les histoires de chrislebo

He nodded, looking a bit glum. "I know. But if we
can...I'd really love it, mom."

I nodded, my eyes sparkling, and leaned in to whisper,
"If we can be alone, would you like me to suck your
cock while you lick my pussy?" "Oh...I think I could be
persuaded." He reached a hand up my skirt and gave my
bare pussy a little squeeze. "Now don't keep Laurel
waiting...and I want to hear all about what you get up
to when you get home, OK?"

"OK. I love you, David."

He locked eyes with me and nodded, a small, perfect
smile on his face.

"I love you, mom."

I tried to keep the dopey, love struck smile off my
face when I got to Laurel and the car, but I'm not sure
how well I succeeded. She asked me what was up and I
said something (I'm not even sure what) and we were on
our way.

Laurel, of course, started bugging me about getting her
license and maybe her own car, and we were still
struggling with the problems associated with that
particular parental nightmare when we pulled up into
our parking space at the mall. Now, for those of you
that don't know, the Mall of America is the largest
shopping mall in the United States. It has over 500
stores, it's bigger than Rhode Island, it has its own
weather pattern and people have gotten lost inside and
never been seen again.

OK, I made the last three up, but the place is absurdly
huge. It has three levels of shopping, an indoor
amusement park complete with roller coasters and a
water ride, an enormous aquarium, and the best people
watching to be found in the whole state. Laurel adores
it.

We hit Nordstrom first, and both of us could have spent
the rest of the day there quite happily had Laurel not
had several other stores she wanted to shop at. As it
was we picked up a really cute pair of bright blue Sam
Edelman flats that Laurel had spotted on sale the day
before and that looked great on her. Then we drifted
through the Abercrombie & Fitch, crossed the aisle to
the Bare Essentials boutique, and then went into Ben
Bridge Jewelers. That was where Laurel showed me off
for the first time. When we walked in, the first thing
we saw was a gorgeous young sales guy talking to a
rich-looking older woman. Laurel caught my eye and
grinned, then leaned in and whispered, "You should give
him something to look at."

I giggled. "You're so bad. I shouldn't listen to you,
you're a bad influence." She leaned in and gave me a
gentle shove with her shoulder. "Go on, I dare you."

"Oh you dare me, huh? What makes you think I'll fall
for that?"

"Mom," she said, her voice low and urgent, "I want you
to." My stomach did something weird, like I was at the
top of a roller coaster and just plunging over the
drop, and I nodded wordlessly. We drifted along one of
the display cases near the cutie, and as soon as he was
done with the other woman he turned to us and said,
"Hello ladies, how are you today?"

I gave him by best sexy smile and said, "I'm
lusting...after these earrings right here. Can you show
them to me?"

He locked eyes with me for a moment and then smiled.
"Sure, the sapphire hoops, those are beautiful."

Laurel stepped back, ostensibly to look at something in
another case but really so he could watch the cutie's
face when I gave him a little show. He reached into the
case for the earrings...just as I leaned over with my
elbows on the case, arms pressed just a bit together,
giving him just as spectacular a view of my cleavage as
I could. His eyes went right there like they were drawn
by a magnet, and I shifted to let him look all the way
down to my belly button. We made some small talk about
the earrings and a few other pieces, but mostly he
scoped me out and I gave him the best looks I could. I
didn't buy anything, but I did have a very good time.

Laurel was leaning on me and fighting to hold back
laughter as we walked out. "Oh my God, mom, you should
have seen his face. I think he's in love."

I grinned. "Well then he has good taste in breasts."

"We need to get you out of that bra!"

"I wish your man said that once in a while," I mock-
grumped, and we both laughed. "But really, you honestly
want me to flash the girls?" "Nipples and all," Laurel
said, a positively wicked smile on her face. "I want to
see some lucky guy's face when he sees the best boobs
in the whole Mall of America."

"I thought you were keeping your shirt on."

"Ha ha, I meant yours."

I shook my head. "You know, I have no business doing
any of this with you around."

She laughed. "Oh you love it and you know it. I saw
your face in there. You adore being looked at, don't
you?"

"Well, fine, I do, but that doesn't mean I need to
expose you to it."

"Pun intended?"

"Not entirely. But I'm serious, this isn't exactly a
normal mom-flower day out."

"You're right," she said with a nod as she squeezed my
hand and shot me a glowing smile. "It's tons better.
Now come on, let's go to the bathroom so you can get
out of that bra."

I shook my head, but I followed where she was leading.
"You know, you owe me for this, kiddo."

"I would except you like it as much as I do."

I hmmphed, but she had be dead to rights. I was loving
this, and the fact that Laurel was the one pushing me
to it made it more exciting. I supposed at the time
that it was simply that it made it more forbidden and
taboo to have her watching, and I do think that's part
of it, but not the whole reamister. Not by a long shot. I
stepped into the stall, and a minute later I was
stepping back out braless, my girls resting comfortably
in my revealing top...and my nipples obviously hard. I
stashed the bra in Laurel's shopping bag and followed
her out.

We shopped for a while longer. I bought a cute pair of
jeans and a vase, while Laurel picked up a cheap but
cute watch, some leggings, and three tee shirts that
were on sale. I know she was waiting for me to flash my
boobs, but she didn't say anything about it. I think
she figured I would do it if I just had time to work up
to it – and she figured right. After all, letting
someone look down my cleavage with my flower by my
side was one thing, but setting the girls free with her
there was quite another.

I knew she wanted me to do it, and honestly I found the
idea very enticing, especially if it could be arranged
so at to happen right in front of some cute boy half my
age who would appreciate the view. But still, it was a
very brazen thing to do, the kind of thing that might
reamisterably be said to be stupid. Was I going to be
stupid?

Well, I thought I might.

It happened when we stopped at a little cart selling
cheap silver jewelry, and I didn't even intend it to
happen then and there. The permister at the cart was a
girl who looked to be about 19, and she was wearing a
cross on a necklace and had one of those irritating
chastity rings on her finger (I'm a firm believer that
waiting for your wedding night to have sex is idiotic –
sex isn't something you just know how to do, and if you
want to be good for the permister you love then you need
to have some experience... at least that's my opinion)
so she was a good Christian girl.

I strongly doubt she was bi or that she wanted to see
my chichis. But she held up a silver necklace that I
asked about, and when I went to take it, it slipped off
my fingers and fell to the floor. I bent over to pick
it up without thinking –

And out popped my boobs. They spilled over the edge of
the top as I bent, the right one a little more than the
left, but both nipples were out. A million thoughts ran
through my head in the half second it took me to reach
the necklace, thoughts about how I ought to cover
myself, tuck myself in, how I ought to be modest and
sensible and not show anyone any more than I already
had... and those thoughts passed right by without
stopping.

I was in a naughty, risqué mood, a mood very much to
flaunt what I had – and for Laurel to see it and know
it was her doing – and so when my fingers found the
necklace, I simply straightened up like I didn't know
anything was amiss. The girl's jaw dropped and she
turned a shade of red I normally associate with candied
apples. A gaggle of teenage boys were passing by and in
an instant I was the center of their attention, their
appreciative expressions, and their whistles. A pair of
tween girls stared with open mouths and laughed, and I
knew they would be telling the story the next day at
school.

I loved it. I can't even tell you the pure sexual
thrill I got from standing there with my breasts
exposed, pretending I didn't have any idea why I was
suddenly the center of everyone's attentions. I simply
stood there with an innocent smile on my face, holding
the necklace out to the cart salesgirl and secretly
reveling in the sudden freedom I felt.

That was it, really – freedom. I know it sounds silly
but I really did feel free at that moment, free to
embrace my sexuality, free to accept what I was
becoming, even free to embrace my mister's love and the
fact that I was in a deeply sexual kind of love with my
own dog. Free, too, to be told to do just exactly this
and to obey.

At that moment, with an innocent grin on my face and my
chest on display for all to see, I felt like I really
had the strength to own all the changes that were going
on and to make them my own. I felt like I really was in
control of the lightning I was riding. Within a few
days, events would prove me wrong, but for a brief
moment I felt like a queen.

And it was a brief moment. For all the reaction I'd
earned, I think I stood there that way for less than
two seconds. A woman about my age, pushing a baby
carriage, boggled at me for a moment and then dashed to
my defense, putting herself in front of me and held up
a shopping bag to block the view. I managed to look
confused, and then when I looked down and pretended to
notice, I also managed to look embarrassed. I quickly
tucked myself in and then Laurel had me by the arm and
was dragging me away before the teenage boys could come
over and talk to me.

"Oh my God, mom, oh my God!" Her voice was delighted
and I saw a flush on her cheeks as she steered me
across the crowded walkway and got us lost in the
crowd. "Oh my God! That was so hot!" I was simply
laughing, a free and confident laugh like I was on top
of the world. "I didn't even mean to do it! They
just...popped on out!" "Oh my God," she repeated, "it
was perfect. You should have seen everyone's reactions!
It was just...oh my God! I thought that girl was gonna
have a stroke!"

"Yeah, she did look a little overwhelmed, the poor
thing."

"And those boys! I bet they go home and jerk off
thinking about you!"

"Language!"

"Well I bet they do! I mean...mom, you don't even
realize how completely hot you are. I think you gave
them a thrill they'll be talking about for months!"

"Oh come on Laurel, I'm not that attractive!" I
protested, though I was glowing with pride that she
thought so. "I'm just an old lady!" "Mom, if I look
half as good at your age, I'll be happy."

"Really?"

"Really. I love that my mom is a babe!" She squeezed my
arm. "And I love that people love to look at you. It
really makes me proud of you. And it makes me glad I'm
making you do this." "Well...it was pretty fun," I
admitted. "Maybe I'll even mention it to your man,
just to see if he actually reacts." "Ooh, I dare you!"
Laurel laughed.

"Stop daring me!" I said, and we laughed together. Half
an hour later we wound up in Macy's...and Laurel saw
the shoe department. Casually she asked, "Don't you
need some shoes?" "I always need shoes," I agreed.

"Do you think you need some help trying them on?" she
asked, still casually.

"Well I guess I...oh, I get it."

"Mmmm-hmmm," she said, steering me into the ladies
shoes department. I could feel her excitement as she
guided me toward the nearest shoe salesman and gave me
a shove... He was a youngster. If he was older than 17
I'll eat the shoes he sold me. He was a normal-looking
kid, a couple of acne spots and the thin build of a boy
who's gotten his height but not filled out yet.

He was average, the sort of kid you'd see by the dozen
in any high school in the country. And I was going to
give him a treat. I was going to give my flower a
treat too, the one she demanded. Laurel peeled away to
take up a good watching position as I approached him.
He smiled at me as I told him I was looking for a
couple of different styles of pumps and wanted his
assistant; I pretended not to notice when his eyes kept
flicking down at my boobs.

It was cute... and he was going to be seeing a lot more
than that pretty soon. I took my place on one of the
fitting chairs as he went off to gather half a dozen
pairs of shoes; Laurel hovered nearby, acting like she
was looking at shoes but grinning like the cat that ate
the canary. Me, I was just sitting with my legs
crossed, acting very nonchalant.

The young fellow returned – his nametag said Zach – and
set the boxes down in front of me. He was on his knees,
in perfect position, and out of the corner of my eye I
could see Laurel staring at him, waiting for his
reaction. He took off one of my shoes and I uncrossed
my legs for him to get the other. I had my ass right on
the edge of the chair and my miniskirt hitched up just
enough that there was no way I couldn't shoot little
Zach a beaver –

His eyes drifted between my legs and got huge. I fact,
his whole face sort of went slack, his eyes got buggy,
he turned beet red, and he immediately looked down at
the black peep-toe pumps he was fitting on me.

Laurel looked like she was ready to burst with
glee...and, I couldn't help but notice, her nipples
were as hard as diamonds and just about poking clean
though the sundress. There was no mistaking the look on
her face for anything but arousal. She was off to the
side so she saw nothing but my legs and Zach's
reaction, so I know that she wasn't getting hot by
looking at my pussy.

She was getting hot because I was showing it... and
because she was the one who had told me to show it.
Maybe she had more in common with David than I'd
realized. It's a mark of how turned on I was that I
didn't stop the show right there, but the fact was that
I liked showing myself – I was starting to think I
liked it a lot – and it was easier for me to actually
do it when I had someone pushing me. So, if Laurel
wanted to flaunt me, she could for now.

And yes, I know precisely how messed up that is. Zach
fumred the other shoe on and I stood up, regarding
myself in the mirror... and incidentally placing my ass
in his face, so that all he had to do was look up and
he'd see under my skirt. I watched his eyes in the
mirror – he looked up. I grinned.

"Mmmm, they're cute, but let's see some others," I
said. The next pair was a pointed-toe black pump from
Nine West, and I don't usually care for pointed toe
shoes... but this wasn't about the shoes, was it? I sat
back where good old Zach could look straight up my
skirt and fixed him with an innocent look as I held out
my foot for him. In fact I held it up nice and high so
my skirt slid back a little more.

Zach tried to be a good boy, really he did, but the
temptation was simply too much and he looked square at
it for two seconds, then hurriedly looked away and
finished fitting the shoes. He did manage to resist
temptation for a couple of pairs, although I'm not sure
how. He was red in the face, hard in the pants and even
sweating a little. It was so cute. Laurel, on the other
hand, looked almost lost in an erotic fog. I knew the
look on her face, the expression, because it was so
similar to mine.

I knew how she was feeling, the pressing throb of
arousal between her legs, and it made me quiver a bit
to know that she was getting such a thrill out of
exhibiting me this way. If my pussy hadn't already been
soaked, I'm sure the sight of it would have made me at
least a little wet. It was on the fifth pair – a very
cute Anne Klein two-tone black and silver 3 1/2" heel
pump that I absolutely had to have – that Zach finally
simply broke down and took a good long look at what I
was showing him.

He stared straight up my skirt for almost ten seconds,
entranced, and then suddenly he jerked his eyes up to
my face to see if I was angry. I was not; in fact, to
judge by my expression, there was nothing remotely
unusual going on. Innocently, I asked, "What do you
think, Zach?"

"Um...it's...beautiful," he gulped.

I smiled. "Thank you, but I meant the shoes."

"Oh! I...oh..."

I shifted my legs farther apart; it was the most I
could do to tell him to look without telling him to
look, and he looked. He licked his lips and said, very
softly, "The shoes are beautiful." "Thank you, Zach," I
told him. "I like them too. I'll take them. Now let's
look for something red."

Zach nodded and stood, taking away all the rejected
pairs and going to look for red pumps in my size. He
wasn't gone five seconds before Laurel was at my side.
I didn't have to look to see if she was turned on – I
could smell it, and the smell was thrilling. "Mom...oh
my God..." "You keep saying that," was my amused reply.
"Do you think he likes the show?" "I think he does!"

I looked up and met her eyes. She was looking a little
stunned, like a fawn in the headlights...or like a girl
who has told her lady to act like a slut and, against
all odds, seen her lady do exactly as she was told.
"And you?"

"God mom...it's so hot. Keep doing it." Her voice was
barely audible, but it was as intense as I had ever
heard her sound. Somehow I thought that this wouldn't
be the last time we did this. As awful as it sounds,
that was perfectly fine by me. I was having a great
time. Laurel was back in her place when Zach returned;
I couldn't help but notice he was carrying the stack of
boxes low to cover his erection, the sweetie. My legs
were nice and open when he settled in front of me
again, and this time he made no pretense of looking
anywhere other than at my bare pussy. And that was
nice... but I wanted to up the ante a little.

