les histoires de chrislebo

Apparently that admission was enough for her because
she pulled back and gave me a brilliant, lustful smile,
then reached down and picked up another item. It was a
halter top of a sort, but the trim was made of black
leather and the bra portion was an extremely sheer
mesh. It closed down the middle, between the breasts,
with silver snaps, and when it buttoned up it made a
leather fetishr around the neck. "Here, let's put this
one on."

"What kind of bra should I wear underneath this?" I
asked as Brandy helped me into it: I say helped me even
though she spent as much time playing with my breasts
as hooking the thing up. I didn't even think of
stopping her.

"Well that depends on where you're going," she grinned
as she pinched my nipples. "To the grocery store,
something black, either leather or lace. Out with
David... nothing."

I moaned softly at what she was doing to me and asked,
"Nothing? But it's completely see through!"

"Mmmm-hmmm," she purred, nipping my neck again. "David
loves to show off his women, especially when they're
like you."

"Like... like me?"

"You know, a little older than he is," she explained,
and then chuckled. "I think he has a thing for his
mom."

I blinked in surprise, though honestly I'm not sure
why. At this point, that should have been pretty
obvious. "He does?" I asked in a small voice.

"Yeah, isn't it hot?" she giggled. "A guy like David
wanting to fuck his own mom! The way he describes her
she's super hot, and he thinks she'd be an amazing
lay."

"He does?" I was starting to sound like a simple parrot
but the whole thing was too much to absorb all at once.

"Yeah, but he'll never get her." She nibred my ear and
whispered, "But he'll be thinking of her when he's
fucking you nice and hard. I'll bet he'll be eating out
of your hand if you pretend to be his mommy."

I moaned as she pinched my nipples again, but the
images she was giving me were too powerfully perverse
to fully accept. "Well... maybe," I whispered,
unsnapping the halter and slipping it off. "What's next
to try on?"

Brandy smiled again and picked up an object. "How about
these?"

I looked at them and arched an eyebrow. "Leather...
panties?"

She giggled. "Yep, a G string." She sank into a crouch
in front of me and for a dizzy instant I thought she
would use her mouth on me... and I thought I might let
her. Instead, though, she said, "Let me put them on
you."

"Oh," I whispered, half relieved and half disappointed.
I lifted my feet one at a time and she slipped them on,
then pulled them up my legs and snugged them against my
pussy. I turned and looked at them in the mirror, and I
had to admit that they were sexy as hell, but, "They
aren't that comfortable."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Brandy said, reaching
around and massaging my breasts again. "Once David sees
you in it, you won't be wearing it long."

"Oh super," I said, feeling dizzy. I kept getting these
reminders that I wasn't doing this for me, I was doing
it for my mister who was blackmailing me. And here I was,
getting achingly turned on by a young girl!

"There's a match," she went on, and soon had me
strapped into a leather underwire bra that gave me good
support even though it left the upper half of my
nipples bare. "What do you think?"

"I think I look... slutty."

"Damn straight," Brandy chuckled, reaching down and
squeezing my mound through my panties. "You look
fantastic."

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and after a
moment I nodded. I did look fantastic. I looked sexy
and smart and dirty, slutty from the neck down and
refined from the neck up. I was a stunner.

And then my eyes drifted to Brandy's reflection, and
they lingered on her stomach, on her long legs beneath
her skirt, and then up to her face. She was an
astonishing creature. Her eyes were huge and green, her
hair perfectly red in the way that makes it glow in the
light, her cheeks high and saucy, and her lips... her
lips. They were full and round and pert, painted bright
red. They were moist and soft and utterly, completely
kissable.

I felt my sex clench.

It wasn't even a conscious act, what I did next. If I'd
have thought about it, I'm pretty sure I'd never have
done it. What happened was I turned in her arms, put my
hands to her cheeks, and put my lips on hers.

My first kiss with a woman was a pretty damned good
one. Brandy sighed and melted into me and I sighed and
melted into her. Our lips parted and our tongues met in
the middle, just the tips, moving against each other in
a slow, gentle, soft dance that was so thoroughly
erotic that I knew I needed more of it from the instant
I felt it. Her hands moved down and took my ass again,
squeezing the cheeks and pulling them apart, kneading
them and then, wonderfully, slipping a long, clever
finger underneath the strap of the leather G-string and
caressing the delicate, ever so sensitive skin of my
asshole.

I moaned into her mouth and dropped my hands from her
face to her shoulders. I knew, though, that the feel of
cloth under my fingers wasn't enough – I wanted skin, I
needed skin, I had to feel her without the skimpy
little shirt in the way. I let my hands move down to
the front of her top, to the place between her breasts
where it was tied closed. A single, simple tug was all
it took and her breasts were in my hands, soft, warm,
nipples pert and digging into my palms. I loved it.

Brandy seemed to like it too, because now it was her
turn to moan, and she stabbed her tongue into my mouth
like a cock fucking a pussy. Her grip tightened on my
ass and she pulled me closer, grinding her pelvis
against mine. Out lips were mashed together, our eyes
were closed, our breath hot on each other's cheeks. I
squeezed her nipples, both at the same time, and I
marveled at the shudder that went through her in
response.

It was a strange but incredible feeling of power, to be
able to make another woman react that way. I won't lie
to you and say that I'd never even considered what it
would be like to kiss and touch another woman – I think
everyone, male and female, has fantasies about their
own sex – but I'd never really been tempted to act on
them. Now, though, I didn't think I could have stopped
if Tim himself had come through the door and caught me
red-handed, sucking Brandy's tongue and playing with
her tits as she teased my ass.

Brandy's shirt hit the floor right about the same time
my bra did, and our bare breasts pressed together. We
were pretty much the same height, though she was a
little taller with her heels on; still, she managed to
make our nipples meet and tease each other, something
that thrilled me to no end. It was amazing that I was
doing this, and even more amazing that I didn't want it
to stop. It wasn't precisely that it was a natural
thing for me to be doing, not like it had been with
Charlie when it had felt like something I'd always
needed and never had.

No, this was distinctly something I wouldn't normally
do, but somehow that made it hotter. This was me
crossing a boundary inside me, partially being dragged
across it and partially of my own volition, and I was
doing it because I was horny and because, right here
and right now, I wanted Brandy. The odds were that an
hour from now I'd be baffled at the erotic fugue that
had driven me to this, but I didn't care. Brandy had
made me want her and now I was going to have her.

I sucked on her tongue like my life depended on it, and
then I sucked on her lips. I breathed deeply and took
in the scent of the air she breathed onto my cheek and
the smell of her arousal and mine. I took her hard,
tight nipples between my fingers and squeezed, tugged,
rolled. I moaned like a whore as she moved one hand
around to my front and slipped it up inside the leather
panties I was wearing, and I pushed against her fingers
as she began to stroke my slit.

My hands were moving down, over the micro-skirt she was
wearing and then up underneath; I squeezed her cheeks,
firm and lovely, and then I hooked my fingers into the
waistband of her thong and began to work it down over
her perfect, generous hips – she had my pussy in her
hand and I was going to return the favor.

Brandy slipped three fingers up inside me. I almost
screamed into her mouth. It stretched me, yes, but it
felt amazing too, and I was so wet they went in without
resistance. At the same instant the other hand was
teasing my asshole, then dipping down to my perineum to
gather a bit of my moisture. Then, as she began to fuck
me good and hard with her hand, a finger slipped into
my ass and began to fuck me there too.

I'd never, ever done anything with the ass (except had
Charlie's wonderful, thrilling, perfect, amazing
tongue) and feeling Brandy push a fingertip into me
there was incredible. I began to fuck back, rocking my
hips, pushing first onto the fingers slamming my cunt
and then pulling back off of those and pushing back
into the one in my ass; Brandy caught my rhythm almost
instantly and started working her hands in time.

I'm afraid my own actions weren't as deft or as
s*******ful as hers, but it was my first time touching any
pussy but mine. I was definitely eager enough – her
bare pussy felt incredible against my hand and it
turned me on even more to think that I was doing
something that had been unimaginable to me just an hour
before.

I let my fingers just explore at first, and I marveled
at how different it was from touching a cock. Where a
man was hard and demanding, a woman was soft and
yielding. I let my mind drift to what Brandy had said
before, how David liked to take a woman from behind
while she was eating a pussy, and I allowed myself to
entertain the notion – not with David, of course, but
not with Tim either. I imagined being between Brandy
and some faceless, brilliant man who was slamming my
face hard into her crotch, and I imagined how much I'd
enjoy it.

The pussy in front of me was enough for the moment,
however. I explored her lips, so much like a flower's
petals, so soft and so fragrant. I felt how her wetness
coated my hand almost instantly, and I wondered how she
would taste. I felt her heat as her sex swallowed two
of my fingers, sucking them in and squeezing them.

Her clit was hard against the heel of my hand and I
moved against it like I liked to have a hand move
against mine; her body told me to give it more pressure
by the way she ground her hips into me, and so I put my
other hand there as well, leaning into her to support
myself as I fucked her with two, then three fingers of
my left hand and rubbed her clit with the middle two
fingers of my right.

My orgasm hit me hard, and if it wasn't as good as the
ones Charlie had given me earlier, it was plenty good
enough. I felt like it lifted me right up off my feet
and slammed me down onto her hand, and I know I was
saying something like, "Fuck me Brandy fuck my pussy
fuck me fuck me fuck me!" and I was being way too loud
about it – if any other customers were in the store
there would be no doubt about what was going on in
Dressing Room #1.

It took me longer to make Brandy cum, but I managed it.
Brandy kept up her own fingering, front and back, while
I fucked her pussy and rubbed her clit, and my orgasm
died out and spun up into another, lesser but still
intense. She was moaning just as loud as I was, and
when she screeched, "Oh you dirty fucking cunt finger
me FINGER ME!" and her pussy clamped down hard on my
fingers, I knew I had her. I felt a surge of triumph –
I had made a girl cum! – that made my own orgasm last a
little bit longer.

And then we were together, naked from the waist up, me
in wet leather panties and her in a skirt that was
pushed up above her waist and her panties to her knees,
leaning against each other because if either of us let
go we'd both fall. The room smelled like pussy, like
sweet, wonderful pussy. We both panted for several
moments, and then we looked into each other's eyes and
kissed again, a long, sweet, affectionate kiss, tongue
on tongue, lip on lip, our hands moving idly over bare
and sweating skin.

There was a knock on the door and Petra said, in an
amused tone, "Hey Brandy, if you're done in there, the
boss is on the phone and wants to talk to you. Want me
to tell her you're too busy fucking a customer to get
to the phone?"

Brandy and I both giggled, and pretty soon the giggles
were uncontrollable. "I'd better take that," she
managed.

"You'd better," I agreed, bending over and picking up
her fallen top; when I was down there I put a kiss on
her perfectly rounded and firm left ass cheek. I helped
her tie her top and kissed her again, just a quick
peck, as she opened the door. "Go ahead and try the
rest of the stuff on if you want. It should all fit
anyway. When I get done Pet and I will finish getting
you dressed up the way David wants."

I was in a dreamy little space such that I actually
smiled at that. "And what does David want?"

"He wants you walking out of here looking good," Brandy
said simply, and then she was gone. I spent the next
few minutes checking out the other things David had
selected, and I had to admit that he had good taste.
There were a couple of garter belts, eight or nine
different sets of very sexy hosiery like Cuban heel
thigh-highs and fishnets, a really lovely black and
pink boned bustier with garters, a couple of lacy
camisoles, a perfectly sheer red babydoll, and three
pairs of gloves: black fishnet arm warmers that came
almost to the shoulder, an elbow-length red lace set,
and a cute pair of white wrist-length things.

"Jesus," I said to myself, looking over the assemred
lingerie, "This is gonna cost a bundle. How am I going
to keep Tim from asking about it?"

I didn't get a chance to answer the question, however,
because Brandy came back, and brought Petra with her.
At this point it didn't even occur to me to be shy
about my nudity in front of Petra, or to resent the
hungry look she gave me as her big dark eyes roved over
me. "So, how are we going to send her back out on the
street?" Brandy asked Petra. "Got any ideas?"

Petra looked me up and down and smiled. "Oh yeah, I
have a few. She's getting a day outfit and a night one,
right?"

"Yep, David wants her fit to take out and show off,"
Brandy nodded.

"He does?" I asked, surprised.

"I told you he likes to show off his women," Brandy
smiled.

Petra went and got a top for me to wear. It was a
really cute little thing, a black crop-top with a
cinched waist and a truly daring cutout that showed a
lot of tit. I thought it looked great, but I didn't
think I could wear such a thing. The girls thought
differently though, and they matched it up with a very
tight red miniskirt that stretched across my hips and
hugged my buns. "This is pretty unforgiving," I said
with something of a smile as I looked at it in the
mirror. "I guess I'll have to wear a G-string under
it."

"Oh no," Petra smiled, reaching down and giving my ass
a squeeze. "You're not going to wear a thing underneath
it."

"You've got to be kidding me!" I said. "It barely
covers my butt!"

"Think how naughty you'll feel then, walking around
with your hot little pussy just barely covered," Brandy
pointed out, and I was sold. They matched it up with a
pair of red patent leather pointed-toe pumps with 4-
1/2" heels. Looking at myself in the mirror, I searched
for a good word to describe what I saw, and finally I
found one, one that my lady would use. "I look," I
said, "like a tart."

Both girls had a laugh about that, and both girls
seemed to enjoy stripping me out of the clothes. Petra
took the opportunity to cop a feel of my breasts and I
just smiled and gave her very impressive boobs a
squeeze back. She grinned just as predatorily as Brandy
had and said, "Next time you come back, I get to help
you try things on."

My eyes flared. I had never been with a black man, much
less a black woman, and I found the idea of getting Pet
out of her clothes to be a very interesting one indeed.
Still, the fugue Brandy had put me in was starting to
fade and the idea seemed more interesting in the
abstract than in the actual. "It's a deal," I told her,
even though I honestly wasn't sure it was. "How about
next week Tuesday, a week from today?"

She licked her full lips and nodded. "Come in early. We
open at 10 and Brandy can cover the store for a hour or
so."

Trying to figure out whether to spend an hour alone
with Petra kept me busy while she and Brandy picked out
my evening wear. The other outfit was a simple red
dress with long ruffled sleeves. It came down a couple
of inches past my butt, which was good – I wouldn't be
able to wear panties with this either, and it wasn't so
liable to show off my kitty as the other skirt was.
However, the neckline took a dive to an inch above my
belly button, and the only thing keeping my tits from
spilling out was a rhinestone clasp in front. It felt
scandalous enough before they matched it up with shoes:
black leather five inch pumps with locking ankle cuffs.

I honestly doubted I'd be able to wear this out on the
town without my mister, but then I also didn't think I'd
be able to wear the day outfit either. Petra and Brandy
were most insistent, however (they even confibrownieed the
sweats I'd worn in so I had no choice in the matter)
and so they sent me out into the world in hooker shoes,
a top that showed more than it concealed, and a skirt
that pretty much showed my pussy with every step I
took.

Honestly, the way it rode up when I walked made
modestly basically impossible, and with both hands full
of lingerie I couldn't keep pulling the damned thing
down so after a few steps I just set my shoulders and
pretended I didn't notice the head-jerking looks of
passersby as I walked around the block to my car.

On the drive home, the whole scene in the lingerie shop
began to seem strange and unreal. My lust had faded to
the point where I couldn't quite figure out why or how
Brandy had turned me on so much. She was... well, she
was a girl, and I didn't go for girls at all.

All I could think was that the events of yesterday and
this morning had left me a little out of my mind and I
had simply lost myself for a bit. It just so happened
that I lost myself when I was in the dressing room with
Brandy. Regardless, I was myself again, feeling
ridiculous in a new outfit that made me look like a
prostitute, ashamed for having done what I did with
Brandy, and aghast that I had made a date with Petra
(which of course I now had no intention of keeping).

And one thing was for sure: I needed some sensible
underthings. After all, even though David had taken all
my underwear, he only said that I needed SOME slutty
things, not ALL slutty things. And so on the way home I
stopped off at my usual store, wriggled into a thong
before I got out of the car, and bought half a dozen
reamisterable bras and a dozen new pairs of regular bikini
panties. The salesgirl recognized me and commented on
my wild outfit, but I just passed it off by saying I
had been the victim of a practical joke at a baby
shower for a close friend.

When I got home, Charlie greeted me at the door by
stuffing his nose under my skirt and sniffing my pussy.
I admit that I shivered more than a little at the
recollection of what we had done together, but frankly
I was in no mood. Besides, after long lickings
yesterday and today and being frigged extensively by
both my own mister and a strange girl, my poor coochie
needed a rest. I pushed him away, threw the first load
if my new underwear in the washer, and got dressed for
my afternoon run with the dog.

On the way home, I made sure to avoid the Andermister
house!

Chapter Three

May 9

The next few days were surprisingly quiet. The expected
scene with David in the afternoon didn't materialize.
Oh sure he looked through my new underwear but he
didn't make me give him the fashion show I was
dreading. He did have me model the two new outfits for
him, but he let me change alone in my bedroom and
didn't object that I wore panties underneath. His
comments, while appreciative and complimentary, weren't
rude or crude or even inappropriate – he just told me I
looked good and the clothes were very flattering. My
greatest relief was that he made no reference to my
activities with Charlie or Brandy, and made no further
mention of what he held over my head. I wasn't sure
what to make of that, but I was grateful.

The first couple of days I didn't wear any of the new
underwear, I didn't let Charlie so much as sniff my
butt, and I didn't even look at David when I didn't
need to. I guess I thought I could bring things back to
normal, with normal being the way things were before I
let Charlie lick me. All of the things that Brandy had
told me about David wanting me seemed strange and
unreal, and by Thursday my scene with Brandy seemed
equally unreal.

I remembered it, of course, in exquisite detail and I
even found the recollection erotic, but it seemed as
though it was the memory of a movie rather than
something that had happened to me. I guess I was
divorcing myself from those events, or at least trying
to get back into the comfortable little shell where I'd
spent my adult life.

One thing that didn't seem remote or unreal was
Charlie. I tried not to think about his tongue and the
orgasms he'd given me, but I found that recollections
sneaked in at odd times and made me painfully, achingly
horny in an instant. It happened several times a day,
sometimes when I was alone in the house, sometimes when
I was out running or doing errands, once during the
family dinner, once when I was in bed chatting with Tim
before we went to relax.

Each of those times it was such a vivid recollection
that it felt like I was there, like I could close my
eyes and feel Charlie's tongue filling my sex or
lapping my ass; I could feel his heat and his fur,
smell his breath and my own arousal, and I knew that if
I touched myself just a little I would cum wildly. I
managed to control myself each time, except for when I
was in the shower on Thursday after my run. I was
shaving my pussy and the memory hit me, and before I
even knew it I was stroking myself; I came screaming in
a few seconds, then came again a few minutes later.

Yes, I kept shaving my pussy. The fact is, after so
much resistance to it for so long, I legitimately loved
it. I loved the feel of being clean down there, I loved
the way I felt in my underwear, and I even started to
like the way I looked, with my little slit naked and
obvious between my legs. The fact was that by Thursday
night I had started to think of shaving as my own idea.

And as for being lewdly fondled and fingered by my own
mister, well, I simply pretended that didn't happen.

Wednesday and Thursday I didn't wear any of the
scandalous underwear David had powerd me to buy. It
sat, folded and neat, in my drawer next to the new,
sensible things I had always preferred. Every time I
opened that drawer I glanced at it, took some of my
preferred underwear, and then closed the drawer again
and didn't give it another thought. I guess I just
wanted to act like it wasn't there, like I hadn't
gotten myself into the fix I was in, and for a couple
of days anyway I managed it.

Tim found out I was shaving on Thursday night. Frankly,
I'm surprised he noticed for all the attention he'd
paid my body over the past few years. He had gone up to
bed early and was reading a novel when I came up and
undressed for bed. I didn't even think of it, that's
how much I had absorbed shaving, but as I was putting
my nightgown on (the same one I'd been wearing when
David had fingered me on Tuesday, though I'd washed it
since) he glanced at me and said, "Hey, that's a new
look."

For a moment I was honestly puzzled. "What is?"

He bobbed his head at my crotch and grinned. "Baldy."

"Oh!" I said with a laugh... and then it occurred to me
that maybe, just maybe, this was something he might
like. It wasn't as though Tim even turned me on any
more and I'm honestly not sure I even wanted to have
sex with him, but... well, it's good for a woman's ego
to have her husband want to fuck her, and it's pretty
hard on it when he doesn't. So, holding my robe up
above my waist, I sashayed my way over to the bedside
and asked, "What do you think?"

Tim looked at it, then looked up at me. "I like it," he
said with a smile. "It suits you. But I thought you
were against shaving down there."

"Well, I was," I nodded, reaching down and running my
fingers over my bare mound. "But I got a wild hair, so
to speak, and I decided to give it a try. Once I tried
it, I decided I liked it."

"I like it too," Tim said with a smile and then he went
back to his novel, and that was that. I went to relax
and had a dream about Brandy.

