. The holes on our penises were touching, and I could see that a little semen was drooling down each of our heads. J told me to just relax. I told him that I will and just do me. The intense feeling between our heads of our penises together began to intensify. Finally, I told J that I could not hold much it longer. He said to me that I should stay very relaxed and not hold back but let my juices flow naturally. He held my balls and penis firmly together with his left hand. We both started to cum at the same time. He held my penis very tight and securely down in direct line with my balls, and his cum covered my balls in heavy white sauce. His penis did the same and more of it as it coated my balls with even more white cum. The feeling and action of two penises felt great. This lasted for a while. During this explosion of white cum over us, the intense action made my legs quiver and my high heels fell off my feet. When it stopped, I asked him to lie on top of me. He very gently was on top on me and we kissed each other with passionate and wet lips. I told J that I enjoyed it very much and want to be his slave. I want to be a submissive guy to him and Silky. I told them that I never felt this way before. Now, I just want to satisfy their needs and they can do whatever they want to me. I told them that I want to give myself totally to them. After our brief interaction, J started kissing me harder on the lips. He stopped and said that he wants me. I smiled and told him to ejaculate on me and spray that cum on my privates. He then began to release his juices on my penis and balls as we kissed. When done, he said that he has another surprise for me and a nice bath. I said that it sound great.
The three of us went into the bathroom. Silky asked me if I am truly submissive to them. I said yes. She was about to handcuff me to the bar above the bathtub. I said to her that it is not necessary and I am your slave in sex and more. She threw the handcuffs on the floor and told me that we are going to shave any remaining hair from your body. I told Silky that I want her to shave all my private parts and legs. She smiled. J told me to kneel in front of him and suck on his dick to make him hard to spray cum on my face. When hard, J cummed my face and walked behind and sprayed more white sauce on my feet. When done, I got up full of cum. I do not think that I have ever known anyone that could cum and fuck for such a long time. Both of them lathered me up and started shaving me clean. I really enjoyed the feeling and wanted more. When done, both of them kissed me and I went to take a bath with J as Silky watched. As J and I lay in the bathtub, J looked at me. I put both of my arms around J’s neck. I told him that I like it when he massages my privates. I took his hand and placed it on my penis and balls. The massaging action on my private parts motivated me to kiss him passionately. Our lips were lost in one great kiss. I told J that I had never been with a man before, but I am enjoying this. He said that is good and will surely get my dick into Silky’s panties. Silky just smiled and said to me that later my penis would be in her pussy hole for as long as I want. She also said that I was doing great with J. I told J that I want to have sex with him now. I asked his permission to stroke his penis. He said yes, but he wanted me to keep kissing him even during the actual ejaculation. I looked at him and said that I will kiss him whenever he wants me. We then entered into a very deep kiss. At the same time, our penises were being massaged very gently by each other. My hands were around his neck, our lips were in deep bliss, our toes were touching, and our penises were touching and ejaculating our semen against each other. When done, Silky said that I did a good job. They both dried me off.

As the three of us walked back into the bedroom, Silky asked me if I knew why my body hair was shaved completely off. I told her that she wants me to get in touch with my feminine side. She said to me that was a good answer, but she said that she wants me to wear woman’s nylons and heels, and later woman’s clothes when we meet and go out. She asked me if I had a problem with this. I said no. As we got to the bed, she told me to sit down and I did. Silky got purple nylons out of her case and a pair of purple flats and 5-inch purple high heels. She told me that I am going to wear these today and J will fuck me again. Silky put the nylons on my toes and pulled them up my legs to my thighs. When she got to my thighs, she stopped and kissed my inner thighs. I told her that it felt good. She then put the purple flats on both of my feet. She told me to stand up and walk around the room in my flats. J said that I looked good in flats. Silky said for me to sit down on the bed. As I sat there, silky took off the flats and put on 5-inch purple velour high heels on my feet. I got up and walked around the room. I could see that J was hardening up and silky was smiling. J motioned me over to him. I slowly came to him and asked him if he likes me in heels. He smiled and said that you know I do. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and pulled me into his lap. His lips caressed my lips. His kiss was hard and good. His hands were touching my thigh and massaging my private parts. We were in synch with the kissing, holding, touching, and now the fucking was only minutes away. He reached toward my ankles. His touch made me quiver like jello. His hand moved from my thighs to my feet. He slowly removed one high heel and then the other. He told Silky to get the last pair of high heels. It was a 6-inch high heel and its color was a velour mauve color. J slowly slipped on my feet with my toes going first. He slides the heel of my foot in next. As I sat in his lap, J bent over to buckle the top strap. I asked him why do you want to buckle the top strap when you know that your penis will be so active and knock my heels off any way. He put the other heel on my feet. He told me to walk around the room with the unbuckled high heels twice. Then, he said that I should come back to him for a spanking. I got up and walked around the room and came back to J. I told him that I would enjoy a spanking from him. I leaned over his lap on the bed. My penis was touching his. I told him that I am ready. He began spanking me gently and then it was harder until he must have spanked me 50 times or more. He told me to go to the middle of the bed for a fucking. Silky asked Jay what pair of heels or flats that he wants to fuck me. Jay said that he will fuck me in all three pairs. Silky smiled and asked me if I had a problem with three more fuckings. I told her that I am willing and waiting for Jay to do me and also for more to come with Silky. They both smiled.
J put me on top of him and started fucking me. I put my hands around his neck and continued to kiss him. His intense action of his penis made my body shake; so much so that both of my heels fell off my feet. Even after the heels were off my feet and I was wearing only nylons, J demanded that I continue to kiss him during sex. I told him that I would always do that. J told Silky to get the flats and place them on my feet. She did this. J told me to walk around the room again, so he can look at my ass again. I did this for him. When I got back to the bed, he told me to lie on top of him. I assume the position. He put his left leg between my legs. With his knee in my privates, He gently massaged my balls and penis. I continued to kiss his lips and nipples. His feet were touching my purple flats. As his body began to rock my body, his left foot slowly took off the left flat and it dangled on my foot. With his intense action, that shoe fell off my foot. He continued to be busy and partially loosed the other flat shoe off my foot. As he began to secrete his bodily fluids over my privates, the other foot fell off my foot. We kissed and fucked a little longer. When done, we rested for a couple minutes and then he told Silky that he wants me to wear the pair of the 5-inch high heels. I moved to the edge of the bed. Silky slipped on the pair of heels on to my feet. I knew the drill, got up and walked around the room. It must have been five times around the room. J told me that I have a nice ass, great legs, and look great in high heels. I went back to the bed, and got on top of J. He smiled and pulled me tight to his body. J said that he wants to rock my world over and over again. I told J that he does rock my world and I want to rock Silky’s world. J told me that I should just keep putting out. I asked J if he ever wished that I had a pussy hole, so he could drill me over and over again. J told me that he will fuck me either way—with a pussy hole or without. He then drilled me again with the intense sex that made my high heels fall off my feet. After my final sex with J, he told me that I was very good in bed. He also said that I look good in high heels and that wearing a small size of shoe like most women makes me very attractive to him and other guys. I told him that I have small feet and that I like to wear girls’ high heels and shoes. J told me that I must be totally submissive to him and do whatever he says. I said that I would. He told me that I have more thing to do. He put the 6-inch heel on my feet. We went to the bathroom. He said that I must masturbate. I said ok. I stood in front of J and Silky. J put a small bar stick in penis and moved it all the way up my penis until I could not see. He told me to play with myself until I cum. My hand worked on my penis up and down for a short while until my stick ejaculated on the floor. J looked at me and said that you can do anything you want with that Wang. He took the bar swirl stick out of my penis.
He kissed me, told me to freshen up, put my dress and women’s panties, nylons, and heels on. He told me to leave my original clothes here. He told me to return tomorrow for another assignment. If I pass, then I will be closer to having sex with Silky. J gave me my woman’s outfit, nylons, and heels. He told me to wear only this tomorrow and not to bring any of my clothes. He also told me that I will wear only women’s clothes only for all future visits. J told me that I must be totally submissive to him and I nodded. I told him that I will be a slave to him and return tomorrow for my assignments. I left.

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Texting you, wanting you

Touching myself thinking of you and how much i want you, my hand wrapped round my now hardening shaft – cock slippery and aching to drag across parted lips, through soft downy hairs, to nudge and dip, slide hot and hard into your moist clasping cunt, my balls tight, needing release, needing your fingers stroking, your mouth sucking and holding while i thrust and force, your tongue whirling over my head as i plunge, holding your hair to see, you turning, giving access to my tongue, exploring, kisses searching, lips tracing routes to pleasure, fingers licked and pressing, probing your arse, teasing, while i flicker and lick, fingers fucking and cock pushing hard into your mouth.. Your clit hot and hard, sensation making you twist and groan.. Building and building to come…. :) Wish you were here so much.. :)

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et La Danse de Deux a un Dulcimer,
Danse de Seduction

The story of two women who became dance partners, lovers, and the darlings of underground theatre. Their erotic choreography was as hot as their romance was. The fire of their passion was reflected in their art.
by Oediplex writing as
as LeLez~LaMour
a ‘nom de naughty’
of a nice lady

This story could start, Once upon a time . . . but it really happened.

It was not a bouquet, but it was a Floral arrangement. That is to say, the matchmaker was a mutual friend, Flora, a poetess, who liked both Adrienne Rich, and to introduce people who would fall in love with each other. And it was so, and still is.

Daisy was the dark one, with shorter locks like sable. Lilly had the longish, lighter tresses, though eventually, for the sake of symmetry, they wore their hair of matching length. Daisy definitely was the dominate of the pair, Lilly more likely to let her lead. But they were equal partners in the relationship, and contributions to their collaborative artistic endeavors was balanced fairly between them.

Lilly was originally a lingerie model, lithe, but not lanky. Daisy was a fashion designer, svelte and graceful, athletic even. Serendipitously, they wore the same dress size. So they found sharing clothes handy when they eventually became roomies, yet nonetheless personal styles were distinct. While Lilly no longer models, Daisy keeps her hand in the trade and has several items that get sold to companies every year.

Even before they met, their nicknames had been bestowed. That the rhyming monikers made an inadvertent sort of match was simply coincidental. Daisy was the daffy, ditsy party girl of her social set, as in, “Do you know what Crazy Daisy did last night?”, her zany antics always on the wild side. More retiring, yet with a mischievous streak, the not-all-that-meek blonde was dubbed early on by her folks as Silly Lilly. Her escapades were quite the monkeyshines, often a practical joke on an unsuspecting parent or sibling. Meanwhile, she stood to one side looking innocent, until the joke was at the height of its hilarity, then she was unable to constrain herself and she burst into laughter. Thus the perpetrator of the stunt was unmasked. “Good one, Silly Lillie!” they would admit to her talent for tricks.

Lillie and Daisy became collaborators through Charlotte’s Choreography Academy. Charlotte was known as Chuck. She was not Lottie, her parents had called her that. Nor Charlie, that was a perfume; and Charlotte rhymed with harlot. She was called Chuck by her first lover Susan, and the name stuck, though Sue had not. Chuck had them in an interpretive dance course at her training establishment. Two friends who came to keep fit, more fun than a gym, both found that particular curriculum offering appealed to their aesthetic nature and signed up. Their assignment for the final was to create a composition of their own Terpsichore to be performed for the whole class.

They chose Claude DeBussy’s ‘Clair de lune’, they convinced a friend to record it on a dulcimer for them. It gave a different quality to the music, very ethereal they thought. Their title was “La Danse de Deux a un Dulcimer”, ‘The Dance of Two to a Dulcimer’. Only later was it lengthened, as you shall learn. Chuck saw this extraordinarily marvelous swirling of contrasting females, yet a set, a salt and pepper pair. Their piece was a symbiotic vortex of ying and yearning, a twirling of yang and young women. Twisting, swaying, they mirrored then counter-moved, they floated and flowed, whirling around one another while they themselves spun; they were blossoming flowers and falling leaves and willows in the wind. They were wonderful.

And there the story might have stopped. Though both knew of each other’s lesbianism, they were not yet lovers. Not even living together at that stage. That was about to change. Chuck gave a pre-performance critique and made some constructive suggestions for refining the routine. They diligently took notes and agreed that there were things that might polish the piece. Then they made arrangements for a practice room. Due to their work schedules, and the fact that they were part-time students, full-time having first choice of times / rooms, they were booked for late one evening.

They did get a large practice room, with plenty of space to refine their dance. In fact, they were nearly alone at that time of the evening, the other students and faculty were few. It was then, it was there, that their lives changed, their careers became art and their art became their calling. That they set a new direction for their lives out of an established orientation, that they turned a single dance into a oeuvre, that they created a genre and revolutionary underground entertainment, these all began that special night.

I am privileged to know these ladies, I am honored they chose me to write their history, I am delighted they are my neighbors downstairs. I had been invited over to their apartment several times, before they provided the story and asked that I might share it publicly now. The time seems to have come for it to be told. Any kind of consequences won’t matter, as this is past and passed too is their protégées progress into mainstream forms. It was obvious, nor did they ever hide the fact, of their joy in one another and their long love. The pictures and the tchotchkes scattered across the place made that evident for the visitor.

They had many amusing incidents to share, and interesting perspectives to provide. For instance, the six ages of girlhood and the six ages of womanhood. Their own delineation which they ran down for me. Lillie explained the first set was: baby, infant, toddler, kid, teen, those applied to most everyone, but then came coquette. Daisy picked up the thread for gals beyond their early twenties: youthful, mature, middle-aged, ‘of a certain age’, certainly aged (their present period), aged and old. The point being, that now they had reached this stage in their lives, when they knew that no damage could be done to family, friends, or colleagues by the telling of their tale, they were going to.

‘Indeed,’ quipped Daisy, ‘the telltale signs of our aging prompted the decision to open up, though we never did turn tail from the telling the truth.’ With that remark they let me in on their private lives and secrets, their astounding story and personal triumph and the glory of their art. That night, in that practice room, they fine-tuned their routine, but what came from that experience was anything but routine. Once more their bodies bent and curved, blended and swerved together, apart and united, in motions slow and sensuous.

Nubile nymphs, spry sprites, sparked with inspiration and shining with perspiration. The night was hot, the lights didn’t help and there was no fan. The windows were open to the breezeless dark. The heat was hell in the leotards, their towels were soaked. They thought, there’s plenty of privacy, they had locked the door, there’s nobody here but just us two chicks – why not dance nude? It would be cooler at least, and provide an extra sense of freedom to their torsos and limbs as they performed in rehearsal. Like skinny dipping, skimpy dancing; or as they term it scanty prancing, raised the activity to greater sensuality.

They practiced and repeated and reran the number. The movements and motions became memorized by their bodies was well as their minds. The final ending of the choreography had Lilly laying prone on her back, one leg lifted in a high kick. Daisy was alongside, just upstage to her but slightly offset stage left. She with an equally elegant elevated back-kick, so that the angle from knee to pointed toe exactly paralleled her partner’s. The last time they did the entire routine, it was flawless. Daisy, being exhilarated by their perfect performance kissed Lilly, at that moment of the dance’s end; lingering and loving – right on her split slit. When they did it for the class, clothed, they kept in the kiss. The class clapped, they whistled, they laughed, they loved it!

What was not added is what happened next that humid and heated eve. Crazy Daisy kissed Silly Lilly on her split slit, then on her clit, and kept on kissing. Continuing with eager acceptance from the other. Then Lilly was kissing Daisy back, and from there they simply made love on the practice mat near by. On that mat they found their mate, founded their art in that room, made history that night. The routine was a complete success, and was the talk of the school, not as scandal, but a scholastic breakthrough of form, fearless for it’s openly romantic feeling and esoteric eroticism with exotic moves. The dulcimer sound seemed to have bestowed in their work a way of transforming technique into a genre of rapturous carnality embodied in dance.

They were asked for a repeat performance, and the audience grew. Attending that second time was a famous impresario, Chuck’s doing. Again, the request was pleaded so the students and faculty who had not seen the magical piece, and even some from other Conservatories, could view this phenomena. Now entitled its full and final appellation. ”La Danse de Deux a un Dulcimer, Danse de Seduction” no further translation needed.

The offer to perform professionally came with both a monetary incentive that was too tempting, and a further contract for more of the same. The understanding that advancement of funding and finding venues would be with yet ever increased intimacy. Their art becoming both prurient and personal, their private acts incorporated into public performances, the caveat was that those who viewed them would be a very select few.