We were secluded enough that nobody except Laurel was
going to see what I was about to do, so as he settled
the crimmister open-toed BCBGirls pump on my left foot, I
let my right hand fall into my lap. As he put on the
right shoe, I was sliding my hand up underneath my
skirt. He froze, my foot in his hand and my leg in the
air, as I traced my fingertip along my hairless slit,
teasing my lips with my nail and gathering my moisture.
He couldn't have been more solidly frozen if I'd have
doused him with liquid nitrogen. I withdrew my hand,
watched him stare slack-jawed for a moment, and then
said, "Zach? You can put my foot down now."

"Huh? Oh!" He did and shook his head like he was trying
to clear cobwebs. I stood and checked how the shoes
felt on my feet – I liked them. "I'll take these too.
Let's find one more pair, something a little offbeat.
How about something in a bright pattern?" "Yeah...
sure, OK," he nodded, and I didn't even detect a trace
of resentment that I'd made him bring ten boxes of red
shoes out and then decided to buy the first pair I
tried. He scampered away, and I could only giggle. I
hadn't felt this sexually powerful since... well, ever.

But the weird part was that I knew I wouldn't be doing
this, at least not nearly so boldly, if Laurel wasn't
making me. I felt sexually powerful, but only because I
was doing what she told me to do. The implications of
that were slow to dawn on me.

He came back with another stack of boxes, and I sounded
very normal when I said, "I hope I'm not being a
bother, trying on all these pairs and making you run to
the storeroom all the time." "No!" he replied eagerly,
settling down in front of me again.

"No...it's...um, really it's no problem at all."

"Well you're very good at your job," I told him,
watching his face as he looked straight at my kitty.
"Your hands are very gentle." He blushed so hard and so
red that I thought he might pass out, and he squeaked,
"Thanks..." At this point, I would have bet just about
anything that my little Zach was a virgin, and that
this was the closest he had ever come to a naked pussy.
That made me love it all the more. I'd be in his erotic
dreams for years to come, and the things he would do to
me in his imagination... well, I found I very much
liked thinking about that.

He put another half a dozen pairs on me and I don't
think his eyes strayed from between my legs the whole
time. I ended up with a very nice pair of open-toed 4"
Nine Wests that were cream-colored with multicolored
swatches on them.

Zach ended up with pants full of cum. I'm not sure when
it happened because he didn't give any sort of sign,
but he had the most adorable wet spot at his crotch
when he stood up. What a little sweetie. Laurel joined
me at the counter as I paid for my shoes. I was acting
like there was nothing even remotely amiss, but Laurel
was flustered to the point of speechlessness.

I wondered, as they rang up my card, whether my
flower had gotten her own orgasm from this. I didn't
think she had – I didn't see her touching herself – but
she was so befuddled that she certainly seemed
afterglowy. Well, I wouldn't ask her. I just smiled
naughtily, slung the bags over my arm, and led her out.

It was a little of an odd drive home. We talked more or
less normally, and neither of us brought up what I'd
done at the Mall. It was like we had silently agreed to
keep the thing quiet, a secret between us, at least for
the moment. But of course, I didn't feel like it was
behind me, because I was still so horny that I was
squirming in my seat. I dearly hoped David and I could
find some time to be alone, because I kept imagining
his mouth on my cunt and his cock in my mouth and it
was driving me nuts.

Unfortunately, it pretty quickly became clear that it
was not to be, not that night anyway. Tim had decided
to try to make dinner and it... hadn't turned out well.
Honestly, I'm not even sure what it was supposed to be.
At least he was laughing about it. So Laurel and I
combined to whip up some fish, a salad and asparagus –
but Tim had made enough of a mess that cleanup took
forever. Then Laurel was up and down the stairs all
evening, meaning that there was no way David and I
could have taken 25 minutes to pleasure each other in
his bedroom. Dammit.

I was outside with Charlie, sitting on a chair on the
patio, when David found me. "I was looking forward to
taking you up on your offer," he said ruefully as he
settled into the next chair over. "I was thinking about
it all day long."

I smiled. "Me too, kiddo. When I got back from the
Mall, I was so horny...and you wouldn't believe what
happened there."

"You mean what Laurel made you do..."

"Well...she really didn't have to twist my arm all that
much..." I told him about showing my cleavage, about
Laurel making me take off my bra, about my tits popping
free by accident. To say that he was amazed would be to
understate things considerably. He kept shaking his
head over the fact that Laurel, who seemed so innocent
and straight-laced, got off so much on watching me show
myself. He was even more amazed that she had more or
less ordered me to do it, and I'd done what I was told.
When I told him about what I did to Zach and the way
Laurel looked afterward, he was completely astounded.

"Do you think she came from watching you?"

I shrugged and laughed. "She might have. She acted like
it."

"Well," he mused, "my little sister is just full of
surprises, isn't she?"

May 26

Charlie thought he was going to mate with me again when
I got down my dog fucking clothes. And I admit, I was
very tempted – having Charlie inside me was bliss, the
closest to Heaven I expect to come in this life (or
after it, truth be told). It would have been so easy to
get down on all fours and let Charlie mount me – he had
the method down now – and just be tied to him for 20
minutes while he pumped me full of his cum. He'd have
loved that, and I'd have loved that...

But I had something else in mind. I wanted to suck my
dog's cock. He followed be down the stairs, eager and
prancing, the tip of his cock already visible. He's so
adorable when he gets excited – it's like he's a puppy
again, completely focused and centered in the moment to
the exclusion of everything else. He thought he was
going to fuck my brains out, and so for him my pussy
was the only thing in the world worth considering at
that instant. Dogs are so pure, so sweet, and so
guileless that I can't help but love them...and when
they happen to be male, I can't help but let them love
me.

I barely got into the living room, to our customary
spot, when he thrust his snout between my legs right
onto my exposed pussy and began to lick. I was wet and
eager, and so I simply smiled and let him have his way.
His tongue slithered and moved, a serpent, rough and
soft and strong, and he pushed it into me in the way he
knew I loved the best. He began caressing nerves and
membranes and I was weak in the knees, and the fact
that finally – finally – I would return his oral
attentions made it all the sweeter.

I let him lick for a few moments, making me gasp and
tremble, but the position was awkward and so I backed
up slowly, with him following along and keeping his
tongue inside me like the wonderful lover he is, until
the backs of my knees met the edge of the sofa. Gently
I lowered myself to it, spreading my legs and keeping
my pussy right on the edge so he could get at it
easily.

His tongue filled me up, so pliable and yet so
powerful, so soft but yet so rough. I just threw my
head back and moaned, unashamed and uninhibited, and
let him lick me where and how he wanted to. And at
first he licked everywhere, from ass to clit, from the
place where my thighs met my pelvis to so deep inside
me I could barely believe his tongue wasn't a cock.

I don't like to preach, but there is something I
believe very strongly and I want to say it flat out:
every single girl who reads this owes it to herself to
let a dog lick her. I mean that. Even if you don't want
to suck a dog's cock or let a dog fuck you, I promise
you that you will never, ever experience anything in
your life like a dog's tongue on your cunt and ass.
You'll have an orgasm like you've never had – not just
from the physical sensation of it but from the fact
that the one giving you that sensation isn't another
permister, male or female, and isn't even a plastic toy;
it's another living, breathing creature, one who thinks
and feels and loves and wants to please you, wants to
give you an orgasm because it will make you happy. Try
it just once and you'll never regret it, I promise you.

OK, enough of my soapbox preaching. Charlie was hitting
my spots one after another, and he knew what I liked
because he was getting used to this by now, getting
used to licking me and making me quiver and moan and
come. Dogs are incredibly sensitive creatures, and even
if they aren't terribly bright (and they're not) they
have excellent instincts. When they do something that
feels good to you, they can sense it and they do it
again. And that's how come Charlie knew to avoid my
clit and to lick lower, seeking my openings, pushing
his tongue into my body.

Now, I've never really been an anal girl, but I knew
from the first time his tongue hit me today that it was
going to be his licking my ass that made me cum. His
tongue inside me, pushing open my lips, stretching my
pussy, even flicking at my clit if he didn't hit it too
directly, felt fantastic – but somehow, for some
reamister, it was the way he licked my ass that was
sending shivers up my spine...and making those shivers
get hot, and concentrate in the very depths of my pussy
where my orgasms started. It wasn't that his tongue on,
and in, my pussy didn't feel fantastic, because it did;
it's just that today my ass was the thing that needed
attention.

At first I shifted down and rolled my hips to bring my
ass up, and that succeeded in focusing a little more of
his attention there. His tongue, big and flat as it is,
has the miraculous ability to fit into remarkably small
spaces, and so it wasn't long before he pressed against
my asshole – and I mean really pressed, so I could feel
his teeth on that exquisitely sensitive ring of flesh –
and pushed the tip of it inside me.

I screamed. I screamed like a banshee, I howled like a
woman possessed, and my hips lurched up off the couch
and pushed my ass into Charlie's snout in an effort to
get his tongue deeper. That, of course, was a mistake –
dog's are sensitive, yes, but they don't always know
the difference between a "HARDER!" thrust of the hips
and a "KNOCK IT OFF" thrust of the hips (and to be
fair, plenty of people don't always know the difference
either – sex is an inexact science) and so he backed
off three steps and looked at me quizzically.

I couldn't help but laugh at the funny tilt of his head
and the questioning in his huge brown eyes. "Good boy,"
I said encouragingly, "come on, come lick mommy..." And
as I said it, I patted my pussy and he came right back,
tail wagging, for more...but I had the very clever idea
to leave my hand right there over my pussy and clit. He
licked at it a bit when he came back, but then his
tongue dropped down to just where I wanted it to be: my
ass.

Oh my Lord. If there's anything more sensuous than
getting your pussy licked by a dog, it's getting your
ass reamed by one. He pushed his tongue right against
my little pucker and began to lick, hard and fast,
harder and faster, and as he did my hips slowly rose to
meet him and my legs came back and further back until
my knees were against my chest and I was offering him
my ass like it was the greatest treat in the whole
world.

I was moaning, writhing, screaming, gasping, crying,
going out of my mind with the pleasure he was giving
me. And each movement of his tongue seemed to open my
ass more, each application of pressure made it yield to
pressure more easily, each thrust made my ass want his
tongue inside it with greater passion. I can't say for
sure how deep his tongue got into my ass – not as deep
as a cock would, of course, or even fingers, and not
nearly as deep as it got when he licked my pussy. But
it opened me in a way I was most emphatically not
accustomed to being opened and it stimulated nerves
that had never been stimulated, and it felt like his
tongue was pushing my wide all the way up to my liver.
I was open for my lover, giving myself to him, and he
was taking me, devouring me, making me his like no one
ever had before –

I was coming before I knew it. I was lifting myself to
him, curled up so that only my shoulders were on the
sofa and my toes were behind my head pressing against
the wall. It wasn't the sort of shattering orgasm that
he gave me with his cock, but it was lovely and deep
and rolled in waves, carrying me with it like a toy
bobbing on the ocean until, finally, I uncoiled and let
my body take a more normal position, slumped on the
sofa with a big, satisfied smile on my face. Charlie
wagged his tail at me, proud he had made me come. He
was so adorable I could just have hugged him forever.
Could have, that is, if I hadn't had my heart set on
giving him as good as he was giving me.

It was a moment before I had gathered myself enough to
slide off the sofa like a wet lasagna noodle, and by
that time Charlie had curled up at my feet. He looked
up expectantly when I got down on his level and leaped
to his feet, sure we were either going to play or fuck
and willing to accept either one. He crowded into me,
his big, strong, furry body shouldering me in his
exuberant manner. I had my arms around him and my face
buried in his neck, laughing with sheer pleasure at his
pure, simple, innocent joy.

But as I hugged him, my hand slipped beneath his body
and found his sheath. It was warm and soft and furry,
but as I squeezed it gently I felt, inside, the
hardness of his penis bone (yes, dogs have them). His
tip wasn't out anymore and he was still frisky, but as
I began to stroke it slowly he quieted down as though I
had ordered him to stillness, his tongue hanging out
just a bit and his eyes just a little out of focus, as
though he was looking at something far, far away. I
smiled, knowing that I was giving him pleasure. He was
my lover, and it made me feel good to make him feel
good. I would make him feel wonderful.

I licked my lips, feeling a little knot of anxiety in
my stomach. Would he like it? Some dogs didn't, I had
read. Would I be any good at it? I wanted to be for him
what he was for me, a lover who was present always, who
would always be faithful, who would love with
unquestioned passion – and who could make him feel
wonderful with every part of my body. I didn't know the
answers, but I needed to find out, for both our sakes.

Within a few strokes I could feel him hardening in his
sheath, thickening, growing – and the red tip appeared.
Since we began this I had seen it plenty, of course,
but this was the closest I had ever really been to it
and it mesmerized me. How different it was from a man's
cock! It was barely thicker than a Bic pen and it was a
pallid red, almost more a dark pink than actual red. It
was pointed and slick-looking like it was wet. I licked
my lips again and leaned in, extending my tongue... It
tasted like dog. I don't mean that in a bad way – quite
the opposite, in fact – but there's no other word for
it, really. It tasted like Charlie.

Now, I can see people saying "It tastes like dog cock"
as a way of saying they didn't like something, but
those people don't have dogs as lovers. Charlie IS my
lover, and I love him incredibly, and for something to
taste like him – like him and nothing else in the world
– was the greatest gift I could imagine being given at
that moment. I touched my tongue to the very tip and
felt it hard and stiff, and then I traced the inch and
a half of pale red until my tongue hit the fur of his
sheath, and then back. Charlie liked it.

My heart caught in my chest when I realized that. I had
been worried that he wouldn't like having his penis
touched in this way – the internet said lots of dogs
don't and if you can't trust the internet what can you
trust? – But he was holding himself as still as a
statue while I licked him. He liked it. He liked it and
that meant I had another way I could give him pleasure,
another way I could make my lover feel good and loved
and special. I was so happy I could have cried.

But I didn't – instead I concentrated on giving my dog
the best blowjob any dog ever got, and while I didn't
even come close to that, it was definitely the best I
could do at the time and that was what mattered. I
stroked his sheath, feeling him getting hard inside it,
pushing it back so more of his cock extended from it.
It was getting redder and thicker and longer –

And something came out. It was a colorless spray of
liquid barely thicker than water, and it sprayed across
my cheek and onto the old bed sheet. Precum, I realized
immediately, it's his precum. It's what he shoots
inside of me that feels so wonderful and makes me so
wet and hot and fills me so completely. I was struck by
a pang that I had missed the squirt, but less than a
second later there was another...I missed that too. But
when the third one came an instant later I had his cock
in my mouth, careful to keep my teeth well away from
his sensitive flesh, and I felt his hot precum splash
across my tongue for the very first time.

I won't say it tasted good. In fact, it barely tasted
anything at all. There was a bit of a copper taste like
licking a penny, but honestly it was almost flavorless.
But that didn't matter to me, not one bit. It was his,
Charlie's, my lover's juice, and he was giving it to
me, and I adored it like the finest champagne. And
there was a lot of it – a hell of a lot. Each little
squirt didn't amount to much but when they come three
every two seconds...well, it wasn't long before it was
running down my chin and making a mess of the fugly
dog-fucking shirt I was wearing. Within a couple of
minutes I had no choice but to I stop worrying about it
and just let it go where it would. I was still stroking
him through his sheath, and he was definitely getting
big.