The next day I ran errands in the morning and then did
my run with Charlie early because I was going over to
my mom's for lunch. On the way back on the run I
decided to take the route past the Andermisters' place,
where all this began. I'd avoided it for the past few
days but part thought that avoidance was just silly...
and part of me wanted to see if it would happen again.
Unfortunately Nosey wasn't out and Charlie passed the
yard by without a second look. I felt vaguely
disappointed.

After my shower I went into my bedroom and pulled out
the outfit I was going to wear to see my mom: a modest
spring blouse and a pair of jeans (it was just cool
enough that I didn't want to wear shorts that day). I
opened my underwear drawer and took a sensible bra and
pair of panties and then stopped.

Slowly, cautiously, I took another look at the sexy
things my mister had made me purchase. I hadn't worn any
of them, except when I modeled the outfits for him, and
it suddenly struck me as a little absurd that all these
perfectly good clothes were just sitting there going to
waste. After all there was nothing wrong with a grown
woman wearing them... and besides, who would know? And
so I picked up a sheer, lacy black bra that felt
wonderful against the skin, and a pair of black satin
panties that had a crotch that tied closed.
Deliberately I slipped them on and looked at myself in
the mirror.

Honestly, I can't tell you I disliked what I saw. It
looked so much sexier than what I normally wore, and
that made me feel sexier too. I thought once more of
Brandy and what we'd done in the changing room the
first time I saw these articles, and I felt my pussy
give a little twinge. I thought of Petra expecting me
on the coming Tuesday and my nipples hardened inside my
bra.

Sure, I still had no intention of going through with
our "date," but I had a few not unpleasant moments
wondering what she would look like if I peeled her out
of her clothes and contemplating whether she might use
her mouth on me... or whether I'd use mine on her. It
was all a harmless fantasy, of course; I wouldn't
actually go back there and meet her.

I have to say, it was oddly thrilling to have lunch
with my mom while wearing those scanty underclothes. My
mom has always been a modest woman and she raised me to
dress modestly too, and it didn't matter if the clothes
were the ones people saw or the ones next to your skin.
If she'd have known that I was wearing a see-through
bra over hard nipples and crotchless panties over a
freshly shaven twat she'd have turned purple; if she'd
have even suspected what I did with Brandy, or Charlie,
or God forbid David, she'd have exploded.

But she didn't know, and somehow having those
scandalous secrets suddenly felt very good. I didn't
even realize I was smirking until she asked me why I
was smiling like the cat that ate the canary; for a
moment I had the terrible, wonderful thought of what
her face would look like if I asked her if she'd ever
let her pussy get licked by a dog, and that made my
smile all the bigger. Instead, of course, I just told
her how proud I was of Laurel and everything she was
doing in school. I don't know that she believed it, but
she accepted it.

I have to say at this point that both my parents are
truly wonderful people. They're very salt of the earth
types, very blue collar, just like the neighborhood I
grew up in and they still lived in. My mom is a sweety
who was raised by a conservative Christian family, and
even though she dropped the religious beliefs as soon
as she was old enough to make her own decisions, she
still believes in a certain sense of decorum and proper
behavior. She was always a pretty, petite little thing,
just an inch over five feet, and I think she can still
fit into the same Size 0 dress she wore to her senior
prom. I got my blonde hair from her.

She never once discussed sex with me or my brothers and
sister when we were growing up; in fact, we were the
only evidence that she ever thought about the subject
at all. Well, that's not quite true: when we were kids,
my sister Sue and I snooped in her closet and found a
vibrator that looked as though it had been used a fair
bit; still, in spite of the evidence in front of us,
Sue and I couldn't quite imagine our mom writhing in
sexual ecstasy, and I think we both silently resolved
never to think of the topic again.

My dad has spent his life working in the rail yards in
St. Paul and he has the scars and hard, muscular body
to prove it. He's a simple enough guy who likes a beer
after work and a football game on the weekend. He was
never demonstrative when I was growing up but he always
worked very hard to support me and my brothers and my
sister and I always knew that he would be there for me;
he didn't even yell at me when I got knocked up in my
senior year of high school.

He's in his 50s, yes, but he still has the rugged good
looks that made him the masturbatory fantasy of more
than one of my girlfriends when I was growing up, and
it's only been accentuated by his silvering hair. He's
the one I got my body from, I think, with my solid
build and my height. Where my mom was prim and proper,
dad was profane and even jovial when he'd had a few.

Anyway I had a very nice lunch with my mom and as we
ate that naughty part of my mind kept telling me about
what I'd done in the last few days, just a little
whisper in the back of my head that kept me a tiny bit
aroused. On the way home I was squirming in my seat
just a little bit when a big semi pulled up alongside
and held its position.

After a few moments I looked up and saw a kid in the
passenger seat – I'd guess he was maybe 21 or so, and
he was nothing special to look at. All I really
remember about him is that he had kind of an
embarrassing straggly teenage beard and a big smile as
he leaned out the window. I couldn't hear a word he
said, of course, because my window was rolled up;
still, I didn't need to hear to read his lips: SHOW ME
YOUR TITS!

I just laughed and waved. I mean, it's hardly a unique
compliment because he probably does that to ever woman
he passes, and pretty much every woman between the ages
of 14 and 60 gets that all the time. As they say, it's
a man's world. Anyway, I assumed he would just drive on
and that would be that... except it wasn't. The truck
stayed right alongside and the kid kept laughing and
shouting for me to show him what I had.

So I did.

That makes it sound a lot simpler and less amazing, for
me, than it was. Like I say, I've been subject to that
kind of thing plenty of times, just like any other
woman, and I've never, ever in my whole life done
anything about it except either smile or scowl (as the
mood hit) and drive on.

I was about to do the same here when something stopped
me. I wasn't sure what it was except that I was feeling
frisky and more attractive than I had, well, maybe ever
before this week. And the fact is that I didn't really
think about it because I was unbuttoning my blouse
before I even knew my hand was moving. When I did
realize it I could have stopped, but I realized that I
just didn't want to. It was like it had been with
Brandy. Suddenly I just wanted to do something that was
completely unlike me, and so I did it.

I opened my blouse, and, as the kid watched and hooted
gleefully, pulled it aside to show the left cup of my
sheer black bra. Then, feeling quite giddy with sudden
excitement and horniness, I pulled down the cup and
popped my boob out. I looked up at the kid and he was
leaning out the window, smiling like an ape and
pounding the side of the truck with both hands. I
grinned back at him, gave my hard nipple a long,
luxurious, thrilling tug, and then hit the accelerator.
The BMW left the truck far behind, and I was laughing
with wonder and disbelief as I tucked myself back in. I
felt like I was 18 again.

I got home just less than an hour before the kids did.
Laurel and David both got back at around the same time
because Laurel didn't have practice. I was happy that I
wasn't home alone with my mister; I was sure that with
Laurel in the house he'd never try anything. It was a
huge relief that I could take some time and draw a
breath and actually try to figure out all the madness
that I had been through that week. It was enough to
make my head swirl and I was glad to have the weekend,
when Laurel and Tim would be around and David wouldn't
dare try anything funny, to let my mind catch up.

Or at least, I told myself that I was glad But the
thing was, even then, I was still wearing the underwear
David had made me buy, and I was loving it as much as I
loved my shaved pussy. David hadn't powerd me to make
out with Brandy, he wasn't even there. And certainly
nobody but me had anything to do with the flashing
incident on the highway.

And as for Charlie, well, not even in my hopes could I
so much as pretend that being sexual with him didn't
answer some deep and soul-seated need inside of me, or
that I would be able to stop doing it even if David
never brought it up again. It wasn't as though I laid
all that out for myself as Laurel and David walked
through the door, but I was aware, on some level, that
my wishes for a return to the way things were was a
lie.

Of course, I strongly doubted that David would let
things return to the way they had been anyway, not when
he had as much dirt on me as he had. I didn't believe
Brandy's line about him wanting to fuck me – at least I
told myself I didn't – but I knew he was enjoying
putting me through my paces and humiliating me, and I
was pretty certain he'd want more money to keep his yap
shut.

I wouldn't have been surprised at further lewd advances
and I was honestly expecting him to grope me again, but
I didn't believe it was out of lust for me. I figured
it was just his way of being a cuckolds browniehead. But after all,
I'd gotten used to him being a cuckolds browniehead, and I could
survive a groping even if it was from my own mister.
Besides, I'd gotten a shaved pussy and some new
underwear out of the deal.

Anyway, David barely said a word to me when he and
Laurel came in, he just grunted his usual non-greeting,
grabbed the leash, and took Charlie for a walk. That
wasn't all that unusual, and Charlie always enjoyed
going out as often as anyone is willing to take him.
Laurel watched him go as she shucked her backpack and,
when the door was closed, gave an exasperated sigh. "I
know you keep telling me I'm supposed to love him
because he's my brother," she said, "but he's, like, a
complete butthead."

I could only smirk. "Yeah, he is. Just another year and
he's out of here though. We can all last another year."

"If he doesn't get arrested first," she grunted,
sitting down on the sofa next to me. "What's his
problem anyway? I mean, why doesn't he like anyone?"

I paused and chose my words carefully. "I think... I
think that your brother is a dangerous permister, Laurel.
Maybe not to us, but then... well, maybe to us too. I
think it's best if you kept as much distance from him
as you can."

Her eyebrow arched. "OK, that's ominous. Something you
want to share?"

"Nnnnnoooooo," I said, trying to sound casual and
almost, kinda, sorta succeeding. "But you know how he
is. Dad and I have tried everything to shape him up and
nothing's worked. You know the police have sniffed
around him sometimes..."

"You know I've seen him selling stuff at school,"
Laurel interrupted with a deeply disapproving frown.
"Crack, X, meth. I mean, not even just weed."

"There's nothing 'just' about marijuana," I put in.

"No I know, but he's selling hard stuff. Right in
school, I've seen him with my own eyes. He's gonna get
caught one of these days."

"Maybe. Probably." I hoped, and soon. That was a
terrible thing for a lady to think about her own mister,
but I had long since stopped believing that I could
break him of his ways. Only the hard world could do
that, and the sooner it happened the better for
everyone. Including me, of course, but especially
David. He had all the tools he needed to be a success
in almost anything he tried, but he wasn't trying
anything good. Maybe some time in jail would cure him
of that. Almost certainly not, but maybe.

"And there was a rumor going around that someone saw
him making out with Mrs. Tate."

"Mrs. Tate?" I asked, feeling surprise and unease
mingling in my stomach. "She's the physics teacher,
right?"

"Well it sounds like she was teaching him biology,"
Laurel quipped modestly, "but yes, she's the science
teacher. The blonde one who kind of looks like you if
you were like four inches shorter and a few pounds
heavier? Not like she's fat or anything, I don't mean
that."

"No, of course not," I mumred, trying not to think of
what that implied about David's desires.

"And it's not only that she's his teacher, but she's
married! And she's OLD!" Laurel said disgustedly.

I couldn't help but bristle a bit, even though I did it
with a smile. "She's not as old as me."

"Yeah but you knew George Washington when he had dark
hair," my flower deadpanned, and I punched her in the
shoulder. We both laughed. "But you know what I mean. I
mean, if she was like just out of college it would be
one thing but she's got like three kids and a husband
and she's old enough to be his lady."

I ignored that last part despite the images it put into
my mind. "Do you know he was fooling around with her?"
I asked carefully. "Because if you do..."

"No, it's one of those, 'I heard somebody saw' kinda
things. You know David doesn't get caught doing things
he shouldn't be doing. He just does them and other
people get caught."

"Well, enough about him," I said with a slightly powerd
laugh, hoping I wasn't sounding like I was avoiding the
topic. "What about you? What's new? What teacher are
you making out with?"

She stuck her tongue out at me. "Gross, my teachers are
all old women or lumpy middle aged guys with, like,
doughy skin. I don't even want to think about it.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to the party at the
Kushner's tomorrow. I can't wait to see Tony Sullivan."

I couldn't help but grin. Matt Kushner, whom Tim and I
known since high school, and his wife Sharon always
throw a big party the second Saturday in May and invite
all the old high school buddies and their families. Tim
and I love it because it gives us a chance to reconnect
with old friends, and Laurel loves it because there are
several cute boys there around her age and she's always
had a crush on them.

The biggest crush was on Tony Sullivan, who is the mister
of Pete Sullivan and his wife Marites, whom he met in
the Philippines when he was in the Navy. Tony is a
gorgeous kid with the build of a dancer (which he is),
big eyes, and skin warm and brown and lovely. He's as
sweet as the day is long, but, well, he bats from the
other side of the plate, if you follow me. "I'm sure he
can't wait to see you too."

She brightened. "You really think so?"

"Sure," I nodded, completely deadpan. "You can compare
notes on boyfriends."

"MOOO-O-O-OM!"

"What?" I asked innocently.

"Tony is not gay!"

I gave her my best incredulous stare. "Honey."

"Gah!" she uttered, plugging her ears and la-la-laing
for several seconds while I laughed at her. When she
stopped she asked, "Can I borrow some of your clothes
for tomorrow? I want to look cute no matter what you
say."

"You always look cute, but it will be lost on Tony."

"Maybe so, but I'd still like to borrow an outfit."

I gave her a knowing look. "Like a certain blue blouse
that shows a little too much cleavage for a 15 year
old?"

She grinned a little sheepishly, but I couldn't blame
her. If I'd have had tits like that at 15, I'd have
shown them off too. "Mmmmaybe," she replied. "I have a
pair of shorts that would look really cute with it."

"We'll see," I replied. "Either way, we'll have you
looking nice for Tony."

"Thanks mom."

"Who will ask to borrow your blouse."

"Now you're just being mean."

I couldn't help but grin. "Yes I am. So... what else
have you heard about what your brother is doing?" I
asked, somehow unable to stay away from the topic.
"Anything else I ought to know about?"

She shrugged and grunted, "Ugh, the jerk. He's always
going out with like six different women and they're
always at least a few years older. One of the
basketball cheerleaders, this girl named Nancy Opsahl,
word is that he got her pregnant this year and her
parents made her quit school so they could home-school
her."

"Word is?"

"Word is," Laurel said with a shrug. "I guess her
parents have been really hard on her trying to get her
to say who the man is. She won't say but she swears
up one side and down the other that it wasn't David,
even when she's not asked if it was him."

"Which means it was him."

"Probably," Laurel agreed. She frowned and asked, "Mom,
what is it about him that makes people want to lie and
cheat for him even after he's fu... um, screwed them
over?"

I ignored her near-slip up and replied, slowly, "Well
honey, some people find your brother very charming. You
know how he can be when he wants something."

"Yeah, he's like really persuasive and stuff," Laurel
nodded. "But, I learned when I was like seven not to
trust him. I mean, how many times does the guy have to
lie to you before you cut him loose?"

"I don't know."

"And now he's like totally messed Nancy Opsahl's life
up, and she's still lying for him," she went on. "And
she's not the only one. There are guys in jail for
stuff David put them up to, or who knows, stuff David
actually did. How can someone so bad make people be so
loyal to him?"

I shook my head slowly. "I guess... well, some people
just have the Devil's tongue. No matter how bad they
are they can get people to follow them. No matter what
they do to those people, those people stay loyal. I
don't know, I can't explain it either."

There was a pause with both of us lost in thought, and
then Laurel added, "He must be really good if he can
get all those older women and twist them around like he
does."

I blushed bright red as I thought of how my mister's
fingers felt in my sex. Yes, yes, he was VERY good.
Thankfully Laurel was looking down at the floor and
didn't see my flush or the way I wiggled on a pussy
that was suddenly and shamefully wet with remembrance.
"I guess he must. But we probably shouldn't." I let my
sentence trail off.

"I know!" Laurel said. "God, gross. I don't even want
to think about him doing anything with, like, anybody."

I could almost feel his fingers inside me again, the
way they had moved so s*******fully, so perfectly, how he
had awakened every nerve in my pussy and made me gasp
and moan and open myself to him. His touch had been
incredible. I had been so opposed to him touching me
that way, and he had simply overwhelmed all my
objections with those clever, strong fingers and
brought me to the edge of an orgasm I desperately had
not wanted to have. I remembered the way my body had
felt when he stroked me there, how my cunt had sucked
at his fingers when he took them out of me.

I was so aroused my panties were wet and my nipples
were making points in my blouse when Laurel, after a
few moments of hesitation, said, "Mom, can I ask you
something?"

That didn't sound good, but it at least snapped me out
of my reverie. "Of course honey, you can ask me
anything."

She looked at me, then looked down again and asked,
very quietly, "How are you and dad doing?"

Oh dear. "We're... fine," I said. "Why?"

"Oh, just... wondering."

"No, that wasn't a just wondering question," I replied,
reaching over and taking her hand. "What's on your
mind, honey?"

"I just, well, you know, I... I've heard you talking to
Aunt Sue and it kind of sounds like things aren't so
great."

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. It's not that I don't complain
about Tom to people I confide in, but I always try to
do it when I'm alone with them out of the house to keep
prying ears from overhearing. The only exception, ever,
was sometimes with my sister Sue. Sue and I have always
been best friends and sometimes where we get going on
the phone I suddenly find that I've been complaining
about my husband (or other things) for half an hour
without knowing who in the house might have heard what.

It was mostly just stuff that any married lady would
complain about, no more and no less, but I could
understand how that might sound worse than it was to a
teenage girl. "No honey, there's nothing wrong," I
assured her, giving her hand a squeeze. "It's just
there will always be problems when two people are
married. A good marriage is about working through the
problems when they come up."

Her worried eyes met mine. "And you and dad have a good
marriage?"

"I think we do, sure."

"I was just wondering... you know... if there were any
problems."

"Well of course there are, but like I say, any two
people will have problems."

"No, I mean like... problem problems." Her voice was
quavering a bit and her eyes were shining. This was
obviously terribly hard for her to talk about. "Like,
problems you aren't solving."

"Well... what do you mean? Obviously something's on
your mind."

"Yeah," she said reluctantly, "I mean I overheard you
and Aunt Sue talking about some stuff. Like... sex
stuff. With you and dad."

My stomach dropped but I tried to keep it from showing
on my face. Laurel was scared and I had to seem
confident for her even if I was petrified by this
conversation. "Yes?"

She nodded. "And how, like, he doesn't. Like, at all."

And now we had come to it. I could only admit it and
try to reassure her. "No, he doesn't much. He hasn't
for a long time. But it's not the end of the world.
There are a lot more parts to a marriage than that."

She nodded and did not look reassured. "You were
telling Aunt Sue how it was driving you crazy, how you
wanted it and he never did."

"It's... frustrating, yes, but it's nothing for you to
worry about," I told her calmly and gently. "I've dealt
with it for a long time and I can keep dealing with it.
It's not anything I can't handle."

"It was just... you said to Aunt Sue... that you
sometimes looked at other guys," she whispered, eyes
downcast, and suddenly I remembered the conversation
she had overheard. I had knocked back half a bottle of
wine after dinner about four months ago, something I
almost never do, and I had watched "An Officer and a
Gentleman" and I was so horny that I could feel my
fingernails wanting to cum. Most other women could just
have gone to their husbands and demanded a good, hard
fuck followed by a lengthy wordless cuddle and relax,
but not me. Oh, I could have gotten the cuddle from Tim
but without the fuck there wasn't going to be relax.
And so I called Sue and vented. I thought I was alone
downstairs, but I guess I was wrong.

"Well... sure, I look sometimes," I admitted, and then
I lied: "But that's all I do is look, honey. Sometimes
you can't help that when... when you're frustrated." I
wasn't going to tell her about my brief affair, and I
certainly wasn't going to tell her about this week!
"You look and then you think and then you don't act on
it."

For some reamister, though, my words weren't exactly
reassuring her, and she was openly fighting back the
tears now. "I just... I don't want you and dad to split
up. Most of my friends' parents are split up and I
just... I want you and dad to stay together."

"We will," I told her, and once more squeezed her hand.
"We're not going anywhere, either one of us."

She wiped away a tear with her free hand and looked at
a spot on the ceiling somewhere behind me. "I was just
wondering... you know... mom, are you... are you having
an affair?"

I felt an icy shiver flow through me and I tried to
tamp it down and not think of David's fingers, or
Brandy's kiss, or Charlie's tongue. "No honey, I'm
not," I told her, my voice curiously calm. "Why do you
ask that?"

"I was... last night... I was wondering... you know,
about that blouse," she told me hesitantly, "and about
a bra that would, like... look good with it."

Oh no. "You were?"

She nodded. "And so I went into your drawer, to look
for the bra..."

"And you found my new underwear," I finished for her,
and she nodded miserably. "Well, I wish you'd have
asked before you went into my dresser, but I can
understand why that would rattle you."

She raised her eyes to meet mine. "If you aren't having
an affair and you and dad don't... do anything, why do
you have that stuff?"

It was an excellent question for which I had no answer
– at least no answer I could even think about giving my
flower. So I did the only thing I could do: I lied.
"When you get to my age," I told her, going slowly so I
could keep my mind ahead of my own falsehood, "you want
to feel sexy. It's a lot easier when you're 20 or 25
than when you're 35. And it's a lot easier when there's
someone telling you that you're desirable and acting
like you're desirable, but I don't have that. I wish I
did, but I don't. And so I bought some things that make
me feel sexy when I wear them."