The exclusive access was restricted to only extremely wealthy people patrons of refined works (and their special guests). Mostly those who were dedicated to the cause of ‘le femme avec femme’, though some males were also willing to pay for the privilege of being in the audience. Not coincidently, “Le Femme Avec Femme” was the next title of the duo billed as “Crazy Daisy and Silly Lilly, Les Fleurs Les Plus Fraiches du Lesbianisme!”. Indeed, they were the freshest flowers of that set’s sort of sex, the newest artistes of l’avant guarde. The dearest darlings of the underground theatre that thrived on the kind of kinks that the populous at large could never be let in on, except now of course it can. From Cannes to California the whole of society more readily accepts that there are others of a different orientation; at least more tolerant of their existence, if not their unions as marriage.

Flora, the poetess who like to introduce people who would fall in love, acquainted the two of them with one another at a cafe. And it was so, and still is. Thirty five years is half a lifetime, and perhaps they will see their golden anniversary. It’s certainly possible, their health is as solid as their love. Lilly and Daisy accepted the bloom of their love along with the boom of their new careers exploding, as well as the boon of their financial security.

They danced, with newly choreographic routines and growing reputations and glowing reviews and ever expanding audiences. Chuck promised mentoring and made good, eventually protégées provided a group of performers and made the production more varied and all the more interesting. This in turn generated greater income, which was wisely invested. Their troop was called a ‘bouquet of embolden ballet’ by devoted fans.

I have seen not only the films of ”La Danse de Deux a un Dulcimer, Danse de Seduction” and “Le Femme Avec Femme” which was danced to DeBussey’s ‘Afternoon of a Faun’, (a natural follow up, but with less inhibition of the exhibition of lesbian love); but also later works. Some were recorded on video, for instance “Quand L’amour Vous Propose sa Fleur”, ‘When Love Offers Its Flower’ again a seduction theme. However, it’s complete with the erotic moves made explicit. In this case, since it is performed by actual lovers, just like when Brad and Angelina kiss on screen in mainstream, the passion and romance is really there. It has a lovely rendition of Edvard Grieg’s ‘Morning Mood’ for the music.

It is this latter piece that the gals asked me to review and describe as best I could. An endeavor difficult, if anyone could recreate in words, what a live performance of such a risque and beautiful experience one views for real. But it is my responsibility as the conduit for their narrative to attempt to do so. Fortunately, I have had their help and guidance, even some of their words to make my task easier. My special thanks to Tonia too, my own lover extraordinaire.

The costumes and feeling of this piece owe much to the spirit of Loie Fuller, who danced in Paris at the end of the Nineteenth Century. (Note: Loie and her partner, Gabrielle Bloch, were together for over 20 years, until Fuller’s death.) While the costumes were not the extensive swaths of material their earlier predecessor of modern dance used, the flow of the translucent floaty attire picked up the lighting and wafted through the air in a similar fashion. Of course they were specially designed by Daisy, and also had a ‘seven veils’ sort of homage as they fluttered away to the stage, one by one, until the two were left all but bare. However, see below.

The starting position had the women facing opposite, toward the wings, with downstage feet stretched back, close to their partner’s, toes pointed to the back. Backs arched, arms raised over head, hands tilted back to create essentially a heart shape. Music starts. Like a pair of butterflies, flirting as they fly, the gals glided around the stage, sometimes closer, then further apart. Circling as they seem to orbit some center of gravity, like moths flitting about a flame, but it is meant to be the pheromonel attraction of one other. Then they touch for the first time.

As with earlier work, their repertoire of moves used is analogous at the beginning. With this piece the ‘mirroring’, immediately after the first contact, was circular in what might be termed a clover leaf pattern. The next phase is a blend of parallels and counter-moves with reversals. Not unlike an Astaire-Rogers choreography where she is drawn back to the dance, though reluctantly, yet is more and more involved in the intricate pas-de-deux. With spins and turns, reels and sweeps, and plaiting of limbs the ladies little by little shed their coverings, the scarves and capelets and sleeves and leggings, in a elaborate strip-tease for each other.

Of course, this is all done with a subtle and ethereal manner as the gossamer garments appear to melt away. But the completed effect is that they are dancing now as a couple close and connected by some sort of physical contact, from holding hands to linked arms, to hugs that lead to jump/lifts, wearing a sort of abbreviated ‘teddy’. A very artistic effect, even more erotic than if they had begun so. Now their swirls and sways and swings together gather momentum, and yet loose speed and they use the entire stage area as a playground for their obvious affectionate frolics and fleeting fondling.

This settles into a nesting position, where, as if they were on a imperial size bed, they cavort in athletic foreplay until . . . Daisy, the instigator of the seduction is clearly caressing Lilly. Then the last fluff of stuff they have left on is plucked away to reveal nudity (cleverly the breasts and genitals are masked with flesh colored ‘undies’ – or not depending on the venue, so I was informed by my sources). Near pornographic moves are simulated (or not) in time with the gentle ending of the music that culminates in the beginning of cunnilingus, as the seducee, Lilly, finally gives into Daisy as her now paramour.

My understanding, is that there were far more explicit and extended performances done for very, very select clientèle. These of course were before the Internet provided the graphic clips for whatever anybody’s particular interest is. In the long run, since these shows had such a private nature, by invitation only and with so intimate kinds of touching, few actually knew they existed, much less how to get to be privy to a viewing.

While not really love-making, it was intensely exciting. The girls would never admit to orgasming as they danced, no matter how aroused they became, and they did. They were “not making-out, they were making art”, as Daisy put it. Still, it was highly charged for both those on, as well as off stage. Many went home afterwards and did have sex after ” Les Fleurs Les Plus Fraiches du Lesbianisme” did their ‘act’, including Daiz and Lil, as they affectionately spoke of one another in their home. And during rehearsals, they always had a soft pad on one side for when they became so stimulated, that life imitated art.

La fin, mais pas la fin.


Daisy took Lilly, her lover and kissed her. Kissed her lips, her cheeks, her lips again, her eye-lids, lips, forehead, ears, a French kiss. She kissed Lil’s neck and shoulders and clavicle, cleavage. Then the foreplay went back to square one, but the next progression included the nipples. Meanwhile, slender fingers caressed the sable locks. Before going lower, Daiz move higher so that her partner and paramour could nibble a little on her own tips, while she gently palmed the soft cushions that she had just suckled.

Then she ran her lips along so lightly, they hardly touched Lil’s skin, from neck to navel, with all erogenous points in between revisited. Light zephyrs issued out of Daiz’s mouth to tease the tummy and thighs of her belove’s middle. Then lips recontacted with delicate kisses, that circled and kept getting closer and closer to the most tender and sensitive tissues. Lil like to be made to wait, the suspense was especially exotic and extremely arousing to her. Daisy delighted in pleasing her counterpart, to continuously have her on the edge, until the sweet agony peaked in release.

Eventually, the lips and tongue that tantalized the supine torso centered to make ministrations to the mons and the petals of the folds found down there. The nectar was abundant, fragment and fresh with the tangy taste of femininity she craved. The puffed and rosy bud of the most important place was fully distended and yearning for attention. It was not disappointed. Varied and inventive were the licks and sucks and such so creatively provided as the mouth cavorted upon that divine spot. Flesh played with flesh flicking and fluttering, and flickering yet more, Daiz did her best to drive her mate mad with ecstasy.

Lilly built to a frenzied finish; to be brought to a slow boil and then to explode in a geyser of steam, that was her style, her need, her way of climaxing. She had two vocal modes, either a loud, long and a high pitched wavering wail of wild vented joy, one might imagined her a female fire-engine. The other way, if needed to maintain surreptitious conduct for privacy sake, was an aspirated expelling of her lungs in bursts of short pants, with ragged gasps to refill every couple or so waves of paroxysms that washed over her body. Either way, she was still breathless when she came down from cumming.

This was followed by mutual caresses, as they lay together kissing. This served as not only recuperative time, but also preparations for the switch of active and passive roles. Sometimes they might mix it up or have an agenda of trying something new once in a while, or perhaps tinkering with toys to stimulate each other. But like most couples, their regular sexual modus operandi was worked out to make the most effective coordination for the physical and emotional happiness of both. Thus, next would be a reversal of positions and Lil would work on Daisy.

Daisy liked a very direct and down and dirty type of approach. Just as their fashion styles differed, so too what turned them on and how they wanted the love-making to proceed. What they did have in common, (and should not all lovers everywhere have?) was a trust in one another to provide the most caring responsibility for the partner’s body and mind during so intimate and delicate a sharing. They told each other what they were ready for, what felt good to them, when it was too much of a good thing. They communicated, that is the key to great sex, and what they had was grand indeed.

So when Lil latched on to the brown buttons of Daisy’s tits and sucked then to hard points, it was an experienced lover that made the move. Studiously doing oral applications to Daiz, with focus on particular points, rather a general survey of her body, was her strategy of conquest. The dearest sort of persuasion was used on her closest companion and matching half, the soul-mate and sweetheart of her life. Now she was in charge and she was not shy. No tricks, just honest servings of passionate puckering, lashes which the wet wiggly digit could waggle, and a two finger penetration that went into the well of womanhood and sought to saw the cavity until she sung. A full throated call, or a sigh of melodic tones.

Thumb action on the clitoris was practical at this stage and with the opposite arm rocking to provide the internal insertion of sensation. Legs wide and pelvis tilted to make an open target, Daiz was primed to be pumped. She used her own hands to squeeze her mammeries and twiddle her nips, bringing up the heat to volcanic temperatures. Soon, the caldera would erupt, the earth to shake, the foundation of her being to vibrate with incredible energy; the heavenly aftermath was almost as wonderful. In the arms of her beautiful spouse, truly then she achieved paradise in those lovely moments.

They had, as Flora knew they would, fallen in love with each other, and it was so, and still is, and so it shall be.

With this their story has now been preserved. Don’t bother to Google the girls, for what was shared is past, and what was done has been passed on. While prejudice should be passe’, it’s not. What they’re pleased to have most is not publicity, but peace. That is a true happy ending!


Lilly shared this with me. Written by her friend.

Liberty With Love and Loss

Lorelei, Lover, let me be,
Lovely lady, set me free.

Yes, dear, I’m dying, can’t you see?
And soon, too soon, I shall not be.

I cannot bear your tears and grief,
It steals my very soul, like a thief.

How shall I paradise obtain,
How of Heaven’s peace might I gain?
When with you here, my spirit stays,
Lest with your soul it rests always?

That happiness in life, my love,
God granted me, bliss from above.

In your heart I shall forever be,
So Lori dear, please set me free.

By Sandra George;
to her partner, Lorelei Leigh,
written on her last day.

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A son’s loving kiss on his mother’s special place

by Oediplex 8==3~

My mother is a beautiful redhead. Her hair isn’t that dark kind of red, but a lighter, brighter shade; and natural, as I can attest from intimate knowledge. I might even say ‘bare witness’ to, the pun is intentional of course, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. Her skin is that pale creamy type of complexion that is highlighted by the pink blush on her face and other places, as well as a rosy color to parts private. Her showgirl figure has only slightly been muted by the years, and she has legs that the term shapely doesn’t do justice to.

Her work as a waitress keeps the limbs trim and chassis classy, as dad likes to quip. Mom says the job just makes her legs tired and her life boring. It is a long way from the Vegas runway she was strutting when she met my pop. He was in sales, as he still is, and at a convention in ‘the city that never sleeps’. Well, they ‘sleep’ together, but there was no rest for the wicked. That’s where and when I was conceived, an inspiration of unintentional consequences from a genuine mutual attraction and inattention to details, like birth control.

Don’t get the wrong idea, they did fall in love, it was not just a one night stand. But I was the product of that first consummation of their passion on the very evening of their initial encounter. By the end of the week though, pop had to return to New Jersey. They were certain that they would some how build a life together. When she discovered that she was with child, meaning me, she made it known to my father that she wanted to be with him, the sooner the better. So he flew out; hey, what place is best known for quickly getting hitched? And six months later I was delivered, another mouth to feed.

Twenty years later, mom is feeding people at the diner and pop is delivering sales training for his company around the county. So mother is bored and lonely, has tired feet and aching calves; dad is seldom home, has too many frequent flier miles, a middle-age paunch and balding spot. I have a job with a local electronics repair shop and live at home. We do alright and are solidly middle-class, but the humdrum of North Jersey and the tedium of the long trips away from home are not the stuff that fairy tale romances are sustained by. My fantasies however are centered on domestic loving of a more sordid sort.

If a man’s home is his castle, then my father’s princess bride is the queen of my desires. My folks say their love remains strong because, “absences makes the heart grow fonder”. But I say that ‘absence of a hard-on makes lust to wander’. What kind of sex life can you have when you see each other one week out of every four? If dad is not off doing training, he’s on the road pitching the line of products his firm makes. Most of the time I’m the ‘man of the house’. Recently, that phrase widened it’s meaning for the relationship between mom and I; for we are having relations, if you know what I mean.

I’ve always loved my mother of course, as any good son should. But, I’ve had a thing for my mom for a long time now, as any good son shouldn’t. I have to confess that now I am working and have some spending money of my own, I have invested in some electronics for home use. I don’t just mean the usual kinds of amusement equipment; TVs, DVD players, digital recorders, computers and game consoles. Those are nice and we have a couple of each, one for the parents, one for me, etc., but that’s not I’m referring to. What I acquired some years back has a very private and personal entertainment value for myself alone.

I am referring to the wireless microphone that I secretly installed under the folks bed and the receiver in my room where I can listen to and even tape their love making. Damn right I masturbate when I ease drop on them having sex! I love to hear my mother cumming when they fuck. She is so hot, how she moans and cries out and squeals as she climaxes. I would love to set up a tiny video cam, but I haven’t figured out where to hide it that would have a good angle on their bed. I did have one in her closet for a short while and got to see her changing a few times. I play the tapes often, freeze framing on the moments she is nude.

However, I never thought that what happened several weeks ago was a possibility. It was a dream cum true, a fantasy suddenly made real, a hope which was granted gratification. Yes, that’s right, I got to kiss where I came from; more than that, I got to cum where I was conceived. When I had made the redhead ready by giving her head, she allowed me to fulfill my most wicked wish; filling her wanting moist hole full with my wanton dick. Mom’s willing pussy was an easy catch by my pursuing willie, her tender trap captured my conquering cock. In other words, if I was intent on taking her, then she would surrender; if I had to have her, mother was game and wouldn’t be chaste.

The opportunity to seduce my mother happened on a warm summer evening, when my dad was gone a week, on a three week training event in San Francisco which he was in charge of. It was Saturday night after a busy shift at the diner. Mom had showered and was now in our living room wearing a light-weight, short nightgown. She was perched on the couch reading. A racy romance novel, I could tell from the cover. I was aware that this ‘put her in the mood’, for if dad had been around she would have signaled after a while that she wanted to ‘go and cuddle’. I then knew to get to my bedroom as soon as they retired and switch on the mike and listen in on their session. I was seldom disappointed.

I myself that evening was in the corner easy chair, playing an old video game which was not all that challenging. I wore my sports shorts, no tee and tonight I hadn’t bothered to put on briefs underneath. Mom tucked her legs up and I could see that she was restless, as then she put them out straight on the sofa, crossed them, then turned the other way to set her feet on the floor once more. She gave a big sigh, and shortly another as she bent down and rubbed her calves. Sitting up again, she adjusted her hips and made a small mew of frustration, read another page, then set the book open on the table beside her and closed her eyes.

“Tired, mom?’ I asked.

“Uh-huh, and my muscles are achy from being on my feet nearly the whole shift. God I hate Saturdays and tourists!” I get cramps in my legs and crap for tips. I wish your dad was here, he’d rub all the right places and make me feel better from my toes to my tits, I mean the tips of my fingers that is.” But I knew what she meant was from her heals to her hoochie-coochie. With no thought of any ulterior motive at the moment, I offered to give her a leg rub to relax the tired muscles of my hard working parent. She accepted, with a “Mmm, that sounds like just the right order! It’s nice to have a man around the house!”

“What are you, a man or a masseuse?” I paraphrased the old expression in a low tone, with dramatic comic voice. “I am but milady’s humble and obedient servant, sir, and her wish is my command!” I answered myself in a dashing hero’s baritone.

Mom laughed at my dialog as I rolled the easy chair on it’s casters to be in front of where she was seated. “It’s a real treat for somebody to serve me for a change!” She plopped her feet on either side of the chair as I sat down. “Ooh! That’s what I needed!” she exclaimed with a sigh as I began to ply the arch of one foot with my thumbs. “Yeah, Honey, you’re so good at this.” she added as I massaged the balls of her feet and then worked on the toes. “Mmmm.” a murmur was her purr.