He wasn't as big as he was going to get, of course, but
he was getting bigger very quickly and I knew it
wouldn't be long before he started thrusting – and when
that happened, my friendly internet guides on fellating
canines had informed me, I needed to be careful if I
didn't want him to rip my throat out with his cock
(which I didn't). So even though I was pushing my mouth
down on him and taking every bit of him I could get
past my lips, stroking him and caressing him with my
tongue and doing everything I could think of to make
him feel good, I was also watching carefully –

His first thrust caught me by surprise. It was an
abortive thing, just a little hump of his hips and
nothing like the fierce hammering he gives me when he
screws me silly, but it scared the bejeezus out of me.
It was just so sudden! I had visions of gagging as his
knot got stuck behind my teeth and I pulled back like
lightning. He gave a couple more halfhearted humps and
then fell still in my hand...but I was starting to
think I'd bitten off more than I could chew...um,
metaphorically speaking, of course.

I even thought of stopping and fucking him
instead...but no, I wanted this to work. I wanted to do
this for him, to give Charlie this gift of myself. I
would make it work... Then I remembered something, a
video I saw where the dog was on his back and the woman
was blowing him from above. He couldn't hump if he was
lying down, could he? Well, to be honest I had no idea
but I didn't think he could, so I patted the floor and
said, "Lie down. Come on boy, lie down."

He looked at me quizzically – I had never asked him to
lie down before when we played like this – but I
repeated myself and eventually he complied, though I
think he thought I was being silly. I rolled him over
onto his back; he immediately tried to climb back to
his feet. I think it was some sort of dominance thing,
but maybe it was just a dog thing. I mean, dogs can be
just as stubborn and headstrong as people. I had a bit
of a struggle with him until I managed to put him
firmly on his back and take his cock into my mouth
again – that settled him down!

I worked him again, and this time I felt much more
confident and in control. I don't know how he felt
about it, but I knew I'd feel a lot more comfortable
sucking his cock when he could hump if I had David here
by my side to keep him from getting too excited. For
now, this would just have to do... I took his cock into
my mouth as deep as I could get it while I stroked him
through his sheath. He was getting bigger again, and
fast – I guess I was doing something right! His precum
was flooding my mouth and there was no way I could even
start to swallow it all, so it was making a mess of his
cock and sheath, my hand and his belly. I swallowed
what I could but there was no end to the stuff – God,
if a man came as much as a dog...

My tongue was dancing on his shaft, flicking up and
down as fast as I could make it go. I loved the feel of
his cock under my tongue – it was smooth and slick, but
there were ripples too, ripples made by the veins that
creased the surface. It had gotten darker as I sucked,
going from pink to red to almost an angry purple, and I
could feel his knot inside the sheath. It was small
yet, but it was definitely a bulge in his cock...

Suddenly, it seemed to me that if I could get his knot
out, then he might start to cum – actually cum, instead
of just giving me all the precum I was getting. After
all, I reamistered, it was when he got his knot out of his
sheath and buried nice and deep inside me that he
stopped thrusting and started coming, wasn't it? The
knot seemed to be the key to the entire thing. He had
way too much cock for me to take all of it into my
mouth – and even if I could, I'd have to be Dizzy
Gillespie to actually fit the knot past my lips – but
maybe that didn't matter. Maybe all I had to do was get
my fingers around it, stimulate it, hold it inside
something warm, and that instinct that trigged his
orgasm would kick in. Maybe I could give him a
successful blowjob yet... Charlie was breathing heavy,
his ribs rising and falling rapidly as he panted, his
breath coming in something like a whine.

I knew what it was, of course – it was his sound of
pleasure, his sound of joy, the sound he made when I
made him feel good like only a lover could. He was hot,
hot in my mouth, hot in my hand, hot beneath my body as
I touched him – that's one of the many wonderful things
about dogs, they're a few degrees warmer than people,
so they feel wonderful to touch. When Charlie's cock is
buried inside me, filling me so tight, it feels so
wonderful to have that heat there, and his cum feels
sooooo warm...and now, when his precum was flooding my
mouth, it felt just as warm and just as good.

With every stroke of my hand on his sheath I could feel
his knot getting a little more pronounced, and with
every stroke I pushed his sheath a bit further back so
more of his cock would show. Already it was getting to
the point where I wasn't sure how much more I could
take in my mouth without gagging, but I wasn't going to
stop until my body made me.

I wanted to stimulate all of him, every last bit...
When his knot came out of his sheath, I smiled around
the dog cock filling my mouth. Now, at last, I could
make him feel like I wanted him to feel! My fingers
went around it, cradling it, stroking it lightly while
I pushed my mouth down all the way. My gag reflex
kicked in a couple of inches before my lips reached the
knot but I kept going. It was hard to keep my teeth off
of something so huge, but I somehow managed; and it
just kept getting bigger, harder, longer, thicker.

His precum was flowing like a river, flowing so fast I
thought it might drown me but willing to take the
chance to make him feel as special and loved as he made
me feel... I felt it and tasted it the instant he began
to orgasm. The spray against my tongue the roof of my
mouth, those endless little jets that had tasted of
almost nothing and felt like warm water, suddenly got
thicker. Not a lot thicker, not like a man's cum, but
enough that I could immediately tell that my lovely
lover was coming. And suddenly there was a taste! I
honestly can't say it's a great taste, a dog's semen;
it tasted like biting on a tinfoil, or like chewing a
nail.

It's not like the flavor would ever be a Ben & Jerry's
ice cream. But still, it was Charlie, it was HIS taste,
it was HIS cum, and I swallowed it as fast as I could,
not wanting to miss a drop. I wanted his cum flooding
my mouth. I wanted it flowing down my throat. I wanted
it in my belly. I wanted it burbling past my lips and
flowing down. I wanted its smell, its texture, its
taste. I wanted every drop he could give me. I wanted
to suck Charlie's big balls dry. I wanted him to love
fucking my mouth as much as he loved fucking my cunt.

My head was a blur on his cock, sucking, licking,
takeing him down. My hand caressed his knot gently,
stimulating him, making him cum more and more and more,
endlessly. It was then, as I wondered how long it would
go on, that I really remembered how much he pumped into
my pussy and how long he came. He could stay tied with
me for 20 minutes! And while not all of that was taken
up by orgasm, a pretty fair portion was. Well. I had a
mouthful, didn't I?

The thought thrilled me as much as it daunted me. On
the one hand my jaw was already getting tired, and he
was in my throat so deep I gagged more than once; but
on the other hand, how much pleasure was I giving him?
How good was I making him feel?

I couldn't know the answers, of course, but I sucked
like a maniac for as long as I could, and Charlie laid
there with his tongue lolling out, his eyes half
closed, panting and smiling and looking for all the
world like he was as much in love with me as I was with
him. I know I'm projecting, of course, but I do know he
loves me, and I do know I love him, and I know I adored
having that huge red cock between the lips of my mouth
just as much as I adore having it between the lips of
my cunt.

And Charlie? I don't think he was complaining.

I was a mess by the time Charlie's cock finally stopped
spraying his seed into my throat. My jaw ached from
being filled with dog, my body ached from being in a
weird position, my stomach ached from swallowing
roughly 5,000 gallons of dog spunk, and I smelled like
Charlie had just sprayed his jizz all over me...which
basically he had. And I felt absolutely, completely
fantastic.

I got cleaned up, took Charlie out for his run, and got
cleaned up again before the kids started coming home.
David got back at his normal time, well before Laurel.
My smile of greeting quickly turned to ladyly
concern, however, because his face was pinched and
drawn and he looked a little gray. I pressed my hand to
his forehead with a frown. He didn't have a fever, but
he still looked sick. "What's the matter?" I asked.
"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm all right, I just have a bitch of a
headache," he mumred.

I knew he was sick when he lost his enunciation and
started mumbling.

"I'm gonna go lie down, OK?"

"Do you want anything? Some tea? Or some soup?
Aspirin?" He shook his head, but managed a smile as he
cradled my cheek lovingly. "No, I'll be OK. I just need
some rest. I love you, mom." "Love you, baby."

He went on up and I bustled around the house making
sure everything was spic and span until Laurel came in.
She bounced into the house with her typical smile,
kissed me on the cheek and asked how my day was. I
thought about the time spent with Charlie and smiled.
"I had a wonderful day, kiddo. How was yours?"

"OK, I got an A on my history test. Oh, and Rachel
Czapiewski wore a lime green pair of painter's pants
with, like, a fuchsia short-sleeved jacket over a red,
white and blue frilly blouse." I laughed. "So she's
lost it?"

Laurel shrugged and laughed with me. "I think it's a
cry for help." She paused, then added, "You know, even
when David isn't doing anything bad, he's still a pain
in the neck."

I quirked my eyebrow and asked, "What do you mean?"
"Well one of his loser friends came up to me today and
asked him if I could fix him up with haves."

"What? Why? What happened?"

Laurel shook her head. "This total washout called Kevin
or Kendall or something, one of the guys David sells
to? Well he came up to me today and told me that David
said he stopped selling – so this idiot was asking me."

I was stopped in my tracks. "He said that? He said
David stopped selling?" She shrugged. "Yeah, that's
what he said. He said he asked David for some weed and
David said he wasn't selling anymore. So he came to me!
Like I'd have any!"

I talked to Laurel for another twenty minutes,
listening to the details of her day, but my mind was
whirling. I almost felt giddy with joy. I felt – and
this is the crazy thing – I felt like a new bride.
Suddenly I was filled with so much hope that I was
almost lighter than air, and the future – David's
future, of course – was so much brighter than it had
been just a few days ago! And so it was that, when
Laurel was done explaining her day and had gone up to
change, I followed her upstairs and, when she had gone
into her room, knocked softly on David's door.

"Yeah?" came his voice, sounding a little strained. I
opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind
me. He was lying on the bed, still fully clothed, and
he lifted his head up to look at me. He looked
miserable, the poor dear. I crossed the room, put my
hand on his chest and gave him a soft, sweet, gentle
kiss on the lips. I held it for a long time, and even
if there was nothing overtly sexual about it – no
tongue, and I touched him nowhere but his chest – it
was still an amazing kiss. I don't even know if he
remembers it, to be honest, but I will never forget how
profound the feeling was for me.

"Thank you," I said when I lifted my lips.

"For what?" he asked, puzzled.

"For keeping your promise. You stopped selling."

He blinked in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"I have my sources," I replied with a wink. "Can I get
you anything? Tylenol?" "Nah, I'm OK. Feeling a little
better." His hand slipped up my inner thigh and
squeezed my pussy through my shorts.

"Well you sure are feeling something," I said dryly.
"Go on and rest. I thought maybe we'd get some Italian
takeout tonight from Genelli's."

"Oh, cool, I like their stromboli. They have great
garlic bread too." I smiled again and kissed him, this
time on the forehead, and left the room. That night all
four of us sat down for the last normal meal we were to
share for some time.


May 27

It began as a normal day. It was warm and muggy, with
the threat of a storm that never materialized. I did my
shopping in the morning and took Charlie out for his
run at lunchtime, and I was thinking of going out and
doing some gardening when my cell phone rang. The
caller ID said it was David's cell.

"Mom," he said when I answered, "we need to talk."

"Um...OK, about what?"

"I can't tell you over the phone, but...well, can you
call the school and tell them it's OK for me to leave
now?"

"Why? You only have a couple of hours left anyway."

"I know, but..."

"But what?"

"This is about that thing I was telling you the other
day. I mean, the thing I wasn't telling you. The thing
I couldn't tell you." "All...right. Can you give me
some hints?"

"No, I can't. Not over the phone."

"Well what's wrong with telling me over the phone?"
"Because I have to prove it to you, and to prove it to
you I have to show you, and to show you I have to do it
before Laurel and dad get home."

"David..."

"Mom, please. Listen to me. I'm not just trying to get
out of school early. I have something you tell you
that's as important as anything I've ever told you.
Please."

I bit my lip. Something in his voice told me that he
was telling the truth. Yes he was a fantastic liar, but
I was flattering myself that I knew enough about him
now to know when he was pulling one on me. And so I
said, "Fine, I'll call the office right now. This
better be important, kiddo."

"It is."

I called the office and fifteen minutes later, David
was walking in the door with his book bag over his
shoulder and a deeply grim look on his face. "Hi mom,"
he said with almost exactly the same tone of voice as I
would expect if he were attending a funeral. "You're
welcome. Now what's all this about?"

"I have to show you something," he replied, heading for
the stairs.

"Meet me in the den, OK?"

I frowned, but I went to the den as requested. I wasn't
nervous –he'd told me that this big secret, whatever,
it was, wasn't that he was in trouble. I assumed one of
his friends was in some sort of jam and he needed my
advice; what else could it be? So I was in full-on
lady mode when I sat down on the old, comfy sofa in
the den and waited for my mister to come downstairs. I was
even rehearsing all the old, hoary good advice I could
think of... David came into the room with a DVD in his
hand and a very worried look. He put it in the player,
then came and sat next to me, remote control in hand.

"Um, mom...first I want to say that I'm really sorry
about this. I wish to God I didn't have to show you
this, but I do." I frowned. This sounded bad, but I
still couldn't imagine it was anything really serious,
at least not as far as David was concerned. Maybe one
of his friends was really in deep trouble? "Well
whatever it is, it can't be that bad. Just go ahead and
show me."

David took a deep breath and pressed the play button.
What came on the screen was not what I expected: it was
Laurel's room. In the moment of pure surprise that
followed I realized that the picture I was seeing was
from her trophy shelf above her desk, and pointed at
her bed. It took me a moment to grapple with it, but
when I finally understood, I was instantly angry.
"David! You put a camera in your sister's room?"

"I had to, mom."

"Oh for God sake! You've been spying on your sister
changing her clothes?"

"No! It's not like that!" he protested vehemently.
"Just watch!" I was about to say something else when,
on the TV, Laurel and Tim entered. I knew immediately
that this was from several months ago at least, since
Laurel was wearing a bulky winter sweater and still had
the old haircut that she got changed in March. They
came in and sat on the bed, making small talk about
dinner and Laurel's homework –nothing that I hadn't
seen a hundred times when I passed by Laurel's room
after dinner.

As I've said, Tim going up to her bedroom to help her
with her homework (and incidentally spend a lot of time
chitchatting) is a tradition in our house. I watched
for a couple of minutes, not even sure what I was
supposed to be on the lookout for, and then turned to
David. "OK, look, I don't see where this is going."

"There," he said, nodding at the television. His arms
were crossed on his chest and he had a grim, deeply
unhappy look on his face. "Just watch."

I turned back to the TV just in time to see Tim looking
at Laurel's tits. She was still in her sweater so
nothing was revealed, but there was no doubt whatsoever
where he was looking. Laurel looked up and saw where he
had his eyes...and she smiled.

I looked at David, but I didn't say a word. My eyes
went back to the screen. There was an edit and suddenly
Laurel was near the camera, obviously bending over her
desk to find something. And obviously bending over. I
looked at Tim's face as he watched his flower's ass,
and I felt my heart lurch in my chest. On my husband's
face was an expression I hadn't seen in a long, long
time: lust. I remembered when he used to look at me
that way, 18 years ago, when we were dating, and I
remembered how it used to make me so hot for him. And
now he was looking at our little girl's butt the same
way... exactly the same way.

"I found it, Daddy," she said, standing up and heading
back toward him with a piece of paper in her hand. "It
says we're supposed to take one of the inventions
discussed in chapter 11 and describe how it changed
American society." She sat down next to him...right
next to him, thigh to thigh, side to side; his arm went
around her shoulder to pull her in close, and her arm
went around his waist. It was a casual, innocent
gesture I'd seen them make since she was a little
girl...but somehow it didn't seem casual or innocent
anymore. "And what inventions does it list?" Tim asked.
The open history book was in his lap.