Laurel nodded, but still looked perplexed. "But...
like... why?" she asked. "If you feel sexy and don't
have."

"An outlet?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I have an outlet," I said. "Remember when we had
the talk about masturbation and how it was OK?"

"Oh oh oh, oh wow, that's enough," Laurel said hastily,
holding up both hands in surrender. "I guess I don't
need to know specifics. It's just you... you wear that
stuff and it... gets you... and then you..." I nodded
and she looked baffled. "So... wait, that's all it
takes? You just wear a sheer bra and you... you know...
have to... you know..."

On second thought, that didn't seem so probable. In
fact, it sounded downright stupid now that I considered
it. I have never been a very good liar, and it tripped
me up again. "Well," I said, trying to stay calm as I
scramred for another excuse that wouldn't make the
first one seem like a lie, "that's not all I do, I
guess. I mean..."

She waited and then finally asked, "What?"

I didn't have a good answer so I said the first thing
that came into my mind: "Sometimes I show them." As
soon as I said it, I cringed inside. What the hell? I
told my flower I was a flasher? What was I THINKING?
She was going to think I was a pervert and –

"Wow," she said, a slow and mischievous smile crossing
her face. "Really? What do you do?"

"Well I don't think I ought to..."

"Oh no, you're not backing out now!" she cut me off
with an eager laugh. "Come on, this is too cool. You
have to tell me what you do!"

I was a bit taken aback by that reaction and it showed.
I stammered for a bit and then said, "Well sometimes I
just show it, that's all. Sometimes I... show it..."

Now it was Laurel's turn to squeeze my hand. "Come on,
tell me one thing you did!"

I shifted and wondered how the hell I had gotten into
this situation, and how the topic could be changed.
Unfortunately I couldn't see any way to redirect the
conversation because Laurel was nothing if not stubborn
and she'd keep pestering me even if I told her to stop.
So, the truth this time. Even though we were home alone
I found myself whispering as I said, "Today on the
highway I flashed a trucker."

"You didn't!" Laurel laughed, obviously delighted.

"I did," I nodded, trying to smile even though the
conversation had suddenly taken a weird and
uncomfortable turn. "But you don't want to hear about
that."

"Oh my God, yes I do!" Laurel countered, tugging my
hand. "Tell me! Geez!"

"There was a trucker who wanted me to, well you
know..."

"Yeah, I get that all the time," Laurel chuckled, and I
could see why, with her figure. "But I just ignore
them."

"Well I do too, usually!" I replied, a bit defensively.
It was weird, being interrogated by my own flower
about showing my boob in public! "This time, though, I
don't know why, I just... did it."

"What did you do exactly?" she demanded, and I even
though she was smiling I noticed an intensity in her
eyes that I found a little puzzling, mostly because it
was so out of place. Had I seen it in David's eyes I
wouldn't have been surprised, but I had never seen that
sort of... well, excitement I guess, from my flower.
"You have to tell me. You can't tell me part of this
and not tell me the rest!"

I sighed and shrugged. "I just unbuttoned my blouse and
showed them my bra."

"And?"

God she was a perceptive little cuckolds brownie sometimes. "And my
breast. I pulled the bra cup down."

I was NOT going to tell her I had played with my
nipple.

Laurel seemed thrilled with what I had told her. She
asked me again what I had done and I told her again,
this time finishing with a stern, "But just because I
did it doesn't make it right. It's dangerous and
stupid, and if I hear about you doing anything like
that I'll dress you in a burlap sack until you're 18,
do you hear me?"

"Oh, I won't do that, that's not my style," Laurel
laughed easily, then added with a hint of naughtiness,
"but I love it that you do."

I blushed this time, a real and genuine blush that
pinkened my face. "Why?" I asked. "You don't think I'm
disgusting?"

"God no, I think it's so hot!" Laurel laughed, taking
me by the shoulders and shaking me a bit for emphasis.
"I'd love to see you do it sometime, to see people's
reactions!"

"Oh no, that's going a little too far!" I told her. "I
can't even believe I told you, and there's no way I'm
giving a demonstration!"

She nodded, but the mischievous look remained. That
should have been a tip-off for what happened later, but
I was so relieved when she changed the subject a second
later that I willed myself not to think about it
anymore. We started talking about her school clothes
and her perennial campaign for nicer shoes, and then we
were off on a very pleasant conversation that moved, as
conversations do, from friends to distant relations to
food to where we were going for this summer's vacation
to a dozen more topics.

We were still talking an hour later when Tim walked
through the door and I realized I'd completely
forgotten to start dinner. Laurel was off the couch in
a flash giving her usual affectionate hug, and he still
had his arm around her waist when he came over and gave
me my usual kiss on the cheek. Heaven forbid I got some
tongue from him occasionally. "How was your day?" he
asked, and Laurel shot me a knowing look as I said, "Oh
fine, but I got so carried away talking with our little
chatterbox here that I spaced making anything to eat."

"Noooooo!" Tim wailed in mock distress, then laughed.
"Well, I guess we'll have to get Chinese then. I'd *******
for some shrimp lo mein."

"Who would you *******, daddy?" Laurel asked.

"My boss, to start with," was his cheerful reply.
"We'll see who I can get to after that."

"Tough day?" I asked him, taking him by his hand and
pulling him onto the sofa next to me as Laurel sat on
his other side and crossed her legs under her.

"I guess so," he replied, taking my hand with his left
hand and Laurel's with his right. He's always been a
touchy, huggy sort. I just wished he was the fucking me
senseless sort too. "We got into it today about
Clarksfield."

I nodded. Clarksfield was a major new office and retail
space slated to be going up in Bloomington, not all
that far from the Mall of America. It was Tim's pitch
that had convinced Clarksfield and Co., the consortium
who were building the development, of the firm's
ability to design and build the thing. But ever since
then, Tim's boss Frank Grabowski had been interfering
with Tim's work on it. Tim's an easygoing guy as a
rule, but if you mess with him the way Frank was
messing with him, well, you got his red up. Once his
red was up, he didn't back down. "Is he still
threatening to take you off the project?"

"Oh, he hauls out that clown hammer whenever I draw the
line on one of his stupid ideas," Tim replied
dismissively. "But we both know that Clarksfield only
trusts me to run the thing. He's full of hot air and on
this one and I don't let him blow it on me."

"Just you be careful," I warned him solemnly. "In times
like these you don't want to be looking for a job, not
when we have two kids and a mortgage."

"If things get tight we can always tap into David's
college fund," Laurel piped in brightly. "I doubt he'll
be using it."

Tim frowned – David was a terrible disappointment to
him, even if he'd stopped complaining about it years
ago – but he also nodded. "True enough, that. There's,
what, a hundred fifty thousand in there. That could
keep us going for a while."

"Just Don't Get Fired!" I told him, capitalizing each
word with my tone and punctuating it with squeezes of
his hand. "We can't afford it, now or ever."

That earned me another kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry,
sugar. Frank won't do anything. We've been sparring
like this since I got into the company and if he was
going to drop the axe on me he'd have done it a long
time ago, not when 750 million bucks is on the line.
It'll be fine."

"It had better be, or I'll have to sell plasma," I
quipped. Behind Tim, Laurel grinned and mouthed "BECOME
A STRIPPER," and I blushed like a schoolgirl.

David brought Charlie back a few minutes before Tim got
back from the Chinese place. My mister was grinning
wickedly and I feared the worst, but I didn't know what
he could have gotten up to with the dog keeping him
company. Charlie seemed pooped and went and laid down
on his bed as David tossed a much-chewed Frisbee into
the closet. "What's for dinner?"

"Dad's bringing back some Celestial Garden," I replied
as I laid out the plates. "Did you and Charlie have a
good time in the park?"

"A great time," he answered, pulling a Diet Coke out of
the fridge. "Where's the brat?"

"Your sister is upstairs," I answered. "She's doing a
little homework before dinner."

He leaned up against the kitchen counter and leered at
me. "So whatcha got on underneath there?" he asked.

"None of your damned business," I snapped, turning away
and making to leave the room. He caught be by the arm,
though, and gave me a squeeze that was just this side
of painful. "Don't put up a fight on this," he told me,
his smile still on his face and his eyes shining with
joy but his voice threatening and low. "I've already
had my fingers up inside that sweet, tight, juicy
little pussy of yours. Is this really where you want to
try to draw a line?"

"You're a cuckolds brownie," I told him venomously.

His smile didn't waver. "Show me what you have on."

My scowl was vulgar but he was right and I knew it. I
listened a bit and heard Laurel's studying music faint
through the floor, and I didn't hear Tim coming home.
Fine, he could have what he wanted. I unbuttoned my
blouse, quickly and as unsexily as I could, and held it
open so he could see my nipples through my sheer black
bra. A second later I had my jeans unbuttoned and
pulled down over my hips.

"Oh, crotchless, I like that," my mister nodded
approvingly. "Turn around and show me your ass." All I
wanted to do was get this over with so I didn't put up
any more fuss, I just turned and stood with my back to
him. All that was on the back of these panties was a
little triangle of cloth above my ass and one silky
strap over each cheek so it showed my butt pretty well,
but at this point that was the least of my concerns.

I wanted to get his sick little voyeur show over and
done with before either Tim or Laurel saw it. I didn't
even flinch when he put his hand on my ass and squeezed
my cheek. I did flinch, though, a second later when
that hand moved down between my legs and fingers began
to trace my slit. "You fucking pig!" I snapped, and
tried to storm away as best I could with my jeans
around my thighs.

And then my mister grabbed me by the upper arm and slammed
me against the fridge. It wasn't hard enough to knock
the breath out of my body but I was so shocked that I
was immobilized as he pressed his hard young body to
mine and slipped his other hand down my front and
started to open the crotch of my panties. "I say when
we're done, mom," he told me, his voice a whispered
threat.

"Not you, not anybody else but me. If I want to see
your underwear or your body, you show it to me." His
deft fingers slipped inside my panties and touched my
cleft, lightly and teasingly stroking up and down. "And
when I want to touch you... I touch you."

I hated him for it, and for many other things, but he
knew how to touch me. Good Lord, he knew how to touch
me. I closed my eyes as the first ripples of pleasure
started coursing through my body. I didn't want him to
see what he was doing to me echoed back in my
reactions. "You'd better stop," I whispered. "Your
sister is just upstairs and your man will be back
any minute."

Two fingertips, one either side of my clit hood, began
to rock and put pressure on the little bud inside, and
my clit began to react, to grow and throb and pulse and
send out the most sinful and delicious sensations all
through me... but most especially into my pussy. I
didn't want to get wet, to have my body betray me in
that way, but I knew from the first I was going to lose
that fight. He was too much for me.

"That would be tragic," David told me, whispering into
my ear as he nibred the lobe. "To have dad or Laurel
see me fingering your sweet little cunt... and to see
you loving it."

I moaned as he rocked my clit between his fingers. I
didn't want to, but I couldn't help it. "I don't love
it," I lied. "I hate it and I hate you!"

"Of course you do," he chuckled, nipping his way down
along my jaw toward my lips. "You hated it with Brandy
too, didn't you?"

"You're such a little cuckolds brownie," I told him venomously as
his mouth covered mine, but after that I couldn't talk
with a mouth full of his tongue. I didn't kiss him
back, not yet, because I had that much self-respect and
control at the moment, but I could feel my restraint
slipping with every motion of his hand on my sex or his
tongue in my mouth. I was praying silently that Tim
would get back soon and scare my mister off... but even as
I was praying my legs were shifting a bit further apart
to give him easier access. I'm not proud of myself, but
I couldn't stop them... and with the way he was making
me feel, I can't say for sure that I would have stopped
them if I could.

All I know is that my mister took my movement as the
invitation it was and adjusted his hand so his thumb
was on my cilt and two wonderful, amazing, s*******ed
fingers were pumping my cunt. I'm not sure who I hated
more at that moment, him for making me feel this way or
me for loving it so much. My gasps weren't fully
muffled by his mouth and they were obvious enough, and
so was the fact that I was now leaning with most of my
weight against the fridge so I wouldn't lose the
strength of my knees and drop to the floor.

David must have realized that I wasn't going anywhere
because after a moment he took his hand off my arm and
moved it to my tits, pulling down the cups of my bra to
bare my nipples to his touch. I could have run then –
there was nothing physically preventing it – but
honestly, I never even considered it. I was caught and
we both knew it.

The sensations were wonderful. In fact, they were
breathtaking. I had always loved to be touched by my
boyfriends before I married Tim, but when Tim's
interest in me died I sort of had to let that part of
me die too, or rather atrophy. Needing to be touched
and having no one to do it would drive anyone insane;
or, I guess, having a husband who wasn't willing to do
it would, at the very least, shatter your self-esteem.
But the part of me that craved contact and sex and
intimacy never really died.

It was always there, under the surface – and not too
far under the surface. Charlie had woken that part of
me up again with his tongue, and now that it was awake
I was finding it hard to control it. So when my mister, my
own mister, put his fingers inside me and ground the heel
of his hand into my clit, my body caught fire and I had
no means to put it out.

His fingers in my sex and on my nipples, his tongue in
my mouth kissing me so masterfully and possessively,
the way I'd always longed to be kissed, his hard young
body against me and his hard young cock stretching his
pants... I didn't have a defense that could stand up to
that. He was giving me what I'd needed for so long that
I was like a desert coming to bloom with the spring
rains. How could I hold myself back?

And so, after several long, horrible, delicious minutes
of being kissed and touched, I felt my tongue moving
against David's. When I realized that I was kissing him
back I felt a jolt in my stomach, a surge of something
that might have been sickness, and I knew I ought to
stop because it was a sign that I was giving in to him
and I really, really needed not to give in to him
then... but I did give in to him, and I didn't stop
kissing him. In fact, I kissed him harder, sucked his
tongue, pressed my lips into his so hard they hurt, so
hard that our breath was one breath and our heat was
one heat.

Before I knew it my tongue was in his mouth and he was
sucking it as I had done his, and there was no way I
could deny my reaction now, no way to disown my body's
own urges. He wasn't kissing me any longer – I was
kissing him, with my flower and his sister right
upstairs and my husband and his man due to come back
at any moment. I was kissing him and I was loving it
the same as I'd loved it with Brandy, or even more
because of how filthy it made me feel inside. The kiss
wasn't as good as Charlie's – nothing is as good as
Charlie – but at that moment I wanted it not to end,
ever.

It was then that I realized my hips were moving and I
was grinding my pussy on my mister's hand. I have no idea
when I'd started it, but once I realized it I knew it
felt too good to stop. I was going to cum, and David
was going to make me cum, and that was all there was to
it, and so I pushed myself onto his fingers, fucking
back against him, making my body shake and my pussy
quiver with every thrust of those perfect digits. I
arched my back into his other hand, pushing my tits
into his touch, and my moans were so frequent and so
passionate into his mouth that it sounded like one
continuous roar of impending release.

When I look back on it, I think this is the moment
where I really, truly fell. Up until now I hadn't
actually sought anything out, not even the amazing
lickings from Charlie. I won't claim that I had
struggled very hard against Brandy, I admit, but I'd
definitely let her take the lead and when I followed it
was only when I was so overwhelmed that I wasn't
thinking straight. But I had done my best not to give
in when my mister touched me the first time, and I
certainly hadn't even so much as wiggled my hips or
flicked his tongue with mine when it was in my mouth
that first time. Up until now, I could claim the role
of the helpless victim. But as my mister kissed and
fingered me, I damned myself.

I touched him back.

I felt his cock pressing against my stomach. He wanted
me to feel it, of course. He pushed it against me, a
rock-hard thing in his pants, unavoidable and
inescapable. At that point a memory flashed across my
mind like a shooting star, of when he was born and I
saw him for the first time, naked and mine. He was so
tiny then... tiny everywhere. He wasn't tiny now and he
wanted me to know it. He wanted me to feel his erection
and know that he had gotten that way from me, from
touching me, from taking me against my will with my
back to the refrigerator in my own damned kitchen,
where we might be caught at any moment. He wanted me to
know that he was thinking of putting that hard cock
into me, and at that moment I did know it, beyond a
shadow of a doubt.

I knew he would certainly fuck me if I let him, and he
would almost certainly fuck me anyway if I didn't let
him. It was a measure of how far gone I was, of how
excited and throbbing my whole body had become at his
touch, that I didn't find the prospect repulsive, and
my pussy even spasmed a bit around his fingers as I
thought of that hot, hard young cock battering me.

I've always loved cock. I love the way they look, that
arm of flesh that goes from limp to erect, from futile
and slightly silly-looking to potent and powerful and
just a little threatening. I've always loved the way
they felt in the hand, hard but soft, like an iron rod
sheathed in velvet, pulsing and alive and hot, with a
lover's heartbeat in my palm.

I've always loved the way they tasted... well, not so
much the cock itself, because with a circumcised cock
you might as well be licking his wrist (uncut cocks are
different, of course, something I know well now but
didn't have any idea of them) but the way the salty,
tangy drop if precum sends flavor across the tongue and
the way that sperm feels and tastes in my mouth when I
do a wonderful job of sucking it out of heavy,
dangling, cum-filled balls. I've loved every cock I've
ever seen hard, whether I touched it or not.

I've loved the small ones and the big ones, the curved
and the straight, the pale and the dark. I love the
thick – I'm not a size queen when it comes to length
but I am when it comes to thickness; thick is
definitely better than thin; there's nothing in the
world like being stretched around a fat cock, like
having your nerves suddenly awakened and made to dance
by the presence of a hard, thrusting penis.

I always loved Tim's cock (when he would actually get
it hard for me) but if I had a complaint about it, it
was just a bit too thin for my liking. And so when I
felt my mister's hardness against me and felt it twitch in
his jeans, I wondered if it was like his man's, if
it was straight and long with a thick helmet that would
turn purple right before he came. I wondered if my
mister's balls were heavy with seed or whether he had
spent it in some slut earlier that day. I wondered, God
help me, if my mister was as good with that cock as he was
with his fingers, and with his kisses. I wondered...
and I touched.

I sometimes tell myself that I didn't mean to touch him
but I know that isn't true. In that moment, as hot as I
was and with all those thoughts racing through my head,
I meant to touch him. I wanted to touch him so badly I
could feel my fingertips itching with the prospect. And
when my mind told my hand to move, I felt no hesitation
whatsoever: up it went, between our bodies, between his
legs, against warm denim.

I touched his balls first and felt them against my
hand, full and heavy and big, and I groaned into his
mouth again; I've always loved big balls. I squeezed
them gently and got a moan in return, and I loved the
way it sounded, so deep and masculine, so pure. And
then I moved up and took the tab of his fly between my
fingers and, with a single motion, had it down. He
shifted just a bit to give me easier access and he
sucked my tongue frantically, like he had sucked my
nipples when I nursed him as a baby. As sick as it is,
at that moment that comparimister thrilled me beyond
words. I put my hand inside and found that my mister wore
no underwear. Flesh of me on flesh of my flesh, hard,
pulsing, my heat joining with his.

I knew it was forbidden. I knew it was wicked and
wrong. I was lost in an erotic fugue, yes, but I wasn't
so far gone that I didn't know that I had just crossed
the line from being a victim of ********** attentions
to a perpetrator of them. Furthermore, I wasn't so far
gone that I didn't know how stupid it was to be doing
this with my blackmailing sociopath of a mister, because
he would use this against me as certainly as the sun
would rise tomorrow. I knew all of that. At that
moment, though, I didn't care.

I wrapped my fingers around his shaft and felt the
veins, thick and throbbing. Thick... thick. My god,
thick! In length he seemed about like his man,
perhaps seven inches or a touch more, but his was so
different from Tim's cock! It felt hard as iron in my
hand but the skin was as soft as a baby's, and as my
fingers curled around it I gave a startled and, yes,
delighted gasp at the sheer girth of it.

My fingers barely met on the other side of it! It felt
as thick as my wrist, and I shuddered at the thought of
what a cock like this could do to me if it were between
the legs of a man who knew how to use it. I didn't yet
know if my mister was that man, but I knew that my baby
boy had the cock of my dreams. Slowly, luxuriously, I
began to stroke it.

He pulled his lips from mine long enough to whisper,
"That's it bitch, stroke my cock. You love it do—" but
that was as far as he got because my hungry mouth
chased his and put him right back into that deep and
lustful kiss, lip on lip and tongue on tongue. I did
what I was told and stroked it, up and down its length,
up and down, again and again, pulling the skin up over
the crest and letting it come back again, pumping him
in my hand. He responded exactly the way I wanted him
to, by redoubling his fierce frigging and setting my
cunt on fire. I was going to cum!

I heard the familiar sound of Tim's car pulling up
outside and the garage door opening. My heart very
nearly stopped. I lurched back, or I tried to, jerking
my hand from his pants and ending the kiss with a wide-
eyed look of shock. Suddenly the erotic, thoughtless
place of pure sensation and lust where David had taken
me was simply gone and I was me again, the conservative
little Angela who was once more instantly horrified at
what he was doing to me, and what I had done to him. I
put both hands on his chest and tried to push him back,
at least enough so that I could flee, as I gasped,
"Shit! Your man's here! Let me go!"