I took my time working my way up her gamine gams. With both hands, one on the outside and the other on the inside track, first the right – then left, back over and higher, switch and move further forward. Meanwhile, her head was laid back and eyes closed. Purrs coming from her throat in contentment. I notice as I approached the hem of her night apparel that, with her legs spread at an angle due to where she had placed them on my chair, I could see quite high on her thighs. As I maneuvered toward the juncture the gown crept higher, soon it was at an immodest position and my fingers were kneading the flesh close to her crotch.

Now I was sure that she too had skipped undies, no panties were present. What was locking my eyes to her center was a shaded tract of fur, actually downy fuzz more accurately. Mom still had head reclined back and lids were down, however her breathing was heavier. Still she didn’t say anything, made no move to halt the progress closing in on her private patch, the wispy thatch of pubic hair which was the focus of my gaze. Bolder and brazenly I smoothed the flesh to the last inch of skin. Then I ventured in sin to make a glancing pass with my thumbs along the border of mother’s mons. Once . . . twice . . . but before thrice she brought her head up and looked down at me with a sweet smile on her luscious lips.

“What should a lady reward her handsome prince with for such a marvelous favor? Would he like a kiss?” she asked innocently.

I don’t know what made me say the words then, that I had long to say to her someday, but never thought I would get the chance or have the nerve. But the moment seemed to be right, the timing somehow perfect, and the mood was at once relaxed yet with a underlying heat of sexual tension somehow. Maybe because of both our closeness, and the openness of her most personal part to my view; or was it perhaps pheromones and the scent of her pussy? Or was I just so turned on that my hormones made all decorum drain from my head and the male animal was ruling my civilized self. In any case, I said softly but distinctly, looking mom right in the eyes, “I want to kiss where I came from.”

“What, what did you say? You want to kiss . . .”

“Where I came from. I love you and want to show you how much I am thankful for your being my mother and all that you do. Your tough job at the diner, the meals you make at home, all the love which you’ve provided my whole life. I want to give you a special kiss. I kiss your cheeks and on the mouth everyday. But tonight, I want to kiss where I came from. I want to kiss you on your vagina, where I was conceived, and came out of.”

She didn’t look as shocked as I expected. Bemused would be closer and perhaps a touch of wonderment. With a soft little voice she said, “You may.” She reached down and gripped the hem of her nightie and lifted it up to her abdomen. The light filtered through the hair, which was curled and slightly darker than her coif. I saw my mom’s genitals live for the first time since I had been five and walked in on her, naked in her bedroom. I remembered, but she had not made any big deal out of it at the time. Otherwise, what the hidden camera caught was just some odd angle glimpses. But now, there she was, exposed in glorious stunning beauty, proving she was a natural redhead. The labia were slightly puffed and rosy. The little pink bud was peaking out. The hair hid nothing, though it spread down the mons like new wheat. This picture was burned on my mind’s eye for the rest of my living days.

I slid to my knees on the floor and put my hands on her thighs, spreading them gently. I bent my head so that it came right up to her pussy, and I zoomed in on the labia at exactly where her entrance was, it was slightly moistened. I wondered if that meant she had been become somewhat aroused by the naughty brushes my thumbs had stolen along the edges of that pouting mons? But I didn’t hesitate by pondering her condition or my good fortune at her consenting to my request for this most intimate of osculations. She tilted her pelvis to meet my lips. I kissed her on that very spot, I kissed where I came from, on my mother’s vagina, on mom’s pussy. She gave a little gasp, but nothing else; no words to end the moment, she did not let go of the lifted material; she remained perfectly still.

I had the definite feeling that we were not through, that I could continue, in fact that we would make love in a short time. Don’t ask me why I knew, but I did, with all the confidence that her love for me was beyond question. So too, I intuited, was her acquiescence and acceptance of our pending ultimate physical intimacy. We were going to fuck, I was certain of it! I kissed her again on the precise point of her holy of holies, at the gates of heaven – the precious place of my worship. Then with a loving tenderness I gently kissed higher, then to one side and then the other. As the kisses went along the length of her split and wide to the sensitive hollow of where her legs and crotch junctioned, I heard her sigh.

Mom moaned softly and made her purring sounds, she was enjoying the loving busses on her pussy! She was letting me continue to deliver the seductive ministrations of my mouth. My pecks range from the sensual inner thighs to lower abdomen, from anus to clitoris and everywhere my mouth traveled, each place I puckered was one point closer to the next step of my deviant incestuous desires. I was only getting breathy responses of a positive nature so I initiated the next phase of my oral delectation. I went to her vaginal entrance and let my tongue make tiniest of licks. A sharp gasp, the legs opened a bit wider on their own, was her response. Slowly, but with longer slides and more of the slippery digit protruding, I proceeded to begin to go down on mom.

Surprising to me was her taste. She had of course bathed on returning home from work. There was no remaining muskiness, nor salty tang to remind one of her long labors. The perfume of mom’s scented body-wash was just detectable if my nose sniffed in her gossamer locks. But her liberal lust juices had only a faint hint of the flavor of femininity. Other gals that I had gleefully licked and lashed with my tongue were more strongly sweet/pungent in a pleasant way. Mother’s lubricant was just as slippery but light as in a virgin olive oil, though clear colored and certainly not virginal, but subtle and delicate and delicious. I slurped the gourmet dressing that came from her cunt, elixir of love.

I dwelt at the oasis of her well of love lotion, I sojourned some time ravishing the delectable pink little bud of sexual pleasure, I even dallied with the crinkled star between her cheeks. The measured pace was initially deliberate and languid as the lingual engagement began. But eventually, I was unleashing riffs of rhythmic lapping and thrusting lunges into open folds and giving sucking assaults on all parts. She stood no chance of defense against the forces given free reign when I made love with my mouth on her sex. Her squeals of joyous exhilaration and cries of excitement and mews of gratification, her sounds of sexual arousal, which I had heard during my surreptitious surveillance; were now made in my very presence because of my devotion, demonstrated most indisputably in the act of creative cunnilingus.

When my mother’s pants were rapid, interspersed by jagged breaths and wails of passion, I knew it was time for us to be united in body and soul. I shoved my shorts down to my ankles, which signaled to my flushed paramour that we were moving to the next and final phase of our outrageous erogenous erotic encounter. She negotiated her nightie over her head and off, even as she slid her hips down so the the edge of the cushion was in the small of her back. I moved so that our proximity was providing the optimal angle of attack. Her feet were place flat on the carpet as I planned on how to plant my stiff stalk in her garden of delights. I reached to guide the missile of my manhood to the silo of mom’s muff.

At first, I made partial exploratory incursions into the greasy grotto. Encountering no resistance nor reluctance, no recriminations or expressed regrets, I prodded further afield, deeper within that sanctuary – the temple of my goddess. At last, I made a long, strong stroke to bring me to be finally, completely socked to the root inside my moms’ pussy. Once at last back where I originated, I paused to let the impact and import of our carnal connection sink home to both of us. The length of my penis fit the measure of her cavity, its bulk encompassed by her casement. I could feel the clinging cunt clutch my cock enclosing it in a moist heated sheath. No other sensation had ever given me more a sense of completion, or such pure elation, as that penetration of my mother’s womb.

She pressed her body to me, the pliant pillows of her breasts pushed against my chest; the nipples, rubbery points that poked my pects. We clung to one another and our cheeks made contact, head to head. Our quick breaths in each other’s ear, but no words were spoken, only sighs came from our throats; moans of involuntary spasms, as our genitals did all the talking. The silent sign language of sex, save for the slapping of flesh, was communication enough, as mother and son began the dance of the double-backed beast. It was communion and sin, sacred made manifest in the profane, the spiritual in united bodies that celebrated together carnal cravings. This was the love we shared, we gave, we took, an exchange of the most ethereal; a consummation of concupiscence, a joining, melding, consecrated consanguinity! In that single moment, we became one.

Then with ever increasing tempo and intensity we had intercourse. God, how we fucked!! I moved, slid in her, she swung hips and glided on to me; the in and out of cock and cunt, the to and fro of penis and pudenda, our organs ground genital against genital in our orgiastic frenzy. I couldn’t get enough of the woman I held in my arms. She denied me nothing of herself. I plunged and plugged and stabbed and schtupped the vagina of my mother. She was not just an open hole but an active sheath, an engulfing and gripping-grabbing maw of raw lust. The feminine predator man-eater, savaging her prey before she feasted on it. Bang, bang, boff, bop, bump we went bouncing off one another at our crotches. Thrusting prick and stroking cock packing it all in, sucking cunt and oozing cooze taking it all up, as deep and hard pleased the soft and supple.

We screwed to make it last for the rest of our lives, as if there would never be another chance to do it with one another, as if the world was ending tomorrow. I made the most of this special and spectacular opportunity to show my love for mom. To let out my base desire for this beautiful lady who loved me unconditionally. She who joined in this sex act as willingly and wantonly as any woman ever could with a lewd and lusty man. Then, suddenly we were there on the brink, tottering on the edge of our peak, with more than enough momentum to carry us into the chasm of ecstasy. Instinctively we knew that both of us were about to cum. The spasms and climaxes overtook us like a giant wave rolling us in the ocean’s surf. Our shouts rang out, echoing off the walls, an operatic duet of squawks and whoops and wails, fading down to heart felt grunts and ragged whimpers.

I was in the throes of the contractions of my ejaculating erection; throbbing, pulsing, it squeezed my jism out in a great squirt of incredible intensity. I felt the zing in my asshole and the back of my neck electrify, my skull seemed to expand with pressure, while my dick grew another half inch and touched the very nubs of mother’s uterus as it released its flood of cream, the balls jumping in their sacks. Mom shuttered, I felt her gushing over my prick and balls as she released her tension in a paroxysm of bliss. Her fingers dug into my back and her arms seemed to be super strong as they hugged me, as if for dear life. She was perspiring profusely and sweat dripped down her face and a wet sheen coated her body. Then, mom leaned back a bit and our sticky torsos separated; she tossed back her head and laughed her surprise and delight at what had happened.

Strange as it may seem, that whole time we had been fucking we had not kissed. But now that we caught our breath and settled down to the afterglow and consideration of the aftermath of our royal rutting, the raunchy romp mother and son had had. We looked at each other and in mutual emotional attraction began to kiss, and French, and make lip locks and tangle our oral digits like squirming snakes. Now, we couldn’t get enough of each other’s mouths, they popped all over one another’s face, planting smooches on every square inch. We were murmuring “I love you” and “That was so good, the best!” “You made me cum so hard!” “Wow!!” “Wonderful” and all manner of donut-hole sweet nothings.

Finally mother said, “We were soo naughty! We were naughty, naughty, naughty!” Her smile faded and her expression became serious. “Your father can’t ever find out. No one must ever know. It’s just this one time. It can’t ever happen again. Promise that it will be our secret, and we won’t ever mentioned this between us either.” Her face softened, “I love you and I don’t regret what we did, but it’s impossible to continue, it has to stop here and now and that’s it. No more, alright?” Her eyebrows went high. “Promise mommy! From now on we have to be good, we mustn’t give into temptation,” a little shake of her head, “no matter how great the sex was. If you really love me you won’t ever make love to me again, as much as you want to have me. Okay, honey? I mean it, never ever again. Promise!!” And she kissed me hard.

What could I say to that? I loved her and I wasn’t thinking straight. I said, okay, and I promised what she asked and kissed her again. I loved her. She had just given me the fuck of a lifetime, the fulfillment of my long time fantasy. I could not deny her request. Her wish was my command. The next morning we pretended that it never had occurred. Life went back to a semblance of normality, though underneath our acting the memory of that hot action stirred emotions, our suppressed desires were roiling just beneath the surface. Then the evening of the third day, mother came to my room and sat on the edge of my bed.

“I want to kiss my kid’s cock . . . ” she said in a little soft voice.

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By Oediplex
Based on an il-lust-ration by Pandora’s Box,
Used with permission
both text and picture are copyrighted material

(F/m/M mother, father & son)
[Billy's parents give him a very thorough sex education lesson!]

“The time is right, he’s almost fourteen.” said Billy’s father.

“I guess your right. Does he know about sex yet?” Billy’s mom asked.

Frank and Gail Turner were discussing their son’s need for sex education. A pair of former hippies they had met at Woodstock and fallen in love. They married even before they had finished college and their passion for each only grew stronger, as the years had gone by. Billy was born a couple of years after they had settled in a nice suburb of New York City where Frank worked at an advertising agency.

Several days had gone by since Gail had caught Billy looking at one of his father’s adult magazines. Frank and Gail kept their love life fresh with new ideas and experimentation. They allowed each other’s fantasies to be explored and role-played without judgment and demeaning criticism. They were turned on by the other partner’s turn-on. So their sex was some times a bit kinky, but it was with each other. They kept the things that worked and moved on when other stuff did not.

Billy had come across one of the booklets with both pictures and a variety of stories. Gail wasn’t sure if he read any of the material, but she was sure that he had looked at all the very graphic pictures. She hadn’t freaked out when she found the publication while making Billy’s bed. She informed him that when he got home from school that she considered it unsuitable material for a youth of his age and that it was confiscated.

Now Gail and Frank talked the situation over and tried to decide how they should handle the matter. “I’m not certain what he’s learned in school. His friends must have talked about it. He can’t be so innocent in this day and age. I want to make sure he doesn’t have any wrong ideas and misconceptions about sex, of doing it with love.”

“Your right.” Gail responded, “How should we approach it though?”

“Well why don’t we have a discussion with him after dinner?”

“Good idea. And let’s be totally up front with him and answer all his questions, no matter what, okay?”

“That’s smart. Then that’s what we’ll do.” Frank closed the discussion with a deep French kiss.

Later that evening.

As Gail was taking the desert dishes away, Frank leaned over toward Billy and said, “Son you mom and I want to have a talk with you about something.”

“Am I in trouble about the magazine dad?” Billy’s voice quavered a little.

“Well, it’s sort of about that, but you’re not going to be punished. Relax, go put your pajamas on and come to the living room in a half an hour.” said Frank reassuringly.

Thirty minutes later Billy went to the living room. The easy chair was pulled up close to the couch where his folks sat. Obviously that is where they meant for him to sit. His mom was in a light cotton robe and his dad only had his boxer shorts on, it was typical evening attire in their casual household. Billy went and sat in front of them, slightly nervous, even though his father had said that they were just going to talk.

“Billy, your mom and I just want make sure that you don’t have any odd ideas about sex and that you understand that the best sex is with someone you love. Do you know much about sex?”

“Some,” Billy frowned, “They had some Sex Ed in Health class, but it was just pictures of the insides of people. It was about as exciting as looking at the plumbing under the kitchen sink.” His mom chuckled at that remark. “That’s why I sneaked the dirty magazine, so I could see what real women looked like,” he continued.

“We understand about your curiosity,” comforted his mother. “But Sweetie, that kind of magazine has things you might have trouble comprehending. And sex and nudity isn’t dirty, but it is generally very private. We are going to answer all your questions about sex this evening, but it must be private in our family and not be told out of the house about what we do tonight. You can talk about sex with your friends, but you would be breaking our personal privacy to talk about what ever happens in our home. All right?”

“No problem, mom, I get it. Can I really ask anything and you’ll tell me?”

“Tonight, we are going to be completely open with you and we want you to be the same with us. Go ahead and ask us what you want.” Frank affirmed his and Gail’s willingness to be fully above-board.

“Ahh . . .” Billy took a deep breath, “I know about eggs and sperm and how a baby grows inside its mommy. They taught us all that in school. But I don’t know too much about making out and fucking.”

“Say sexual intercourse, dear.” said his mother, at her son’s vernacular.

“Gail we say fucking when we make love, and tonight is an intimate evening with Billy. Let’s use real language for our talk.”

Gail indicated her acceptance with her expression and a nod.

“Can I see you naked, Mom?”

Gail started to protest and looked at he husband. “Gail, we ought to be open for this. It will just be for tonight, only. You understand, Billy? Just this once, and I’ll pick up a girlie nudie magazine for you, son, so you don’t need to rely on your mother to study the female anatomy. Go-ahead Gail take off your robe. In fact, I’ll shuck my shorts and Billy, you take off your pajamas too. Then your mother won’t feel so embarrassed.”

Frank stood up and led the way by dropping his drawers and flipped them out of the way with his foot. Billy pulled off the top of his PJs and raised his rear to slide his bottoms off. He took his nightclothes and tossed them over by his dad’s skivvies. Gail seeing that she had no choice in the matter undid her robe and let it fall behind her back she opened the material on her lap, so that she was left sitting on her robe totally exposed to her husband and young son except for the pink panties she was wearing. She had not expected the night to take this sort of turn.