Laurel looked down at the book. "Ummm...the telegraph,
the telephone, and the phonograph."

"Want to do the telephone?"

"Sure."

"So, what effects did the invention of the telephone
have on American society?" Laurel leaned in a little
closer to the book (and his lap) and said, "The
telephone enared ordinary Americans to..."

"Hey, no fair reading it!"

Tim laughed, pulling the book away. Laurel followed
playfully and sprawled across Tim's lap on her belly.
She froze for a moment, a look of surprise on her face,
and Tim instantly looked embarrassed. My eyes were
huge. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she'd
felt against her belly... but she didn't move. For a
long moment they simply stayed there, Tim looking
embarrassed and Laurel looking surprised, and then she
slowly climbed off his lap and sat next to him again.
There was a moment of awkward silence... and then her
arm went around his waist again. A second later, his
arm was around her shoulder. She looked down at his
lap, at what she'd felt there, then looked up at him...
And smiled.

"I'm sorry, pumpkin," he muttered. "I didn't mean
to..." "Shhhh," she said softly, putting her finger
across his lips and looking him square in the eye. "It
doesn't matter. You're my Daddy and I love you."

They went back to talking about the telephone for a few
seconds, but Tim's eyes kept moving back to her
chest... My stomach had a sore, sour spot in it.

Another edit to a different day, and this time Laurel
had on a button-down shirt that I'd bought her for
Christmas, though she still had her old haircut. She
was sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed, her
geometry textbook in front of her, along with a
calculator and a pad of paper. Tim was sitting in the
middle of the bed, saying, "—but supplementary angles
always add up to what?" "Ummmm... 90 degrees. No, 180
degrees. Ninety is complimentary." "Exactly! Good for
you!" Tim said, and leaned over to put a kiss on her
cheek.

She giggled and smiled. "I'm getting it, slowly. I know
it's slowly, but I'm working it!"

"You're working that shirt, too," Tim said dryly, and
Laurel giggled again and chucked her pencil at him.
"Hey, I can't help it, you look fantastic!"

"Thanks Daddy," she beamed...and then thrust out her
chest at him. "But I think it makes my boobs look too
big."

"No, I think it looks great on you," Tim assured her,
staring straight at the chest she was offering.
"Really, it's very flattering." "Thank you Daddy," she
said, leaning over and putting a kiss of her own on his
cheek. "But you're biased. You always think I look
great. It's a Daddy thing."

"I always think you look great because you do always
look great," he insisted, reaching over and running his
fingers through her long, light blonde hair. It was a
gesture that I couldn't quite see as manly.

She tilted her head to his hand and closed her eyes. "I
like that," she whispered, softly enough that even the
good microphone on the spy camera could barely pick it
up. "It feels good." Tim smiled and cradled the back of
her head in his hand (exactly the way he used to do
with me when we were dating) and drew her forward as he
leaned in. For a sick, horrifying instant I thought
they were going to kiss on the mouth, a passionate
lovers' kiss... but he put his lips on her forehead
instead and left them there for several seconds. I
could see the look of happiness on her face. She looked
up at him and smiled, and put a quick peck directly on
his lips. They whispered something back and forth that
I couldn't hear, and then Tim laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't
say that!"

"I'm serious," she said, her voice dripping with fake
distress.

"They're too big. Everyone says they are."

They locked eyes for a moment, and then Tim put a
finger in the open collar of her shirt and tugged it
out a couple of inches, making a great show of peering
down her cleavage while she giggled. "Well I can't tell
in that shirt," he said, "but they don't look too big
to me."

"Really?"

"Really really. I love your boobs."

Another giggle. "Daddy, you're just saying that." He
put a playful look on his face and began to unbutton
her shirt. I thought I was going to vomit. Laurel
didn't pull back; instead she puffed out her chest
proudly and let him unbutton the shirt all the way and
pull it open to show a lavender bra. The way she was
sitting showed her breasts to incredible advantage; Tim
drank them in the with wide eyes of a dirty old man,
and she watched him with a shy kind of delight on her
face. "No, honey, they...they aren't too big. Not at
all. They're perfect."

"Do you really like them?" she asked, her voice almost
that of a little girl...a teasing, wicked little girl.

"I love them. In fact, I want you to leave your shirt
open like this so I can see them."

"Do you like looking at them, Daddy?"

"Yes honey, I do. I think they're gorgeous."

She smiled at him and left her shirt open as they
resumed work on the geometry. I couldn't even look at
David. The red had drained from my face and my
fingers felt like they were carved from ice. I felt a
churning in my stomach that was trying to become a
dozen emotions at once, none of them good, but not
quite making it. I don't think I could have moved if
I'd have tried.

Another edit. Laurel had her new haircut. She was
walking casually across the room in her bra and a tight
pair of jeans, her tits bouncing with every step while
Tim sat on the bed. He was watching her like a hawk,
and his erection was so obvious to me that I know
Laurel had to have realized it was there.

"But then Mr. Bradtree gave Molly detention, which I
totally didn't think was fair at all," Laurel said as
she stepped up to her closet, her back to her man.
"I mean, all she did was tell Eddy where it was, and
Eddy did everything else."

"Mr. Bradtree is a jerk," he agreed. "It really seems
to me like he just likes messing with kids."

"He does," Laurel agreed as she reached around behind
her and began to unhook her bra. I felt my teeth grind
together. She stopped and threw a coy, teasing look
over her shoulder. "You aren't supposed to watch me,
silly!"

"Why not?" Tim asked innocently. "A gorgeous girl is
taking off her bra in front of me. I'd be an idiot to
look anywhere else." Laurel grinned hugely and unhooked
her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her back was to
her man, but I know he saw plenty when she leaned
over and grabbed a tee shirt out of a drawer. She
pulled it on fairly quickly, but the look on Tim's face
said very plainly that he loved what he was seeing.
When her tee shirt was in place she turned to face him
and held out her arms. "Well, how do I look?" "You look
good enough to eat, baby," he replied emphatically.
"Turn around and let me see you from behind."

She complied willingly, an enormous smile on her face.
She hasn't developed a very feminine butt yet, but Tim
was practically drooling as he looked at it. I suddenly
felt conscious of my own ass, widened from age and
giving birth twice and made muscular by all the running
I do. I was suddenly certain that Tim hated my ass with
a passion...more passion than he had shown toward me in
years, in fact. Slowly she turned back around to face
him, her eyes locked on his face. Tim was a mask of
lust, and Laurel obviously saw it.

She looked at him like she wanted to push him right
back on that bed and climb on top of him... But she
didn't. She sat down next to him, their arms went
around each other in the usual way, and they started
talking about her spring sports schedule.

I felt like I was being punched in the gut repeatedly
and vulgarly. That sour spot was rising up my throat
until I felt like I was obligation on my own bile. I
wanted to run, to get the hell away from there, to be
anywhere but in front of the TV seeing what I was
seeing – but I couldn't move. I could barely even
blink. I had no choice but to watch as I got sicker and
sicker, angrier and angrier. Another edit.

Laurel in a tanktop – it must have been during the warm
snap we had in April – and a pair of shorts, looking
cute and fresh as she lay on her bed listening to her
iPod and reading a Twilight novel. She looked up at a
rap on the door and smiled as her man came in. "Hi
Daddy," she said, setting the book aside and taking out
her earpiece.

"Hi pumpkin," he said, sitting on her bed and resting
his hand on her knee. "Your mom's gone shopping with
Aunt Sue and David's out with his friends."

"Ohhh..." Laurel mused, sitting up and getting close to
Tim. "So we're alone, huh?"

"Nobody here but us," he said with a grin.

She smiled, the kind of smile she gets when she's about
to ask for something she knows she shouldn't have.
"Well...since we're alone..." "Yes?"

"I was wondering if...we could practice kissing some
more?" MORE?

Practice kissing SOME MORE? I could taste my own
stomach. "Mmm, I don't see why not," he replied
playfully, and the leaned over and kissed her on the
forehead.

"No! Not like that, silly!" she laughed, putting her
arms around his neck. "The way you kissed me in the car
the other day." He smiled and brushed her face with his
fingertips. "I've been thinking about it a lot since
then."

"Me too, Daddy."

"Are you sorry I did it?"

"Uh uh," she shook her head. "If I were I wouldn't want
it again. I like kissing you that way. It feels
good...and it's good practice." "Well, I do want my
little girl to be an expert..." Her replying giggle was
cut off by Tim's mouth and they began to kiss. His hand
was behind her head and hers around his neck, and they
kissed like lovers. It was passionate, heated, the way
Tim hadn't kissed me in so long I'd forgotten he could
even do it.

I could see their tongues moving together, hear their
breath whistling on each other's cheeks. I saw Laurel's
cheeks hollow as she sucked her man's tongue into
her mouth... Everything got blurry, and I realized
there were tears in my eyes. I wiped them away angrily
– I needed to see this. I needed to know what the
little whore under my roof had done with my man. I
needed to know what the perverted bastard I married had
done with my innocent little girl. I needed to see and
I needed to KNOW.

"There's... there's like an hour of this," David said,
sounding apologetic as he hit the button to skip the
video along. "All they do is kiss though, they don't...
well, they don't do anything else." I may have nodded.
Frankly I was having a hard time feeling anything from
my body at the moment.

Tim was sitting on Laurel's bed, and Laurel was on his
lap, both legs hanging down from Tim's left side. She
was wearing a plaid schoolgirl skirt she'd gotten for
her birthday and a white blouse. Tim's arm was around
her waist, the other hand running up and down her thigh
from her knee to just under her skirt; he was wearing a
shirt that wasn't two weeks old. This had just
happened. She had a book open in her lap and she was
reading from it:

"Beloved,

In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that
I do adore.
What surety is there
That we will meet again,
On other worlds some
Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise
Of one more sweet encounter
I will not deign to die"

When she was finished, Tim exhaled softly. "That's
beautiful, baby. It really is."

She smiled as she set the book aside. "I thought of you
when we read it today in class."

"You did?"

"Mmmm-hmmm." They kissed then, another long and deep
kiss, and this time it was obvious by the way they held
it that they were well used to it now. His hands began
to move, one running up under her skirt and the other
moving up, up, to squeeze her breast through her shirt.

My flower whimpered softly into her man's mouth
and began to grind her flat little girl ass into his
crotch. I knew she was grinding on his hard cock, on
the hard cock the fucking pervert had denied me for
years, and I knew that she was loving it, the little
whore. She shifted on him then so she was straddling
him, one leg on either side and her back to the camera,
but she kept grinding against him, kept rubbing her
filthy, horrible cunt all over my husband's crotch.

My sick, twisted mister of a bitch of a husband was
undoing my lovely little girl's blouse. One button,
two, three, they came loose, and he pushed the shirt
off her so that it fell to the floor. She had on a bra
– she had on one of MY BRAS! It was black and frilly
and lacy, and Tim wasted no time in undoing it.

She helped him slip it off her arms, and I saw his
hands play over her bare back. She pressed her breasts
into his chest as they kissed; with her back to the
camera I couldn't see them kissing but I could hear it,
hear the wet smacking sounds of tongue on tongue and
lips on lips.

Her head tilted back and her hair made a dark blonde
waterfall as Tim began to kiss down her body. I could
see just a bit of his head as he took our flower's
right nipple into his mouth. "Oohhhhh Dadddddyyyy,"
Laurel moaned, still dry-humping him. "I love how that
feels. You do it so good to me, Daddy. I love it, I
really do..."

He shifted to her left nipple and I suddenly became
aware that I was clenching my fists to tight I was
gouging my fingernails into my palms. I didn't even
feel the pain. Tim's hands moved down my sweet,
innocent little girl's back and moved up under her
skirt to clench her bony slut ass, one cheek in each
disgusting hand. She had on a pair of white bikini
panties and his hands moved underneath them to cup
flesh as she drove herself onto his cock, separated
only by a few layers of cloth.

I don't know how long it went on like that. Tim would
suck her breasts for a while and then they would kiss
hard and deep and lustfully. She ground herself on him
remorselessly and I know she came at least once from
the sounds of her moans; I wasn't sure if Tim came, but
he probably did, the sick fucker. On and on it went. I
stared at it like a zombie, like a dead cadaver propped
onto the sofa, feeling horrified and enraged and
terrified and disappointed and sick and completely numb
and a thousand other emotions, all at the same time.

It could have been a few minutes that it continued or
it could have been an hour, you couldn't prove anything
by me either way. Suddenly, Tim stopped. His hands came
out from under her skirt and his head came up from his
flower's tits. "We have to stop, honey," I heard him
say. "If we don't..."

"No," she whimpered, putting her forehead on his
shoulder; I could hear the bitter disappointment in her
voice. "Please, can't we just stay here? Can't we keep
doing this?"

"No, baby," he insisted softly. "If we keep doing this
when we'll do more, and we can't do more."

"Why not?" she demanded petulantly. "I want to. I want
you, Daddy. Please, just stay here and get into bed
with me and –" "No, honey, we can't. We really can't."

"Why not? You get me so worked up when we do this! It's
not fair that you stop!"

He sighed. "We just can't."

"How come we can do this and not more?"

He didn't have an answer for that. He just held her in
his arms, and then slowly guided her to her feet. Her
face was flushed, her nipples were hard and fiercely
erect; his pants were tented and his face looked
strained. "I'm going to go and put in the movie," he
said, his voice shaky. "Come downstairs in a few
minutes, OK?" She nodded sulkily. "I'm not putting my
shirt on, Daddy. I like you seeing me like this."

He smiled and stroked her face gently. "All right,
baby. What movie did you pick?"

"Pirates of the Caribbean 2."

The red curdled in my veins. This was last Friday.
While I was out with David, Laurel was seducing my
husband. While I was out with David, Tim was corrupting
my flower. I felt like I was shrinking into the sofa,
like I was losing parts of me, like atoms were flaking
off and spinning away, diminishing me... David paused
the playback.

There was a moment of silence that stretched long, then
longer.

"Mom..."

"Don't. Don't... speak to me, David." My voice sounded
strange and pressured in my ears, like I was on the
verge of completely losing control of myself. Which was
odd, because I felt as numb as a quadriplegic, and
which wasn't odd at all because I felt like there was a
maelstrom inside me, a tornado of emotions I couldn't
even begin to grapple with but that were going to tear
me apart with the next heartbeat. Somehow, both
opposites were true at once. After another pause, David
said, "There's more."

"I don't want to see it," I snapped, but of course that
wasn't true.

Well, it was true – I didn't want to see it, but I
needed to see it.

I needed to witness it, like I was identifying a body
in the morgue.

Maybe the body would be my own.

After a moment, David pressed play. I saw Laurel follow
Tim out of the room...and then there was another cut,
this one to something completely different. It was a
parking lot, and beyond it a low building. It took me a
moment to figure out the place was one of the generic,
sleazy motels you see along highways. This wasn't taken
from a hidden camera, it was from a camcorder – there
was a time and date stamp in the lower corner: this
last Saturday morning, 10:12 AM. In another corner
there was a glimpse of a car door. I understood:
someone, probably David, sitting in his car, watching
the motel with a camera.

After a few seconds, a very familiar SUV pulled into
the parking lot. It was Tim's; I saw him in clear
profile as David (or whoever was operating the camera)
zoomed in. Tim parked in an open spot next to a
slightly battered Toyota compact; even before Tim
switched off his engine, the door on the Toyota opened
and a girl leaped out –

Laurel. It was Laurel.