His grin was pure evil as he sank two fingers in my sex
all the way to the last knuckle and wiggled them. "No,"
was all he said.

"Fuck, you little cuckolds brownie!" I swore, trying to push and
squirm past him. He was pushing my body with his again
and once more had me by the arm to deny my movements.
"Let me go! Your man is home!"

"So?" he chuckled darkly, pumping my wet, squishy, and
now spasming-with-terror pussy with his hand.

"SO?" I gasped. "He'll catch us!"

"Let him." He sounded completely unconcerned, a fact
which sent shivers down my spine. I knew at that moment
that he would be perfectly content to let us be caught
in flagrante delicto by Tim and that if I was going to
get out of this I had to do it myself. And so I did.
I'm not sure how, but I suppose stark fear gave me the
strength to shove him a step back. Or maybe he had been
cruelly teasing me about not minding being caught and
let himself be pushed, I don't know. When he went his
fingers went with him and I bolted like a fawn, pulling
up my jeans as I raced to the bathroom. I had another
scare on the way as I heard Laurel's feet thundering
down the stairs, but I made it just in time, slamming
the door behind me, locking it, and putting my back to
it firmly.

I cried a bit. Mostly it was sheer dismay at how I had
allowed my mister to carry me away. Like it had been
before, once the erotic stimulus was gone I was
suddenly rational again, and I immediately appreciated
the fix I had gotten myself into. I didn't want to
leave the bathroom. I thought I would die of shame if I
did, if I had to look into the grinning, wicked mask of
my firstborn and have both of us remember what had just
transpired between us.

I looked at my hand, the one that had been wrapped
around his cock, with dismay – as though my hand was
the culprit – and wondered how the living hell I could
have been so weak and so stupid to put it into his
jeans. I had stroked my mister's cock! And furthermore, I
had done it because I wanted to do it, and I had loved
doing it as I did it! I was out of my mind! My hand
felt filthy, and suddenly I was washing it in hot
water, as hot as I could tolerate. A moment later I
ripped off my jeans and the offending, still untied
crotchless panties and was washing my pussy – cold
water this time, thank you very much – as I tried to
rinse away the remembrance of what had just happened. I
washed and I washed –

And I froze when there was a knock on the door. "Mom?"
came Laurel's voice. "You OK?"

"Ummm... yes," I replied, clutching at the sink with
both hands. "Just feeling a little woozy all of a
sudden."

"Uh oh," she replied, sounding concerned. "You getting
sick?"

"No no, I'm fine, just a bit lightheaded."

"OK. Well come on out. Between dad and jerkface I can't
guarantee you're going to get an egg roll unless you
hurry."

"Be there in a bit." And I was, though I made a stop in
my bedroom and quickly put on the most sensible pair of
bikini panties I owned. I had to do that much just to
restore some sense of self control. As I came to the
table my husband and youngren were gathered around it
and the white food containers were in the middle.
Charlie was on the floor at Laurel's feet, watching
avidly as she ate (the dog definitely knows where his
interests lie, since Laurel has always been the most
likely to sneak him people food).

I honestly expected some sort of taunt from David, even
if it was just a leer or a wink or some other nonverbal
cue, but all he did was glance up at me when I walked
in and then returned his attention to his plate again
like I wasn't even worth his notice. I felt relieved,
yes, but I also couldn't help but feel a bit
irrationally insulted. Was I that unimportant to him?
Was what we had just done so trivial? I took my chair.

"Saved you an egg roll, mom," Laurel said as she passed
me the bag. I thanked her and took the bag, then began
loading my plate with bits of this and that. There was
the shrimp lo mein Tim loved so much, plus white and
veggie fried rice, tofu with vegetables, Mongolian
beef, cream cheese wontons and sweet and sour pork. A
little bit of each thing made a meal.

"I'm looking forward to the party tomorrow," Tim said
as we ate. "I always love getting together with the old
crew. I just wish we did it more often."

"Me too," Laurel put in as she shot me a significant
look, and we both grinned. "I love seeing those
people."

"Especially the little faggot?" David asked cheerfully,
and Laurel rounded on him with a sneer, shouting, "Tony
is not gay!"

"We do not use derogatory language in this house, and
that means you," Tim said, looking stonily at David.

"My bad," David replied cheerfully, reaching for some
more sweet and sour. "That was a dick thing to say. I
don't even care which way somebody goes, I was just
saying it to get a rise out of the midget."

Laurel rolled her eyes and returned to her food.

Tim nodded, the moment hanging uncomfortably, and then
added, "But Tony is gay. Not that there's anything
wrong with that."

"DA-A-A-ADDY!" Laurel wailed, and the rest of us
couldn't help but laugh. Laurel picked up a piece of
rice off her plate and threw it playfully at Tim, and
when it hit the floor Charlie was on it in a flash.
Everyone knew better than to get between him and food
that was on the ground.

Still chuckling, Tim looked down the table at David and
asked, "Are you going to the party?"

"Nah," he replied with a shake of his head. Of course
he wasn't. As much as Laurel loved the annual get
together, David disliked it. Even when he was little it
had been a challenge to get him to go, and as soon as
he was old enough to be a big pain in the neck about
it, we stopped making him attend. It had been three or
four years since he had been there and I didn't expect
he would ever go again. In a way, I reflected, that was
a good thing – doing something with my husband and
flower, when David wasn't around, was just the thing
to make me feel like I was in control a little more. I
glanced over at him just as he looked up at me and
asked me, "How are you feeling, mom?"

I froze a second, then continued eating as casually as
I could. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, you ran out of here to splash some water on your
face," he replied smoothly. "You said you were feeling
a little flushed."

"Oh, I'm fine," I told him, still staring at my plate.
"I think I just needed to get some food."

"This is good food, too," Tim said. "We haven't eaten
from Celestial Garden in a long time. That funny old
lady is still there." In an instant, all four of us
said, in a thick and atrocious Chinese accent, "How you
rike da spicy?" and laughed heartily. A few years back
we used to go to that restaurant pretty often, and
there was an old woman – the owner's grandlady, we
figured, because she was so wrinkly that Tim always
said she looked like a shrunken apple head, a reference
that missed the kids completely. – who used to come
around to every table, smile hugely, and ask, "How you
like the spices?" It became a family inside joke, one
certain to get a laugh no matter when or in what
circumstances it was used. It felt good to laugh
together as a group again, something we hadn't done
much of recently.

After a moment, Tim asked, "So, David, how's school
going?"

"School's school," he replied with a shrug. "Same BS,
different day."

Tim frowned and shot me a look; I just raised an
eyebrow and kept eating. This fight wasn't one I wanted
to have, particularly not now. Tim, though, was not to
be dissuaded. "Well, how are your grades?"

"Eh, probably Bs and Cs."

"You could get As easily enough if you applied
yourself," Tim pressed, though gently. "You've got the
brains for it."

"Yeah I know," David said, shrugging again. "I just
don't think school's for me. You know?"

"No I don,t know," Tim answered just a little sharply.
"The world doesn't owe you a living and it won't give
you one unless you earn it. You're old enough to know
that by now. How are you going to earn a living without
a college degree?"

David's grin was both knowing and dismissive. "There
are always ways to make money, you know. You just need
to have the energy."

"What ways are we talking about here?" Tim asked, his
voice rising a bit. "Because the ways you're showing so
far aren't going to get you anywhere but..."

"Tim," I cut him off with a soft word and a pleading
look. "Please, not now. OK?"

Tim bit back his words and nodded, lapsing into a
disgruntled silence. I glanced at Laurel and she was
looking positively smug about seeing her brother
getting smacked down, however incompletely. With a
cheerful voice she said, "I'm getting straight As.
Again."

"Oh boy, straight As," David echoed mockingly, his
voice sing-mistergy. "The Magical Princess is getting
straight As again this semester. Let's build her a
shrine!"

Laurel snorted. "And where's your shrine, have boy?"

"Don't you dare make fun of your sister for being a
good student!" Tim nearly yelled. "She's going to make
something of herself! And what are you going to do?"

David opened his mouth to reply but I cut him off with
a loud, "Can we PLEASE just eat a meal in peace?" The
other three bit their tongues and fell quiet, though I
heard Laurel mutter, "It's always peaceful when he's
not around." It was quiet enough – just barely – that I
could ignore it, and so I did.

After a couple of minutes, Laurel ventured, "I think
the weather's going to be nice tomorrow for the party."

"I hope so," I said quickly, glad for the pleasant
conversation. "It's always so much more fun when we can
go outside."

"I think I'm getting too old for the pickup basketball
game, though," Tim frowned. "When it was all us old
farts at least we were all on the same level, but now
that the kids are getting old enough to join in, it's
like I'm playing with my feet in cement."

Laurel laughed. "Oh God, remember last year? Judy
Rourke just schooled you!"

"Don't remind me!" Tim said, making a sour face and
laughing with her. "It was bad enough getting scored on
at will by a 16 year old, but to have it be a girl? I'm
not sure I could take the offense again!"

"Well don't feel too bad, she already has a few
colleges sniffing around her," I chuckled. "I was
talking to Tiffany" (Tiffany Rourke was Judy's mom)
"and she was saying that they've already been visited
by recruiters for the U of M, Wisconsin, Michigan... a
couple of others. Tennessee, maybe?"

"Wow, Tennessee?" Tim asked, truly impressed. "OK, now
I don't feel so bad. If the Lady Vols want her then
she's legitimately out of my league."

There was a couple more minutes of amiable talk before
I spotted Laurel accidentally on purpose dropping a big
chunk of sweet and sour on the floor, and I heard
Charlie scrambling for it. "Honey, don't give the dog
people food, you'll spoil him!" I told her.

"I just dropped it accidentally," she replied, eyes
wide like a fawn's and just as innocent.

"Lies make baby Jesus cry," David said with a smile,
and Laurel didn't miss a beat: "In that case the Virgin
Mary must hate you. You keep Jesus up screaming his
head off all night."

I glanced at David to warn him off of a fighting
answer, but my words froze in my mouth. As soon as he
saw me looking at him, he popped the middle finger of
his right hand into his mouth and began to suck it,
looking me squarely in the eye. I instantly realized
that it was one of the fingers he had just had inside
of me, and my throat clenched tight. "Mmmm, this sweet
and sour is really good," he said, savoring my flavor.

"Gah, gross, use a napkin!" Laurel said, dismayed.

"I don't want to miss a drop," was David's playful
reply, taking that finger from his mouth and licking
the other that he had used in me. "This is delicious.
I'm going to be getting this a lot from now on!"

"Well just... use a napkin," Laurel frowned. "Nobody
wants to see that."

I held my eyes to my plate for the rest of the meal and
didn't say a word. I hoped that would be the end of the
taunting from my mister for the night, but I was wrong. As
the dinner wound down the other three conversed more or
less nicely, to the point that even Laurel and David
got along. It wasn't as though they always fought,
after all, but they didn't care much for each other and
David liked to push Laurel's buttons; Laurel, on the
other hand, has never been one to stand idly by while
her buttons got pushed, and she would strike back when
he did it.

But if David could keep his sociopathy in check, then
they got along well enough, and he did for the rest of
the meal. They talked about neighbors, sports, and the
weather. David told an amusing story about how, when he
had been playing Frisbee with Charlie in the park that
afternoon, he had throw the disc and Charlie has,
uncharacteristically, missed it; the Frisbee had sailed
on and hit a jogger in the side of the head; the jogger
had turned out to be an off-duty cop who didn't enjoy
getting a dog-slobber-covered Frisbee upside the
noggin, and David had had a few tense moments
explaining that it had been an accident. I was too
rattled by David's promise to be getting a lot more of
me from now on to do anything more than nod.

As we were cleaning up, David suddenly turned to Tim
and asked, "Dad, have you ever had brandy?"

"Yes I have and you're too young to be takeing it,"
was Tim's prompt reply, even though everyone knew that
such admonitions would have no effect on our mister.
"Why?"

"Just wondering," he said, and then he turned to me
with a large, innocent smile. "What about you, mom?
Have you ever had Brandy?" I could hear the
capitalization in his tone, even if nobody else could,
and I blushed.

"Yes, I have," I said, turning my back to him and
tossing the paper containers into the trash.

"Did you like it?"

"Not really," I replied, suddenly shaking a bit.

"Not even a little?" David asked.

No, not even a little," I said.

"What do you care if she liked brandy or not?" Laurel
asked, coming to my defense as she often did.

"Just curious," he replied with a chuckle. "Brandy
speaks highly of her."

"Pfft, idiot," Laurel muttered, then turned to go
outside and play catch with her man. As soon as the
door closed behind her and I was alone with my mister, I
whirled to face him. "All right," I demanded sharply,
"what did she say about me?"

He grinned and moved close to me. I didn't bother to
try to back away; if he wanted to be close to me, he
would just follow anyway. He put one hand around my
waist and pulled me to him. "She said you were pretty
into it," he whispered, looking into my eyes. "She said
you got pretty hot and heavy with her."

I glared back angrily, but most of the anger came from
embarrassment. "I don't like girls, David."

"But you like Brandy. Or at least you did. She said
your fingers got pretty busy." To emphasize, he put his
hand on my crotch and gave my mound a gentle squeeze
through my jeans.

"I got carried away," I muttered, trying not to
remember how good my mister was with his hands. "That
doesn't mean I want to repeat it."

Outside I could hear the thwap of a baseball hitting a
glove, and Tim and Laurel's laughter. His eyebrow
arched as he undid my jeans and pushed them down over
my hips, taking my modest panties with them. "Really?"

"Really," I said firmly, keeping my legs tightly shut.

"She said you made a date with her friend for Tuesday."
His fingers were stroking as much of me as I'd let him
get at, which wasn't much. I wasn't going to let him
get me worked up again.

"Well it's not a date I intend to keep."

"Did you like kissing her?" he asked, leaning in and
nuzzling my neck in a way that felt better than I was
willing to admit. "She said you kissed first."

"I got carried away," I repeated, trying to squirm
away.

"Carried away enough that you came a few times?" he
chuckled, his hand taking the opportunity presented by
my fidgeting to slip between my legs and find my slit.
My thighs clamped tightly shut around it, but he was
already stroking me in his damnably s*******ed way.

"Yes, that carried away," I told him. "But it was a
lapse in judgment. It won't happen again."

"Not even with her hot little black lezzie friend?" he
asked, kissing the side of my mouth.

I turned my head. "No, not even with her. I'm not going
to see her again." His thumb was on my clit and
rubbing, and I could feel myself getting wet. "Now
knock this cuckolds brownie off and leave me alone."

"Brandy said you were a fantastic kisser," he said,
bringing his lips to mine and brushing them together.
"I have to agree. I love kissing you, mom." And then he
proved it by putting his lips on mine and pushing his
tongue into my mouth. I couldn't stop him but I didn't
kiss back; I just listed to the sounds of my husband
and flower engaged in wholesome play outside and let
him do what he was going to do anyway. My lack of
response didn't seem to faze him, because he was
smiling as he pulled his mouth away a few seconds later
and mock-scolded me, "Now I know you didn't kiss Brandy
like that. She said you had your tongue down her throat
and you were grinding on her..."

"Stop it!" I said, pushing him away from me as hard as
I could. He let himself be pushed, and I yanked up my
panties and jeans. "Yes, fine, I liked it with Brandy.
I kissed her, I fingered her, I made her cum and I came
when she did me. Is that what you wanted to hear? Will
you leave me alone now?"

He smiled at me, his handsome face genuinely joyful,
and he said the last thing I expected to hear: "Yes." I
know my surprise showed on my face because he laughed
at me and then said, "I'm going out. I'll be back late.
Don't wait up."

He turned then and walked out, jingling his car keys in
his hand. I watched him go and then stood for almost
five minutes, shaking and shivering. When I had calmed
myself down, I took Charlie and went outside to be with
Laurel and Tim.

To be continued?

"Yes it is," I replied, sticking my tongue out at him
playfully. The thing was, I did feel beautiful. The
lover I had always needed had just made me cum and I
felt fantastic. I was still buzzing from the orgasm and
the gloom from my dreams and what was hanging over me
was dispelled, at least for the moment. I took a sip of
coffee and asked, "Are you going to the gym right
away?"

"Same old Saturday routine," Tim nodded. "Except I'm
meeting Jorge for a working lunch afterward."

I nodded – Tim usually worked a part day on Saturday
(or so I thought at the time). "So you won't be around
to help me cook for the party, you slacker."

"Riiiiiiiight," he laughed, cupping my ass
affectionately and giving a squeeze. "Like you'd let me
anywhere near the kitchen if I was around here anyway.
I learned better years ago."

I slapped his hard belly a light slap and he oofed
playfully. "When are you going to be back?"

"Around one," he replied. "Maybe a little earlier,
maybe a little later."

"Hence the use of the word 'around,'" I pointed out
with in deadpan.

"Hence indeed," he agreed, and we both smiled. We spent
the next 20 minutes or so chatting, just about stuff,
and then he went off to work out. I watched some
morning news, sitting on the sofa takeing my coffee as
I petted Charlie's head, and then went into the kitchen
in time to make breakfast for Laurel – she gets up the
same time every day, school days, weekends, holidays,
summer, it doesn't matter. You can set your clock by
her.

"Mom!" she said as she came into the kitchen. "What are
you doing up?"

"Making your breakfast," I replied, carrying a plate of
cut fruit for us to put on our cereal. "The toast will
be ready in a second."

She eyed me suspiciously. "OK, you're never up before
eight on Saturdays. What gives?"

I put my hands on my hips. "It's not that I'm NEVER up
before eight on Saturdays–"

Laurel gave me a get-real stare and said, "Mom. You are
NEVER up before eight on Saturdays."

"Well I'm up before eight today, and this is a
Saturday," I pointed out with a smile. "So I'm right,
you're wrong, and I win."

She smiled as she took her seat, and in a moment we
were dining magnificently on Whole Grain Cheerios with
strawberries and toast. She was excited about the party
this afternoon and it showed, because it was just about
her first topic of conversation. "So what are we going
to make for tonight?"

"I'm making my three bean salad," I said, and she
interjected a "Yummy" as I went on. "And I'm going to
make potato salad."

"The white one or the yellow one?"

"The white one."

"Good," she nodded. "The yellow one has too much
mustard. Can I help?"

"If you want," I said, smiling hugely. She liked to do
things more with Tim than with me, but cooking was one
area where her heart was still mine.

"Cool," she said cheerfully. "Let's start right away!"

And so we did, setting to peeling and boiling potatoes
and chopping onions with gusto. We laughed a lot, cried
because of the onions, and generally had a fantastic
Saturday morning. We were mostly done by 11:50 when
David finally came downstairs, dressed in baggy shorts
and an oversized tee shirt. He'd already showered and
looked ready to go out. He found me alone in the
kitchen – Laurel had just gone off to the bathroom –
and he came up behind me and squeezed my ass in much
the same way his man had hours before. "Hey sweets,"
he said cheerfully, ignoring the way I stiffened at his
touch. "Smells good. You cooking your bean salad? Gonna
leave some for me?"

"Sure, I can leave some home," I replied, stepping away
from his touch. He always liked my bean salad, so this
wasn't a surprise. He liked my potato salad too (though
he preferred the mustardy one his sister didn't like)
and I'd put some in the fridge for him.

"Good," he nodded, leaning up against the stove and
crossing his arms in front of him with fake casualness.
"Oh, I emailed you something, I want you to take a look
at it. And don't worry, it's not a movie starring you
or anything."

"OK, I'll take a look as soon as I get a chance, but
I'll be busy today getting ready for the party–"

"I want you to take a look at it now." His posture was
still casual, but that was a command if I ever heard
one. I looked into his eyes and saw he was dead
serious, and after a moment I nodded. "Fine, I'll do it
as soon as Laurel gets back to watch the beans."

And that was how, a few minutes later, I wound up in
front of our laptop in the upstairs office, opening my
email. His message was on top and I opened it, only to
find something I didn't quite expect: a link that said
CLICK HERE, and a login ID and password. So I
clicked...

Oh Lord, what I found.

The first thing that came up was a picture of a woman
on all fours, naked, a look of absolute passion on her
face. Atop her was a beautiful brown German shepherd,
and even though the picture was taken from the front,
there was no doubt that the dog was fucking her. I
stared at it, eyes wide, mouth open, frozen in place.

The dog's fur was an incredible contrast to the woman's
skin – dark where she was pale, hairy where she was
smooth – and the way his forelegs were wrapped around
her waist and his tongue was hanging from his mouth was
erotic enough to make me as wet as the Mississippi
between my legs. But it was the expression on the
pretty woman's face that transfixed me.

I stared at it for an endless moment, seeing her eyes
tightly scrunched, her mouth open wide in a silent cry
of ecstasy, her whole expression one of lust and
abandon. *She knows,* my mind told me. *She knows what
it feels like to have a dog inside her. She knows what
I want to know, and what I need to find out.*

There was a member area login, and my fingers shook
like mad as I typed in the information. My heart was
going so fast that I was breathless and dizzy, my
vision was blurred, and I felt like my chest would
explode. I was so completely and utterly aroused that I
was almost orgasming without touching myself or seeing
any more but that single picture, and I held my breath
as the page loaded...