“Panties too, Babe.” prompted her spouse. She leaned back with her shoulders on the couch and raised her hips. She could see the eyes of her son go wide open as she pealed her undies, revealing her furry triangle and the rosy slit between her thighs. It seemed odd to be stripping in front of her son. But part of it was a sort of an exhibitionist kick that she had a little of in her, and that part made it erotic. She felt a tingle of sexual excitement. She could see that Billy had a nice erection as he sat in awe of her display.

She got the panties to her knees and sat back down. But then, in naughty girl fashion, she raise each leg separately to take them all the way off, thus exposing her sex to the ogling eyes of the boy. She smiled and held them on her index finger. Giving the pink apparel several twirls she let it go so that it flew right into her child’s startled face. She laugh and that broke the tension of the moment. They all giggled and Billy tossed her garment to the discard pile.

“Your beautiful, mom!” Billy exclaimed.

Yes, Honey, you are really a gorgeous, sexy creature.” said Frank.

“Thank you both.” Gail nodded to her son and turned to look at her husband, whom she saw also had a stiff one.

“Now Billy,” said his dad, “you said you wanted to learn about making out. Well, grown-ups call petting, foreplay. It helps to get the couple aroused and eager to . . . fuck. There are erogenous zone on a person’s body, places that are pleasurable to have touched. Obviously, you know a guy’s cock is one of a man’s places. Women have all kinds of spots, which turn them on. Places like the back of the neck,” Frank put his hand on Gail’s nape, “when caressed softly or kissed can be very stimulating.”

Gail responded to his touch involuntarily, but as if on cue. Her nipples harden and began to become erect. She detected a hint of dampness in her crotch. “I’m sure you know that the breasts and nipples are very sensitive,” Frank continued and that getting to second base is a big step from kissing, even French kissing.”

“I never French kissed a girl before. Could I French you, mom?” Billy piped up.

Gail thought for a short second. “Sure, sit by me and I’ll show you how.” Her son moved to her left side. Now she was flanked by both her men. Billy looked into her face with a huge smile on his. She turned to him and took his head in her hands. She kissed his lips with a soft tender kiss of the romantic regular sort, then slid her tongue between his lips to find his and wiggled the lingual digit. Billy found the sensation a bit odd at first but then decided it was fun and played dancing tongues with his mom. He extended his into her mouth and they swapped spit for a bit longer.

Frank tapped on her shoulder. “Me too,” he said and she broke off with Billy to deep kissed with him as well. After a few minutes of watching his parents, Billy tapped on her shoulder and Gail switched again. This went on until the three were breathing hard and they gasping. Frank got his son attention by placing his right hand on Gail’s right tit, which was closest to him. He started to gently grope her. Billy followed suit. Gail was going to object but she decided that it was better that the youth learn how to handle a woman, than to grab a poor girl’s boobs without realizing how tender an organ they were.

So son and father fondled the mother’s breasts and Gail leaned back to enjoy the attention. “Let’s give your mom a treat she’s never had” said Frank, and he put his mouth on her left nipple and suckled delicately. Billy copied his dad’s actions but with a bit too much suction.

“Gently; gently, Darling.” Gail cautioned her son placing her hand on his hair and then stroked his head as he lightened to a nibbling tickle. Meanwhile, her other hand reached down and found her husband’s hard-on. She stroked Frank’s cock and her son’s scalp in rhythm. Then her left hand sought Billy’s dick and she jack off both as they did double delight to her ta-tas. She was wet now! She remembered the erotic sensation when she had nursed Billy as a baby and Frank went down on her at the same time. It was a wonder she didn’t smother the infant!

Frank reached out for his son’s right hand and brought it down to between Gail’s thighs and guided it back and forth until the kid began to massage the leg. Then he did likewise on the opposite, knowing how much it turned his wife on. Gail groaned her growing passion from the duo’s pampering. Her limbs spread, knees falling apart. Billy paused for a moment and looked down from the saliva-coated nipple. He saw his father’s fingers run up high on her thigh then tease the red gash of his mother’s pussy.

When Frank’s arm retreated Billy made the same type of move and felt the wet soft flesh part as his fingers slid along the mystery place of womanhood. Gail decided that this was a bit too far and caught his forearm. But then Frank stroked her split and clit and she lost the power to hold on the he son’s wrist. Billy’s fingers joined his father’s as they rummaged around the labia. The duel diddling was putting her close to the edge of orgasm. But before that happened, Frank moved.

“Now I want to show you one of the favorite things girls like, Billy. Here, help me move the chair back.” Frank said as he pulled his son from Gail. They lifted the big chair between them back to its usual spot. Then he spread her legs. “See this is the clit. ” Billy crouched by his dad as Frank pointed to the bright pink nubbin that stood out on her mound. “And this is the opening to the vagina.” He slid a finger in and then withdrew it. Billy again followed his dad’s example discovering the hollow haven, the weeping grotto of his mother’s hole. Billy was struck by the heat and slipperiness and the enchanting soft little cave his finger was spelunking.

Gail wondered how far Frank was going to let Billy go. This was bordering on incest, not just a field trip of sexual education. She decided to draw the line at this touch. Before she could find the words to disengage her son’s explorations and any deeper delving in her inner self, Frank spoke again. “Okay, Billy now watch, but this you don’t get to do.” With that said, which relieved her of the burden to set limits without having Billy feel rejected by her. Frank knelt between her feet and went down on her.

Billy had been having an awesome evening making out . . . petting . . . foreplaying with his mother at his father’s instructive direction. He knew what going down was but only in theory. He sat next to his mother again and observed how his father’s tongue went up, down, side to side in the cleft and round the button of love. He realized that his dad was thrusting his oral appendage into the opening of his mom’s cunt too.

Gail could hardly think in the onslaught of pleasure, but she managed to once again grasp her son’s prick. The tip was oozing pre-cum copiously and she used her thumb to smear the lubricant around the helmeted shaped head. Billy played with her nearest nipple and never took his eyes off the spectacle at the juncture of Gail’s legs. Gail could feel the orgasm rising in her again, close, closer. Abruptly, Frank stopped and raised his head and asked, “Let Billy taste what a woman’s pussy is like! Come here Billy get between you mom’s knees.”

They switched places, not noticing Gail’s feeble head shake and whispered, “no, no.” She was too weakened by the intense passion and tension of being on the brink of an orgasm, to stop the oral assault by her son at her husband’s urging. She rationalized the at least Billy would not have to force any girls to do something they were unprepared to do, in order to find out what pussy tasted like. Then she realized that was just what he was doing with her.

But not of his own accord. They had started this. She and Frank had agreed to teach him about sex. She had never thought that it would lead from teaching about having sex, to Billy’s participation. He had learned well by watching his dad do cunnilingus on her, she had to admit. She could feel the coming cum. This was incest. They had crossed the line no doubt of that. What would be the . . . “OH! Yes! Honey just like that!!” Gail cried out her thoughts interrupted by a perfect set of maneuvers repeated by her son. Almost there, almost there . . .

Billy love going down on his mom. The slidey-slippery flesh tasted slightly pungent and unique, a delicious dish of the very place of femininity. It was so much fun to play with, even better than Frenching. He kept his eyes open to see a vagina from as close as you could get. To study the little rosy pill that was a clitoris. To see how far one might see into the depths of where a penis penetrated. He discovered the delight of driving a female to ecstasy; to hear her moans of pleasure and gasps at his fluttering tongue, to be the one which drove her wild and made her totally wanton.

Frank touched himself, watching the amazing site of his son giving head to his wife. It was better that any porno movie. It was live action with the smell added to sight and sound. The fact that it was his kid and spouse reminded him of his own Oedipal feelings he had as a teen, with the hots for his own mom. His wife’s over riding passion, which had overcome her reluctance to participate, was an incredible turn on. He couldn’t believe how hard he was. Suddenly, he was overcome with cunt lust. He had to fuck this beautiful woman before him.

Billy found himself pulled back unexpectantly. “Get low and watch!” his fathered grunted as he straddled the boy. Billy knew it was going to happen right then. He would get to watch the ultimate sexual act. He scooted back so his father had access to his mother’s pussy.

Gail was diverted a third time from the pinnacle of cumming. Momentary, confusion gave way to happy eagerness as she opened her eyes and saw her husband’s meat club about to fill her needy emptiness. She nodded her agreement that it was time. No thought of the fact that they were doing in from of their son crossed her mind. Her cock lust consumed her too.

With his first thrust into her, the long awaited release began. As he sawed in and out, in a ravaging rampage of pumping meat, she screamed her climax, as the flood of her cream washed out and the shudders of intense contractions cascaded head to toe. Then after-shocks and ripples continued. She gained her wits and Gail felt such love for her man as he pounded in and withdrew, to pummel her pussy again and again. She knew what would be the special treat for him, something he had never had, but was ripe and ready for. She couldn’t easily reach there but Billy could!

Gail called to her son. She couldn’t see him, but knew he was between their legs. At first, Billy was so engrossed by what he was watching that he didn’t hear his mother. He wanted to memorize the mesmerizing display that played out in most graphic detail, the connection of male and female. The entrance to the hole, which he had put his small finger into, now expanded as his dad’s eight inch member plowed into it. The lips, which had curtained the mystery, seemed to thin to next to nothing as they encircled the girth of cock.

His mother suddenly, after only a few moments of taking his dad’s dick oozed a white froth as if a dairy churn were too full. Still the motion continued. This was sex; this was it, the act the penetration. His father’s hairy balls bounced against his mother’s asshole and seemed to be the very essence of manly power. Then he did hear his mother calling. “Billy, do you want to make daddy really feel good? Billy do something for daddy, stick your finger in his asshole and wiggle it!”

Billy thought that was a little gross, but at this point he was willing to do anything to continue to be involved with the evenings events of ever broadening and deepening adventurous sex lessons. He took his right index finger and did as his mother had suggested. His digit penetrated the hairy crinkle hole easier than he expected and with a couple of strokes had buried in the full four inches.

He wiggled it for a moment, and then began to finger fuck his dad’s anus. In response his father let out heavy grunts and oddly high pitched moans and began to screw his mom in overdrive. With a great guttural cry the older male began a huge, trembling orgasm. He locked the finger in with his sphincter and seem to try to get even his jumping balls deep into his wife’s’ cunt as he came.

Then Billy’s mom also had a little climax. She had not been ready for the sudden blast from her hubby, but the combination of hot white semen gushing in her depths and all the other erotic factors, including her son’s participation, took her over the edge again. She has happy that they were able to give Frank something her husband had always wanted to feel; being penetrated in the rear and his prostrate gland stimulated while he fucked her. Now he had his wish come true and a with big cum too.

Frank rolled over away from his wife, almost knocking Billy over with his leg. His breath came in great racks as sweat poured from every pore, a dripping body with a drooping erection still with a string of goo dangling from it’s tip. He flopped on the end of the couch next to his wife. After a few moments, he caught his breath and hoarsely whispered his exhausted thanks to his kid. Gail reached over to the end table and took some tissues from the box and wiped Billy’s dirty finger.

Then his father said the fatal words that Billy had dared hoped might somehow be said that eve. “Now Billy”.

Gail turned and looked at her husband in a wide-eye, startled expression. “That is really incest, not education, Frank!”

“Both, but let him just put the tip in, to see how a pussy feels, as a reward for doing what you asked him to do.

‘Fair is fair’ thought Gail and she began to spread her legs again. “Okay, Billy but just the tip, no further, you understand?”

Billy nodded, too excited to speak. He scooched on his knees up between his mother’s thighs, with his rock-hard raunch-rocket erect and ready.

Gail leaned back against the sofa and spread her legs, giving Billy the most open and intimate look at a pussy to date in his young life. A wreath of curly damp hair surrounded it. The ruddy flesh was a raw maw, which encircled a seeping bright pink portal of womanhood. It presented the perfect target for the youngster’s dick, but there was a problem.

As Billy positioned himself, it was clear that while he was nearly as big as his dad in the equipment department, he was still a bit less in height, thus his pole aligned a few inches too low. His father caught on to the situation and grabbed a seat cushion off the easy chair. Billy retreated to let Frank lay the pad on the floor at his mother’s feet. When Billy advanced again this time his penis was in perfect position to enter his mother’s pussy.

Gail watch in wonder of the evening’s events, as her son’s cock came closer and closer to their tentative touch of genitals. The distance closed to millimeters, then Billy hesitated. “It’s okay, Baby, come and put the tip in mommy, just the tip though, no more.” she said to her son.

Billy leaned forward so that the stiff spar of sex just kissed the center of the Gail’s mother-hole. He could feel the warmth radiating. The underside of the head of his dick, dripping with pre-cum now, was slicked even more with the ooze from his mom’s cooze. As he pushed, the up-turned meat tube skidded past the entrance and slid up her crack, nosing the protruding pink pearl of Gail’s clit. Both mother and son moaned at the erotic sensation. Billy wanted to arouse his mother to a peak.

It wasn’t exactly a plan, but in the back of his mind he reasoned that with enough stimulation his mom might lose control and let him go all the way in, once, maybe twice or three times if she was really turned on. His manly muscle made long sweeps up and down Gail’s flesh-groove, from the low mush-pit to the crinkly tuft at the top. He pressed hard as he rubbed the slick length of his mom’s special place.

Gail could tell how ripe she was and knew the two of them were skating on thin ice. The shock of her son’s hard love-lance pressing on her hot-button was almost beyond her ability to maintain self-discipline and not succumb to her lust. She couldn’t remember a more erotic, and yet, quite frankly, a more romantic night in her whole life. Not even her honeymoon, nor even losing her virginity, was close to the hyper-aroused state she was now in. Then it occurred to Gail that her son was about to lose his virginity with her.

No, was that actually so? Was ‘just the tip’ doing it? That wasn’t fucking, not really, was it? He still would be . . . well not innocent, but not fully experience, still be her baby boy yet; even with the level of intimacy they were about to share, still her sweet child. At that moment Billy stretched up to suck her right breast, as his cock pressed into the soft entrance of her vagina it reminded her that despite his youth, her baby boy was well hung with a hunk of man-meat that would be a pussy-pleaser to any woman he put it to. She had, in her sub-conscious, a notion and curiosity to see what it would be like to have her son all the way in her. But in her motherly moral conscience, she denied her hidden desire.

As he leaned over his nude mother to nibble on her nipple, the tip of his tuber aligned perfectly with his mom’s entrance. It was well greased up by the action of sawing at Gail’s gash. She draws his head up to kiss his lips, as the tip slips in. Their tongues played together in her mouth, then his, as the head of his penis popped into the ring that marked the enclosure’s true beginning. She could feel the snug flesh of her vaginal opening encompassing the hot bulb, a spongy orb on a firm staff. Billy closed his eyes as his first inch entered, the hot – wet – slippery – tight – wonderfully intense tactile sensation almost made him cum immediately.

He steeled his concentration to make the moment last. Billy knew if he blew his wad now that would be the end of the education and he might never get another chance to put his dick in his mommy’s cunt. Even as he savored the very instant his penis penetrated a pussy for the first time, his Dad, who had begun growing a new erection at the sight of his wife being entered by their child, was observing him. He began to masturbate at the spectacle. “Go on, Billy,” Frank urged the teen, “pull out, then put it in again!”

“No!” Gail protested, but when Billy followed the paternal advice, she was ignored and she felt her son withdraw, not losing contact but keeping his angle in the correct bearing. Then he once more burrowed the blood engorged bulb into the haven of his mother’s hot hole. Gail, put her hands up to his torso and made a weak effort to push him away. “No ~ noo . . . that’s all Baby, you had your taste of paradise, take it out now, please. Please . . . enough!”

But Billy could tell there was little will power behind his mom’s words and feeble attempt to fend him off. To test that theory, he pushed another fraction of an inch in. His mother pushed back at his chest, but she also made a small movement with her hips that allowed another smidgen of Billy’s bountiful babe-banger to slide deeper a bit more. Gail gasp, as the action grew more dangerous. Billy slowly backed out, Gail smiled until he stroked forward again. This time the head – and shoulders of his dick stretched the opening and gained a foothold.

Gail moaned in both protest to the third entry and from the passion that threatened to over take her senses. “Frank, that’s enough, no more, please, before it’s too late.” Frank looked up from his study of incestuous invasion, and shook his head. “Honey, he hasn’t cum yet, let him do it until he climaxes, fair’s fair, we’ve both had orgasms, now it’s Billy’s turn. Gail saw the logic, but the emotional conflict still held her in check (if only by a thin thread) from the abandonment to the pure joy of coupling with her son.

“Wait, Billy,” Gail made one last desperate attempt to stave off total incest with her son. “Let mommy move, you just enjoy and cum when you need to.” She hugged him to her breasts, his face along side hers, she could feel the hot panting next to her ear. Billy could feel the soft pillows of his mother’s ample breast press against his chest. The dual cushions floated him on a warm, smooth waterbed of pure femininity.