No...no, it couldn't have been. Laurel was still here
with me in the house at that time on Saturday! The
camera zoomed in closer on the girl as she ran into
Tim's arms and he scooped her up with a deep kiss. She
was built almost exactly like Laurel, though her legs
were a little shorter, her butt was a little bigger and
she was a tad thicker through the midsection – same
boobs though. Her hair looked exactly like my
flower's, longer than shoulder length, dirty blonde,
a little wavy. She was dressed in black lycra running
shorts and a tube top with tennis shoes, and the way
she threw herself at my husband left no doubt that this
was not their first time.

Tim kissed her, holding her up off the ground, and then
set her down, and when she turned a bit, I saw her
face: she wasn't a dead ringer for our flower, but
she was close. She was very, very close. Tim said
something and they both laughed; she fondled his crotch
right there in public. He turned and trotted off to the
office while she stayed outside, leaning against his
SUV. The camera stayed on her the whole time, capturing
her eager expression and her obvious excitement. How
old was she? She was a little older than Laurel, but
not much.

Under 18 for certain. And the resemblance was striking
and sickening. It would take almost no imagination
whatsoever for Tim to see Laurel in this girl.

A few moments later Tim came trotting back, waving a
key; she met him halfway. They were both laughing,
hands on each other's asses as they hurried for a motel
door. She was pawing him with her grubby little hands
as he opened the door, and they pushed each other
inside. As he closed the door she was already eagerly
sinking to her knees in front of him.

There was a cut – the time stamp said 12:36 – and the
door opened again. The girl came out looking like she'd
just had her brains fucked out; her hair was messed up,
her face was flushed, and her tub top wasn't sitting
quite right. Tim came out after, smiling, hand on her
ass. They shared a throat-deep kiss by her Toyota, then
she got in and drove away. He waved and watched her go,
then turned to head back to the office.

Cut. The timestamp said it was the next day, Sunday, a
little after 10. The Toyota was there in the same spot,
and Tim drove in just like before. It was the same
thing, except this time she was dressed like a
masturbation fantasy schoolgirl, with a plaid skirt
(like Laurel had worn while grinding on her man's
cock on Friday night), a white top tied beneath her
breasts, white knee-length stockings and black high-
heeled Mary Janes. They kissed in the parking lot.

I watched my husband feel up this tramp, this surrogate
for our flower; I watched him squeeze her breasts,
squeeze her ass, reach under her skirt right in public
and squeeze her pussy. I watched him run to the office
and run back, and they went into a room together (a
different room, my mind noted for some inexplicable
reamister). The timestamp said it was about 12:30 when
they left the room, shared a kiss and a public fondle,
and drove their separate ways.

David turned off the DVD player; the TV screen went
blue. I felt like a deer that had been hung up by its
heels and gutted but was somehow still alive. I was
dizzy. I was enraged. I didn't believe a thing I'd seen
and I knew it all was true. "That's it," David said.

That was it. Yes, that was it. That was it in so many
more ways than I could comprehend at that moment. That
was it. Tim and Laurel had done what they did. David
did what he did. And now I did the only thing I could
do.

I lost my mind.

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Chapter 8

I have to confess that what happened over the next few
hours, and even the next few days, is kind of a blur.
I'll do my best to give you an honest recollection of
that occurred and how, but I can't promise that it's
the God's honest truth. All I can tell you is that I'll
tell it as I remember it, even when my memories don't
make all that much sense.

One thing I do recall with perfect clarity is that when
David turned off the DVD I sat next to him on the sofa
for about thirty seconds. Neither one of us moved and
neither one of us spoke. My mind was such a whirl of
thoughts and emotions that it would be completely
pointless even to try to explain it. In fact, it took
me half a minute even to summon the ability to move –

And then I spun in my seat and slapped David across the
face as hard as I could. I hit him so hard I felt it in
my shoulder, and my palm stung from the power of the
blow. I left a bright, angry red mark on his cheek – I
remember him looking at me with wide, astonished eyes,
his left cheek as red as a cherry – and then I leaped
up and began screaming at the top of my lungs. "YOU
LITTLE SHIT! YOU GOD DAMNED LYING PIECE OF SHIT!"

He was looking at me like I'd lost my mind (which I
had), but it's to his credit that he reacted with a
simple, "Wh-huh?" rather than hitting back.

"You liar! God damn you David! Tears were flowing down
my cheeks, but I didn't realize I was crying. I didn't
even realize my vision was blurry. "How could you DO
that?"

"How could I do what?" he asked, completely bewildered.

"You made it up!" I cried, stamping my foot in rage.
"You made all of it up!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You! You made all of that up, that whole damned thing
to try to get me into bed, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?"

"Mom...you saw the films—"

"And you REALLY think I believe it? Do you REALLY think
I don't know that you faked the whole thing?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You faked those movies!" Even as I said it, I knew I
wasn't making sense – my mister was a teenage delinquent,
not George Lucas – and I didn't really believe that
he'd fabricated what he'd shown me. But at the same
instant I believed it absolutely and completely,
without a doubt – because I had to believe it. The
alternative was worse. And so I believed two mutually
contradictory things at the same moment. Get used to
it, you'll be hearing it a lot from me in the near
future.

"Mom, that's..."

"ADMIT IT!"

He stood up, hands open and palms forward, trying to
calm me down. "OK, listen I know this is hard for
you..."

I shoved him with both hands on his chest and he went
sprawling over backward onto the sofa again. Yes, I
knew he was stronger than me and yes I knew he'd
handled me easily before, but with the rage I was
feeling now, I almost welcomed a rematch. I'd have
clawed his eyes right out of their sockets with half an
excuse. "Stop lying to me! Christ David, can't you be
honest for one fucking second of your miserable life?"

I don't know what reaction he had expected from me when
he showed me his DVD, but I seriously doubt he expected
this. He looked positively helpless, like he was
witness to a hurricane or a tornado and all he could do
was hope to keep his head and survive it. "Mom, please,
I didn't make any of that up. I wouldn't even know
how!"

"So you just expect me to BELIEVE it? You expect me to
believe that my HUSBAND is worrying my DAUGHTER and
fucking some...some FLOOZY?"

"Well you saw it as well as I did."

"Your man hates sex, David! If you were going to
make up a lie, at least you could have made up a
believable one!"

He sighed heavily, looking miserably sad. "Mom... it's
not that he doesn't want sex. He just doesn't want it
with you. He's been cheating on you for years."

"Oh you are so full of cuckolds brownie, David! You are just–"

"Mom, will you listen to me?" he asked powerfully,
rising from the sofa again. "Please!"

"How do you know, huh? How did you find this out? Did
he come up to you and say, 'Oh by the way I'm cheating
on your mom with a girl who looks like Laurel, so don't
tell her.' Huh?"

"You want to know? Fine, I'll tell you exactly how I
found out, if you'll listen! Will you listen to me?"

I glared at him for a hard moment, then spread my hands
and made a disgusted, "get on with it" noise.

"OK, look, this last winter I was at a party," he
began. "Over at Denny Trigg's house." Denny Trigg was a
little vandal that David ran with who had gotten
arrested a month or so back for dealing marijuana.
"There was this girl there who I thought looked
familiar but I couldn't place her.

"She came with this older guy, about 30 or something,
and she was about eleven and a half sheets to the wind
when she got to the party. Seriously, you could have
sold her red in a cuckold water store at that point. She
could barely even stand and this asshole dumps her off
on the couch where I was sitting while he went to get
her some more wine coolers. So I'm looking at her
wondering where I know her from, and she looks at me
and starts laughing and asks me the same question."

"I don't see where this is going, David," I snapped
impatiently.

"Just listen, please! She thought she knew me and I
thought I knew her and so we got to talking, trying to
figure out where we knew each other from. And then all
at once it hit me: she looks like Laurel."

"Uh huh," I said dubiously.

"And it was right about then that she asked me what my
name was. I told her, and she started laughing and
asked me if I knew Tim Reeves. I was like, yeah, he's
my dad. And then she just starts roaring with laughter
and she says, 'Dude, I'm fucking your dad!'"

I could feel my anger at David evaporating like dew on
a hot summer morning. He was a better liar than this.
If he were going to make up a story, he'd have made up
a more probable one. He was telling the truth.

"And I was like, what, you know?" he pressed on. "And
she just lays out the whole thing, how she ran into him
in a T.J. Maxx and he bought her a couple of blouses,
took her out to his car and fucked her right there in
the parking lot."

I felt my stomach begin to twist inside of me, as
though it had come alive and wanted out. I so very
desperately wanted to believe my mister was lying, but I
knew he wasn't. This whole thing just explained too
much about Tim for it not to be true. "How...how old
was she?"

"Fifteen then. This was last fall so she's probably 16
now. Since then they've been meeting at least once a
weekend at that motel, usually twice. Sometimes during
the week, too."

I sat back down on the sofa. It was either that or fall
on my butt because my legs decided not to support me
anymore. "And she told you all this?" My voice sounded
like a lost little girl's.

"Like I said, she was takes as hell. She didn't know
what she was saying. I doubt she remembered a word of
it the next day."

"But you did."

He nodded. "I followed them once to see where they
went. That motel in the video? He's been going there
for years – all his little 'work lunches.' I slipped
the desk guy a hundred and he told me all about it.
Before this girl there was another, a brunette, around
the same age. She lasted for a couple of years. Before
that there was another, and another before that. I
think he'd been doing it since I was little."

His words were hitting me like fists and all I could do
was sit there and take them. There were tears rolling
down my cheeks, but whether it was sorrow or betrayal
or shame or rage that was making them, I couldn't say.
I guess it was all of them and more. The weirdest thing
about it is the physical sensations that went with it.
Sometimes emotions cause physical feelings, sure, but
this... look, you know the big mixing machines they
have in paint stores? You put a whole can of paint in
there and it shakes the hell out of it? That's what it
felt like inside me at that moment.

I felt like my arms and legs were going to fly off and
go their separate ways, like I was just going to
explode all over the place. I felt a million emotions,
but they were vibrating so fast inside me, swirling and
running into each other, disintegrating from the impact
and making new emotions, and faster than I could put a
name to them they would collide with others and
disappear and turns into something else. And all of
that was ha
ppening while I sat nailed to the sofa, motionless as a
Buddha.

And then suddenly I wasn't motionless anymore. I was up
off the sofa and charging for the phone, sprinting,
grabbing it off the cradle. David was a step behind me,
and he put his hand over it before I could punch more
than one button. "Who are you calling?"

"The police!" I spat. For the moment, the emotion had
crystallized into a deep, terrible betrayal. Tim hadn't
fucked me during our whole marriage because he was
screwing a procession of teenage girls. I wasn't good
enough for him! Well I'd show him what fucking little
girls got a man. "I'm going to have that mister of a bitch
arrested. Today! Now!"

David frowned and tried to take the phone away from me.
I struggled a bit, but he was serious about it and had
it out of my hand in a flash. "Mom, listen to me, you
can't do that."

"The hell I can't! Just watch me! Give me that phone!"

"No, mom, listen! You can't do that because if you call
the cops and tell them your husband is a pedophile,
what's going to happen?"

"They'll arrest him and throw him in jail where he
belongs!"

"And what are they going to use for evidence, mom?"

My mind wasn't at a point where I could follow this
argument. "I don't care! I want that fucker put away! I
want him in primister forever!"

"Mom! If you call the cops and tell them, they'll want
to know how you found out."

"I'll tell them! I'll show them that goddamned DVD!"

"And then they'll search my computer for more
evidence!" he said, his voice rising. "And what else is
on there, mom? You and Charlie! You and ME!"

He couldn't have rocked me more if he'd have punched me
in the chest. I took a step back, feeling like the
world was dropping away beneath me and I was falling
with it. If I put Tim in jail, I'd be right behind him.
I was trapped, trapped by my own wickedness, my own
weakness. I had put myself in a box and now I couldn't
get out of it even to hurt the man who, at that moment,
I hated more than I'd ever hated anyone.

I tried to talk; I don't know what I tried to say, but
all that came out was a formless scream of absolute
rage and offense and helplessness. I clutched the
side of my head like the Munch painting and just
howled. David tried to put his arms around me but I
shoved him back and took a few steps away before I
collapsed against the wall, sobbing.

"Mom?" David asked, worry in his voice as he stepped
closer. "Are you OK?" I couldn't answer; my whole body
was wracked with sobs and my chest was heaving like I'd
just run a marathon. My mister put his arms around me,
gently, firmly, lovingly, and pulled me to my feet. He
took me to his chest, enfolding me in his strength and
warmth and solidity, and for a moment I let him, let
myself fall into that embrace –

And then I pushed him away with everything I had,
sending him staggering back three feet and me thudding
into the wall again. "Don't TOUCH me!" I howled. "Don't
put your hands on me! I'm not some girl you can pick up
and fuck, I'm your MOTHER! YOUR MOTHER!"

"Mom..."

He might have said something else too, but I didn't
hear it because at that moment I spotted the vase I'd
bought at the Mall of America on Sunday when I'd been
shopping with Laurel, that pretty little green vase,
all inoffensive and quiet on the nearby end table. And
at that moment I hated that vase so badly I would
rather have died than let it be. I bounded to it and
snatched it up, thinking of how Laurel had displayed me
like a whore, how she had watched me expose myself and
all the while she knew what she had done with my
husband, MY HUSBAND, and how utterly she must despise
me, how she must laugh at me when my back is turned,
how she must laugh at me to Tim. I hurled the vase,
sending it smashing into the wall where it shattered
into shards of porcelain, brownietering across the floor.

Outside, Charlie began to back. No doubt he had heard
the crash, just like he'd heard me shouting before, and
he was worried.

David grabbed my arms before I could wreck anything
else. "Mom! Mom, listen to me! You have to calm down!"

"I told you not to touch me!" I shoved him back. "Give
me the phone! Give it to me! If I can't call the cops I
am damned well calling your man! That disgusting
bastard! Give me the phone!"

He put the phone behind his back. The expression on his
face was one of intense worry; I don't think he had any
idea what I was going to say or do next and it scared
him. "You can't call him, mom," he said, his voice
deliberately calm.

"The hell I can't! Don't you tell me what I can and
can't do!"

"Mom!"

"DON'T! DON'T YOU TALK DOWN TO ME! DON'T YOU FUCKING
DARE! I AM YOUR MOTHER!"

He bit back something harsh, then said, "Mom, I'm not
talking down to you, I'm not. OK? I promise. But please
listen to me when I say that if you call dad, it will
only make things worse."

Once again, the anger was keeping me from following
him. "How? What are you talking about?"

"He's going to ask how you know, and what are you going
to say?"

"I'll tell him to fuck himself and get the hell out of
my house!"

"And he'll ask why."

"And I'll TELL HIM! I'll tell him I saw videos of him
and Laurel, videos of him and that little teenage tramp
he's whoring around with–"

"And he'll ask who showed you, and you'll say me. Mom,
what's he going to do then? If you tell him you know
he's having sex with a minor and that he's messing
around with Laurel, you're going to put his back to the
wall. Do you really think he won't start asking
questions of his own? Do you really think he won't find
out about you and me? Then you'll be in the same
position he is and–"

I screamed. I grabbed my head and screamed like Fay
Wray when she saw King Kong for the first time, I
screamed like every bimbo who was about to get knifed
in a slasher movie. I screamed a single long, keening
wail that tore my throat like sandpaper and that only
ended when I lacked enough breath to keep it going. I'm
pretty sure I sounded like a damned soul on the floor
of Hell. David stepped in again, trying to put his arms
around me again –

And suddenly my stomach did a vulgar flip-flop. I
slapped my hand over my mouth as the vomit rose in my
gorge, pushed past my mister, and sprinted for the
bathroom. I struggled hugely to hold it in until I
reached the toilet because I had this inexplicable
thought about how it wouldn't be ladylike to barf all
over the floor – that's the kind of thing you think
when you lose your mind.