It was a wonderland. There were photos, stories, movies
– MOVIES! – all dedicated to women and dogs. All
dedicated to what I wanted and needed. I clicked on the
photos page and was treated to a series of pictures of
a cute, chubby bottle blonde being mounted and rutted
by a golden retriever. As I opened the first one my
hand was between my legs and inside my shorts, and I
was coming by the time I got to the third picture. My
orgasm continued in waves as I saw more pictures, as I
downloaded and scanned a couple of stories, as I
watched a movie of a woman sucking a magnificent,
hugely thick, scarlet cock of a big black dog.

I remember distinctly my first clear sight of an erect,
unsheathed dog cock: it looked enormous, powerful, and
so utterly masculine that I almost swooned from looking
at it. But it was the knot that held me transfixed; I
had never suspected the existence of such a thing, and
for a long moment I could look at nothing else but that
mammoth bulge. At first I wondered what it was for, but
then I remembered Laurel's casual mention of dogs
getting stuck together, and then, all at once, I knew.
My heart slammed into my breastbone so hard that I
almost ****** at the implication: dogs would mate
with human women, and if that knot would get stuck in
another dog, then it might get stuck in a woman too.

Charlie's knot might get stuck in me.

I don't even know how I kept from screaming out my
orgasm. It was so intense I thought my eyes were going
to fly out of my head. I held my breath, bit my lip so
hard that it red a little, and howled my climax into
my mouth. My whole body shook and tremred like I was
having a seizure, and when it was done I could barely
do so much as move my finger to click on to the next
thing.

But I did click, and I kept looking at more and more,
clicking compulsively. I'm honestly not even sure what
I saw, because it's all a bit of a blur now; I think I
had cartoon bubbles coming out of the top of my head.
All I knew was that I was looking at something that
felt so phenomenally right that I couldn't even think
of turning away. I stared, rapt, touching myself, my
juices soaking through my shorts and onto the leather
desk chair, coming in a series of orgasms that were
small but thrilling and amazing and almost one right
after the last. I wanted so desperately to be IN those
pictures, those movies, and as I watched them it was no
struggle at all to imagine just that.

"Mom?" came Laurel's voice from downstairs. "Can you
come and mix up the salad?"

"No buts," I insisted, squeezing his hand. "You'll both
go and you'll stay until they throw you out. I mean it,
don't you dare come home early just because I feel
punk. I'm not dying. I'll be fine, but I don't want the
guilt of ruining your night and Laurel's night. Go and
have fun."

He smiled and kissed my hand. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure I'm sure. And besides, with me not there you
can flirt with Steph Hentzel to your heart's content."

"Oh good Lord, without you there she'll be like a
tick!" Steph was the girl Tim had broken up with right
before he started going out with me, and although the
flame had died on his end, she was still carrying the
torch in a mighty way, or at least she acted like she
was. She was also twice divorced with three problematic
youngren, was an holy wateric, and not to be bitchy, but
she had some real hygiene issues – like feminine
hygiene, by which I mean smell, which is just gross.
She was at the party every year and every year she
threw herself at Tim like a hyena throws itself at a
zebra. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of the
contortions he'd need to do to stay clear of her. "I
think you're staying home just to punish me with her."

I giggled softly. "You'll handle it like the big brave
man you are."

"You're mean."

"I have a mean side, yes."

We both smiled at each other, and then he leaned in and
kissed me – to my surprise, he kissed me on the lips
instead of the cheek or forehead, something he rarely
did anymore. There was no tongue and no passion, but
there was love, and I loved him back. I still do, as
much as I ever did. "OK," he told me in a whisper. "You
stay in bed and rest. I love you."

"I love you," I told him as he left the room and left
me in silence to contemplate how thoroughly I had just
damned myself. I felt like crying, but I didn't. I did
relax, however, and Laurel woke me up when she came to
get the blouse I had promised she could wear. She tried
to take one of the scandalous new bras, but I warned
her off, as much for poor gay Tony's sake as for her
modesty – I was sure he wouldn't like having a pair of
tits flaunted in his face all night, even if they were
big, firm, young tits like Laurel's. She spent a few
minutes giving her condolences, and then was gone.

A few minutes later Tim came and showered. He stood
unselfconsciously naked in front of me, the way a
husband does in front of his longtime wife, and I
watched him as he dressed. He has an amazing body, even
now; it's firm and taut and muscular in an athletic
way, not with big gym rat bulges but with the lean,
long lines of a runner. He's beautiful, and I wanted to
be sick at the thought of what I would be doing with
the mister he and I had created together as soon as he
left.

I felt sick, yes, but I could also feel a twitter of
excitement in the pit of my belly and in the innermost
part of my sex – the part where Charlie would be
putting his cum, with David's help, very soon. I wanted
Tim to stay and save me from the consequences of my own
choices, and I wanted him to hurry up and leave so I
could get on with what the evening held in store. It's
amazing, really, that the human mind can hold such
contradictory thoughts with such power and not snap.

Laurel came up and kissed me goodbye, and I told her
and Tim to have fun. I listened as the sounds came of
them going down the stairs and out the door to the
garage. The garage door opened, the car pulled out and
drove away. I was alone with my mister, exactly where I
had put myself. I laid on the bed and cuddled Charlie,
wanting what was to come to start this instant and
never to start at all.

It was only a few minutes later when David came into
the room – he didn't knock – and said, "So you stayed."

I rolled over and looked at him. My voice was trembling
as I said, "I stayed."

He smiled at me, and this time he used the warm, gentle
smile that could make a nun's panties wet. "How about
you take a shower and do yourself up real pretty," he
said. "I'm having some dinner brought in."

I propped myself up on my elbows. "Dinner?"

"Yeah, picked some stuff up from Ristorante Luce," he
said.

"Luce? That's my favorite restaurant."

"I know," he replied. "Gourmet everything, a nice wine.
You'll love it."

"You're not old enough to take wine," I told him,
feeling stupid even as I said it.

"I'm not old enough for a lot of things," he replied
with a laugh. "I have a present for you. You'll like
it. I'll have it laid out for you when you get out of
the shower."

"A present?" I asked warily.

"Don't worry, it's a good thing."

"I'm not sure I believe you, David."

He laughed again, and said without a trace of
resentment, "I'm not sure I blame you, mom. But it is a
good thing, and you will like it. Go on and take a
shower now, and do your hair nice." He took Charlie and
left the room.

I had put myself on this path and now I had no choice
but to obey. So I did, climbing into the shower and
cleaning myself. I felt detached, sort of surreal, as
though this whole thing were happening to some else and
I was just along for the ride with no sense of
responsibility or permisteral attachment. I shaved my pits
and my legs and my pussy.

I washed my hair and dried it – my hair has a little
curl in it so I don't usually need to do much with the
iron but I added a few extra curls just because. I
wrapped a towel around myself and looked at myself in
the mirror, knowing that tonight would see changes for
me, and in me, that would be profound and last for the
rest of my life. If I didn't need some of those changes
so much I wouldn't put up with the others, but in for a
penny...

I stepped out of the bathroom and saw, laid out on the
bed, a slinky little white cocktail dress, and I mean
slinky and little. It was semi-sheer and it would cling
to every curve. It had a cowl neckline that tied behind
the neck, a back that dropped to below the shoulder
blades and had, down the middle, a series of rings that
came down to the top of the butt, and a hemline that
would cover my goodies and nothing else whatsoever.
Next to it was a pair of silver sandals with rhinestone
straps and four inch heels.

I picked up the dress and looked at it – it was
absolutely lovely, sexy as hell, and impossible for me
to wear. Most men don't know this, and I'm sure my mister
didn't, but women who are over about 20 really can't
wear tight white things. Tight black things, sure, and
red looks fantastic on a lot of people, but white is
vulgarly unforgiving. It shows every bump and bulge and
ripple, every bit of cellulite and every ounce of fat.
In this dress, I would look like a bag of dumplings. I
appreciated the thought on David's part, but putting
this thing on would be suicidal.

And then, suddenly, it struck me that looking like a
bag of dumplings might not be such a bad thing. Yes, it
would be crushing to my vanity and damaging to my ego,
and no woman likes to look BAD, but in this
case...well, it could be worse. Seeing me like this, in
all my 35-year-old glory, David might just realize what
he was putting himself in for. He might just decide he
didn't want me after all. He might just back off and
leave me alone, and the doom I had hanging over my head
would go away just that fast!

I can't say I was smiling when I put on the dress, but
I was at least relaxed in a way that I hadn't been
since this whole insane ride started. I didn't put on
panties – they'd show through the dress, and by now
David had seen and touched everything I had so there
was no point in modesty. I had to admit the shoes
looked very cute on me, though. I put on a little
makeup, not much, and then went out to let my mister be
disappointed in me.

As I went downstairs, I heard soft jazz playing on the
stereo and saw that the ground floor was only faintly
lit by what looked to be candlelight from the dining
room. Something smelled rich and savory and wonderful.
Charlie was waiting at the foot of the stairs, tail
thumping, and he eagerly stuck his nose under the dress
and pressed it against my pussy. "Hey, you," I
chuckled, pushing him away. "Don't get dark hair all
over the dress, you silly guy. And be patient, you're
going to have me tonight." He didn't understand a word,
of course, but he was as happy as he always was when I
spoke to him.

I followed my nose into the kitchen and found the table
set with our best white tablecloth and our finest china
and crystal. A bottle of wine was open on the table,
and there was food that I loved: inslata mista, ravioli
con zucca, nodino di maiale. The smell alone was enough
to make my knees wobble and my stomach demand to be
fed. David was there too, dressed in a suit that made
him look five years older, setting a single red rose in
a crystal vase in the middle of the table.

He looked up and me and smiled automatically, but his
smile froze and his eyes grew wide. He uttered a
single, soft word: "Wow."

I stood in the doorway and shifted uncomfortably,
knowing I looked awful in white and knowing my mister was
judging me harshly. It was going to be a kick to the
ego, yes, but it needed to happen. I knew as much.
Still, now that I knew he was staring at me and
thinking how awful I looked, I felt myself shifting
uncomfortably in my pumps.

Nobody ever likes to look bad, and a woman tottering on
the cusp of middle age is especially vulnerable to
knowledge of her decline. Added to that was the simple
but terribly powerful fact that I had spent my adult
life feeling unattractive and unwanted; it was only in
the last week that I had felt pretty and desirable, and
that feeling was a small and fragile thing yet. Knowing
how my mister was regarding me was crushing that feeling,
but it was a price I needed to pay. After a while – not
nearly as long as it seemed to me, I'm sure – the
silence got uncomfortable, so I lifted out my arms in
something of a helpless gesture and said, "So?"

"So?" he asked. "Mom, you're...you're gorgeous, mom.
I've never seen you look this beautiful, and you're
always beautiful."

I blushed hotly and looked down at the floor. "You're
making fun of me," I whispered.

"What?" He sounded baffled. "Why would I do that?"

"I look terrible," I replied.

He paused, then asked, "Why the hell do you think
that?"

"I look like a bag of flour in this dress...don't I?"

He shook his head slowly as he walked up to me.
"Nnnnnooooo, you don't. What's the matter, mom?"

I tried to speak, but suddenly I was crying. I didn't
even know why except that I was feeling old and ugly
and very uncomfortable at being so horny for something
that was so wrong, and for being here with my mister where
that wrong thing and other wrong things were bound to
happen. Tears rolled down my cheeks and all I could say
was, "I can't wear white! I'm too old and it makes me
look fat..."

And then my mister's strong arms were around me, pulling
me close against his tall, powerful body. I couldn't
resist – I needed the hug too badly. I put my arms
around his broad back and buried my face in his chest
and felt like an idiot for crying, but I couldn't stop.
"Mom," he said softly, "I've never seen anyone more
beautiful than you are right now."

"Y-you're just saying that..."

"I'm not, mom. You're not just beautiful, you're
perfect. You are perfect."

"I look lumpy..."

"Your lumps are in all the right places, mom."

"They're not! I'm too old for this dress!"

He stepped away, just enough that he could tilt my face
up to him and make me look him in the eyes. They were,
for a change, kindly, and so was his smile as he asked,
wonderingly, "Do you really not know how you look?"

"I know I look like a sack full of dumplings...."

"Mom," he whispered in the precise tone I used to use
for him when he was being silly as a young boy. "You're
amazing. You really are, and if you don't know it then
it's time you learned. Come with me." He took my hand
and I followed him where he led me, into the foyer
where there was a closet with a full-length mirror on
the inside of the door. He flipped on the light and
opened the door so my dumpy reflection was shining back
at me, and I winced and looked down. "Oh no, don't you
look at the floor," he scolded me softly. "Look at
yourself and tell me what you see."

Much against my will, I did as he ordered me to do. I
saw my reflection, and it was terrible. I looked
foolish and ridiculous, like an old woman dressing like
a young girl to try to recapture something that was
forever gone. Tears started in my eyes again and I
didn't answer him because I couldn't trust myself to
speak.

"Mom," he whispered again, "tell me what you see."

Reluctantly, I said, "I'm old, David. I look old. There
are...there are lines around my eyes. My boobs aren't
as firm as they used to be and it's...pretty obvious. I
need to lose five pounds, at least, and you can't hide
that in this dress. I look bulgy and dumpy and...ugly.
I look ugly, David!"

He stepped behind me then, pressing his body against
mine, and I saw the reflection of his dark suit and his
handsome face behind me. He encircled my body with his
arms and put his hands on my tummy, one just below my
breasts and the other lower, on the swell just above my
sex. "Now," he whispered into my ear, making a lock of
my hair rustle with his breath, "let me tell you what I
see. I see a woman."

"An old woman."

"No, not an old woman, mom," he told me, his eyes
locking onto the reflection of mine and keeping them
locked. He had huge, beautiful eyes, and I couldn't
look away. "You're perfect. And no, don't say a word.
Just listen to me. Don't say anything until I tell you
to, all right?" I nodded, and he went on. "You think
you're old because you're not 17 anymore, but you need
to listen to me and you need to hear me: I would take
you over any 17 year old, 18 year old, 20 year old, any
time, any day. You're a woman, mom. A WOMAN. You're
some silly, stupid little girl with a head full of
foolish ideas and a bony body. You're a lady – MY
lady.

"You've lived, you had life inside you, you know what
it's like to win and to lose, to have disappointments
and victories. You can talk about something other than
makeup and dancing. You say there are lines around your
eyes? I remember what put those lines there. I remember
you laughing, I remember you smiling, and I remember
you crying too. Do you think those lines are there
because of your age? They're not. They're there because
you've lived. You've lived more than any idiot girl
ever could have. They're there because you're wise and
you're strong, wiser and stronger than any 18 year old
I've ever known."

I was watching his face as he spoke, and I knew he was
telling the truth. It was so obvious that it was
unmistakable, undeniable. I didn't say anything – he'd
commanded me not to – but I felt myself settling back
against him, feeling his strong young body against
mine. It felt very, very nice.

His big, clever hands moved against my belly, stroking
me through the dress from the bottoms of my breasts to
the top of my pubic mound, slowly and sensuously. I
loved the sensation. "You know, I came out of here," he
whispered to me, a pleasant smile curling his lips. "I
was made here and I grew here. When you look at your
stomach you can only see an invisible five pounds that
nobody else can see, but do you know what I see? I see
life, mom. Life itself. For me, for Laurel, for another
baby, maybe. I see a woman who made her youngren though
love and who loved them through everything, good and
bad. After everything, you still love me."

It was a statement of fact, not a question, but I
nodded anyway. I was getting weak and wobbly on my legs
and leaning back against him more, but he didn't seem
to mind – I could feel his cock begin to stir against
my back, and kept my body against it and let it grow.

His hands moved now, up to my breasts. He cupped them
through my dress and I felt my nipples hard and tight
against his palms. He squeezed them gently and then
took the hem between his fingers and pulled it down,
freeing my tits. I didn't flinch. I looked at them in
the mirror, pale and full, nipples darkening with
desire, and I watched and felt as he took each nipple
between forefinger and thumb and gave a firm tug.
Pleasure rippled through me and I moaned softly between
wet lips. "I suckled here. My lips went here..." he
said, squeezing first my left nipple and then my right,
"and here. I drew my life from you, the life you made
and gave to me. You sustained me and I've loved you for
it, for everything, for all."

I remembered him suckling my breasts as an ***** –
even now I remembered it as clearly as though it had
just happened – but this was different now. Now his
hands were large and confident and making me aroused.
He knew how to make me aroused, more than anyone ever
had, with a touch or a word. I knew I should fight it –
I knew I had to fight it – but right now I couldn't. I
didn't have the strength... and I found, to a mixture
of dismay and satisfaction, that I didn't have the
desire. He had taken that desire away from me and was
beginning to replace it with desire of another sort.
His hands drifted down and began to move up under my
dress, between my legs, and I wanted him to continue
and touch me in the way he knew how to touch me... but
I stopped him.

I placed my hands on his wrists and stilled them, then
slowly let them go and turned in his arms so I was
facing him, by breasts bare against his chest, his cock
hard against my belly. I looked up into his eyes,
because the question I needed answered had to be
answered honestly and he was such a smooth liar that
the only way I could be reamisterably sure I was getting
the truth was by reading his face. "David," I said
softly and hesitantly, "Do you think I'm disgusting?
Because of what I want to do with Charlie?"

His smile was soft and his eyes were truthful as he
shook his head. "No, mom, I don't."

"Really?"

"Really," he replied, kissing my forehead and pulling
me closer. "Tell me what you feel about him, about how
he makes you feel."

His tone wasn't condemnatory, and it wasn't even
curious. It sounded like he was asking me to prove a
point, so I told him. "It's like... it's like I've
always wanted him that way, or wanted a dog that way.
Always, since I was old enough to want anything at all.
I just never knew it. I never... I never had an
experience, or came close to an experience, that would
let me know what it was I wasn't getting. So I've spent
my life with this... piece of me just missing. And I
didn't even know it was missing." I paused and
swallowed hard. "And then Monday when he... when he
licked me, I suddenly knew what it was I'd needed. I
knew what I was missing then and now that I know I
don't think I can live without it. I really don't."

He shifted, his erection pressing more firmly against
me, and I didn't pull away. "Is this what you wanted
for yourself?" he asked. "I mean...if you could have
picked what turned you on the most, what really
completed you, would you have picked dogs?"

"No!" I said, surprisingly emphatically. "I can't tell
anyone about this! Who would understand?"

"Besides me?"

"Yes, besides you," I nodded. "And look where it's
gotten me now that you know. Even if I was a closet
lesbian or...or someone who liked to be whipped, that
would be more acceptable than this. Now I'm just a
freak."

"I don't think you're a freak, mom."

"Well that makes two of us," I replied. "And that's
probably just about it."

He smiled then. "You haven't really thought about how
we're the same, have you mom?"

I paused. "What do you mean?"

"All my life I've had a hole that I couldn't fill," he
told me. "A piece of me that was missing. You. But the
difference is I knew what I wanted, I just couldn't get
it, ever. I saw you every single day and I wanted you,
I hurt for you. At night I'd lie in bed wide awake and
think about what it would be like with you and knowing
I'd never be happy unless I had you...and I'd never
have you. Think about it, mom. Think about if you had
discovered how you felt about Charlie but you couldn't
do anything about it, not last Monday, not today, not
ever. Think about if you saw him every day and spent
time with him and wanted him so bad that most times you
couldn't think of anything else at all...but you could
never, ever have him. How would that make you feel?"

This was a view of the situation that I hadn't ever
taken before, and for the first time since my mister
discovered my desires and I discovered his, I felt
sorry for him. Genuinely, truly sorry. "It would drive
me crazy," I whispered, my eyes locked on his. "Just
thinking about it, I...I can't even imagine."

He was quiet for a bit, and then he whispered, "I'm
going to kiss you, mom. I hope you don't pull away."

I shook my head. "I won't, baby. Kiss me."

He did, his lips settling on mine, his exhalation on my
cheek. I kissed him back immediately, unhesitatingly,
our tongues moving together. It wasn't a passionate
kiss, though there was passion there – on both sides.
Instead it was a kiss of recognition, of two people who
knew each other so well but who at last saw each other
for what they were and what they needed, and who each
knew that they alone held the key to the other's
satisfaction. A thought of David taking me in his arms
and carrying me upstairs to his bed flitted through my
mind, and for the first time I didn't recoil from it.

It occurred to me, at last, that it might not be a
terrible thing, or an utter perversity – or at least
that his perversion was no greater than my own. The
thought tumred through my mind for a few moments as
the kiss drew on, and then I pushed it away. It didn't
revolt me as it had before, but I wasn't ready for that
yet. I wasn't nearly ready, in fact, and I couldn't say
for sure that I ever would be. I was still his lady,
and I always would be, no matter that he wanted me to
be his lover too. Some bonds can't be broken.

The kiss ended and he smiled at me, then he took my
hand and led me to the dining room where the food I
loved awaited. As I sat down I tucked my breasts back
into my dress – despite a disappointed sound from my
mister – and we ate together. It was a wonderful,
charming, and, yes, very romantic meal. David was
blessed with immense charm that he could turn on
whenever he wanted it, and he wanted it that evening.
He had me laughing, he had me leaning into him to hear
his words, he had me playing footsie with him under the
table.