She raised her hips slightly so he was situated with the tip of his cock engulfed in the mouth of her muff. She began to tilt her hips up and down just a little, so that the super-sensitive knob of her man-child disappeared and materialize as it dipped and surfaced in that most special of baths. It was close to real fucking Billy realized, and the thought of screwing his mother began his balls boiling. An urgency for his semen to bubble out of the spout between his legs, which now sipped at the well of paradise, grew in intensity.

He couldn’t help himself, he began to move too. The effect of the complimentary motion made the penetration go a little deeper than Gail intended, but she allowed it, in the effort to bring her son off. It felt good for her too, too good. She moved a bit more with the swing of her hips. In and out, dip and withdraw, slip in / slide out, thrust and retreat, down and up; their hips made the dainty dance of sexual teasing a torment to both.

Now Billy was getting a little deeper each time. From the first touch to the first dip. The head, then the head and neck – shoulders – two inches in now and four to go. Gail continued to moved, her body began to dictate the tempo, her physical needs to rule, her animal lust to reign above any reason, her passion to block all doubts, her excitement to burn in her gut, a fire that needed a heavy hosing to quench the quim, to make her cunt cum. Frank could tell that Gail was a goner and that his son was going to get laid by his mother!

Billy sensed it was time to move to the completion of the evening. He now began to not hold back. His cock went half way on the next push. Gail knew she had lost the battle with her moral vestiges. But still she made one last attempt to stem the inevitable lovemaking with her boy. “Oh! No! Billy don’t do it, don’t fuck mommy, its not right Baby, Oh! Stop, no deeper, mommy can’t take it, it feels to good!” Billy plunged another inch in the next stroke. “Nooo . . . don’t! In a panic now, Gail Cried to her spouse. “Frank, it can’t be, it mustn’t happen, it will ruin everything!”

Frank, in response, put his hand on the kid’s hips and pushed as Billy entered his mom once again. Billy knew the ultimate moment of conquest was now, and gave a big shove of hard cock into his mom. Gail knew, when her husband provided permission for the sinful sex to happen between her and her son, by encouraging Billy to make full penetration of her ‘holy of holies’, that she was out numbered and out gunned. She knew that her whole hole of hot hairy horniness, that was the very center of Gail’s being, was to be fully filled with her son’s handsome member. She broke, the dam of morality collapsed, her reserve flowed away as she made the sacrifice of her final feminine mystique to her boy by fucking him.

Gail opened her cunt to her kid’s sweet cock. She made the swing of her hips a full arc; her thighs spread as wide as she could make them and her heals began to beat against Billy’s butt as they got into it completely. Billy felt his dad push him into his mom. He understood this was the time, this was the okay, this was the yes, this was the instant he had dreamed of for so long. He felt himself slide / slither / snake to the root of his rod all the way into his mother.

His pubic hair mashed and tangled with hers. He held that socket tight for a long minute. Then he shoved harder still, to cram every last millimeter in. He felt a funny nubby place deep in her pussy. Gail felt her son bottom out in her, the tip nudging her womb. Could he / would he / what if he should make her pregnant? Frank saw his boy’s balls bounce on his wife’s ass and started to pound his own meat stalk.

Then, the dam broke. Gail commenced to moan, like when she was about to have an earth shaking cum. Billy was banging away at his mom’s pussy like he might never get laid again. Frank could feel the jism in his testicles about to blast. Billy reveled in the ecstasy of sex at last, sex with his mother, sex with his parents participating, permitting, enjoying one another and initiating him into the ultimate intimate adult act.

He stretched to kiss with his mom. Then he turned to his father and kissed him on the lips. His eyes said all the thanks needed to his old man for wonder of sex. SEX SEX SEX – he couldn’t get enough of going into his mom. He wondered if she would let him give her a baby. Gail could tell her next orgasm was on the rise. Her cum was riding on the brink of release.

Then – then . . . then, they came. Billy suddenly found himself over the edge, he battered his mommy’s middle with a raging erection that stretched the skin so it seemed like it might split. His tip bumped her womb, his pubic bone mashed her clit, his nuts drummed her butt, his mouth kissed her cheek, his arms were around her now in a fierce hug, his chest was nipple to nipple with her breasts. Gail let out her pre-cum wail, “Ahh! Yess! O! uhh . . . now!”

Frank considered the possibility that Billy might impregnate Gail. This was the thought in his mind when his penis shot a stream of white cream onto the fucking pair. Billy felt the explosion of his cock in his mother’s vagina, like his dick was a stick of dynamite. The flow burst out, a geyser of goo right into the very mouth of the womb that bore him; the place his life and soul had formed in and which his spirit and body had longer to return to, to return to that avenue of love in this very special way, in this spectacular act of reuniting mother and son!

Gail finally released the pent-up climax with her own erotic creaming in synchronization with Billy’s spewing his potent poison into her burning center. Her body arched, and her arches contracted, as the spasms of orgasms shook her. She bucked up to pump the last hardness of her son’s erection into her hungry hollow. She felt her pussy flutter, gush, cum. Her brain flashed a lightening bolt of pleasure through her nervous system. Her cunt clenched the softening cock of her boy within her. It shrank and dropped out, allowing the draining of their mixed juices to drench the robe beneath her and even soak through to the couch.

The three gasped and looked at each other, as the sweat dripped from their happy faces. Their lust wishes, subverted for so long were now out, open, honest and undeniable. Billy leaned over and kissed a deep French one with his mother. Then he even Frenched his dad, in gratitude for allowing him to not only learn about sex, but to fuck his own mom in the process. Frank then also tongue kissed Gail and asked, “Aren’t you glad we did it?”

Gail nodded and smiled a naughty smile. “Yes Honey, I am. I am now into incest entirely. It was the best sex I ever had; being with the two men I love the most. Now, tomorrow night, don’t you think we ought to continue the lessons for Billy, after all, he needs to experience more positions, doggie, me on top, behind me from the side, me on my tummy and him on top. And maybe,” Gail once more grasp the two cocks, one in each hand, “if you’re both real good boys, we might do a double penetration!”

Frank winked at Billy, who could only smile back at both his parents with a pussy-eating grin that stayed on his face for a very long time.

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Blue Movie

Vincent ached with nostalgia for eras that had come and gone long before he’d even been born. Navigating to the vintage erotica web site he’d most recently added to his favorites, he realized he was getting an anticipatory hard-on without even looking at anything except a red-and-black screen with a disclaimer on it. *Like Pavlov’s dog with the bell,* he thought.
Clicking on the word *Enter,* which sat at the bottom of the screen in an ornate calligraphic font, and going right for the *1920’s* section of the site, he thought about how looking through the contents of a person’s computer was like looking into their soul. The history, the files, the favorites—the truth about a person could be found there. Machines didn’t lie. God help him if anything ever happened to his computer and he needed to take it to a shop to be repaired. That would be awkward… though probably not as awkward as the time he’d taken a few “boudoir” photos of his girlfriend, Azalea, and taken the film to be developed, only to get the envelope back with all the pictures *except* those few printed, and a terse form letter stating that the company’s photo department refused to print “pornographic material.” He had deeply resented having Azalea’s body described as “pornographic,” especially since he’d taken those pictures in his own bedroom, strictly for his and Azalea’s enjoyment.
Azalea was an amazing woman in and of herself, but Vincent found her just that bit even *more* amazing because she not only knew of his somewhat unusual “obsession,” and not only understood and indulged it, but indulged it at times he hadn’t even asked her to. Like the time he’d gone with her when she was shopping for a dress to wear to a friend’s wedding, and while in the fitting room, she had completely surprised him by sending him a picture via phone, of herself in front of the mirror stripped down to a lacy bra and panties, heels, and apparently new black silk, seamed stockings, clipped into place by a garter belt, striking a coquettishly Bettie Page-esque pose. He hadn’t even known she’d been wearing stockings that day, much less the old-fashioned, seamed silk ones that were getting increasingly difficult to find.
He had wept the day he’d learned Bettie Page had died—genuinely wept, as if he had known her. The article in the paper had said she’d been 85, but he had not been able to help but imagine her lying in an open coffin, surrounded by candles and red roses, arms crossed serenely, and looking exactly the same as she had nearly 60 years previously, red lipstick and all. If art was indeed the means to “immortality,” then Bettie had gone to join the goddesses.
The 1950’s were all fine and good—eroticism in the face of overwhelming repression always made for an interesting contrast, and a delightful degree of tension and friction–but tonight, he felt like the 1920’s. After a leisurely scroll down each of the pages dedicated to 1920’s *Still Photos,* *Stories,* and *Films,* he clicked his way to a film clip of a burlesque dancer in Chicago from 1922.
The stage was set a little sparsely for a burlesque show, with just a dressing screen and a plush loveseat with a throw-pillow and a bolster on it. That was fine—the dancer was a real knockout.
However, there was no sound. He paused the film long enough to put some up-tempo orchestral music on the CD player, to make the experience like that of watching a silent film—only sexier.
He returned to his seat and clicked the *Play* arrow again. While the woman on-screen strutted slowly and confidently for the cameraman and whoever else had been in her audience on that long-ago night, Vincent undid his belt, unbuttoned, unzipped, and got his jeans and boxers worked down to his knees. Not that there was any real hurry. Women back then had understood the Art of the Tease. These days, he reflected melancholically, the Tease wasn’t a dying art. It was already dead–as dead as the woman he was watching now in black-and-white probably was. Back in this dancer’s day, all the 21st-century blonde assembly-line anorexic porno stars that he’d ever seen get naked and start swallowing cock before he’d even had time to get fully erect would have had nothing on her. Why the rush? What in the 21st century was so much more important than fucking, that people had to five-minute slam-bam to get to? What was more important than fucking, period, in *any* era?
Things hadn’t been quite the same since the 1970’s. Not that he would know from personal experience… It was just his opinion that the emphasis had shifted from the journey to the destination during that decade.
He started to stroke himself while the dancer casually removed her evening gloves, rolling and tugging at each one in increments. Once they were both off, she reached behind herself, unzipping the back of her flowing black dress. She held the bodice to her breasts for a few moments, swaying her hips, rolling her shoulders. She turned around, showing off a cascade of black hair, adorned with rhinestones and feathers. Then she turned to face her audience again, and, looking straight at the lens, she was out of the dress in seconds, in one of the most seamless, shameless shimmies he’d ever seen. She hooked her ankle through the puddle of fabric and tossed it to the side of the stage with a showgirl high-kick that actually made Vincent laugh a little bit. Now she stood in frilly black panties, a garter belt with sequined fringes all along the back, seamed stockings, heels, and a corset. She did a slow turn to let her viewers have a good look, running her fingers through her hair, fluffing it out a bit.
He’d already started dripping pre-cum copiously. He slowed his jacking just a little, while the stripper turned her back to the camera and began a playful dance intended solely to emphasize the sway and glitter of the long, sequined fringes trailing from the back of her garter belt, just barely offering a glimpse of her panties every once in a while.
He wondered what had happened in history on the day this reel had been shot. What had the weather in Chicago been like? What had this woman’s name been? What else had she gone on to do, and how old had she lived to be? Had she thought much about her mortality? Judging solely by this film clip, it appeared doubtful that she had. She was dancing as if she would live forever, and glancing over her shoulder at the camera lens, smiling conspiratorially as if she’d found the secrets to invincibility and eternal youth.
She started to undo her corset. Once she was about halfway through doing so, she paused, glanced around, and, with a sudden coyness, stepped behind the dressing screen.
Vincent took this brief break in the action to get his jeans and boxers off the rest of the way. He vaguely wished computer chairs were more comfortable, as he continued his autoerotic caresses. Hadn’t anyone thought to design the things with masturbation in mind? Just a little more padding on the back, and a slightly longer, broader seat so one wouldn’t be in danger of sliding off when one’s body arched and locked up in those final critical seconds…
The dancer reemerged, topless but covering her breasts with a mink stole. After some more hip-rolling and can-can kicks, she extended first one arm, then the other, revealing that she wasn’t entirely bare, but had pasties with tassels hanging from them covering her nipples. She dropped the stole onto the loveseat, and began a beautifully—artistically, Vincent would dare say—protracted tassel-twirling dance.
This woman never would have imagined anyone would be watching her on their computer screen in the year 2010. The word “computer” hadn’t even been in anyone’s vocabulary at the time this footage had been captured. She never would have believed it. She never would have believed the sound of an orchestra could be recorded on a disc that was designed to be read by a laser. Or, would she have? She *had* lived in an exciting era when, surely, it must have seemed anything was possible—the auto industry had begun gaining real momentum, jazz music had come into its own, and she had seen the appearance of “talkies,” the Golden Age of Radio, the age of the flapper, and the passing of the Nineteenth Amendment.
Was it weird to lust after someone who was six feet under? Was it a subtle form of necrophilia to become aroused while watching Audrey Hepburn or Marlene Dietrich films, or to jack off to images of burlesque performers or pinup girls who were now dead? If it was, so be it. Necrophilia, he decided, must be the highest form of nostalgia.
The dancer sat down on the loveseat, unclipped her garters, and took off her garter belt and tossed it behind the loveseat, but, Vincent was glad to see, she did not remove her stockings. She kicked off her high heels and leaned back, hugging each one of the pillows in turn to her breasts, covering herself provocatively while she lounged and posed. Then, she let the throw-pillow she was holding drop, and hooked her thumbs through the waistband of her black panties. She kept her stocking-sheathed legs pointed straight up in the air and her body angled in such a way as not to actually allow her audience to see anything but a side view. She did this so gracefully that it wasn’t until her panties were almost all the way off that he realized—she was wearing a second pair of frilly panties underneath, this pair white. Damn, she was good!
She stood up, letting the black panties drop to the floor, and stepped out of them and left them where they were. She started to pull the white panties down, but then appeared to change her mind. Vincent knew he was dangerously close, but he didn’t want to finish before the film clip did. The dancer, hands on her hips, walked over to one side of the dressing screen with an exaggerated sway, keeping her back turned to her audience. Then, she turned to face the lens again, and with a fluid, feline motion, she dropped the panties down to her ankles and stood for a proud moment showing off her muff, which was covered in luxurious, dark curls. An instant later, she kicked the panties away and disappeared behind the dressing screen with a balletic leap, and the film ended.
He was just… about… to—
The woman in the film never would have believed that, one day, people would carry wireless, miniature telephones in their pockets.
It was right then that Vincent’s went off.
Grumbling, he leant forward and grabbed his jeans off the floor to retrieve his cell phone from the pocket. This had better be important…
As it turned out, it was *very* important. It was a text from Azalea, which read, *hi, vince, i just got home. u want 2 cum over? (;*
He texted back, *i’m on my way, angel.*
Rather than finish what he’d started right there, he signed off, got dressed, and found his keys as quickly as he could. No real man would pass up such an invitation in favor of spending himself all over his own hand.
Besides, there was nothing like… anticipation.