I slammed the door to the downstairs bathroom open with
my shoulder, and there was so much puke coming up that
I could feel it flowing out my nose. I know, too much
information, but that just smells so nasty. I made it
to the toilet and completely lost it, vomiting hard
enough to make my stomach muscles ache and then staying
there for minutes afterward, dry-heaving and retching
and spitting and crying.

"Mom?" came David's voice, along with a soft rap at the
door. I didn't remember closing it but I must have.
"Are you OK?"

"Leave me alone!" I gasped, feeling utterly wrung out
in the way you do after you vomit really vulgarly.

"I'm coming in," he said, opening the door. I didn't
look at him. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't do
anything but think how Tim had thrown me over since
right after our marriage for a procession of
teenybopper sluts, and how our flower was the latest
in the line, and how his behavior had driven me into
the arms of my own mister and how that fact trapped me
inside the situation. My mind was racing faster than it
ever had and suddenly I felt like the walls were
closing in, the ceiling was coming down, like my heart
was going to explode out of my chest.

I was sobbing and suddenly I couldn't catch my breath.
I was gasping air, sucking for it, but the harder I
breathed the more out of breath I felt. David tried to
hold me once more – I know he was saying something
about calming down but his words weren't making any
sense at the time – but I squirmed away.

I felt like I needed to run, I felt like I needed to
curl up in a ball, I felt like I needed to get away
from Tim and David and Laurel and I felt like
I needed to fight for my family and I felt like I was
going to detonate like an atomic bomb and take out half
the city when I went. My skin felt like a stranger and
my tongue was twisting in my mouth like a fish. In
other words, I was having a massive panic attack. I
wasn't even aware that I had thrust myself past David
and run up the stairs until I slammed my bedroom door
behind me and threw myself onto my bed, my eyes closed
tightly.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I felt like I was
having a heart attack. Honestly, at that moment I felt
like I was going to die. The worst part of it is that
it actually sounded like a pretty good idea at the
time.

A few moments later David came into my bedroom. I tried
to scream at him to get out but my mouth wouldn't work
and instead I ended up curled in the *** position,
eyes closed, shaking like a leaf and sucking great,
useless breaths that just made my lungs hurt more. A
few moments later David sat down on my bed, tucked his
hand under my head and lifted it gently. "Come on mom,
open your eyes. You need to take this."

I powerd a smile onto my face as I stood up, though it
felt brittle and false and deceitful. I could feel the
muscles in my arm contracting, itching, wanting to
drive a balled up fist into my flower's effortlessly
flat stomach or slam an open palm across her little-
girl face. To this day I have no idea how I kept from
hitting her as she leaned in, unsuspecting, and kissed
my cheek. I hated her so much, so vividly! I wanted to
bring her the pain she had brought me, the agony, the
feeling of being suspended between earth and sky with
nothing solid to rest her feet on. It would have felt
so marvelously perfect to strike her, drive her to her
knees, kick her when she fell, feel hand and foot,
elbow and knee, colliding with the treacherous flesh of
my flesh and seeing the perverted red of my red
flow. I wanted it so badly... but I didn't do it.

Somehow, I didn't do it. Instead I hugged her just a
bit, feeling my flesh crawl where she touched me, and
then pretended I could hear her voice instead of the
red hammering in my ears when she told me about her
day, about the minutia of her worthless teenage
temptress life. I even managed to make some appropriate
sounds at the right times, though I have no idea how I
managed that.

When she asked what was for dinner, it suddenly hit me
that I had to cook for three other people, two of whom
has stabbed me in the back and the other one of whom
who knew it, and the very thought made me ill. I
couldn't prepare food for them – I'd spike it with
something that made them all sick as hell, as sick as
they made me. And so I said, "We're ordering pizza."

Laurel arched an eyebrow. "Takeout two nights in a row?
You feeling OK?"

Laurel knew my rule about healthy eating – take out
once in a while was all right for a treat, but you
never, ever had it on back to back nights. I knew she'd
volunteer to cook if I said I didn't want to – she
loved preparing meals for the family – but I knew that
anything she made would feel like ashes in my mouth and
make me vomit. So I powerd that fake smile again and
said, "I sure am. I just want pizza tonight. I hope you
don't mind?"

"Heck no, I love pizza!" We passed a few more moments
in conversation and then she left me alone. I didn't
watch as she walked back into the house for fear I'd
snatch up my shovel and brain her with it. I just went
back to my flowers and thought about how much I hated
her.

I was still stewing in those juices an hour later when
Tim drove up. I felt all the anger at my flower
suddenly shift and fall away, replaced instantly by
rage directed at my husband. He would could out and
find me, I knew, and he would put his lips on my cheek
the way he always did, those lips that had been around
our flower's nipples, and he would touch me with the
hands that had caressed our flower's skin, and how I
would keep from flying into a rage and attacking him I
didn't know –

"Oh, there you are!" came his voice as he stepped into
the back yard and came toward me, a smile on his face.

And suddenly all he anger toward him simply melted and
was replaced by an ache, a deep-down pain of regret and
loss. Because he wasn't mine anymore, even if he never
touched Laurel again. It was one thing to think he had
simply lost interest in sex altogether; that was
galling and hurtful, but it wasn't a betrayal. But this
– him catting around with teenaged girls, lusting after
our own flower, probably bedding her soon enough –
was a knife right into my heart. I was already tearing
up when he reached me.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, genuine concern in his
voice as he put his hands on my shoulder and looked
into my eyes.

"Oh, nothing," I said, fighting to keep my voice from
cracking. "It's pollen or something, I've been doing it
all afternoon."

His frown deepened, and I knew instantly he didn't
believe me for a second. "Really?"

"Yeah, just something in the wind. How was your day?"

"Fine" he answered, still looking at me searchingly.
"Just another day. I think we may be getting a new
contract though, which is good. In this economy, every
little bit helps, right?"

I nodded, and as I did I knew I shouldn't ask the
question that was powering its way to my lips, but I
heard myself speaking before I could stop myself.
"That'll probably mean more weekend lunch meetings, I
guess? And evenings?"

"Probably," he replied. There was a tone of regret in
his voice, but I couldn't tell if it was a fraud put
there to placate me or a real sense of loss as not
being able to fuck his substitute flower in a sleazy
motel as often. "But at least I have a job."

"At least you do."

He looked at me strangely again, then changed tack.
"What did you have planned for dinner tonight?"

"I thought we'd get pizza."

He looked surprised. "Take out two nights in–"

"Takeout two nights in a row, yes," I cut in, a tiny
but genuine smile powering itself to my lips. I had
trained my family well. "I just want pizza."

"Oh...well, OK. Um... is everything all right?"

Nothing was all right. I didn't know if anything would
ever be all right again. But I didn't tell Tim that. I
simply nodded and told him that it was, and he turned
and went inside the house again. As I watched him walk
away, it felt like he was walking away from my grave
and I was watching him from below six feet of soil.
Tim... oh God, Tim, why couldn't you just have loved
me? Why couldn't I have been what you wanted and
needed? None of this would ever have happened if you
had just been able to want me.

I was so miserable by the time Tim came back with the
pizzas an hour later that the thought of eating turned
my stomach, but I couldn't avoid the family. I would
have to face them, with my husband and flower
exchanging secret glances and my mister knowing that I
knew and was miserable. I had to swallow my bile, put a
smile on my face and act normal. I had to because David
was right: I had to hold myself together until I
figured some way out of this, some way to rescue
myself, or punish myself, rescue Tim or punish him,
punish Laurel or rescue her. I had to make sense of the
nonsense I was feeling. I had to control myself.

Somehow.

To say that dinner was a profoundly uncomfortable
experience would be to dramatically understate how
uncomfortable it was. Tim and Laurel both came to the
table bright and bubbly, but my black, conflicted,
turbulent mood drained them of joy pretty quickly.
David just kept his eyes on his plate and his mouth
shut. Charlie caught the mood, of course, but the scent
of pizza overrode his caution so he was the only truly
relaxed and eager member of the family in the room.
There were a few attempts at small talk that died like
kittens under a steamroller and after a few minutes we
all just ate in silence, staring at our plates.

Five minutes after dinner was done, I threw it all up
again.

An hour later I was sitting in the living room staring
at the television (not watching it, because I couldn't
have told you one thing I saw) and thinking about what
my flower and her man were doing up in her
bedroom. There was a knot of tension in my gut, like a
fist twisting my intestines. I thought I might vomit
again. Every couple of minutes I felt tears flowing
down my cheeks, though I was never really conscious of
crying – I felt too desolate for that. Somewhere in the
back of my head I knew I needed to focus, to figure out
what the hell I was going to do – but I couldn't. I
couldn't hold a thought in my brain for more than a few
seconds before something even worse came along and
knocked it out again.

It was around then that David came and sat down in the
easy chair across from mine, leaning forward, hands
clasped in front of him. He looked at me; I didn't look
back. He waited for me to speak until the waiting
became uncomfortable and then he asked, quietly, "Mom?
You want to talk?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing. Everything. What difference does it make?"

"I'm sorry, mom. For what it's worth, I really am."

"Oh, David...I don't believe you for a second."

He paused at that, then continued. "Well, it's true
anyway. I wish it wasn't."

"Why did you show it to me?"

I guess the question caught him by surprise, or else he
wanted me to think it did, because he took his time
answering. "I thought you needed to know."

"Why?"

"Because your husband and your flower are fooling
around with each other, and your husband is fooling
around with one teenage girl after another. I figured
you ought to know about that."

"Oh."

Another pause, then, "And I couldn't just go on knowing
and not telling you. That would have been messed up. I
mean, I know this is hard on you, but not knowing would
have been worse."

"How?"

"Well...isn't it always better to know the truth?"

I chuckled humorlessly. "No. No, it is not."

"So you'd rather not know about dad and those girls?
About dad and Laurel? Really?"

"I don't know, David. I don't know anything right now
except that I want to crawl under a rock and die."

He stood up and crossed to me, kneeling down beside me
and taking my hands in his. "Mom, do you know I love
you?"

I looked at him for a long moment. I don't have any
idea what showed on my face because inside I was
feeling so many different things at the same time that
I was basically feeling nothing at all. I don't know if
that makes any sense, but there it is. Finally, I said,
"No, I don't. I don't know anything."

A look of hurt flickered through his lovely eyes and he
leaned in. His lips found mine and were warm and soft,
gentle, coaxing, and it would have been the easiest
thing in the world to let myself fall into them, to
fall into him, my mister, to give myself to him wholly and
completely and never look back. I would have everything
I needed in his arms...

And then once more my emotions narrowed to a single
steel-hard point. I put both hands on his chest and
shoved as hard as I could while I leaped up, and I sent
him sprawling back onto his ass with a stunned
expression on his face. "God DAMN you, David!" I told
him, fighting to keep my voice low enough that Tim and
Laurel wouldn't hear it over their make-out session
above. "Don't! Don't you DO this to me!"

"Mom, I just–"

"No!" I cut him off sharply, wagging my finger at him
as he sprawled on the floor. "Don't you say a word! I
can't trust you! I can't trust a word you say or a
thing you do! We are finished, David!"

He looked very surprised at that, and I don't think
even he's a good enough liar to fake how stunned he
looked. He rose to his knees and slowly got to his
feet, and I could see him fighting to keep irritation
off his face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you keep your god damned hands to yourself from
now on!" I hissed, real venom behind my words. I was
just as angry at him as I had been at Laurel, and at
Tim before that. "You don't touch me, you don't kiss
me, you don't even fucking look at me. We're finished.
You're not my lover and you never will be. Understand?
You're barely even my mister anymore!"

He tried to protest but I spun on my heel, stomped out
of the room, and went off for a drive in the May
twilight. I wasn't even really aware of where I was
going, I was just driving. All I really remember about
it is that, when I was on Highway 7, I realized I was
going too fast and crossing the center line, aimed
straight at an oncoming semi. I wasn't even aware of a
conscious decision to do it, I was only aware that I
was doing it, and for an instant – less than a second,
I suppose, though it was timeless when it was happening
– I was pretty sure I would just keep going and drive
smack into the truck, just end it all.

It seemed like such a seductive idea! There would be no
problems and nothing would matter, not Tim or Laurel,
not David, not the home that had suddenly become a nest
of perversion, not threats or intimidation. There would
be a brief instant of pain, perhaps a bright flash of
light, a sound of tearing metal and shattering plastic,
and then it would all be done with. It sounded so
attractive...

But the truck's horn blew and I veered off, back into
my lane; the driver flipped me the bird and shouted
something I couldn't hear as we passed. As quickly as
it had come, that urge for death passed me by and left
me numb again...

I got home well after dark. Laurel's light was on in
her bedroom, and I wondered again what she had done
with Tim that night, how far they had gone. This time
when the hatred and anger flared up it wasn't focused
on one more than the other; they shared it equally
between them, a pair of monsters who were conspiring
against me, against the home I had struggled to make
for them. They had both betrayed me, driven me to
something I never wanted before they did what they did.
I was blameless and they were evil, both of them, souls
as black as night.

And yes, I know how untrue that is – the last part
especially – but that was how I felt then. Like I said,
I want to be as honest and as open here as I can be. I
don't want to hide anything. I'll just throw it all out
there and you can be the judge, if it's judging you
want.

Tim was already – or still – upstairs when I got
inside, but Charlie was there with his whumping,
thumping tail and his love, and his desire to be
petted. He sniffed my pussy and once more I pushed him
away; I just stayed in the kitchen petting him and
trying to steel myself to go and lie down next to my
philandering pedophile husband. How the hell was I
going to do that, knowing what I knew now? How could I
relax next to him, knowing that he had certainly
discussed my failings as a lover, a lady, and a woman
with my own flower? How could I not strangle him in
his relax? Would I have the courage to do that, any of
it?

He looked me in the eyes and shook his head, and I
suddenly knew what he thought, just as surely as if I
had telepathy: he thought I was having an affair. He
hoped I was having an affair. He wanted me to be
getting it on the side good and hard from some young
stallion, not because he wanted us to be over and
divorced, but because he loved me and he wanted me to
be happy and he thought a fling would satisfy me. He
knew he couldn't give me what I needed and so he was
hoping that what was bothering me was the same guilt
that he must occasionally have felt when he was with
one of his young lovers so that he could hold me and
tell me that it was all right, he accepted it, it
wouldn't come between us if I was just discrete...

I almost laughed, but if I did there would have been no
humor in it. God, I knew him so well. Fuck you,
asshole. You aren't getting off that easy.

"Nope. I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"Don't be worried, silly," I replied, pulling the sheet
over me and nestling in. "I'm all right. If it's
anything I'm just worried about getting old and saggy."

He chuckled. "Well, you've got a long time before you
have to worry about getting saggy."

"Oh, you're a liar." Somehow my voice was teasing, but
I tasted vomit. "I'm gonna go to relax, I'm beat."

"Ok. Want me to turn off the light?"

"Oh no, I'm fine. Good night, Tim."

"Good night, babe. You know I love you?"

"I know, babe. I love you too. Good night."

I closed my eyes and in a few minutes I pretended to be
arelax. I know Tim was watching me, and I know I didn't
convince him. He still knew something was up. But
dammit, it's hard to lie to someone who knows you so
well; especially when you've just found out some
horrible secret they keep. So I lay there for another
fifteen minutes, feeling my skin crawl at being so
close to him, until he turned off the light. A few
minutes later he began to snore in the faint, familiar
way he has that I had always found so comforting but
now thought was repellent and sickening.