I felt comfortable with him, really and truly, more
comfortable than I had felt around him for many years,
and it was a very good feeling. I felt I understood him
more than I ever had, perhaps more than I had ever
understood any man; the fact that we each had a taboo
desire known to the other seemed to bring down the
barriers that experience had placed between us.

He was flirtatious, and I was flirtatious back – and
more than flirtatious, like when, in response to a
teasing dare, I pulled down the top of my dress,
drizzled warm pasta sauce on my hard nipples, and let
him lick them off. Not that he stopped at licking, of
course; he sucked them, nibred them, and pinched them
as I moaned and lifted my chest into his mouth. At the
same time I even put my hand between his legs and
rubbed his thick and very hard cock through his
pants...it was nothing that we hadn't done before, so I
somehow felt it was all right to do it again.

David tried patting my ass and my lower back but all
Charlie did was look worried. After a bit, he took a
step toward me and sniffed my sex; I waggled my butt in
what I hoped was an enticing way, but he just gave me a
tentative lick and stepped away again.

The initial buzz of excitement and expectation was
starting to fade, and an unsettling voice of doubt was
growing inside me. "What's the matter?" I asked.
"Doesn't he want to?"

"I think he does," David said soothingly. "It's just
this is new for him and he doesn't know how to go about
it."

"But...what if he won't?" The idea was positive
crushing, after all the buildup and expectation and
need I felt. To be here, in this position with my
lovely dog and my willing helper of a mister, only to have
Charlie turn up his nose? The very idea was awful!

"Shhhh," my mister whispered, running his hand along my
ass and then down between my legs to stroke my pussy
and get some of my juices on his fingers. He held his
hand out to Charlie, saying, "We just need to give him
the right idea, that's all. You'll be Charlie's bitch
in no time."

The vulgarity, the image, and the sheer casualness and
acceptance with which my mister said those words sent a
shiver of illicit delight down my spine and made my
pussy spasm. "Say...say that again," I whispered,
closing my eyes.

I felt David's hand on my sex, teasing me open and
slipping a pair of fingers inside; I squeezed down on
them and pushed into him, fucking him back as he began
to pump me. He leaned in, pressing his body against
mine and rubbing his erection against me. "You'll be
Charlie's bitch," he whispered again, his voice thick
with lust. "He's going to take you just like a bitch
dog in heat, just exactly like you are – a horny bitch
dog who wants to get fucked by his big, hard red cock.
Aren't you?"

"Ohhh yes," I moaned, listening avidly to his words and
the sloppy suction sound his fingers made as they
pumped me. "I'm a bitch dog in heat..."

"He's going to put that cock into you and load you up
with his cum," he continued, placing his lips on the
back of my neck and kissing me there. "He's going to
tie with you and you'll be stuck to him, his primisterer,
his slave..."

"Ohhh fuck baby yes...yes that's what I want... I want
it so bad..."

"Your cunt will be a dog's cunt, your body a fucktoy
for a big horny dog..."

"Yes, yes, keep fingering me, keep telling me..." I was
on the edge of a massive orgasm and I needed it not to
get away. I need to cum, and I needed it from my mister.
Not from Charlie, not at that moment, but from David. I
needed to give him the gift of my orgasm to thank him
for what he'd done for me, just like I'd thank him with
his orgasm later. I wanted him to know he'd made me
cum.

His fingers moved harder, faster, deeper, slamming into
me as I slammed back. "And he's going to take you again
and again," he told me fervently. "From now on you're
nothing but a bitch, nothing but his hole to fuck,
nothing but a dog to serve his needs. That's what you
want, isn't it?"

"Yes!" I cried, biting my lip.

"And from now on you're gonna give him this hot little
bitch cunt whenever he wants it, however he wants it,
all the time..."

"YES!"

"He's gonna pump you full of cum and keep you full of
cum with that big fucking knot and his big fucking cock
and you're going to have a belly full of dog sperm..."

"YES! YES!" And I came, hard, shivering, pushing back
into my mister's hand and picturing his words, picturing
Charlie's semen spraying into me, filling me, trying to
find my eggs. I screamed in sheer rapture, and I'm glad
I was already on my hands and knees with my tits on the
floor because if I'd have been standing when that
orgasm took me I'd have pitched over onto my face.

And that was when Charlie mounted me.

Now, as I've mentioned before, dogs fuck like nothing
else on earth but they are, frankly, dumb as bag of
hammers. Charlie had been taken by my scent, by the
passion he smelled and saw and heard, by my touch of
him and by the cries I gave, and so he finally climbed
atop me and started to hump. Unfortunately, he mounted
from the front, putting his forelegs around my shoulder
and pumping his sheathed cock into my hair. I looked
up, surprised, and all I could see was heavy doggy
balls waving back and forth a few inches from my face.

"Ok, well at least he has the idea," David chuckled as
he disentangled Charlie from around my body and put all
four feet back on he floor. Charlie immediately tried
to hop up again but David was ready; he caught him and
steered him to my backside. I made sure I was in the
right position, legs splayed, pussy canted and dripping
and ready, chest low and breath held. I was still
buzzing from the orgasm David had given me and I knew
that it would swell and explode again once I felt
Charlie inside me.

I knew that I was about to have an amazing experience.
David patiently guided Charlie so he was behind me and
for the first time I felt his weight settle on my hips
and back, felt his fur brush against my waiting ass,
and felt the thrill beyond words of that hot, hard red
cock brush across the lips of my eager, needy pussy. I
drew air into my mouth in a hot gasp and waited.

And Charlie hopped off and wagged his tail.

I moaned again, this time in pure frustration. Even
David seemed a little surprised, but he tried to coax
Charlie back by patting my ass. Charlie mounted me
again, this time from the side; I'd have needed a
colostomy to have a hole where he tried to get inside
me.

"This should be natural!" I wailed. "How do dogs ever
manage to make puppies, anyway?"

David was laughing now, which only pissed me off.
There's nothing so irritating as someone laughing at
your intense frustration, and when you're frustrated at
the edge of getting something that you need as bad as I
needed Charlie at that moment, it's even worse. Still,
he guided Charlie back to my ass, lifted him up and
wrapped his legs around my waist again. Charlie looked
at him amiably, wagged his tail and tried to dismount;
but David held him on. I heard my mister mumble, "Trying
to figure this out here..."

"It's not going to work, is it?" I asked despairingly.

"Sure it is," David replied confidently. "We just need
to teach him what's what, that's all. Let's see..." I
felt his hand go under, between me and Charlie, and
from the motion I thought he was jacking Charlie to get
him excited. Before I could ask what was going on,
though, I felt Charlie start to hump. And oh my Lord,
did he hump, fast and hard, slamming his furry legs
into the backs of my hips. David pulled his hand away
and I felt the hard, pointed tip of Charlie's cock
poking at my thighs. I gasped hard and braced myself
for the penetration I was certain was coming –

He climbed off of me again.

"Oh for the love of... dammit!" I snapped, looking over
my shoulder to see my dog, my lovely, desired lover,
wagging his tail and grinning as though he was
inordinately pleased at himself for what he'd
accomplished. "This is the most... frustrating thing!"

David didn't laugh this time, which kept me from
*******ing him, but he was smiling when he took Charlie by
the collar and guided him back. This time, though,
David positioned himself behind Charlie so he could
keep him from dismounting. Once more my dog settled
onto my back and clutched at my waist with a hard grip;
it's amazing how strong his skinny little forelegs are!
Immediately he tried to hop off but David was there and
stopped it, and this time I reached one hand back and
grabbed his leg too – he wasn't getting off until we
both did, so to speak.

"This time definitely, mom," David whispered as he
reached underneath and started to jack Charlie again;
Charlie immediately started to hump.

"I want him so bad, baby," I whispered.

"I know, mom," my mister assured me gently. He guided
Charlie forward a couple of inches.

I felt his cock hit my labia. Not much, just the tip
and only for a second, but it sent a jolt through me
like I'd stuck my tongue in an electrical socket. It
was one of the most thrilling things I had ever felt,
and it was repeated an instant later, and again and
again. He was so close! "Just... just a little to
the..."

And then it went in.

How can I explain that moment? It wasn't as though I
had been thinking about it my whole life, because the
first I had ever seen Charlie as a sexual creature was
less than a week ago and I hadn't really started to
wonder whether I could make this happen until just this
morning. It wasn't as though a younghood dream had been
realized. And yet...and yet. Like I've explained, there
was an aching, painful gap inside of me and had been
since I was young. It was a void that I hadn't even
known about, but it was so profound that it had made me
unhappy without my even knowing it all my days.

The first instant when I felt Charlie penetrate me and
I knew that there was a canine penis inside my vagina
was the most transcendent moment I have ever
experienced. That void I had borne all these years was
suddenly not a void any more. The empty spot in my soul
had been filled. I've heard people talk about religious
experiences; I've never had one myself and I never
understood what they meant by being completed by a
power outside of yourself, being swept up and carried
to a new place you never could have gotten to on your
own. But now, in this instant, I understood. It was
more than physical, it was more than emotional. It was
spiritual. I really, truly, honestly believe that and I
always will.

The moment seemed endless but really it was only an
instant that hung in my mind because of the way it made
me feel. Charlie certainly didn't pause to give me time
to contemplate, though. He pushed into me, and what I
felt, the actual physical sensation I mean, wasn't
thrilling. If felt like a pencil being pushed into me,
honestly – it was thin and short, and if I'd had the
time to mentally compare it with the pictures and
movies I'd seen of those meaty dog cocks I'm sure I'd
have been disappointed. But he didn't give me time.

He hammered me hard and fast, harder than any man ever
had and faster than any man ever could. I think the
physical feeling that struck me the most was the way
his sheath felt as it pushed against my sex; it was
warm and furry, such a strange feeling like I'd never
had before there, and I remember distinctly to this day
(in spite of all the many, many times and many dogs
I've had since) how it felt that first time.

Now that he was inside me, though, things started to
happen fast. Charlie pumped me swiftly and with each
thrust he seemed to grow inside me. Every time he
humped me he pushed in deeper, and on every backstroke
it seemed as though the cock he was pulling back was
thicker than the one that had gone in. I heard him
panting, a strange sound that I've since come to adore;
it's a mixture of heavy breathing and whining, and now
that I know it's the sound of canine pleasure it's
music to me, but then I do recall a passing thought
flicking across my brain that wondered if he was all
right. All right or not, though, he wasn't stopping.

I had spent the afternoon wondering what this moment
would be like for me and I had imagined myself
participating more, pushing back onto him as he fucked
me or wiggling my hips or something, but he really
didn't give me the chance. The fact is that dogs fuck
so beautifully hard and fast that once one is inside
you, all you can do is brace yourself and hold on. And
having no other option, that was exactly what I did: I
pushed my arms into a position that would stop him
pressing me forward with every thrust and I just took
what he gave me.

Now, that's not to say that I was a silent partner in
all this – far from it. The instant I first felt him
inside me I gave a sound that was something like a
cross between a squeal and a wail. It wasn't something
I'd planned and in fact it was sort of an embarrassing
noise but... well, I was being screwed by a dog, for
God sake. You can't really be responsible for the
sounds you make when that happens. I fell into his
rhythm, or rather he powerd me into his rhythm by
battering my little cunt with everything he had, and
with every thrust he wrenched a squeaky little gasp
from me.

They came so fast, one after another, that I was almost
hyperventilating. I just couldn't catch a breath
between them! And then suddenly I was coming, not so
much from the physical sensations (Charlie's cock was
still a bit on the tiny side when my orgasm hit me) but
because of what I was doing. Charlie, my dog, my love,
was inside me. I had what I needed and my body simply
responded the only way that made sense to it – it threw
itself over the edge into pure, rapturous bliss. My
staccato gasps turned into a long, guttural throbbing
moan.

Usually when I orgasm, especially when the orgasm is as
profound as that one, I sort of lose track of time;
hell, I've been known to lose consciousness. But I
remember every bit of this one, every single second,
every movement, every breath, every smell and every
sound. I remember how Charlie kept pounding me at that
incredible, impossible rate.

I remember the first moment I knew his knot was in me,
swelling and growing, and I remember the first instant
it got big enough that it began to stretch me from the
inside. Lord, that sensation! It was unlike anything
I'd ever felt, inflating, expanding, but still moving,
still hammering deeper, harder, faster; at each instant
the knot felt so big that I couldn't believe it could
get bigger, but the next instant it was bigger still.

Nerves I had no idea I possessed flared into life and I
knew that I wouldn't be satisfied with them going back
to relax again; I had tasted this ambrosia and I would
have to keep tasting it, now and forever – simply, I
was addicted to a dog's cock. I remember the first
touch of the end of his cock against my cervix, pushing
it open; it wasn't pleasurable or even comfortable, but
knowing that Charlie was deeper in me than any cock had
ever been was an unspeakable thrill.

But most of all I remember the feeling of his cum – or
at least I thought it was his cum, though now I've
learned the difference between a dog's cum and the lube
he squirts before he comes. The body of a dog is a few
degrees warmer than a human's; you can feel it when you
run your hand along his skin. Normally it's just a
pleasant but unremarkable fact – but when a dog's cock
is inside of you it feels like fire, like the sweetest
fire imaginable. And once he gets hard, a dog will
squirt his pre-cum, more than one squirt a second in
what seems like an impossible and endless amount.

I have no idea how a dog can produce that much stuff,
but he does, and when his cock is buried in the deepest
part of your cunt you can feel each and every squirt.
Each and every squirt. I wish I had the words in my
vocabulary to tell you how that feels, but I don't.
I've tried many times and I've never come close, but
I'll try again. It feels like lava, like molten steel,
but it's the best sensation in the world. It keeps
flowing and flowing and flowing and you can feel
yourself filling up with it.

There comes a point where you feel full, where you
think that your pussy simply can't hold another drop
and it must explode out of you – but his knot keeps you
bottled up tight. Certainly, a few drops escape to flow
down the insides of your thighs or drip to the floor,
but that's nothing compared to the amount his balls
pour into you. You're already stretched out around a
cock that fills you like no human cock ever could and
then you stretch some more, and more, and more, and you
keep stretching. And if that sounds painful then you're
wrong – it's exquisite. It's divine. It's like reaching
out your hand and touching the face of God. It's like
coming home. And that doesn't even begin to describe
it.

So there I was on my hands and knees, impaled on
Charlie's cock and coming like a banshee. I came so
hard I felt like my skin was moving on my body, like my
heart was going to explode, like my lungs were filled
with fire. I wanted nothing more than for my sweet dog
to keep pounding me like that forever...but he didn't.
In fact, he only humped me that way for a couple of
minutes or maybe even less; at any rate it wasn't long
at all, even though it felt much longer as I came
around him.

My orgasm could have continued but when he stopped
fucking and fell motionless my orgasm slowed and
stopped too; it didn't completely subside, but it
dropped into sort of a pre-orgasmic sweet, sticky flow,
like my insides were filled with warm milk, and I knew
I could – and would – come again, and soon. Charlie was
straddling me, motionless and panting, his sides
heaving, his breath loud.

I knew from the labored sound of his breathing that his
tongue was out, and after a few moments I felt a wet
spot growing between my shoulders: he was drooling on
me, and for an instant I wished fervidly that wasn't
wearing this ridiculous tee shirt so that I could feel
his spit on my skin. I wanted all of him, from his cum
in my cunt to his fur on my ass to his drool on my back
and in my hair. I loved him, pure and simple.

David might have been speaking before that, but I
didn't hear him. The first I realized he was talking to
me was when he whispered, "So how does it feel, mom?"

I had laid my head on my crossed arms, and I turned it
to look at him. I gave him a dreamy smile and said,
"Baby, it's the best thing I've ever felt."

"Honest?"

"Honest. Thank you so much for giving this to me. I
never could have done this alone."

He smiled and stroked my hair, wet as it was with sweat
and dog drool. "You look beautiful, you know? Stuck to
him that way, his for as long as it takes to finish
filling your womb with his cum."

"Mmmmm," I purred. "I feel beautiful. I can feel him
coming inside me. He's so hot and there's so much of
it..."

"Just lie there and feel it, mom," David urged me
quietly. "He's going to be stuck this way for a long
time."

"How long?"

"Well I guess every dog is different, but...well, ten
minutes to half an hour."

"Oh my God," I whispered. That was the sexiest thing I
had ever heard, being impaled on Charlie's knot and
tied to him for thirty minutes, helpless to move until
his cock got soft enough to come out on its own. "I
want to cum again..."

"Put your hand on your clit and make yourself cum
then," he smiled.

I smiled back. "Why don't you do it for me, baby?"

He looked like I'd just given him the best gift he'd
ever had. He smiled hugely and his beautiful face lit
up like Christmas morning. "I'd love to," he told me,
"but I've got one hand on Charlie's ass and the other
on his leg. I'm holding him in. I really don't think
you'd like it if he tried to pull out right now with
his knot stuck in you this way."

"Mmmm, well I owe you a chance to rub my clit then," I
chuckled.

"I'll take a rain check," he chuckled with me, "and
you'd better believe I'll collect on it too."

"I want you to, David," I told him as I shifted enough
to slide a hand back along my belly and one finger on
either side of my clit. "I think I'll want you to do it
for me a lot from now on."

I touched myself then, and the warm feeling I had in my
tummy quickly flared up again and turned into another
climax, a rolling sort of climax that had peaks and
valleys but didn't stop for a long time. When I started
to cum again and my insides spasmed around Charlie's
cock, he began to move again, fucking me just for a bit
and pushing his shaft and his knot even deeper into me.
It was a heavenly, perfect experience, and the fact
that I was sharing it with my mister made it all the
better. He was still coming inside me and I could feel
that mass of sperm in my abdomen, like I had suddenly
developed a pot belly; to know that I was so loaded
with my dog's cum that I was actually showing the
effects was an aphrodisiac like none other. I kept that
orgasm going for as long as I could until the pleasure
began to fade and the sensations became too much, and
then I pulled my hand away and rested my chin on my
arms as before and simply enjoyed being tied to my
lover.

I stayed that way for eighteen minutes. Eighteen. Just
there, on my hands and knees, my dog inside me the way
I had always craved. It was eighteen minutes of simple
wordlessness, eighteen minutes of feeling and
experiencing and marking everything to memory so that,
no matter what would come in the future, I would always
have this moment. I started to ache after a few
minutes, because the position was unnatural, the wood
floor beneath me was not cushioned by the bedsheet, and
75 lbs. of Charlie on my back wasn't exactly
comfortable after a few minutes.

But I didn't complain; the pain as part of the
experience, and in my lingering afterglow it felt like
something I needed to have, not quite as penance for
the pleasure he'd given me so much as just a way to
ground me and make the whole thing feel real and
honest. Of course the ache kept growing such that by
the end I was in a hell of a lot of hurt, but that was
still all right. I'd correct it next time, with
cushions or maybe a low padded stool to rest my chest
on, but for now it was all right just to be tied and
feeling what my dog was giving me.

After a while, of course, he stopped coming, but his
cock didn't start to shrink immediately.

It remained hard and lodged deep inside me, giving me a
wonderful still fullness that seemed not ready to end
now or any time in the near future. In fact my
afterglow wore off to the point that I was just
considering reaching back and rubbing out another
climax when he tried to pull out of me. Now, he was
maybe a little bit softer than he had been at his
hardest, but... yikes. It felt like he was trying to
yank my pelvis out through my coochie! My whole body
rocked backward with the effort and I gave a startled
yelp of surprise and pain (bad pain, not the good kind
of him on my back); it was only David's hand that held
him on.

"What's wrong?" David asked anxiously. "Did that hurt?"

"Owwie, owwie, owwie," was my reply. "He's still way
too big inside me to get out without tearing me wide
open!"

"OK, just relax," my boy counseled me. "I've got him by
the butt and by the leg so he won't go anywhere I don't
let him. All right?"

"All right, I'm fine," I replied. "It was just
surprising, I guess."

We were quiet for a bit, and then David told me
something very surprising: "Mom, I'm really proud of
you."

I turned my head to look at him and cocked an eyebrow.
"Because I fucked a dog?"

"Yes," he nodded.

I couldn't help but laugh, and laughing felt good right
then. "That's a heck of a reamister to be proud of
someone, kiddo."

He didn't laugh back. "You don't understand, mom. It's
not because you did it, exactly. It's because you did
something that you needed to do. It was unknown, a
little scary. It was hard and it was taboo. Like you
said, most people wouldn't understand this. But you had
the courage to do it because you needed it. That took
some guts."

My expression had turned from puzzlement to love, and I
felt myself melting inside for my mister. "Baby,
that's...that's a beautiful thing to say to me."

"I mean it, mom."

"I know you do."

We shared a smile. He stroked my hair. Charlie got
smaller inside of me and a few minutes later he was
fidgeting like he wanted to get off. "You can let him
off me," I told David. "I think he's OK."

"Are you sure?"

"No," I laughed, "but we'll just see how it goes."