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The Blue House On Rain Street

It was that time of year again—Shadow Ridge’s Annual Medieval Fair. This would be the ninth year the South Georgia town held the event, and Venice and Tucker had each always started looking forward to it months ahead of time.
While Tucker was the history buff of the pair, Venice was drawn more to the romanticized version of the Medieval Period, and her favorite thing about the Fair was what a sensual experience it was. The scents of leather, wax, hot tea, dust, smoke, incense, cooking meat, and white sage… the colors of flags and flowers, the sight of shields and furs and tapestries, rugs and pots and soaps, books and chess sets and pewter jewelry, dripping candles and bright silk tents and tarot cards… the sounds of galloping horses, trumpets, harps, flutes, the crack of whips, the steely whisper and clash of swords, jingling bells, and plenty of laughter… she wished she could bottle up the whole experience. And for some reason, the sexual undercurrent humming through the air there seemed especially pronounced this year. Of course, she might have been projecting some of her own feelings onto the atmosphere of the Fair—she and Tucker were in the middle of planning their wedding, and Tucker’s cousin Otto had called from Atlanta the previous day to tell them that he had proposed to his girlfriend, Sheila. Along with all of that, it was December—smoke was curling up from chimneys into the gray skies, and multicolored lights were glowing all along the streets. Love was most definitely in the air.
She knew the sparks she sensed couldn’t all be just inside her head, though. Every year, people went to the Medieval Fair dressed to the nines, and seemed to her to be covertly checking each other out as they drifted up and down the rows of booths, or sat listening to Celtic folk music performances, or stood watching the jousting. There were all those different scents and textures, and all that leather. Everyone took their time enjoying the day; the mood was laid-back. And no one could deny that the Medieval Period really had been romanticized by the modern world, what with all the knights, Witches, and, of course, damsels in tight-laced bodices, portrayed by Hollywood.
They took plenty of pictures (almost a whole roll of film, in fact), watched the “Living Chessboard,” and had a light lunch. They watched one of the vendors make a blown-glass hummingbird. At one of the booths, Venice tried playing a bowed psaltery a little bit—it was kind of like a harp, but held flat and played with a bow. The woman selling them showed her how to play the opening notes of a Beethoven piece. Tucker got to try out a bit of fencing, helmet and all. (He lost, but held out for an impressively long time before he did.) That was fun to watch, and made for some of the best pictures on the roll.
Towards the end of the day, she got to find out what a waist cincher felt like. The woman at the both selling those really had to work at talking Venice into it. For one thing, Venice knew she couldn’t buy the thing, and didn’t want to waste the woman’s time with something she wasn’t going to be able to sell her with any amount of talking. For another thing, she had never understood what the fuss was over waist cinchers. Venice loved corsets (in fact, she was wearing her favorite leather corset that day), but waist cinchers had never really interested her… until then.
Yes, even knowing she couldn’t buy it, the woman still wanted to cinch her up in it—or, as the woman put it, indicating Tucker, “tie you up in leather for his enjoyment,” which ended up being the phrase that persuaded her—just for the sake of doing so.
As soon as the boldly flirtatious woman had threaded the cord in a criss-cross pattern through the hooks between the two front panels of studded, black leather, as soon as she’d pulled that cord taut and started working on making it even tighter, Venice thought to herself, *Oh, my God, what have I been missing all this time?*
It was an epiphany similar to one she’d had with stockings some months back. Only, this epiphany took place with Tucker, the woman, and a handful of random Fairgoers as an audience, before a mirror, in a tent that smelled of smoke and leather.
She laughed each time the undeniably beautiful redhead tucked an end of the cord into the top of the cincher, joking, “And here’s the part where I get to play with your boobies again! Guys always like watching this part…” Venice was all flushed, she could feel it. “Oh, she’s so easy to fuck with!” the woman laughed.
Afterward, once outside the tent, Tucker insisted to Venice—and not with any displeasure– that the woman hadn’t just been interested in making a sale, saying that he’d been able to tell from the way the woman had looked at her that she’d thought she was “hot” and had been checking her out while cinching her.
Venice laughed such suggestions off, saying, “Ohh, Tucker, stooop!” but deep down, she thought he might be right. Even deeper down, she hoped he was.

On the way to Venice’s apartment, after a brief pause in conversation, Tucker asked, “I’ve been kind of thinking—in all seriousness, what did you think of that chick who cinched you up?”
“She was… well, she was very attractive, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s exactly what I mean, kitten. And did you like her?”
“I don’t suppose you’re talking about whether or not she seemed to me to have a nice personality.”
“Well, that’s not the whole of what I meant, but of course it’s an important part.”
“Are you wanting me to admit I was turned on? It’s true, I was. Even if I’d wanted to hide that from you, I don’t think I could have. It was probably written all over my face. I wonder if she saw it too.”
“Maybe she did. Maybe tonight when she’s alone in that camper that was parked behind her booth, she’ll be getting off to the memory of lacing you up…”
Venice laughed. “Tucker…”
“All afternoon, I just haven’t been able to get the picture out of my head, of you and her.”
“How do you know she’s alone? She looked to be well into her forties. I’ll bet she’s married. Probably even has kids.” *Though even if that’s so, she was still a mother I’d love to fuck,* she admitted to herself rather indelicately, remembering the redhead’s ample bust and mature curves.
“With the way she was looking at you, kitten, I wouldn’t be so certain of that.”
“You genuinely believe she was checking me out?”
“There was some serious ogling going on.”
She laughed again. “Ogling?”
“I really do mean it, she was. Besides, you and I are going to be getting married next summer, and that doesn’t stop you from wanting what you want.”
“That’s different, though. I’m not gay. I’m not even bi, not *really.* It’s just a fantasy of mine to do it with a woman one time, just to know what it feels like.”
“You really have never gotten to find out?”
“Never have. Like I’ve said before, the opportunity never came along. All that stuff about sorority-house sex, that’s the stuff of “Penthouse” letters, nothing but male fantasy. Nothing like that happens to real people, or, at least not to me, anyway.”
“But what about *your* fantasy?”
“What about it? True, I would have lived it out if I’d had an opportunity, before I knew you, but I’m with you now, I’m committed to you, and I’m happy that I am. We’re getting married—I’d never trade that for some fantasy, no matter how hot.”
“I’ve kept thinking, though, and remembering what you’ve described wanting, and I wanted to pose the question—what if you could have it all? Just one night with a woman, no strings attached, no jealousy on my part, and you not having to trade in anything for it?”
Venice glanced over at him, slyly teasing. “And what would you get out of such an agreement—we’re talking a threesome, aren’t we?”
“Yes and no—I’d want to watch you with her, and for her to watch me with you. My motives may not be entirely selfless, I’ll admit that, but I wouldn’t want to fuck her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Well, this whole conversation is entirely hypothetical.”
“Is it?” Tucker grinned.
“Say I did agree to it—who says *she* would?”
He shrugged. “Nobody, but if you wanted, I could always ask her, and the worst she could say is no. The Fair is running again next weekend.”
Venice laughed again. “I can hardly even believe we’re having this conversation, though I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised, since it’s us! You truly are not kidding, are you?”
“I keep saying I’m serious. If you want it, this is something I’d like to see happen.”
“I’ll bet!”
“Okay, yeah, I mean that in more ways than one. But really, I’d like to make this happen. Just one more wild, crazy, frivolous fling before we tie the knot and settle down together and I make an honest woman of you—what would you say to that? At least think about it?”
“Well…” She smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

They changed out of their costumes at Venice’s place, and had an early dinner.
Tucker took her to a piano lounge in downtown Hartshorne, about 20 minutes from Shadow Ridge, that she had always loved going to, especially since she and Tucker had started frequenting the place together, and even more so since the night he had proposed to her in the art gallery adjacent to it, when there had been a Valentine’s Day themed exhibit there. They had seen a painting of dozens of hearts—anatomically correct hearts, shown in front of a backdrop of golden sky and gray clouds, some of them shot through with golden Cupid’s arrows, some locked up in brass cages around which doves flew free, some resting upon red cushions atop marble pedestals, some wrapped up in barbed wire and weeping tiny beads of blood, some suspended from golden hooks and chains that weighed down the branches of gnarled trees as if they were ripe fruit (or maybe flowers, since honeybees hovered near a few of them), and some in a bowl amongst plump, gleaming red apples which a marble Aphrodite in the painting appeared to be reaching for. Some might have judged the picture subtly grotesque, but Venice had found it so extraordinarily beautiful, she’d told Tucker she thought it the best of the entire exhibition. It had been as they’d stood in front of this painting together that he had gone down on one knee. He had understood what that image hanging on the wall had meant to her, because everything she’d seen in it, he had seen, too. Indeed, it would be the first and last time he would ever be the one kneeling.
Months later, on this particular December evening, the art gallery was closed, so they went through the main entrance directly into the piano lounge. It was a high-end sort of place, but it dripped with decadence. Venice always thought that it would be a perfect place to film a scene for a vampire movie, with its red walls, heavy mirrors, black wooden chairs and tables, black and sheer, gauzy gold curtains, black-and-white marble pillars, a vase of orchids or a votive candle filling every niche, and the grand piano that dominated the center of the circular room, whose walls were lined with black couches with red and gold throw pillows on them. The entire scene was lit, no, *stained,* with the glow of scarlet light bulbs. In a subtle acknowledgement of the season, there were now white icicle lights strung up along the entrance, and some red-and-gold silk flower arrangements, slender garlands of golden leaves, and bowls of glass fruit also decorated the lounge.
They sat next to the door. Those were the only seats available—it was especially crowded, as there had apparently been a wedding in the hotel across the street earlier that afternoon.
Every detail of Venice’s dress was as Tucker had specified when they’d been preparing to go out for the evening. She had on a gray sweater with red roses on it, a heavy, black velvet skirt and leather jacket, ankle-high boots adorned with leather straps and steel rings, and a red rose choker, the single blood-red bead that hung from it resting in the hollow of her throat. Underneath all this, she wore thigh-high, lace-top stockings, her leather corset, and no panties. She felt very wrapped-up and securely bound, with the boots hugging her ankles, her legs encased in nylon, and the corset secretly holding her in its wicked embrace beneath the oh-so-innocent-looking sweater, yet very aware of her sex and her bottom being bare underneath her skirt. It felt naughty, to be out in public, and know that beneath her demure outer garments, she looked like a half-dressed whore, and she and Tucker were the only ones who knew it.
Every once in a while, someone would drift in from the outside, bringing a brief blast of cold air with them. Cars and buses rolled past the floor-to-ceiling windows. She imagined the rumble and purr of engines, but couldn’t actually hear it while the door was closed. The world outside seemed far away, as silent and starry and cool as deep space, on the other side of the glass. On the other side, through the transparent golden drapes, she could see the heavy black iron lanterns hanging from chains over the patio, shining and swaying in the breeze. There was a black cast iron table, upon which sat a wineglass that was half empty and a water glass that was half full, the liquid in both as still as tiny, perfect mirrors. Its chairs were pushed in and abandoned. There were two couples out there, talking and smoking. The women wore leopard-print and black-and-white polka dot dresses, glittery bangle bracelets, and red high heels. The men were in jeans and black leather jackets, one of them with a camera bag hanging against his hip. Later on, she would see him snapping pictures of the band and of the lounge. Was he an art student, she wondered, or a professional, or was it a hobby of his, or was he just another tourist?
Inside, she and Tucker were wrapped in the warm, smooth jazz music and dim red light. She plucked pecans and almonds from a glass bowl, while he ran his hand slowly up and down her thigh. From the black-and-white tiles to the golden dome of the ceiling, everything seemed to glow around them. Her eyes traveled through the crowd of men in nice shirts and ties, and women in lacy blouses and berets and scarves and furs, and over the enormous black piano and the glasses of champagne and red wine reflecting the flames of the candles, everything all black and red and gold.
She also admired the works of erotic art adorning the walls. They were black-and-white photographs. One was of a woman standing on a winding staircase, wearing nothing but heels and a fur stole. Another was a close-up shot of a nude woman’s hips encircled by a strand of pearls. A teardrop-shaped crystal was tied to the strand with a slender bow, and the crystal hung just above the cleft of the woman’s buttocks. Another photo showed a woman in stockings, high heeled sandals, and little else, curled up almost suggestively with a white tiger. Still another was of that same model, in an old-fashioned bathtub surrounded by candles, her breasts hidden by the sparkling suds, sitting up to look at herself in a hand-mirror while she applied dark lipstick. But Venice’s gaze always returned to her fiancé.
Each song the band played seemed to last forever, and that was fine with her. She wondered how it could be, that it hadn’t always been, or wouldn’t always be, nighttime.
He leaned over and whispered teasingly into her ear every now and then, asking her how wet she was, and kissed from her earlobe down to her neck, causing not just her face to blush, and causing not just her spine to shiver.
He wasn’t like his friends, or the guys he worked with—he could tell dirty jokes with the best of them, and she knew he occasionally bragged to his buddies about his raunchier escapades with her, but underneath all the vulgarity, beyond all his rough edges, he was really an intelligent, enlightened man, who cared as much about her satisfaction as his own, and understood that foreplay often started well before setting foot in the bedroom.
She sipped her drink very slowly and saved the cherry for last, plucking it from the glass where it sat among the last little traces of whipped cream.

At the other end of town, close to the freeway, they stopped at an X-rated DVD shop for a quick perusal, and he chose an all-girl bondage flick that looked promising. He and Venice made video voyeurism part of their foreplay sometimes, and this was as much for her pleasure as his. He knew how much she enjoyed watching beautiful women get tied up and spanked by other women.
As they left Hartshorne, headed for Venice’s apartment in Shadow Ridge, she sat silently in the passenger seat, filled with the strangest peace. That certain feeling had descended that always descended upon city streets late at night: that bittersweet, smoldering, melancholic feeling of a party winding down.
They glided past blank, barred windows, wandering, dreamy-eyed drunks, walls shouting soundlessly in lurid rainbows of graffiti, and scruffy stray cats, along trash-strewn, neon-lit backstreets, to the exit ramp. The motion of the car seemed effortless as he guided it around curves and over bridges, and the city lights seemed to float below in the fog, shining green, gold, and red in the ever-widening distance, until they faded and gave way to black, piney woods. She rested her hand on his thigh. The stereo was turned up, with one of Venice’s favorite Baroque classical CDs spinning inside it, some laser somewhere inside the machine reading over the familiar tracks, and the space inside the car resonated with hypnotic sensuality.

The doors had barely closed before Tucker had her up against the wall of the elevator. He hiked her skirt up and she instinctively spread her legs for his rough hands. He was kissing her, adding to the sense of weightlessness and imbalance that the elevator’s upward journey was causing. She gasped when his fingers spread her vulval slit, and he took that opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth, and out, and in again, in a fucking motion. She welcomed it, tilting her head back and loving the fuck-kiss as much as the sensation of his calloused, prying fingers nudging into her quiver. Then the elevator came to a jolting halt, and he hastily pulled his hand from between her thighs. The doors slid open, accompanied by an electronic ding, just in time for another couple to be treated to the sight of Venice shoving the hem of her skirt back down and straightening up. She didn’t have to look at them to know they were staring at her glowing cheeks and lust-darkened eyes.
“Well,” Tucker said, squeezing the right cheek of her ass, “let’s go.” As they stepped out, the other couple stepped in, and Tucker gave Venice’s rear end a light swat. She heard the woman of the other couple gasp and whisper something to her male companion right as the elevator doors slid shut again.
Most women, Venice knew, would flush with anger at being handled in such a way, but all it stirred in her was excitement. She wasn’t ashamed that this was one of the reasons she loved him so much—he made her feel so politically incorrect. He made her *want* to cuddle up to his broad, firm chest, rub her cheek against those paradoxically soft, coarse hairs, and feel his arms lock themselves around her dainty frame, possessing and protecting her. He made her *want* to marry him and play the domesticated little housewife. He made her *want* to be his tart in the bedroom (or whichever room he might prefer at the time). He made her *want* to fold his shirts and fix his drinks. Venice had found her own liberation, in rebelling against the rebels.
“As soon as we’re inside,” he told her while she unlocked the door to her apartment, “I don’t want to see a stitch of clothing on you, or to see you move about in any way besides crawling—except when you have to stand up to be able to reach something—and you’re to stay like that until tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, my love.”
The evening ended with the lovers first finding the pure, pounding release they’d been so desperately needing, in each other’s mouths, and then going for a gentler second round, with him spooning up behind her, nestling his latex-sheathed prick inside her tight, lubed-up bottom-hole, and rocking his loins sensually against her buttocks, hugging her, cupping her breast with one hand, fondling her clit with the other, his lips never leaving her skin.

Venice wasn’t entirely sure how her fiancé’s suggestion would go over with the woman at the Fair, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it all week, and had decided to take him up on his extraordinary offer after all. He had told her to just let him do all the talking. Tucker had certainly won Venice over some time back, but his was a very rugged, somewhat rural kind of charm—some ladies, like herself, really went for that, while others, from what she understood, didn’t so much.
Rugged, of course, didn’t always mean downright crude. He and Venice approached the woman when her booth was empty, and he spent a long time chatting with her about the Fair, about her life on the road and some of the cities she’d visited, about his job as a construction worker, and even a little about Venice’s job as a librarian. The woman’s name turned out to be Catherine. After a sufficiently polite while, he started hinting some about his and Venice’s private proclivities, and got a better response than Venice ever would’ve expected—not only did the sexy redhead show interest in wanting to hear some details, but she revealed that she liked women, and was a Dominant herself!
Still holding off on inviting her over just yet, Tucker bought Venice the waist cincher she’d tried on the previous weekend. He asked Catherine to show him how it was done again, so he’d be able to lace Venice up in it on his own.
The two Dominants continued to chat while she did so, and it was at this point that Tucker worked in the invitation to his place that night with a stunning smoothness.
Catherine wasn’t able to make it that night, but she could on the following night, her last night in Shadow Ridge. Tucker gave her directions to his house—just go west on the main road through town, like she was heading for the Interstate, but go past the Interstate, and take the first right after that, onto Rain Street, and she couldn’t miss the blue house. It was agreed that she would meet them there at 7:30 on Sunday evening.