From the first I knew relax was impossible. I laid
there in the darkness with my eyes wide open, facing
away from Tim and staring at the wall, my foot idly
rubbing Charlie as he slept on the bed. It was as bad
as I thought it would be, lying in this bed with Tim. I
could feel his warmth and the way his body depressed
the mattress and I hated it. For the first time ever, I
hated being in bed with my husband.

I won't bore you with the details of every little thing
that ran through my mind that night. Most of it wasn't
very coherent anyway, and just me rehashing all the
other incoherent thoughts I'd already told you about.
Tim and Laurel, Laurel and Tim, whose fault it was and
what was I going to do...

The clock said it was 3:26 AM when the thought occurred
to me. I didn't seek it out. I didn't "think my way to
it." It just popped into my head, fully formed, and
when it did I nearly sat bolt-upright like someone who
awakens from a nightmare in a TV show. The thought,
simply, was this: this cleared the way for me and David
to be together. I know, I know, most people reading
this probably thought that right away, but the shock
and the hurt kept my mind away from it until now. Now,
though...now I knew that Tim couldn't possibly object,
even if he found out. I could go to David's bed and he
could take me, touch me, love me, fuck me. And he could
make me happy – I knew that he could, I knew it in my
bones, completely and without question.

He would be everything I have ever, ever wanted in a
lover, willingly and eagerly. I would never need to
beg him for sex, no matter what time day or night I
wanted it. There would be nothing I wanted to try that
he wouldn't be willing to try with me, no fantasy or
desire too corrupt or outré for him to satisfy. He
would accept me for who I was, love me, cherish me, and
never even think of condemning me. Let my husband and
my flower do what they wanted to – I would have my
beautiful mister's beautiful cock, and his mouth and his
fingers and his hard body and deliciously wicked mind
to keep my body thrumming with joy. There wouldn't even
be a need to hide it, or to feel ashamed. I could
simply be me with the mate I had always needed...

And no sooner had that thought occurred to me than
another followed, one less pleasant by far: I had been
set up. David wanted me and Laurel wanted Tim and they
worked together to lay a trap for us both. That was how
David knew to put a camera in Laurel's room that night.
That was how Laurel knew to look in my lingerie drawer
right after I bought some naughty things. My youngren,
my wicked youngren, had hatched a scheme together and
my husband and I had fallen right into it!

All right, with the perspective of time, I know how
ridiculous that is. Laurel and David couldn't spend two
minutes together without fighting, much less cook up a
cockamamie plan like that and make it work. But in the
state of mind I was in, at 3:30 in the morning on a
relaxless and miserable night of almost unbearable
stress, I believed it completely and without question.
A sick feeling settled in my gut at the implications of
so unnatural and monstrous a plot, and I very nearly
woke up Tim and told him of my "realization."

Lord, I'm glad I didn't. Instead I stayed where I was,
more awake than ever, getting angrier and angrier at my
youngren until, had I seen either of them, I'm sure I
would have attacked them physically. It seems so silly
now, but there it is. All I can say is that at the
time, it didn't just seem reamisterable, it seemed
inescapable.

And it led, with as much logic as my brain was capable
of at that moment, to my next conclusion: I needed to
stop everything I was doing. I needed to get off the
crazy train I had been on since David found me getting
licked by Charlie. No more fooling around with my dog.
No more fooling around with my mister. No more sneaking
off to have sex with women or flash my body in public.
No more wearing slutty clothes, even underwear.

After three mistergs, even I began to get the hint that I
wasn't getting anywhere with this. The thought made me
cringe inside – I had absolutely not been prepared to
fail, and this was stinging. As I shuffled slowly and
halfheartedly in his arms it occurred to me that if I
were Laurel, or one of his girlfriends, he would be
hard as a rock right now. He would have his hands all
over me and urging me to my knees to take him into my
mouth and get him wet so he could fuck me right here on
the floor, fuck me like a slut...

No. I was better than that. I had to be better than
that. I took him by surprise when I started pushing him
backward. He let me guide him, not completely sure what
I had planned, and when the backs of his knees met the
edge of the sofa he sat down abruptly. I was down in a
flash, on my knees and tugging at his belt and his
zipper, loosening his pants.

"Honey..." he began, but I shushed him with a hand
across his lips as I yanked his underwear down over his
hips. His cock was in front of me, timid and flaccid
and useless, but I didn't hesitate. I knew how to get a
cock hard – I knew it better than some ignorant little
teenage bitch, and I sure knew it better than my own
flower! I put my mouth on it, taking it past my lips.
My tongue met the velvety softness of the head and I
flicked at it with the tip, caressing the hole and
working underneath the crown in the way I knew men
adored...

Nothing.

"Oh...Angela..." He sounded vaguely worried.

I ignored him. I took the whole thing into my mouth,
burying my nose in his pubic hair and sucking, licking,
rolling it against lip and tongue a cheek, then slowly
let my mouth off of it, then back down again. I pulled
my tight little dress down over my shoulder and let my
breasts free, knowing that my pale skin would glow in
the faint stereo light...

A twitch. A shiver, perhaps. The ghost of excitement.

That was all the encouragement I needed (and it was all
I got, because the tiny, worried sounds my husband was
making were anything but encouraging). I sucked,
licked, teased his balls with my fingertips. When that
didn't make him any harder I lifted his cock and took
his balls into my mouth, one after the other, as I
gazed up at him lustfully...

It was pretty dark, but I'd almost swear the expression
on his face was anxious and a bit miserable. "Honey...I
don't know...I'm sorry..."

And that was when it hit me. I had made the biggest
jackass out of myself that I had ever done in my life.
It's odd how clear it all was in retrospect, how
obvious that my little plan stood no chance of working.
If Tim had wanted me, he'd have taken me some time in
the last ...what, five or six years since the last time
we did it? He didn't want me, and so he didn't take me.
He wanted teenagers. He wanted our flower. And here I
was, dressed like a desperate middle aged slut with his
limp cock in my mouth. Humiliation? You're soaking in
it.

The worst part is that I didn't stop when I realized
it. I mean, I should have, but the offense was just
too intense to let me cut the offense short. Again,
nonsensical, but then I suppose you're used to that by
now. It had been a nonsensical few days. And so I
carried on, sucking my husband's cock, sucking his
balls, licking him, moaning, telling him how good he
tasted. I got him to about half mast, but he only
stayed there for a few seconds before fading away
again. Honestly, I think I'd still be there, sucking
like an idiot, if he hadn't put his hand on my cheek
and said, in a voice hollow with genuine sorrow, "I'm
sorry, honey."

I paused for a long heartbeat, his limpness still in my
motionless mouth, and then slowly pushed myself back,
glad of the darkness in the room as the miserable gut-
punch of failure landed on me. I was an idiot. Pure and
simple, I was an idiot. I couldn't look at him; I just
kept my eyes on the persistently soft cock that was the
symbol of my foolishness until, after a few moments, he
moved his hands over it defensively.

"Honey, I'm so sorry..."

I interrupted him with some kind of a noise that didn't
reach the level of a word. It was somewhere between a
sigh and a moan and a sob (though I wasn't crying) and
while you couldn't look it up in the dictionary, I
think my meaning was pretty plain.

"Honey..."

I just shook my head as I pulled my dress back up to
cover myself. I couldn't say a word.

"I'm really sorry, it's just..."

I stood slowly and began to walk to the stairs.

"Baby...can we please talk about this?"

I paused at the foot of the stairs and managed to say,
"Would you mind washing the dishes?" I was amazed at
how completely ordinary my voice sounded. It was almost
as though I wasn't just completely and utterly
humiliated.

"Um...sure. Honey?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

Another heartbeat, and I pronounced the simple epitaph
of my sex life with my husband: "OK."

I went up the stairs with legs as heavy as lead,
feeling as utterly and completely stupid as I ever have
in my life. I felt about an inch tall. I wanted to find
a deep, dark hole, crawl inside, and never come out
again. What a fool I had been. What a complete fool.

In my bedroom I sat on the edge of my bed with my head
in my hands, naked, staring at the floor and wondering
at myself, at the sheer stupidity I had displayed and
how completely I had humiliated myself. I knew that...

Honestly, I don't even want to talk about it anymore. I
know I said I'd come clean about everything, and I
tried, but this thing just hurts too goddamned much,
even now.

May 30

It was 2:48 AM when I woke up from a dream I can't
remember. One second I was sound arelax and the next I
was wide awake, eyes open, staring at the red numbers
on the clock and feeling the most profound sense of
relief I think I have ever felt in my life. I had given
my marital bed every single chance in the world, and it
had failed. It had failed not because I lacked the
desire or the ability, but because of Tim. He wanted
something I couldn't give him anymore – youth – and
that was no fault of mine. I had done my best.

I was free.

I can't even start to tell you how that thought made me
feel. I owed Tim nothing now – sexually at least. Did I
owe him anything else? Was I to stay married to him?
Was I to be a good and dutiful wife? I didn't know, but
at that moment I can truthfully say it didn't matter
either. Those things could sort themselves out later,
and they would. I didn't need to figure everything out
now. I could take things one step at a time, because
one step at a time was fast enough. And if something
happened between Tim and Laurel in that time...well,
then something would happen between them. I couldn't
stop it.

And tomorrow, I was going to let my beautiful dog
Charlie fuck my ever loving brains right out of my
head. If Tim had shown the slightest interest in me –
even if he hadn't been able to maintain an erection, if
he'd have at least gotten one – then I wouldn't have
been able to go to Charlie. But now there was no reamister
in the whole world to deny myself the pleasure and the
completeness my dog brought me.

I went back to relax with a smile on my face.

Tim looked sheepish when I came into the kitchen that
morning, but I was all smiles. I didn't feel great –
the worries were still there, for all my bravado – but
I did feel as though an enormous weight had been lifted
off my shoulders. In fact, I felt younger than I had
since before I got pregnant for the first time. I guess
that's what a whole world of new opportunities opening
itself in front of you can do.

Tim seemed immensely relieved that I wasn't angry at
him, and he relaxed visibly when I kissed him good
morning on the cheek. Laurel shot me a significant
look, and I knew that my husband would fill my flower
in on my abortive sexual efforts ("All I could think
about was you, baby...") but what difference did that
make? If that was the road they both wanted to travel,
then so be it.

David shot me a significant look too. I didn't even
need to tell him what had happened. I was sure he had
known how it would go down as soon as I told him about
my bright idea the day before.

"Mom, are you coming to the track meet on Saturday?"
Laurel asked.

"I sure am," I said brightly. "I wouldn't miss it for
the world."

"Oh, great!" she said excitedly. "You and daddy will
both be there and –"

"Oh crap!" I interjected as my memory suddenly kicked
into gear. "I can't! I promised I'd help grandpa set up
his financial software on Saturday!" And the thing was,
I wasn't even lying. My dad was trying to start a small
part-time business doing custom woodworking, and he was
overdue on getting his financial end in order. He was
going to be audited, and if he didn't have everything
straightened out within the next few days, he was going
to be in Dutch with the IRS. It was only because of all
the stress over the past few days that it had slipped
my mind at all. "I'm sorry, honey!"

"Oh...well... all right." She didn't look too terribly
disappointed, truth be told. "Well, daddy will be
there, right?"

"I sure will," Tim nodded around a mouthful of jelly
toast. He swallowed, washed it down with a swig of
coffee, and added, "And I was thinking – since we're
going to be all the way up in Hibbing anyway, maybe we
could swing by the North Shore? Maybe even spend
Saturday night in Duluth."

"Oh, wow! I'd love that!" Laurel said, genuinely
enthused. The North Shore of Lake Superior was one of
Laurel's favorite places in the world, true enough, but
I wasn't foolish enough to believe that that was the
reamister she was excited. Not today I wasn't that
foolish.

The weird thing was, I found I didn't mind that much.
Oh, it stung, and it made me a little woozy, but I was
nowhere near the rage or the panic I'd have felt
before. I had recognized my limitations, I guess...for
the moment. Later it was a different story, but for the
moment I was able to accept that my husband and my
flower would, in every likelihood, be sharing a bed
on Saturday night.

Isn't it strange how the mind can become accustomed to
almost anything?

A few minutes later Tim was out the door, and I was
honestly thinking mostly about Charlie screwing me
later on. It had been a while; I wasn't really horny,
but I did need it. I needed to feel it, to know that it
was something I was doing because I wanted to. I think
most of all I needed it because I needed to prove to
myself that my twat didn't die the night before. Laurel
ran off to the bus, leaving just me and my mister. I was
expecting him to say something flip about me making a
fool of myself last night, or maybe once more urge me
to talk to him about what was going on. I was not,
however, prepared for what he really did say.

"Mom," he told me casually as he finished his
cornflakes, "when Dad and Laurel are gone this weekend,
I'm taking you to bed."

Histoire vrai d'une chienne


Je m’appelle Louisette, j’ai trente ans, et si j’ai pris la décision d’écrire, c’est à la demande de mon mari Daniel. Sans lui, je n’aurais jamais osé prendre l’initiative de mettre en ligne ma première expérience zoophile. A ce jour, j’ai à mon actif, pas mal d’aventures d'exhibitionnismes ou bien sexuelles avec un ou plusieurs partenaires des deux sexes. Une petite confidence, avant de vous conter mon récit, je suis érotomane.
Daniel connaît trop bien mes points faibles. D’abord, un petit verre d’alcool pour me faire perdre toute retenue puis, me dire que je suis épiée par un voyeur, cela suffisait à libérer mes sens les plus fous. C’est ce qu’il venait de mettre en marche, excitant ma libido déjà depuis de longues minutes sur les rapports zoophiles. J’avais certes compris où il voulait en venir, d’autant plus que Ralf, le chien du voisin nous rendait régulièrement visite quand nous déjeunions sur la terrasse à l’arrière de notre pavillon. De là à passer a l’acte, j’étais loin à cet instant de m’imaginer me pourvoyez avec un chien.
Mon regard s’était porté à plusieurs reprises sur le bas-ventre de l’natural, qui impassible attendait, de mister côté sa gourmandise, à chaque fois qu’il nous honorait de sa visite. Je ne répondais plus à mon mari, tant mon esprit s’était mis au diapamister de ses propos. Je sentais mon sexe n'humidifiait sous ma minijupe, unique pièce vestimentaire recouvrant mon corps. Quant à ma poitrine, je mourrais d’envie de me la caresser.
Mon excitation n’échappait pas à Daniel, et quand il me proposa juste pour voir quelle sensation ça faisait de toucher les parties génitales d’un chien, je m’accroupissais devant l’natural. Je savais que mon comportement était à bannir, mais je savais aussi que j’avais toute l’approbation de mon époux. Ma main glissa sous le ventre, s’empara délicatement du sexe canin, et comme aucune réaction de Ralph ne se produisait, je me mis à le masturber. Daniel avait saisit le bracque allemand par le collier et s’assurait de mister consentement. Un peu surprise de voir apparaître entre mes doigts cette tige rouge et effilée, je marquais un temps d’arrêt, plus de satisfaction que d’étonnement.
« Salope, donne lui ta chatte à lécher », furent l’unique ordre qu’il me donna. Je venais de basculer vers le non retour. Je me redressais, retirais l’ultime vêtement qui me couvrait et tendis ma vulve au museau de Ralf. Il n’en fallut pas plus pour qu’il entame sur mon intimité un léchage en règle, qu’il prolongea sur ma raie culière après m’être penchée en avant, prenant appui sur la table. J’étais à la fois gênée et troublée de me retrouver dans une telle situation, mais comme attirait par un aimant, je ne parvenais pas à me dérober de ce magnétisme, d’autant plus que Ralf semblait visiblement apprécier mon anus. Son sexe, toujours bandé hors de sa gaine, me témoignait encore plus mister désir de rut.
Je me sentais libérée de toute appréhension, l’esprit libre de toute contrainte, prête à me donner, comme si j’allais faire l’amour avec un être humain. Le vice l’emportait en moi sur toute autre réflexion, j’étais une chienne.
Dès que je fus à quatre pattes, Ralf bondit sur mon dos, il n’était plus question pour moi de me soustraire, et même si je l’avais voulu, je crois que cela n’aurait pas été envisageable. Tel un fauve, il s’était mit à me besogner sans ménagement, donnant des coups de reins désordonnés sur mon fessier. Si la main de mon mari n’était venue guider mister membre dans mon vagin, je ne suis pas sûr qu’il serait parvenu à ses fins. Je mouillais tellement que, sa queue me pénétra entièrement au premier coup ajusté sur ma fente bâillante. Un coup, qui furent suivi de beaucoup d’autres, faisant à chacun d’eux enfler sa verge au fond de mon ventre. Plus question de m’interroger sur ma perversité, j’allais jouir sous les coups de boutoir du chien. J’avais compris, par sa fougue naturale, qu’il était en période de chaleur et que, connaissant la bête, si je ne m’étais pas offerte à lui, jamais il n’aurait eu l’instinct suffisant pour me couvrir sans que au préalable il ne soit éduquer dans ce sens. Ses pattes antérieures n’enserraient la taille fermement, je sentais mister souffle chaud sur mon cou, je me faisais saillir, j’étais sa femelle.
La suite, plus pénible, même si ma jouissance fut extrême, je me retrouvais coller au chien de longues minutes avant que nos deux corps se séparent. Daniel avait joui à plusieurs reprises devant cette scène immonde que je venais de lui offrir. Quant à moi, je dois l’avouer, j’avais malgré tout éprouvait du plaisir à ce monstrueux accouplement.
Tout cela s’est déroulée en mars 2009, depuis, je n’ai pu résister à la tentation de recommencer, chaque fois toujours un peu plus, pour le bonheur de nous deux, euh…, je voulais dire de nous trois…