David took his hands away and I braced myself, and
within a few seconds Charlie gave a tug. It was a hard
tug still, and I felt my opening stretching in a way I
hadn't felt since Laurel had come out of there 15 years
before. I pushed back and tried to relax but there was
only so much I could do. There was a bright flash of
pain and a loud, sloppy noise, and then he was out of
me.

I've always loved the feeling I got when a man pulled
out of me after a fuck. That feeling of being
stretched, of my pussy having accommodated itself to
his size and shape, of simply being open. But I had
never felt anything remotely like this. I was spread
wider than I had ever been after sex, and deeper, and
it felt like there was a marvelous vacancy all the way
up to my lungs. But more than that, much more, was the
flood of juices that came out of me when Charlie took
his cock away. It was a gush, a sloppy wet mess that
exploded delightfully out of me and spattered across he
backs of my legs and onto the bed sheet beneath me.

Had I known, of course, that there had been a hell of a
lot of cum inside me – I'd felt every drop – but I
still hadn't been prepared for this. I squealed in
thrilled amazement as it flowed out and kept flowing
out, as my body emptied of my juices and his and the
marvelous mixture they had made. It was almost enough
by itself to give me another orgasm, and if I hadn't
been so shocked by it I could have bought myself off
with the barest touch.

"Holy... fuck," David said in awe. "That's the hottest
fucking thing I have ever seen in my life..."

I opened my mouth to reply but my words were drowned
out by a gasp of pleasure as Charlie put his tongue up
inside me again. And began to lick. He was seeking the
rich blend we had created together, but at the time the
sensation was so unexpected and so overwhelming that I
had no chance of thinking about it even remotely
rationally. I got my last orgasm of the night then and
I didn't' have to do a thing except sit there and feel
that superb canine tongue licking me inside and out. I
screamed my release and kept screaming until it was
done.

"God damn it mom," David said softly and delightedly
when Charlie pulled away and walked over to the corner
to lie down, lick his cock, and fall arelax. Ah,
typical male, no conversation afterward...

I just grinned up at my mister. "Help me up," I told him,
and he did, guiding me slowly to my feet and keeping
his hands on my arms for the few seconds it took my
legs to stop wobbling.

"How do you feel?" he asked, hands still stroking the
skin of my forearms. His eyes were glowing with love
and lust, satisfaction and need, and I adored the way
he looked at that moment.

"I feel fantastic," I told him. "I feel like I've
finally gotten what I've always needed. I feel fucked
out and used hard and I love it." I paused, then added,
"And I feel like I want to be naked. Undress me?"

His grin was all the answer I got or needed, and in a
moment he had my shirt up over my head and off. He
crouched in front of me and opened my crotchless jeans,
pulling them down over my hips and letting me put a
hand on his shoulder to steady myself as I stepped out
of them. At this point, any hint of modesty in front of
my mister would have been ludicrous, so I didn't' bother.
I stood in front of him, bare as the day I was born, my
shaved and well-fucked cunt gaping and dripping dog cum
three inches in front of his nose, and I watched his
horny face as he drank me in.

He was going to say something, but I cut him off. "Now,
I think you deserve a thank you for tonight, and for
understanding."

"Mom, it's nothing to..."

"Shhhh," I whispered, putting a finger across his lips.
"Stand up." He did so, his eyes sparkling. I'm pretty
sure he knew what was coming. At any rate he definitely
figured it out when I locked eyes with him, wrapped my
hand around his cock, and slowly sank to me knees in
front of him.

"Mom," he said delightedly, cradling the side of my
head in his big, sure hand. "What in the world do you
have in mind?"

"Mmmm, don't you know?" I asked, looking up at him with
wide eyes and casually stroking him.

"No, I'm really confused," he told me guilelessly, his
eyes wide. "Why don't you tell me?"

I extended my tongue and flicked it lightly across the
very head of his cock, just a quick touch, barely a
caress. But his cock leaped in my hand, something that
made me very happy. "Well... I think I'm going to suck
this beautiful cock of yours," I told him, never taking
my eyes off his face. "I'm going to put my mouth on you
and suck you until you cum for me. And if you want to
grab me by the hair and fuck my face like a cunt, you
can do that too."

His smile got huge at the invitation to treat me a
little rough, and I knew I was in for a face-fucking.
The very idea was thrilling, my own mister using my mouth
for his pleasure! I wasn't ready yet to have him inside
my sex, but I was more than ready for this. He stroked
my face and asked, "And where do you want me to cum?"

"Where do you want to cum?"

His grin got very naughty indeed. "How about your
pussy?"

I responded by putting the tip of my tongue at the base
of his shaft, immediately above his balls, and running
it right up the big vein on the underside until I came
to the head; I flicked my tongue underneath it
teasingly and said, "Now be good. If you want to cum on
my tits, you can. If you want to cover my face with it,
you can. If you cum in my mouth I'll swallow every drop
you give me, I promise."

"God damn," David sighed, looking down at me. "Do you
have any idea how many times I've imagined you like
this? Naked, on your knees, my cock in your hand and
getting ready to suck it?"

"Tell me how often," I whispered back as I placed the
flat of my tongue on the base of his cock and began to
swirl it around the thick, meaty rod. I wanted to hear
his words when I sucked him because I knew they would
be lewd, sensuous, crude, and that was what I wanted. I
wanted to revel in this moment and let my mister revel in
it too, and to do that I wanted to strip away every bit
of artificiality and gentility. I wanted it to be raw,
urgent, needful, just the way Charlie had been for me –
because just like David had helped me fill my need with
Charlie, now I was filling one of David's needs; I
wanted it to be honest for him, and to be as
unforgettable as my own experience was.

I felt his hand curl in my hair. He wasn't controlling
me, not yet, but he was sending me a signal that he
would take control and use me when the moment struck
him. I loved it, and I loved it too when he growled,
"I've thought about this every day. Every single day
for years. I've wanted you this way, wanted you ready
to please me. I've wanted you to want to please me.
I've wanted you on your knees begging for my cock."

I arched an eyebrow. "Begging?"

"Begging."

My smile was salacious and my eyes were fiery as I took
my hand away and laid it on my knee. He had earned
this, and if he wanted me to beg for the chance to suck
him then I would beg. I made my eyes wide and desperate
and said, "Please, baby. Please let mommy suck your
big, fat cock. I want it so bad!"

I was just playing a role for him, of course, but the
look on his face made it more than worth it. There was
such bliss there that I almost thought he would cum
without me touching him again, but after a moment
something else came into his eyes, something hard and
masterful that made me shiver...and not entirely in a
good way, though I only thought of that later. He
wrapped a hand around the base of his shaft and held it
out to me, and I obediently opened wide and stuck out
my tongue. I expected him to put it in my mouth, but he
surprised me by putting it against my cheek.

I kept my mouth open, uncertain about what he was
doing, but he didn't put it there; instead he began to
rub it over my cheeks, first left and then right. He
dragged it across my nose, across my chin, up onto my
forehead. I felt that thick, warm piece of meat move
across my skin, leaving a trail of precum on my face to
dry cool. I could smell his arousal, the masculine
smell of his semen, and couldn't help but wonder if his
tasted different from Tim's. I closed my eyes and let
him do what he wanted, but it wasn't until we were
finished and I was in bed that I realized what he had
been doing then.

He was marking his territory.

"Open your eyes," he ordered me, his voice sharp and
strong, and I did as he told me. He towered above me,
and our eyes were locked in lust. I waited, hungry to
take him, and he made me wait for a handful of
heartbeats. And then, firmly, he said, "Suck my cock,
slut."

I did. Without hesitation I put my lips around the end
of him and hollowed my cheeks, caressing him with my
lips and flicking him with my tongue. My hands came up,
one moving around to cup his ass and the other cradling
his heavy, pendulous balls in a gentle caress. For a
long, sweet moment I savored the feel of him in my
mouth, savored his heat and the texture of his skin,
and then I began to take him deeper into my throat,
inch by slow inch.

I have to say here that I was hardy an expert
cocksucker then. I've developed much more s******* since
then, of course, because I've practiced on a lot of
different cocks in a lot of different circumstances,
but then I had little enough s******* and what s******* I had
was rusted from disuse. But what I lacked in technique
I tried to make up for in enthusiasm and willingness,
because I wanted this to be a wonderful thing for my
mister. I kept my lips tight around him and let my tongue
dance, flicking and dashing along every bit of him I
could reach. I made the tip hard and pointed and ran it
up under the crown. I caressed the big vein and I
reveled in the feel of every ripple and whorl of skin.
I felt his heartbeat against my tongue.

I delighted in his warmth. I took him in as slowly as I
could, building gradually, wanting him to last a long
time so that his orgasm, when it finally came, would
take the legs out from under him. He grunted as I
hollowed my cheeks against him, and he gasped when I
teased his balls with my fingertips. I wasn't s*******ed
enough then to keep from gagging when I took the whole
thing in my mouth, so I fetishd a little as my lips took
the last couple of inches inside and held them there,
snug against his body and my nose buried in his pubic
hair. I drew back...

And then he started to take me. His hand locked firmly
in my hair and held me in place and he began to rock
his hips into me, pumping his cock in and out of my
mouth. I knew he was going to do this – I had almost
told him to – so it came as no surprise. And besides,
at first he was gentle enough. He fucked my mouth long
and slow, letting my work on him with my tongue on the
in and on the out.

I kept my eyes on his face, watching him to see what he
liked and what he didn't, but to tell the truth I think
he was so enthralled at finally having me this way that
the finer points were lost on him. I tried to keep my
hand on his balls but as his pace picked up I couldn't,
not without hurting him anyway, so I put both hands on
his ass, squeezed his cheeks, and let him screw my
mouth.

And that was exactly what he did. He may have started
out slow and easy but he didn't stay that way for long.
Within a few moments he was thrusting harder, pushing
himself into the back of my throat with every plunge. I
couldn't do much to please him that way except keep my
lips tight and try to make sure my tongue was out of
his way, but he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even
mind when a particularly hard thrust made me gag a bit
– in fact, I think he liked the fact that he was making
his mom gag on his cock and I was doing nothing to stop
him.

To tell the truth, I liked it too.

He didn't last long, certainly not as long as he would
have liked, but then when you're realizing a life's
ambition you're inclined to get a little excited. His
pace was fast, his hand holding me motionless and his
balls slapping against my chin, and I could see by the
look on his face that he was fighting to hold back his
orgasm – and losing the fight. I wondered where he
would cum, whether he would put it in my mouth or pull
it out and spray it onto me; either way would be a
delight for both of us.

I squeezed his ass cheeks, trying to tell him that he
was doing fine – I'm not sure whether the message got
through or not, but his thrusts got faster and harder,
his breath coming in ragged little gasping moans as he
sucked air past his clenched teeth. "Fuck mom," he
snarled, "this feels so fucking good! I've wanted this
for so fucking long!"

"Mmmmppphhh," was all I could say with a mouth full of
********** cock, so that was what I said, and I swirled
my tongue in my mouth in an effort to give him more
sensation; I doubt that I succeeded, but it was the
thought that counted.

"Oh God oh God oh God," he muttered softly over and
over as he screwed his eyes shut tight. His chest was
heaving, he sounded like a steam train with his
staccato breathing, and his hand was so tight in my
hair that it hurt, but I didn't mind a bit. My mister was
going to cum for me and I loved it. "I'm gonna...I'm
gonna...oh fuck mom..."

"Mmmmmmpppphhhh!" I moaned emphatically, hollowing my
cheeks to suck him hard.

"Gonna...gonna cum..." And then he did. The mystery of
what he would do with it was solved when he pushed deep
into my mouth and held himself there for one heartbeat,
two, three. I tried not to breathe so I wouldn't retch
at the intruder in my throat. He sucked in a deep
breath and held it. His cock leaped in my mouth,
twitched and spasmed. He moaned deep and hard and
gutturally...

His cum exploded into my mouth. And I do mean it
exploded. There was a blast of it that doused my
throat, its salty tang inundating my senses with its
sheer power. *Different from Tim,* my mind told me, and
in an instant I amended it: *Better...* He was
delicious. He drew his cock back enough that I could
swallow what he was giving me, but there was so much of
it, it was so thick and rich, and it came so fast that
I almost had it overflow my lips and dribble down my
chin.

But swallow I did, as rapidly as I could, and after
what seemed like an endless number of spasms and
squirts, my boy stopped orgasming and I could start
sucking him again. I had told him I wanted every drop
he had and I meant it. My tongue and lips and cheeks
started working again, and now he was too spent to do
more than stand there on wobbly legs and take it. He
kept his eyes closed as I milked the last of his seed
out of him, but a satisfied smile crept across his
face. He licked his lips and said, softly and
adoringly, "You dirty little whore... you sweet little
cocksucking whore..."

Before David, no man had ever really talked dirty to me
before. I was discovering, though, that I like it...a
lot, in fact. I gave a delighted laugh around his cock
and kept sucking until there was no more sperm to be
had, then leaned back on my haunches and gave him a
self-satisfied smile. He opened his eyes and looked
down at me, and I up at him, and we stayed that way for
a happy heartbeat until I asked, wide eyed and
innocent, "Did you like that, baby?"

"Oh Lord..." was all he managed to say, and we both
laughed. It was an amazing moment in time – I had my
dog's sperm drizzling out of my cunt and my mister's sperm
in my belly and I had fulfilled at least some of the
dreams of two people. The taboo of what we had just
done didn't even enter my mind. I was as happy as I had
ever been, right then and right there. It was the
perfect instant.

And then David's distracted, dreamy smile slowly
changed into something very, very different, and I
recognized it as the smile he wore when he was about to
do, or had done, something terrible. My own smile froze
on my face and I wondered at his expression.

And then he calmly walked across the living room to a
shelf on the opposite wall. It was a shelf where I kept
knick-knacks and gewgaws like a crystal bird and a
couple of books that were there for show and not
reading. I didn't even have time to wonder what he was
playing at before he reached up and took something
small and inconspicuous from behind the bird. He turned
and held it out to me, and when I recognized what it
was, my red froze inside me and all the good feelings
I had about the night vanished in a single second.

It was a spy camera.

"Amazing things, these little gadgets," he said
cheerfully. "They give a great quality picture, rigged
up to send wireless to a DVR."

My eyes got enormous. "You!"

He laughed at me. "Got the whole thing too. You stayed
framed in the shot just perfect, I'm sure."

"God damn you, David!"

"If I thought he existed, I'd be worried," he grinned,
tossing the camera up and catching it on the way down.
"But if I were you, I'd be more worried about me."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. "David...how
COULD you?" I demanded, trying to keep the tears at
bay. "Why would you do that when we did what we just
did?"

"For posterity," was his cheerful, evil answer. "Oh,
and for insurance. Now that you've gotten what you
wanted, well, I thought you might not be so eager to
give me what I want. And I can't have that."

"You...MOTHERFUCKER!" I howled, leaping to my feet. I
was still wearing those damned stilettos though, and I
nearly pitched over onto my face.

"Not yet," he said calmly. "But I will be."

The profanities I hurled at him as he walked laughingly
up the stairs aren't really fit for print, and to tell
the truth I'm not sure they even made much sense. Pure,
unadulterated betrayal and rage can make a permister
incoherent. But he ignored me like I wasn't even
there...

And suddenly I had to puke. I clamped my hand over my
mouth and sprinted to the bathroom, leaving a trail of
dog jizz all the way. I made it to the toilet just in
time to lose all my mister's cum and the wonderful dinner
we'd shared. I stayed over the toilet for a long, long
time, crying and trying not to completely lose my cuckolds brownie.
I am ashamed to report I failed in that.

But panic only lasts for so long, and when it was over
I had a mess to clean up. I heard David come down the
stairs and slam the door behind him as he left, and the
sound of the door closing jarred some sense into me.
Tim and Laurel were going to be home soon and I
couldn't let them find the living room the way it was,
or me the way I was. I cleaned myself off with a towel
and then used it to wipe up the dog sperm that had
wound up anywhere but the old sheet.

My "dog fucking outfit", the slinky little white dress,
and David's suit and underwear wound up wrapped in that
sheet, which I ran upstairs and shoved deep beneath my
bed until I could figure out what to do with it. The
shoes joined it, and in a flash I was in the shower,
letting the scaldingly hot water wash over me and
trying to rinse and spit the taste of offense out
of my mouth.

I was in bed when, at hour and a half later, Tim and
Laurel got home. I heard the door close downstairs
behind them and I heard their laughter. I heard Tim's
footsteps on the stairs as he came up to check on me.
He poked his head into the darkened room and said,
"Honey?" but I pretended to be arelax, just like I
pretended to be arelax a couple of hours after that
when he came to bed. He drifted off quickly, his faint
snore familiar and comforting next to me, his body warm
beneath the sheets of our marriage bed.

I didn't relax a wink that night.

To be continued?

Merci pour ces histoires, mais quel dommage qu'elles soient presque toutes en anglais...

La veine s'est tarie ??
Bonne continuation

nn mais comme vous le savez tous je les prends comme elles viennent(sinon gros risque de doublons)

"By the crotch," he explained sourly. "She was babbling
about taking me into one of the bedrooms. She was
laughing, but she wasn't joking, you know?"

"How...awful," I nodded. There was nothing worse than a
takesen pass in front of friends. "I hope you let her
down in no uncertain terms."

"She let herself down a few minutes later," he replied.
"Passed out cold. We laid her out in the spare bedroom
and she was still sawing logs when Laurel and I left."

"Somebody ought to do an intervention," I said softly,
not really thinking about Steph Hentzel at all, but
instead thinking intently of what I had been doing
while all that occurred.

"We talked about it," Tim told me. "It's getting pretty
bad."

Another pause and unpleasant reflections, and then I
laughed and asked, "And how did basketball go?"

"I didn't play."

I turned in his arms so he could see my surprised
expression. "You didn't play?"

"No, I did not," he said adamantly, a surreptitious
smile dancing faintly on his lips. "And don't let
Laurel or anyone else tell you differently. I didn't
play, and I most definitely didn't let Judy Rourke
score 40 points on me in 15 minutes."

I laughed again, this time genuinely. "You did?"

"No I didn't," he replied adamantly, but he was smiling
openly by now. "And that's my story and I'm sticking to
it."

I turned in his arms completely now so I was facing him
and looked into his eyes. "I love you, Tim," I said
softly and honestly. "Do you know that?"

"I know," he told me soberly. "Do you know I love you
too?"

"I know." I put my head under his chin and buried my
nose in his neck, smelling his masculine scent and
feeling his warm strength. Oh, Tim. If only you could
make me happy.

"OK, you go upstairs now, and I don't want you down
here for at least two hours, all right?" he ordered me.
"Laurel will bring you some food up to bed and you can
console her for her loss of Tony."

I nodded and smiled. "Let Charlie in before you go to
the club," I told him, stepping away and heading for
the stairs. He said he would, and I went back to bed.
To my surprise I actually dozed off, because Laurel
woke me up when she brought a tray in with milk, two
bowls of cereal, toast, juice and fruit. Charlie was
with her; my heart skipped a beat when he sniffed under
the bed where I'd stashed the evidence the night
before, but food was a stronger imperative and soon he
hopped up and joined us for breakfast.

"I was just...I couldn't believe it," Laurel said as we
ate. "Tony has a boyfriend! I totally got dressed for
nothing."

I cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Not for nothing, the
way I hear tell it," I teased. "Dad said you were the
most popular girl there."

She rolled her eyes. "My God, show some chest cleft and
all the boys start to drool."

I laughed. "Sometimes it's a good thing, believe me.
But didn't you have a good time? Dad said you danced
with everyone."

"I did, but, like, I had to keep from...exploding out
of that blouse," she chuckled. "I was bouncing around
pretty good. If I'd have known I was going to be that
active I'd have worn something with a little more
support instead of the bra I borrowed from you."

"Laurel!" I scolded. "I told you not to take one of
those bras!"

"I knooooooow," she said, staring into her cereal bowl.
"I just wanted to look good for Tony, that was all. I
didn't mean any harm. I was just hoping..."

"Hoping he wasn't gay?"

"Yeah, darn it," she muttered. "Why are all the good
ones gay?"

"Not all of them," I corrected, "just the really cute
ones. And besides, you know you shouldn't have taken
the bra when I told you not to."

"I know," she sulked.

I thought it over for a bit, then said, "I want you to
do the dishes and wash the kitchen floor today. That
will be your punishment."

She nodded and didn't protest; she's a good kid. We
chatted for a few more minutes and then, out of the
blue, she said, "Mom? I was thinking about what you
told me...about how you...you know, how you like, show
yourself? In pubic?"

"Yes," I said warily.

"Well...can I see you do it sometime?"

I froze with my juice glass at my lips. Carefully I set
it down and asked, "Why do you want to see that,
honey?" I pleased myself by not hyperventilating.

"I dunno, it just seems...really hot," she said with an
adorable blush. "Like...I mean, I really want to see
the looks on people's faces when you do it."

I felt a tad dizzy. "I don't think it's really
appropriate for you to see that, sweetie."

"Why not? I mean...I just want to see what people do,"
she pressed. "I'll bet their eyes just pop out of their
heads!"