Venice’s workday seemed to go in slow motion, despite the fact that the library closed early on Sundays. She went straight to Tucker’s house, and after a quick dinner, they showered together. He surprised her by shaving the lips of her quiver completely bare, and once they were both dried off, he told her to go into his room and get dressed.
She put on what he’d laid out for her on the bed—a thigh-length, white nightgown with spaghetti straps and little pearl beads along the neckline, transparent pink stockings, and a thick, iridescent pink ribbon with a miniature bell hanging from it, which she was to tie around her neck like a collar. He’d also laid out two shorter ribbons of the same color and thickness, which were meant to go around her wrists. He helped her with these, tying each one in a large bow, before getting dressed himself.
She was half afraid Catherine might not show after all, but at exactly 7:30, she arrived, still in costume, and with a narrow wooden paddle hanging from her belt.
Tucker and Catherine started things off with some small talk similar to what they’d had the day before at the Fair booth, which Venice, inwardly, found somewhat funny, but she supposed at least *some* chit-chat was in order for the sake of propriety… even before the commencement of a threesome.
This didn’t last long, however. Soon, the three of them were on Tucker’s couch, watching the lesbian bondage porno he’d bought during their night out the week before. Venice started out sitting in Tucker’s lap, but towards the end of the film, she wound up lying stretched across both their laps, her nightgown up around her waist, receiving a thorough, firm spanking from the sultry redhead.
“Roll onto your back,” Catherine said to Venice. “I want to see how wet you are now.”
“Yes—I’m sorry, how would you prefer I address you?” she asked as, used to following commands, she obeyed without a thought, save for her awareness of how good her freshly-reddened ass felt resting against Catherine’s full, smooth thighs.
“Oh, simply ‘Catherine’ will do.”
“Yes, Catherine.”
“Aha, so you’re like me,” chimed in Tucker. “Not into that ‘Master/Mistress’ stuff.”
Catherine shrugged and smiled. “As long as there’s some acknowledgement, and it’s made with proper respect, I don’t worry much about titles.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
While Catherine’s hand was busy between her legs, Tucker nudged at the straps of the nightgown, which had already begun to slide off Venice’s shoulders.
“Show her those little teasers, babe,” he encouraged, indicating her nipples with his fingertip.
“Yes, Tucker.”
“Ooh, those are some of the prettiest ones I’ve ever seen,” Catherine told him. She trailed her hand up to pluck and twist the puckered buds at the tips of her bared breasts. “So luscious and red, just looking at them makes me want to bite them.” Brief apprehension registered in Venice’s eyes, though she neither made any move nor voiced any word of protest. The foxy redhead apparently didn’t miss this. “Your submissive is so quiet and sweet, too. Whatever you’ve done with her, you’ve done it well.”
“Thank you, though I can’t take *all* the credit. It was partly her nature in the first place.”
“Highly sexed, and well tamed—a beautiful combination.”
“That’s my kitten,” he said proudly. “My little *sex* kitten.”
Catherine’s hand wandered from her tinglers, back down to the apex of her thighs. She felt her puffy, moist labia deftly separated, and Catherine commented, “Speaking of beautiful, I’ve had plenty of ladies in my forty-some years, and your fiancé already seems like she’s going to be the best pussy I’ve ever had.”
Though she was silent, Venice knew both Dominants saw her sharp intake of breath. She couldn’t help but be further excited by this sultry woman’s confirmation of her hopeful suspicions that she was, in fact, an experienced lesbian.

Venice’s nightgown got left on the couch, though she was made to keep her stockings and her neck and wrist ribbons on.
She had always liked Tucker’s bedroom. Somehow, the masculinity of it– with its dark walls, its coarse throw rugs and hardwood floor, its sparse furniture of polished wood and metal, its muted earthen tones of brown and burgundy and gray and green, and the only truly luxurious thing in all this simplicity being the bed, dominating the room with its inviting presence– only heightened her own sense of femininity. It softened something within her, much the way Tucker himself did. There, she undressed him, and he settled back on the bed to watch Catherine take off her belt, lay the paddle aside, sit down on the edge of the bed, and have Venice kneel on the floor in front of her and kiss her boots.
They were ankle-high, high heeled, lace-up boots of black leather that appeared new, or at least extremely well taken care of. Back arched, knees apart and quiver-lips open and kissing the floor, Venice bowed her head to kiss the toe of her left boot first, and then bowed her whole body to cover her boot with kisses from every angle. Her tits pressed flat and cheek resting against the rug, she strained to reach around and kiss up and down the heel. When she switched to the other boot and began all over again, she heard Catherine sigh contentedly. The bell around her neck clinked with her every move, reminding her constantly of her low position. The beautiful Dominant crossed her legs, pressing the heel of her left boot between Venice’s shoulder blades, and Venice moaned, pressing her lips even more fervently to the leather, urged on by Catherine’s delighted chuckle, and breathing in the leather’s polished, earthy scent.
Catherine had the pliant submissive lie on the floor, flat on her back, and offered the sole of her left boot for her to kiss. She did so, squeezing her eyes shut and breathing through the pain of the sharp angles of the heel digging in between her tits. “Look at me.”
“Yes, Catherine.” She opened her eyes, lips still at the sole of her boot, to see Catherine lifting and fondling her own breasts.
When she trailed her boot down to Venice’s vulnerable yet bulging Venus mound, she could have fainted with the pleasure. But she didn’t even close her eyes, or take them off Catherine, where she sat above her, elegant and superior, pressing the heel of her left boot against her clit. Down on the floor with her legs sprawled wide, she watched Catherine play with herself while grinding her heel between Venice’s slick, wet pink labia, back and forth. The pleasuring was relentless with a sharp edge of pain, and she timed it *just right*—she matched the rhythm of her leg working to grind her heel between her cunt-lips with the rhythm of her hands tweaking her own nipples and stroking between her own thighs, until they came at the same time, growls mingling with gasps, Venice’s pain and Catherine’s pleasure and Venice’s pleasure all coming to a head and colliding and melding.
Catherine told her to stand up and undress her.
“And once you have,” Tucker added, “I have something for you to attend to.” He gave Venice a meaningful look, which he did not have to elaborate upon.
As soon as Catherine was naked and stretched out on the bed opposite Tucker, Venice crawled over to him and lapped at the clear drops seeping from the slit at the head of his prick, then thought better of the teasing preambles and eagerly rammed her open lips down over the shaft. She could sense when he didn’t want to wait. She adored the velvety-sleek flesh of his prick, and she knew that receiving and pleasing him with her mouth was a more refined, highly-evolved act than any other function her mouth could perform.
She felt Catherine’s hand on the back of her head, entwining in her hair, pulling, pushing her face forward, pulling, helping Tucker to mouth-fuck her, and she fell into even deeper worship of the power being wielded over her. Grasping his tool with one hand, she cupped and teased his balls with the other, sucking him far into her hot, deep mouth, and it wasn’t long before he rewarded her, filling her mouth up with come—she had to keep swallowing, quickly, so none of it would escape her lips and go dripping back down his pulsing shaft. Whenever he came in her mouth, he was her world, her entire universe. She didn’t come physically then, of course, but she reached her own kind of emotional peak with him, and felt a similar afterglow. And the bigger the load she swallowed from him, the more she yearned for.
Catherine pulled her up with a painful tug at a fistful of her hair, and gave her a probing tongue-kiss. She looked into Venice’s eyes and said, “I can taste your lover’s come. You like it in your mouth, don’t you?”
“Yes, Catherine.”
“Well, you’re going to be getting your first taste of pussy tonight, I promise you that, but right now, I want you on your back.”
“Yes, Catherine.”
Catherine took Venice’s rose-pink stockings off, and used them to bind her wrists to the bedposts. She moved to mount her, and laughed when she saw the confusion on Venice’s face. “Tucker told me how much you like lesbian porn. Haven’t you seen them do this?”
“Only with a strap-on.”
“Those are fun, but not… as you’re about to learn… necessary.”
With that, Catherine lowered her body onto Venice’s, covering her, and their vulvas seemed to open against each other, as if this was the most natural act in the world. The thickly-furred outer lips of Catherine’s quiver lightly scratched and tickled at her bare-shaven ones.
Tucker was lying on his side, watching languidly, his prick now standing all the way up again, steel-firm. He reached over between them, to clamp each of Venice’s teasers between his thumb and forefinger and give it a quick twist.
Catherine’s sex slid so smoothly against her own, and the ease of it all made her feel like even more of a slut. That thumping thrum in her clitoris was quickening, all the heat in her body contracting and gathering in that one hard, tight place. She knew it would soon reach its critical mass and go rushing back outward throughout her frame again, suffusing her with sensitivity and sapping her strength. She moaned like a porno star, and her last clear thought, before the thread of her logic broke off in the throes of what was about to prove to be a multi-orgasmic, oh-my-God fuck for both her and Catherine, was that they were having *true* lesbian sex, abandoning themselves to an act of which only women could partake.

Tucker and Catherine untied her, and worked together to lace her up in the waist cincher after that, and Tucker then commanded her to crouch on the bed on her knees and elbows. Once she’d assumed this position, near the foot of the mattress, Catherine sat in front of her, leaning back against the pillows with her legs open wide.
He renewed the bright pink glow that Catherine’s spanking had brought out on Venice’s ass earlier with his own open hand now, while Venice licked her for as long as Catherine wished. No matter how hard Tucker’s hand landed, she dared not falter, and she lapped with a hunger that shocked even her, tasting both Catherine’s sex-juices and her own between the slack, sopping-wet cunt-lips proffered her.
Once Catherine’s admirably vast appetite for pleasure had been sated for the moment, Tucker pulled Venice up, but had her stay on her knees. Catherine got up, and he murmured something to her. Venice couldn’t make out what he said, but it was something which Catherine seemed to take great interest in. Before Venice had time to wonder about it, Tucker was on the bed, positioning himself to lie underneath her, and Catherine was climbing back onto the bed beside the couple.
There was something surrealistic about Catherine’s touch, gently gripping and lifting her hips and spreading her labial slit, and the sight of her taking hold of Tucker’s erection and guiding the head into her waiting quiver. Catherine pressed down on the small of Venice’s back, causing her drenched cunt to slide easily down until it snugly covered his prick. Even as Catherine kissed her, it occurred to Venice that it was as if she and Tucker were two beasts that Catherine was guiding and helping to mate. Had she been in any less of an aroused state, this thought would have amused her, but now, it only drove her need to a new fever pitch.
The moment Catherine’s lips left hers, was the moment the paddle made startlingly sharp contact with her ass. Thrills of lust coursed up her body with each strike, which Catherine timed with the couple’s thrusting. Underneath the unyielding crack of wood resounding through the bedroom, Venice moaned, and bounced her hips, driven to frenzy by the pain. He was lavishing Venice’s breasts with his endearingly coarse attentions, while Catherine sped up her strikes to match the lovers’ rutting rhythm.
“So close, so close,” Venice suddenly heard herself crying out, forming the words out loud instead of merely thinking them like she’d thought she’d been. “I’m going to come so hard—so hard!”
“Let it all go, babe,” he urged with a gruff, lascivious chuckle, but she needed no encouragement. Before he finished his sentence, she was already arriving at her peak, waves of exquisite emotion pouring through her, and the sensuous severity of the paddle’s staccato thudding against her pumping, upraised buttocks driving her hard through the climax. The slaps of the stiff, skillfully-wielded instrument did not stop until the final little clenches and shivers of her slowly fading orgasm ended.
And then, with a schoolgirlish squeal, she found herself flipped onto her back. Again, the measured, metallic groan of the bedsprings would have struck her as comical, if she hadn’t been in such a sexed-up haze. Tucker didn’t let up—in fact, the banging of his tensed loins against the soft, shockingly naked lips of her quiver only seemed to grow more brutal then, and she knew this was exactly what she needed. She clutched his buttocks, cupping and pulling down as if it was possible to have him deeper inside her than he already was. She could’ve sworn she could feel the tip of his hard-on rising to kiss the very mouth of her womb each time he drove his hips inward.
Catherine was stroking her cheek, tangling playful fingers in her hair. “Kiss me,” was her whispered command. The union of their lips and tongues gave Venice’s body that final nudge, into a softer but deeper orgasm, unfolding inside her womb, spreading through her torso, tingling her teasers as they stood on end at the tips of her swollen breasts. She clamped her quiver down, and the chain reaction continued on to trigger Tucker’s release. Moaning into Catherine’s throat-deep kiss, Venice readily received the thick jets of come he spurted into her with a force that was startling even for him.

At some point in the wee hours, the three fell asleep with the light still on. Venice was vaguely aware, sometime later, of someone switching off the light, of being lifted and coaxed to crawl underneath the bedcovers, and of the deliciously warm naked bodies of both Dominants pressing up to either side of her, Tucker’s hard and hairy, Catherine’s curvy and silk-soft. She smiled into the dark, and whimpered in profound contentment, and the blackness of sleep closed back over her consciousness.
She suspected it was near dawn when she was next woken, this time by the sounds of Catherine getting ready to leave and obviously trying not to wake them. Too tired to so much as open her eyes, she nuzzled against Tucker’s shoulder and went back to sleep. She loved his broad, strong shoulders.
When the alarm clock went off awhile later, Venice had to work a lot harder than usual at forcing herself to move, and Tucker seemed to have to make a similar effort. It was going to be one hell of a long Monday—the previous night had been worth it, certainly, and she had every intention of letting Tucker know how grateful she was for the gift that it had been—but, yeah, it was going to be a long day.
Her nipples perked to full attention as soon as the cold air touched them. She turned up the thermostat, and then, stretching her pleasantly aching arms, she stumbled into the bathroom, laughing silently to herself at the memories that had flooded back to her upon waking. She never would have thought she’d be part of a threesome!
In the bathroom, she stood in front of the mirror and admired the handiwork of the two Dominants—lavender bruises blooming on the flesh of her backside—and splashed some cool water in her eyes. It was then that she noticed the note on the far end of the bathroom counter:

Thank you for inviting me, and for sharing your lovely submissive. Please tell her I had a wonderful time. This was the best stay I’ve ever had in Shadow Ridge! Maybe we’ll run into each other again at next year’s Fair… Maybe you’ll bring some wedding pictures with you?
Wishing you both all the best,

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“Why ‘Jazzy'”?
The voice startled her from her reverie. Her eyes refocused from the desirable dress in the shop window to the images reflected in the glass. Vanity dictated that she assessed and approved her own reflection before discovering the source of the voice. The figure-hugging pants accentuated her slim hips and small waist; her breasts were emphasized by a tight ‘Jazzy’ Tee.
Involuntarily, her hands tugged, smoothed and preened. From the reflection, the owner of the voice appeared tall, above her own 5 foot 6 inches even though she had five inch heels. Although his image was masked by hers, it indicated that he was slim.
Her name wasn’t Jazzy, of course but it seems that every guy thought himself an original jack-the-lad by variously referring to the image on the tee-shirt. Wore more and more she had to admit! Why? The self-posed question elicited the inevitable giggle. She loved the attention!
Turning, the time-tested, biting put-down formed on her lips, and then her eyes fell upon an Adonis. Not a weak, self-centred Narcissus, but a strong jaw and self-confident smile that could easily turn her knees to jelly and send a thrill to her hot spot.
Despite her feelings she looked indignantly at the speaker.
“Why Jazzy what?”
“Just idly wondering”, Adonis grinned.
Oh gawd, pleeze don’t flash that dazzling smile at me, you don’t know what that does to the crotch of my panties, her thoughts screamed at him.
“OK, I know that this isn’t going to be original but do go on, enlighten me as to the level that your thoughts can attain”.
Adonis flashed a bigger smile; the bastard! She swore to herself, he knows exactly what that does; bet he has removed many a pair of panties merely by smiling!
She raised an eyebrow as he paused before continuing.
“Ahhh yes, you must have heard all the quips by now”.
The eyebrow lowered, paused, then rose higher; arms folded under breasts; right foot moved forward.
“Um OK. This had better be good, huh”?
The right foot tapped three times.
“Ahhh … right … it’s just that………¡¨
” …….. It’s a strange name to call a boob”? She finished.
He laughed a genuine, deep in the throat laugh. His teeth were perfect, no fillings, white, sparkling. His tongue moist and clean; she imagined it pushing between her lips, joining with hers, and licking deep within her pussy…
His cough brought her back to reality. She struggled to retain her cool, aloofness, and of course she fooled neither herself nor him.
“As if I would!”
She allowed him a brief “hmm”.
“It’s just that I wasn’t sure if you were in the original model or not, with those stunning looks”.
His face fell, chin dropped, eyes looked at the floor; a little boy hurt.
Female instincts sprang into action, or would have had she not suppressed them. Oh brother, you do not fool me that easily!
“Crap!” she reinforced. “You were perving”, pointing to her breasts, which, disconcertingly appeared to have pushed themselves up and forward.
A smirk morphed to a grin, changed to that panty-wrenching smile. He chuckled.
Holding out his arms, wrists pressed together he exclaimed “It’s a fair cop guv, lock me up”.
Impetuously, she grabbed his arms and pulled him. The force almost pulled him over.
“It’s time women made a stand against this type of sexual harassment, it’s disgusting, and no one is safe”. “Just because we try to keep neat and tidy your type seem to think all women are fair game to treat as easy, without morals or self-control”.
“Where the hell do you people get off?¡¨ Her eyes blazed unblinkingly into his as she hissed out the words.
“Woah, woah!” He stepped back a pace. “All that energy should be harnessed, it could be the answer to the world’s energy crisis!¡¨
She smiled to herself, yes! Fooled him, until he turned on that damned smile. Shit! A calculated risk was worth taking.
“Very well, because women are of course superior in so many ways, I am prepared to let it go, THIS time”.
She turned on her heel and strode towards the entrance to the shop, pausing only to check back at his reflection on the glass.
There are few things that take precedence over men, but she always prioritized clothes shopping above anything else. Thus, she made her way through the store to all things feminine.
The dress in the window was out of her price range so something like it would have to do. The first item she selected was THAT dress; no harm in seeing that it was meant just for her! It was of course fabulous! She considered that if anyone else bought it, it would be just a waste of money as it would look more like a rag on them. It was impossible to resist walking out of the changing cubicle and strutting her stuff.
Bored guys, forced by their wives to wander embarrassed among such femininity, while they too tried on everything they couldn’t afford, took sudden interest. A wife or two displayed envy thinly veiled as nonchalance. In a cheval mirror she noticed with horror the slight visible panty line. In a moment she had returned to the cubicle, rid herself of the offending article and returned to the mirror.
The men, it seemed, had found something of interest in this part of the store, much to the obvious annoyance of their spouses. In front of the mirror, and seemingly oblivious to those around her she reached two finger tips into the bustier top and eased her boobs up to produce just the right amount of décolletage. She blew herself a kiss in the mirror; every guy reflected therein received the kiss as if it was their first. She giggled just loudly enough.
Nothing that she selected came close to that dress; her poor plastic was going to have to suffer! She took it out of her bag and kissed it. “Sorry darling, this is the last time for a while”.
“I can’t believe that blondes are really as dizzy as they make out”
“Shi…!” Adonis! Where did he come from?
“I really can’t believe that I will have to call the store security to get you off my case!”
She turned. What she saw made her step back. He was holding her discarded panties high in front of his face.
“Just didn’t want you to lose these sweet designer undies, nor to …………… well…………..catch a cold?”
“Mister, if you dare put them to your nose I will scream blue murder!”
Feeling the colour rise in her cheeks she snatched at the small piece of material. In a flash he removed them from her reach.
“Tell me if you honestly didn’t notice that the cubicle curtain wasn’t fully closed as you changed”.
She truly hadn’t. How much had she displayed? No wonder the guys had suddenly congregated in that area. In such small area it was easy to brush the curtain aside.
“How dare you peer behind the curtain, is there no end to the shameful attempts to fulfil your hateful lust and voyeurism?”
An uncertain glimmer of a smile appeared, then seeing her confusion, he smiled broadly.
The panties reappeared.
“In my defence, I believe I must confiscate the evidence until I am safe from your terrible accusations”. “I will ask these gentlemen to be witness to the events”.
His arm swept to indicate the gathered male throng. All of whom grinned and she could swear that they all licked their lips.
Her face glowed bright red.
“Very well, I will let you off with just a warning!” “Keep the panties if it will keep other girls safe from you”. “I do hope the collection that you have inevitably stolen from wash lines and washeteria will keep you from being as lonely as you so obviously appear”.
Damn him she thought, now I have to buy cheap undies to protect my pants. Her moistness irritated her, the pants would stain.
The journey home took longer than usual due to an unusual amount of traffic, so when she arrived at her apartment there was something that she had to do with some urgency.
Struggling with her purchases she pressed for the elevator. It had better hurry, she thought, or the concierge will want to know how the puddle got in there. She began to wriggle her thighs, hop from foot to foot.
The door opened. He stood there.
“Oh bloody hell!” It was Adonis.
“Going up?
He took her purchases from her and stood back to allow her in.
Reluctantly she had to accept and so stepped into the confined space. Her nose wrinkled as his cologne became apparent. It was impossible for her to stand still. Her hand stole down to her crotch for two reasons. The pressing desire to pee and the desire to ease a familiar itch. Knees pressed together, hand pressed hard to her crotch she wriggled.
“Missing those panties?”
“No I am not!” “I bought new ones”.
“Don’t be disgusting”
“I merely mean that it will be something else to take down before you can relieve yourself”.
“Shut up or I’ll do it right here!”
“Just don’t dare me”
“Very well, I dare you”
She laughed and then wished she hadn’t, her bladder didn’t take kindly to her laughing when it was this full.
Too late! First a drop, then a dribble.
He tried to stand back but the elevator was small.
“Don’t you dare!”
“You dared me!”
The contents of her over full bladder flowed. She gave him a sickly grin. He raised his eyes to the heavens.
“I didn’t think for one moment you would do it”
“It’s all your fault for making me laugh”.
“Now what do we do?”
“Keep my shopping off the bloody floor!”
“What about my shoes?”
“Is that all you can think about, self, self, self?” “MEN!”
“Here, take the key and let me in the apartment”.
He turned the key and let her in, followed with the packages and deposited them on the floor. Sounds of the shower lead him to the bathroom. The steaming water flowed over her body and he admired the beautiful curves, envying every drop that flowed into folds he wanted to enjoy.
She glanced towards him…
“Let the concierge know about the elevator darling then get in here and let’s fuck!”
He picked up the phone….
“John, my wife has had a little accident… again………….”

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Business Matters

Business matters


“Customer!” he typed and saw it come up on the screen against her name then he moved quickly through to the shop area.

“Morning ma’am, how may I be of service?”, the customer was a tall blonde that he seemed to recognise.

“Hi, I am afraid that I have let the dry cleaning get on top of me and there is rather a lot, is there any chance that you could rush it through, I am getting short of a few items?”. Her smile revealed the most perfect white teeth he had ever seen and he wondered how they would feel to his tongue as they kissed. Her soft cough awoke him from his dreaming.

“Oh sure ma’am, I am rather busy but I can try for you”.

The customer reached out her hand and laid cool fingers on his. She smiled the sexiest smile at him; a smile that had been used countless times to persuade a hapless guy to ensure her wishes were fulfilled.

“Without a doubt ma’am, without a doubt”.

Back at the computer he typed “You still there Cutie honey?”. Bobby hoped that the sexy girl with whom he had been chatting was still around.

“Still here sexy man, lol”, came the reply on the screen.

Bobby looked for the umpteenth time at her avatar… a picture of her naked on the beach. Oh how he wanted that body close to his naked body, and to be the guy whose cock penetrated deep into that bald pussy. His imagination saw them on that beach making frantic love.

Too soon ‘Cutie’ had to leave and he had to get back to work.

Sorting through the clothes left by the brunette he checked the pockets of a pair of pants, Designer label! His fingers grasped a piece of fabric in a small pocket. Withdrawing it, he held a tiny pair of the silkiest, lacy panties. Without thinking he raised the garment to his nose and sniffed. His cock did a flip! The panties had a strong mustiness at the crotch. “Geeze”, he thought, “that gal was horny when she wore these”.

The panties still at his nose Bobby fantasized about what the woman had been doing to get so horny but still leave her pants on. The images in his head forced him to go to the privacy of the office where he unzipped his pants, took out his cock which by now was rock solid, and began to stroke it.
Sooner than he had wanted he felt the cum in his balls begin the journey to his thick cock where it spurted stronger than he could remember.

Feeling positive that the customer would never miss the garment Bobby decided to add them to his growing collection that had been obtained in a similar manner.

For the next few hours Bobby’s thoughts were filled with the sexy chatlady whose nickname was Cutie. He made up his mind to ask if he could send a pic of his cock. Would she agree?

Taking out the customer’s panties he again sniffed the crotch area. Once again the scent caused an instant erection; so damned hard; he admired it. The flash of the digital camera highlighted his cock’s assets and he was pleased with the resulting photo. No point in wasting this hardon, he thought so stroked it to a pleasing orgasm.

In the chatroom he persuaded Cutie to accept the photo of his cock and was pleased when she had seen it and agreed that it was such a desirable piece of manhood.

Bobby took his courage in his hands and described in detail the episode with the customer’s panties. Surprisingly Cutie thought it incredibly sexy although she admonished him for stealing them.

This girl was so damned sexy and no subject on which he choose to chat, shocked or upset her. If only she was available, they would fuck so hard and so long; he would satisfy her needs.

“Good afternoon”. The tall blonde had returned to collect her dry cleaning.

As he served her he also mentally undressed her; imagining the firm white flesh of her ample breasts that were only just hidden by the tight blouse that she wore. A light summer skirt was stretched over her slim hips and he strained to see any hint of a visible pantie line. There was none that he could discern.

The customer paid and started to leave. At the door she stopped, hesitated, checked the contents of her cleaning bag then turned to Bobby.

“Excuse me but I wonder what happened to a pair of my daughter’s panties that were mistakenly left in the pocket of my pants?”

Bobby felt the blood drain from his face then flush back again. “Ah, I don’t remember checking the pocket of any pants ma’am”, he lied.

The blonde looked at him, her bright blue eyes seemingly piercing his mind to discover his lie.

“You of course remember Tara, she is the 21 year old that worked here for a week or so this spring?”.

“Oh fuck!” thought Bobby. He remembered her well. A hot young thing, around 5’2, barely 100 pounds, with short brunette hair and the tightest tops and pants that left nothing to the imagination.
He had masturbated so often thinking of that young pussy nestling in those skin-tight pants. The realisation that he had now smelled that tight little coochie made his cock swell in his pants.

“I – I – I will sure have a look around to see if they have fallen out somewhere” he stammered.

“Are you OK”, enquired the blonde, “You seen a little upset”. She was staring at the front of his jeans.

Bobby tried unsuccessfully to hide what had become obvious, an erect cock trying to burst out.

He immediately regretted his reactive and not thought-out reply… “Ha ha ha always on the job, having to always carry the tool of my trade”.

Her smile widened. “And such a fine tool is hidden there by the look of that bulge”. “Now those panties, shall we look for them?”.

Before Bobby could even stammer a defence the blonde continued ” I know that you have them, this isn’t the first time this has happened”.

“Now ma’am, that kind of accusation could ruin my business, if there is something you want just say and I will try to satisfy your demands”, Bobby’s face had blanched, he was now feeling sick with worry; worry for the business but more so about his marriage; what would his wife say and do.

“OK, here’s the deal, if I don’t find the panties here, I will walk away and forget this moment and say no more of it. If however I find the garment then you must make restitution, is that fair?” She was close to him, her breath on his cheek so sweet he could taste it.

He stood awe struck as the customer did not wait for a reply, he stared at her ass in the tight skirt as she began a search which he knew with certainty would reveal his guilt.

There was no defence, there in her hands were not only her daughter’s panties but the many others that he had “borrowed”.

“You know that you had been found out when Tara worked here?” A rhetorical question, a statement. “She found this stash the first day! She even added a pair to it, right off her dirty little ass!”

The hell she did! I missed rubbing my nose in her juices! Bobby was annoyed with himself for not sniffing each and every pair, every day.

“OK, so it is pay time!”, her smile was deceptive.

Bobby knew that this was the end; end of the business; end of the marriage….

My daughter is to work here every Saturday, I must keep her away from those local guys! She looked thoughtful. “She works for free mind! Unless there is some reward that you mutually agree on”.

Bobby shook his head, was he hearing this straight? He almost pinched himself. This is a dream!

The blonde looked at him, pressed her body to his, tilted back her head and lightly pressed hot wet lips to his mouth. “As for me, I am far more demanding! You will come to the house one day a week but not on a set day, I like surprises. There you will be given tasks that you must fulfill”.

Her hand grasping the thickness that promised to burst from his pants, and her lips on his stopped Bobby from replying.

At the door she swung around, “Tomorrow will not be too soon to start!”

At the address the blonde customer had given he stopped the car and looked at the property. Grand!
Bobby double checked the number, looked around for any evidence of a sting operation; there was nothing unusual. Casual dress he judged was fine for any jobs that the woman wanted doing. Leaving the car at the kerb he walked to the door and pressed the push. There was no sound of a ring or otherwise, so he was surprised when the door opened. There on the step was young Tara, the young woman that had worked for him a while back and had obviously found the stash of panties.

“Oh hi, mom said you might call, she says to come in and wait, she had to go to a friends for a time”.

Bobby moved to pass the girl but she stood her ground. “Ah, you want I wait out back?”

She smiled, “No, I thought you would greet me, that all, but if you don’t want, its OK”.

Bobby bent to kiss her cheek, the girl swung an arm around his neck and pull his face to hers, mashing her open mouth to his with a force that almost took his breath away. Tara pressed her small body to his and Bobby felt his cock harden instantly.

“Oh wow, you are a horny man!” her hand slipped between their bodies and grasped the lump in his pants. “And so damned big!”.

This had all the trappings of a sting… young woman alone, guy accused of assault or worse, rape. He pulled back.

“Hey, I want that, and mom said you had to pay for stealing my dirty panties!”

The house was silent, all appeared normal except for the nymphomaniac clinging to him.

Deciding to force her hand if something was in the air, Bobby kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue in her mouth. In turn she sucked at his tongue and struggled to release the cock that was at bursting point. With a brief struggle her tight top was off and Bobby was delighted to see that she worn no bra. Not to be out done Tara tore at his tee-shirt. Her naked breasts on his equally naked chest felt damned good. Tara wasn’t prepared to wait her turn to have her shorts pulled off, she flicked open his pants, reached into the underpants and gave freedom to his now aching cock.

Soon the pair were naked and staggered to a couch in the large living area where they fell onto it, sucking at each others mouth and grasping what it was that was their individual goal at that time.

Tara pulled away from his grasp, fell to her knees and in an instant had his cock sucked into her mouth, Bobby groaned loudly.

“Hey, don’t you dare cum yet, want to eat and suck this monster. I have wanted it since I saw you beating it over some pair of panties in the shop”.

“Then get your ass up here so I can suck that pussy I have wanted since I saw it”.
Looking up from her ministrations to his cock Tara stopped, took a breath and with her lips still on the head said, “You saw my pussy, when?”.

“OK, you’re not gonna like this but I spied on you in the ladies powder room”. He waited for the outrage but Tara merely savoured the thought and renewed her work on his cock with even more enthusiasm. He continued his admission, ” what was that string of balls you pulled from it?”. Tara just giggled as much as she was able with 7″ of cock in her mouth and continued to devour it.

Locked in the soixante-neuf position, he, sucking, licking and finger fucking her pussy; she, sucking , nibbling and wanking his tool, they were oblivious to all around them.

Bobby was slightly surprised at a loud slapping sound and found Tara’s pussy suddenly rammed in his mouth. The bite on his cock seemed to correspond with the slap too.

“You fast little bitch, get off that guy right now!” the voice was terribly familiar and very angry.

Hands grabbed his hair and pulled him out from under the pussy he was preparing to fuck at the end of the 69.

“OK Mr. what the heck are you on, you are here to meet my needs not this little slut’s!”

Bobby felt awfully exposed; standing naked, a huge erection and pussy honey spread over his face. “OK now ma’am, you stated I had to come here and be given a task to perform, and I am doing just that”.

The blonde’s mouth was a thin, mean line across her otherwise beautiful face… she eyed him from head to toe and back, pausing only to focus on his cock on both scans. Her lips returned to the full, soft ones he remembered in the shop, the ones he had dreamed of encircling his hard cock.
“I guess that makes sense… this time”! Leaning forward she kissed him on the lips, hard and long.
“God, I hope you think I taste better than that!”. She wiped the fluid from her mouth.

“Ma’am, I wouldn’t know, having never…” her finger on his lips cut of the rest.
“Go shower and get that smell off you Mr.”.

Turning to her daughter she said ” as for you, your time is in the shop, never do it here again, understand?”. Tara nodded bleakly but grinned at Bobby then left the room.

The hot water sluicing over his body felt good, it even emphasized the result of Tara’s wanking, sucking and that bite. Before water hit his face he ran his tongue over his lips, and enjoyed once again the taste of the girl’s pussy juices.

Bobby was hard pressed not to masturbate to the vivid images that had sprung up in his head but realised that the blonde would want quality and quantity. So he was shocked when told that there was no further task to perform that day and regretted not having spread his cum over her pristine shower room tiles.

The customer had instructed him to return the next day.

to be continued…

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