"Maybe they do," I said ***ly, "but that's not
the point. The point is you really shouldn't see
something like that."

She grinned at me impishly. "Well it wasn't appropriate
for you to tell me about it either, but you did."

"And I shouldn't have."

"But now I know, so would it really be so bad to see
it?"

"Yes it would," I insisted.

"Why?"

I didn't have a particularly good answer for that,
especially because I'd largely fabricated the story
about me being an exhibitionist in the first place, but
eventually I stammered, "Well...some things you're just
not old enough for."

"That's a lousy excuse."

"No it isn't."

"And you use it too much," she added, sticking her
tongue out playfully. "But I'm serious. I just want to
see how people react. I think it's awesome you do it
and I want to just, like, witness it."

"And I'm serious when I say no," I replied, focusing on
my cereal.

"Will you still say no if I bug you all the time?" she
inquired cheerfully.

"For God sake, Laurel. Will you please drop it?"

"Nope," was her happy reply.

"Laurel," I said in a warning tone.

"All right, all right, I'll drop it," she said, and
after a moment added, "for now. But you know I'll keep
asking."

I sighed. She would keep asking, because she was
nothing if not persistent when it came to getting
something she wanted, but I would just need to be firm.
I changed the subject and we finished eating, and then
she took away the tray and went to clean to kitchen.

I did nothing the whole day, but that doesn't mean I
enjoyed it. I read and watched television and puttered
around in the garden, but every few minutes I would
remember what had happened the night before and I would
get dizzy and nauseous. I still couldn't believe what
my mister had done to me, but more than that I couldn't
believe the position I had put myself in. I had been
beyond gullible, I had been an idiot, and now I was
going to pay. David had me where he wanted me, and I
knew he wouldn't be long in calling in the bill.

It didn't help that the lies I had told to Laurel were
now coming back to haunt me as well. I had been stupid
then too, concocting a foolish story that had
unexpectedly and unaccountably captured my flower's
attention. As if having my demon-seed mister pressuring me
into doing deeply immoral things wasn't bad enough, I
now had my wonderful flower doing the same from a
different direction. And a week ago my life had been so
simple.

Charlie, ever faithful, was never more than a few feet
from my side the whole day. He sniffed my butt a few
times, but I was so far away from being horny that even
the memory of the bliss we had given each other the
night before wasn't enough to make me even a little
aroused, so he behaved himself.

Tim got home in the middle of the afternoon – another
working lunch, he said – and grilled hamburgers for
dinner. He was cheerful, saying that the big project
was going well, and he was very attentive of my health.
I don't get sick often, and he was just certain I must
be feeling absolutely terrible if I had missed the
party and was still claiming illness today. I was
feeling terrible, but I thanked every god I could think
of that my husband didn't know why.

The only saving grace of the whole day was that I
didn't see David all day long. I happened to be in the
bathtub when he finally rolled out of bed and he left
almost immediately. He got back just as I was heading
up to bed, but he didn't say more than hello and good
night to me. I shied away from him like he was carrying
the plague and hurried upstairs to my bedroom. I
honestly didn't think I'd relax that night either, but
I was so exhausted that my body gave out on me. I know
I dreamed of wicked, sinful, and delightful things, but
I don't remember any of it.


May 12

Monday dawned cloudy and gloomy. I could smell rain on
the breeze and the air felt charged and electric. A
storm was coming – and double meaning of the phrase
wasn't lost on me.

When I woke up, the first thing I realized was that it
had been one week since my life had turned onto the
path where I now was. One week, but so much had
happened, and so much was going to keep happening. One
week that felt like a hundred years. I lay in bed
thinking ugly thoughts about David, but even that
couldn't keep me from having more pleasant thoughts
about Charlie, and about Brandy too...and Petra.

I had scheduled a date with Petra for tomorrow, and
even though I had no intention of keeping it, I
couldn't help but wonder what I would be like if I did.
What would she do to me? Would it be fingers like with
Brandy, or would it be something else? Would she fuck
me with a strap-on? Would she put her mouth on me?
Would I put mine on her?

I'd be lying if I said that the thought wasn't
appealing, which surprised me to no end. I'd just
assumed that my tryst with Brandy had been an
aberration, a sort of side effect of having a dormant
sexuality suddenly awakened. It had been pleasurable,
sure, but once the immediate thrill of it wore off I
didn't think I would ever try it again. Now, though, as
I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, it seemed to me
that there could be things much, much worse than
feeling Petra's soft, curvy body against mine, tasting
and being tasted, making another girl cum...

I was horny when I finally got up a few minutes later
and went downstairs to get the family out the door.

Tim had to stop and pick up some doughnuts for a
morning meeting, which entailed a detour on his way to
work (doughnut shops are slightly less common than
hen's teeth in the Twin Cities) and so he barely had
time to kiss me on the cheek before he dashed off,
coffee in hand and looking at his watch.

Laurel and I had a pleasant few minutes until she
brought up the exhibitionist thing again; I was still a
little tingly from my thoughts of Petra and so my head
was somewhat clouded, but I didn't find the idea as
unpalatable as I had the day before. I still shot it
down with complete firmness, though, and sent her off
to school with a hug and wishes for a good day.

And that just left David. He came downstairs just as
Laurel was leaving, already dressed for school and they
exchanged snippy remarks as hey passed. Laurel left and
my mister came into the kitchen to grab a Pop Tart. I
didn't even look at him. I could feel his eyes on me,
though, and after a moment he asked, with infuriating
casualness, "You're not still pissed about the other
night, are you?"

I whirled on him and glared. He was smiling smugly as
he pushed the pastry into the toaster, something which
just made me angrier. "You are...you are the worst
human being I have ever met!" I spat. "How could you do
that to me?"

His grin got cuckolds brownie-eating. "Man, the look on your face
was fucking priceless when I pulled out the camera! You
should have seen it!"

"And that's all you have to say?" I demanded fiercely.
"I trusted you, David! Don't you see that? I let you
see me in that position because I trusted you, and
because I trusted you I did... the other thing."

"You sucked my cock and swallowed my cum," he said
calmly, looking me in the eyes.

I couldn't hold the eye contact, not under those
circumstances, and I looked at the floor angrily. "Yes,
I did that. I did that because I thought we were
sharing something, David."

"We were sharing something. We shared dinner, and we
shared what came after."

"And then you betrayed me!"

He laughed. "And you're surprised at that? How fucking
stupid are you, anyway?"

I recoiled. "I didn't think..."

"No, I guess you didn't," he agreed amiably. "I don't
even understand how you can be surprised at this. Fuck,
I mean I already filmed you once. Don't you remember
how all his started?"

"I remember," I muttered.

"Then why were you surprised?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. Instead I lifted my
eyes to him and looked him in the face. "So it was all
a lie?" I asked softly. "Everything you said,
everything you told me when we were standing in front
of the mirror? Everything about you..."

He met my gaze unflinchingly. "About me loving you?
About me always loving you and needing you and wishing
you were mine?"

"Yes," I breathed. I was trembling. "That."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "That wasn't a lie. I
meant every word of that. Every single word."

I felt my tears start. I hated myself for crying, but I
had no choice in the matter. "Then why? If you really
feel that way, why would you do something that hurt me
so much?"

He cocked his head and reached out a big, sure hand to
caress my cheek. I felt him take a tear onto his
finger. "Mom," he sighed gently. "Because I could."

I looked at him uncomprehendingly, but before I could
say anything else his Pop Tart reappeared. He took it,
said a cheerful "Goodbye," and turned and walked out
the door.

I spent the morning in a fog. I was stunned, hurt, and
bewildered, yes, but this was also the first time I'd
had the house to myself since Sunday night, and the
first time I had a chance to really decompress and
relax. I was scheduled to have lunch with a couple of
friends, Patty and Tammy, but I was in no mood and so I
called and canceled shortly after David left. I tidied
up, took a long shower, and made a list for the grocery
store. Groceries were a Monday routine and right then I
felt like I needed a good, solid dose of routine.

It was a little after 9:30 when I pulled into the lot
at the supermarket and climbed out of the car. I had
managed to stop thinking of the insanity my life had
become and had nothing more on my mind than making sure
I got the purple plums and not the red ones that Tim
doesn't like – but it was then I looked up and saw a
woman about my age going in to the pet store that was
next to the supermarket.

She looked nothing like me – she looked like she was
Italian, or Mediterranean anyhow; she was probably five
inches shorter than me but probably outweighed me by
ten pounds – she was plump and cheerful looking,
dressed casually. I doubt I would have noticed her at
all except for the fact that she had, on a leash, an
absolutely gorgeous German shepherd.

My eyes immediately dropped to its belly and saw the
sheath there, and the swinging balls between his
powerful hind legs. He was glossy and dark brown on his
back with light brown chest and haunches; his ears were
perked up and his tail was wagging. He looked strong,
fit, and so completely sexual that it almost staggered
me just to look at him. *Does he fuck his mistress?*
The thought came unbidden, but once it hit me the image
came with it of the dark-haired, plump housewife on all
fours, tied to her rutting, magnificent pet, her full
Mediterranean lips open in a cry of passion.

I could have cum without touching myself. The image was
that erotic, so erotic that I could do nothing but
stand for a long moment while I regained my balance.
Once I did, I went into the store just as the first
raindrops of the day's storms were beginning to fall.

It was a memorable shopping trip. I had been coming to
that store on the same day every week for years, and I
knew everyone who worked there and even some of the
other regular shoppers. I would say hello, share a
pleasantry, even look at baby pictures. Today,
though... today was very, very different. Today when
Rita, the smiling Hispanic checkout girl, greeted me
with a nod as I entered, I wondered what she would look
like sucking a cock – David's cock, to be precise.

When Tom the produce stocker cheerfully told me that
the New Zealand peaches were good today, I visualized
him putting me on my back on the floor next to the
apples, flipping up my summer dress, and pounding me
for half an hour before coming inside me. Dave the
butcher recommended the boneless pork loin and I
visualized how his creased, rugged face would look
distorted by the pleasures of orgasm. I imagined Gina,
the gal who checked my groceries out, on her hands and
knees being taken by Charlie, hard and rough, as I fed
her my pussy. I was so hot when I got out of there that
I physically ached.

I drove home in a driving rain, doing my level best to
focus on nothing but the trip. I was hot, yes, but I
was starting to realize that when I got horny,
especially as horny as I was now, I tended to do things
I regretted later on. And so I tried, as hard as I
could, to think of the present, my body in the car, the
car on the road, the rain on the windshield. I tried to
ground myself in the moment. And I couldn't do it.

I could feel my pussy empty and I hated the emptiness.
I could feel my nipples hard inside my depressingly
sensible bra and I hated that there was no mouth on
them, no hands. I felt my tongue sitting still in my
mouth and I hated that it wasn't moving against a
tongue, or a cock... or a pussy.

Yes, in that moment I thought about Petra, naked,
eager, wet, about how she would smell and how she would
sound, and how she would taste when I put my mouth on
her. I tried to push thoughts of it away but it they
wouldn't go. At that moment, I wanted sex so badly that
even the thought of having it with a woman, and one who
was basically a stranger, was staggeringly erotic. I
almost turned the car around right then and headed for
the lingerie store...

But I didn't. I stayed strong... strong enough, anyway,
that I made it home without going lust-crazy. I hauled
in the groceries (Charlie was thrilled to see me), put
away the things that needed to be refrigerated or
frozen, and then headed for my bedroom as fast as my
legs could carry me.

Charlie got excited when I pulled the bundle out from
under the bed – the bundle that contained my dog
fucking clothes that still reeked of his seed. He
pranced and hopped and twirled, and his red tip poked
from its sheath. "I know, boy," I told him, petting his
head. "I want it too. I want you, and I hope like hell
that you learned what to do from the other night."

We went down to the living room, the bundle in my arms
and Charlie weaving against my legs so eagerly that I
almost fell on the stairs. I dropped the bundle on the
living room floor and Charlie began to tug at it with
his teeth as I checked the place for hidden cameras –
call me paranoid if you want. I looked everyplace I
could think of, then I looked again...and then I got
undressed.

My dog fucking clothes were a mess. There was dog hair
all over the outrageous tee shirt, and the crotchless
jeans had cum stains all down the backs of the legs. I
couldn't have cared less. I got into them like they
were a satin prom dress and I was going with the star
quarterback.

Charlie tried to mount my leg as I was getting into the
jeans and we went down together in a heap, him licking
my face and me laughing – I was sure now that he
remembered, sure now that I wouldn't need my wicked
mister's wicked help to achieve what Charlie and I both so
desperately needed. He tried to mount me again as I
spread out the old bedsheet. At the last moment I
emptied the sofa of throw pillows, tucking them
underneath the sheet to provide cushioning for my knees
and elbows. Charlie was frantic, he couldn't wait, and
when I finally assumed the position he instantly hopped
up upon me...

And what followed was the single most frustrating hour
of my entire life. He hopped up on me, yes, but from
the side with his cock in my ribs. I pushed him off and
tried to guide him, and the next time he mounted my
hips and tried to stick his dick in the pocket of the
jeans.

Then from the front, then from the side again, then
backing off and licking himself. At first I was gentle,
coaxing, sure that he would remember if I just struck
the proper pose and gave him the chance. But he didn't
remember – oh, he remembered that he had fucked me all
right, and he obviously wanted to do it again, but the
how of it... that eluded him.

Only once did I even get his tip inside me, and for a
brief and wonderful moment I was certain that he would
bury himself in me gloriously as he had before... but
then he was off me again and nothing I did could I get
him to repeat it. I tried until I was crying tears of
sheer exasperation, and when I finally gave up and
threw the clothes and the old bed sheet into the
washer, I added tears of despair to the mix. Not
because I didn't get fucked – well, partially that, I
admit – but mostly because it was clear and irrefutable
evidence that I still needed David's help to achieve
this thing that I needed so badly. David's help never
came without a price.

That was what was particularly galling. David had
humiliated me, betrayed my confidence and manipulated
me to get what he wanted. He had shown me a sweet,
seductive face and when I crumred in front of it he
used my vulnerability to get me deeper into trouble and
give himself more blackmail ammunition. Truly, the way
I felt then, the thought of never seeing my mister again
would have been delightful. But instead he had done
something worse than all of that and he had made
himself indispensable for me to get the one thing I
truly needed more than anything else – Charlie. He was
my flesh and red, fruit of my womb, as it were, and I
still hated him for that.

But even then I knew, deep down, that David wasn't the
one who was responsible. I was the one who had given in
to the lust I felt and let Charlie lick me. I was the
one who had stayed home Saturday night, knowing full
well what that would mean, and I was the one who fell
for the soft words and caresses of a young man I knew
to be the worst and most manipulative sort of liar. If
he had used me, and he had, then I had been willing to
be used, and that was the hardest thing to swallow...
so to speak.

I tried to go on with my day but my mood went from
black to blacker. My dog fucking clothes and the bed
sheet were carefully folded and put into a box that
contained my old school papers – one place I was pretty
sure Laurel, who loved to go through my closets,
wouldn't look. I cleaned the house from top to bottom
and tried to focus on making dinner – anything to haul
myself out of the funk I was in. It didn't work. I
spent the day getting angrier at myself.

And at more than myself. My rage at David grew along
with the knowledge that I was dependent on him for my
satisfaction. That alone would have been bad enough,
given that every time I opened myself to him in that
way I gave him more things to blackmail me with. But
more than that, he had his own designs on me and every
time he did something for me he was going to go a
little farther, take a little more.

I already didn't have any idea how I could keep my mister
from fucking me if he wanted to, and the fact that I
relied on him was just making it harder on me. And it
wasn't just blackmail. The little sociopath knew the
words to say to make me give in, and he knew the way to
touch me to make me so hot that I couldn't think
straight. As much as I hated him – and I did hate him –
I was realizing that I didn't have what it took to
resist him. When he wanted me, he would make me want
him, and when I wanted him, I didn't know how to keep
from letting him take me. I just wasn't strong enough,
and that realization added anger to my anger.

Before long even Charlie could sense my rage and stayed
well away from me, eyeing me cautiously as he laid
curled into a defensive little ball on the floor. I
would never hurt Charlie, of course – I'd sooner hurt
myself – but dogs are exquisitely sensitive to their
masters' moods, and my mood was a big red flaring neon
sign over my head. I don't even know what was stormier:
me or the thunder outside. I even had to order him to
the leash so we could go on our run, and the cold rain
did absolutely nothing to cool me off.

David came home at his regular time, an hour before
Laurel got out of practice, and he was shaking the rain
off and laughing good naturedly as he stepped through
the door. "Man, it's storming like hell out there!" he
said cheerfully. "It's good to be in where it's warm
and dry!"

I looked up from the dusting I was doing, shot him an
absolutely withering, hateful glance, and went back to
work.

"O...K..." he chuckled, not much abashed. "Maybe it
isn't so warm in here after all. Still mad at me?"

"No, I'm just fucking tickled pink you set up a spy cam
and made me the star of a goddamned PORN MOVIE, you
little fucker!" I was screaming without even knowing
it, yelling so loud and harshly that Charlie whimpered,
tucked his tail between his legs, and beat a hasty
retreat into the next room.

My darling baby boy was not so intimidated. He just
looked me up and down as I stood before him with my
hands on my hips and my stance wide as though gearing
up for a fight, and then grinned enragingly, bent over,
and began to take off his shoes. "Well if you aren't
used to it by now, you'll have a chance to get used to
it. Since I can't always have you, movies of you are
the next best thing."

"I AM DONE!" I shouted, jabbing a finger in the air
toward him. "You are NEVER using me again, do you hear
me young man?"

He looked at me with tolerant amusement, a little
twinkle in his eye that made me all the madder. "'Young
man?' Wow, you must really be pissed, you only break
that one out when you want to ******* me." He laughed
then, cheerful and merry, and if steam can shoot out of
human ears then it shot out of mine at that moment.
"You're puffing yourself up and flying around like you
have a choice in this, mom. Get real, bitch – you have
no choice."

"I AM NOT PLAYING ALONG WITH YOU ANY MORE!"

He cocked his head. "Wait a second, you think you're
serious about this, don't you?"

"I AM serious, god damn it!" I was screeching now, an
unpleasant habit when I get as angry as I ever get,
which thankfully isn't often. Honestly, I'm usually
pretty cheerful. Just now, though...well, David was
lucky I didn't have a gun. "I am sick and tired of
playing your disgusting little games. You think I'm one
of your sluts, someone you can just use and throw
away?"

"If I felt like throwing you away, which I doubt I
will," he replied with a shrug. "What are you going to
do about it, go to jail for fucking a dog and statutory
**** of your own under-aged mister instead?"

It was that statement that pushed me over the edge. Yes
I knew I was in no position to issue threats or demands
and yes I knew David held all the cards, but when he so
casually referred to the fact, well, it was more than I
could take. I gave a sound, something that was midway
between a screech and a grunt, a sound composed of pure
frustration and anger, and turned to stomp from the
room.

Apparently, though, David wasn't done with our little
talk. He closed the gap between me and him in three
steps, grabbed me by the arm and spun me around –

And that was when I hit him. He had hold of my good
right arm but my left came up hard and fast and laid a
lick on his cheek. It was a hard, solid shot, and
although I didn't mean to claw him, I did have my nails
folded underneath my palm and I opened a nasty, obvious
two inch scratch below his eye. His expression was pure
shock... and then he hit back. Well, he didn't hit me
so much as shove me, throwing his shoulder into me like
he was on a football field. I have to say, my mister hits
a whole lot harder than I do.

I flew back and slammed into the wall hard enough to
make me see stars, and then he was on me again. I was
too dazed to do a thing to oppose him as he shook me by
my shoulders like I was some sort of rag doll, then
hurled me across the room where I sprawled face-first
into an easy chair. I bounced off and landed on my ass
on the floor, sprawled helplessly.

And he was on top of me, straddling my stomach, one
hand locked around my throat at he glared into my face.
I felt his fingers tighten on my neck and for a
terrifying, delirious instant I thought he was going to
******* me. But he tightened just enough to hold me in
place while, with the other hand, he reached up and
touched the scratch I had left on his face. His
fingertips came away redy, and he held them in front
of my eyes. "Look at this!" he shouted. "What the fuck
do you think you're doing, bitch? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU
THINK YOU'RE DOING? You fucking claw my face? WHAT THE
FUCK?"

By this point I had recovered enough to grab hold of
the wrist that was holding me by my neck and try to
pull it away, but I may as well have saved the effort –
he was too strong for me even when he wasn't enraged,
and now he was plenty enraged. He flexed his fingers
against my throat and that was enough to get me to stop
struggling. I know my eyes were wide and terrified as I
looked up at him, and his expression was pure malice.

"Never hit me again," he hissed. "Never even fucking
think about it. Do you think I've done the worst I can
do to you? Do you really fucking think that? Because I
haven't, not by a long fucking way, and if you piss me
off once more, just once fucking more, I will make you
regret it and regret it hard. Do you hear me?"

I didn't answer, and his hand left my neck in a flash
and grabbed my hair. He lifted my head up and slammed
it down again on the floor, just hard enough to give me
a headache and send the message that he was not kidding
around. "DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME, BITCH?"