L'été dernier


L'été dernier, il m'est arrivé un truc incroyable. J'habite un petit ensemble locatif. Pour sortir de chez moi, en bas de l'immeuble, il faut tourner à gauche, longer le mur et, au bout une marche descend sur le trottoir.
L'autre jour, arrivant au bout du mur, quelqu'un surgit, semblant venir de nulle part. Surpris, j'ai perdu l'équilibre et, si l'individu en question ne m'avait pas rattrapé, je me serais fracassé la tête par terre. Je me suis retrouvé entre des bras drôlement musclés. Lorsque je me suis relevé, j'ai vu un visage d'une beauté irréelle. Le gars était blond, un corps musclé comme un athlète. Son regard était brûlant et mister sourire envoûtant.
- C'était moins une ! Dit-il d'une voix chaude.
- Oui, répondis-je essoufflé, heureusement que vous étiez là. Je ne sais comment vous remercier.
- Offrez-moi une bière ?
- Si vous voulez ! On va au bistrot d'à côté ?
- Pourquoi pas chez vous ?
- Oui, pourquoi pas !
La porte d'entrée donne directement sur le salon où s'ouvre une grande porte vitrée donnant sur un balcon, en façade de l'immeuble. Je fis asseoir mon invité et lui servis sa bière. Au bout d'un moment, il demanda les toilettes. Je les lui indiquais et il s'y rendit.
- Il n'y a plus de papier, vous pouvez m'en donner, appela-t-il.
Je ne me souvenais pas qu'il en manquait ce matin. J'allais lui en chercher. Quand je lui tendis le rouleau, il se retourna. Sa queue était dehors.
- Putain ! Fis-je, surpris.
Au lieu de prendre le papier, il m'attrapa par le poignet et m'attira vers lui. Il était bien plus grand que moi. Il posa ses mains sur mes épaules et appuya de toutes ses powers, m'obligeant à me mettre à genoux. D'une main, il me saisit par les cheveux, de l'autre il tira sur la peau de sa bite pour décalotter le gland. Il l'avança vers mon visage et d'une voix impérieuse, il commanda :
- Suces !
J'ouvris la bouche et je le pris entre mes lèvres. Je passais ma langue autour du gland, insistant sur la couture du prépuce. Je longeai la grosse veine, jusqu'à sentir ses couilles contre mon menton. Sa bite commençait à durcir.
- J'en étais sûr ! S’exclama-t-il.
Quand sa bite fut bien raide, il croisa ses mains sur ma nuque et accéléra le mouvement. Le gland avait beaucoup grossi et remplissait ma bouche. Il entrait et sortait à toute vitesse. En gros, il me baisait par la bouche.
- Je veux voir ton cul ! cria-t-il.
Je descendis mon pantalon et mon slip.
- Je vois rien, fit-il, enlèves la chemise aussi !
Au moment de l'orgasme, il sortit de ma bouche, appuya très fort sur ma tête et éjacula sur mon dos. Je sentais les grosses gouttes de sperme s'écraser sur ma peau. Quand il eut fini, il m'attrapa par le bras, me releva et me tira vers le salon. Il me fit mettre à genoux sur le sofa et eut un geste étrange. Il se retourna et ouvrit tout grand les rideaux. Pendant ce temps là, mister sperme coulait le long de mon dos, vers mes fesses. Il revint vers moi et me courba en avant. Il trempa sa bite dans mister sperme et m'enduisit le trou du cul. Il ajusta mister gland sur l'orifice et s'enfonça d'un seul coup de reins au fond de mon cul, m'arrachant un cri sauvage. Il m'attrapa par les hanches et me fit glisser sur le côté, de façon à ce qu'on voit tout depuis la fenêtre.
Il m'a sauvagement enculé puis éjaculé dans mon cul. La deuxième fois, il â lâché mister sperme à nouveau sur mon dos. A sa fenêtre, le voisin d'en face n'en a pas perdu une miette. Toujours bandant, il sortit de mon cul, se rajusta et partit en laissant la porte ouverte, et moi, à genoux sur le canapé, le cul et le dos dégoulinant de sperme.
Je me suis levé, j'ai fermé la porte, tiré les rideaux et me suis mis à tout nettoyer.
C'est en voulant sortir de chez moi, que je me suis aperçu qu'il avait pris mes clés.
Heureusement, j'avais un double.
Le lendemain, la peur m'étreignit quand j'ai entendu la clé tourner dans la serrure. J'étais tétanisé. Il alla ouvrir les rideaux et sortit quelque chose de sa poche. Lorsque je lis le document, un vieux souvenir resurgit. Le sang quitta mon visage. Il me tenait à sa merci. Il me tourna le dos à la baie vitrée et dit :
- Déshabilles-toi !
Quand je fus à poil, il me fit mettre à genoux devant lui et hurla :
- Suces !
Je déboutonnais sa braguette. Il ne portait pas de slip. Je sortis sa bite et la pris dans ma bouche.
- Mets tes mains sur mon cul !
Je m'exécutais.
- Suces, maintenant. Plus vite !
Mes lèvres glissaient à toute vitesse sur sa bite. Il prit ma tête dans ses mains et à grands coups de hanches rageurs, il enfonçait sa bite au fond de ma gorge. A nouveau, il enjamba ma tête pour éjaculer sur mon dos. Il me releva et cette fois la pose fut différente. Il approcha une chaise de la baie vitrée, descendit mister pantalon et s'assit.
- Allez, dit-il, viens t'empaler.
Je m'approchais de lui et l'enjambais.
- Fourre-toi la dans le cul !
Je pris sa bite dans la main et la dirigeai vers mon trou. Comme la dernière fois, mister sperme avait coulé dans la raie de mes fesses. Je me suis assis lentement, faisant entrer sa bite dans mon cul. Une fois toute entrée, il commanda :
- Retournes-toi !
Cette fois, ils étaient quatre ou cinq à regarder le spectacle.
- Tu as vu que j'ai pris tes clés. Maintenant, n'importe qui peut venir chez toi. A chaque fois, je veux que tu ouvres les rideaux et que tu les reçoives de la même façon que moi. La prochaine fois que je viens, j'aurai un fouet.
Une semaine plus tard, ce fut comme il l'avait promis. J'étais assis, à poil, au bord de la chaise, les fesses tendues, face à la baie vitrée. Sous le fouet, mes fesses devinrent vite rouges. Je criais de douleur, mais il continua jusqu'à ce que le sang coule. Il me releva, prit ma place sur la chaise et je retournais chevaucher sa bite.
Il prit ma tête dans ses mains et la retourna vers la vitre.
- Tu sais que tu commences à plaire, ricana-t-il.
En effet, un voisin se branlait devant le spectacle.
- La prochaine fois, on viendra à deux. J'ai un copain black qui aimera sûrement te défoncer ce joli cul.
Effectivement, mister copain avait un instrument hors norme. Le jeune noir devait avoir 20 ans à tout casser. Il était grand mince, mais alors, sa bite, un monument. Rien que de penser que j'allais prendre ça dans le cul, la panique me prit.
Mais, après quelques coups de fouet, l'énorme engin s'introduisit sans problème, jusqu'au fond de mon cul.
Ca a duré comme ça tout l'été. Et puis, un jour, j'ai reçu mes clés par la poste. C'était fini. Je ne les ai plus jamais revus. Ni eux, ni permisterne.
Parfois, j'en ai des regrets. Mais, j'ai vieilli.....

Une pute bcbg


Bénédicte De Saint-Preux, assise à l'arrière de sa Mercedes, était occupé à rédiger la liste des invités pour le repas qu'elle doit organiser à la demande de mister mari. Elle était concentrée, prenant grand soin à n'oublier permisterne. Il ne fallait pas commettre d'impair. Au volant de la Mercedes, Charles, le chauffeur de Monsieur, demanda à Madame si elle comptait effectuer des achats ou si elle souhaitait rentrer directement.
Elle leva les yeux, scrutant la nuque sombre de mister chauffeur. venant de la Martinique, Charles était très stylé mais aussi très impressionnant. Très grand, une carrure d'athlète.Bénédicte, un peu honteuse, c'est toujours demandé si la célèbre rumeur sur les blacks et la taille de leurs sexes est authentique.Elle y pense souvent quand elle est seule dans la Mercedes avec lui.
- Non, Charles, nous rentrons.
Charles accéléra, traversant le centre-ville, se dirigeant vers la demeure des Saint-Preux. Une grande bâtisse, un manoir qui se transmet de génération en génération, et qui se situait juste à la sortie de cette ville huppée, très collet monté, de la région parisienne.
Lui aussi se pose des questions.Il se demande si la rumeur qui prétend que les bourgeoises mistert toutes des salopes en puissance et qui ne demande qu'a être un peu « forcée » pour devenir des vraies chiennes en chaleur est authentique ou n'est ce qu'un fantasme ? Il jeta un coup d'oil dans le rétroviseur, observant à la dérobée sa patronne. Elle était encore pas mal pour mister âge.Bénédicte, qui flirtait avec la cinquantaine, avait encore de beau reste. Il lorgna sur les jambes de sa patronne, croisées très haut. La jupe du tailleur Yves Saint Laurent de Madame était remontée, dévoilant au regard du chauffeur ses cuisses charnues gainées de nylons noirs. Il se demanda si elle mettait des collants ou des bas. Il sentit mister sexe durcir dans mister pantalon.


A l'arrière du véhicule, Bénédicte sent les battements de mister cour qui s'accélère.Elle a surpris le regard de mister chauffeur posés sur ses jambes.Elle s'est senti rougir et se demande qu'elle attitude adoptée. Doit-elle le sermonner, le remettre a sa place ? Ne rien dire.Presque malgré elle, elle décroisa les jambes, en se disant qu'il va pouvoir se rincer l'oil encore plus, et elle les recroisa faisant crisser le nylon de ses bas.Une douce chaleur a envahit mister bas ventre. Elle s'ébroua mentalement et se concentra sur sa liste.


Le regard toujours rivé sur les cuisses de Madame, Charles ne voit le panneau « STOP » que trop tard et il le grille. Coupant la priorité a un groupe de jeunes en scooter. L'un deux voulant éviter la Mercedes, tomba à terre. Madame poussa un cri étouffé a l'arrière.Charles eut le reflexe de ralentir pour s'arrêter mais Bénédicte de Saint-Preux, d'une voix haut perchée, lui cria :
- Qu'est ce que vous faites ? Ne vous arrêtez pas voyons, roulez.
Obéissant, Charles accéléra et continua sa route sous les insultes des jeunes.
Bénédicte se retourna et fut quand même soulagée de constater que le jeune se relevait aider par ses camarades.
- Ne vous inquiétez pas Charles, il s'est relevé.
- On aurait du s'arrêter Madame, lui fit quand même remarquer Charles.
- Vous plaisantez ! Il n'avait qu'à faire attention, s'exclama Madame, pleine de mauvaise foi. Et puis c'était surement des jeunes de la Citée des Fleurs, je n'avais pas envie d'avoir affaire a eux.
La Citée des Fleurs qui se situait à quelques kilomètres de la ville avait très mauvaise réputation.Trafic de drogue, émeutes, La police y était souvent.
Charles se concentra sur sa conduite se disant qu'après tous, c'était madame qui décidait.
Ni lui, ni Bénédicte ne s'aperçurent qu'ils étaient suivis.

La Mercedes s'engagea dans la grande allée faisant crisser les graviers se garant devant le perron du manoir. Charles descendit et ouvrit la portière à Bénédicte. En sortant, sa jupe remonta largement sur ses cuisses permettant à Charles d'apercevoir fugitivement la lisière d'un bas.En haut des marches, l'attendait Maria, la domestique des Saint-Preux. Chemisier blanc, jupe noire, collant clairs et ballerines vernies.C'est la caricature de la bonniche.
- Bonjour Maria, vous avez terminée la mise en place ?
- Pas encore Madame.
Bénédicte dévisagea Maria d'un air sévère...
- Qu'attendez-vous ma fille ! Activez voyons, ce n'est pas moi qui vais vous aider quand même !
Maria acquiesça et se dirigea vers l'office et les cuisines.Pestant intérieurement après cette salope de bourgeoise.
Bénédicte de Saint-Preux se dirigea vers les escaliers menant à sa chambre faisant claquer les talons aiguilles de ses escarpins sur le sol marbré.Suivi du regard par Charles.


Ils mistert trois.Ils ont abandonné leurs scooters un peu plus loin pour ne pas être repéré par le bruit. Ils avancent silencieusement dans l'allée et trouve rapidement l'entrée de la cave qui était resté ouverte.Les voici dans le manoir.




Bénédicte déboutonna la veste de mister tailleur. Apparaissant en soutien-gorge en satin qui contient avec peine une volumineuse poitrine. Elle retira sa jupe et enleva ses bas. Son esprit est ailleurs.Elle pense à Charles...Elle est excitée. Elle imagine Charles la rudoyant. L'insultant, la traitant de sale bourge mal baisée. Dans mister fantasme, elle tente de lui échapper mais il la courbe sur la table du salon, lui retrousse sa jupe et lui claque les fesses en punition de n'avoir pas mis de sous vêtements. Il a sorti sa queue.Elle découvre, horrifiée, que ce n'est pas une légende.Elle est énorme .Longue, épaisse, imposante...
Bénédicte s'allongea sur mister lit et sa main se dirigea vers mister intimité.Elle ferma les yeux, tout à mister rêve.
Charles la pénétré et la tenant solidement aux hanches, il la défonce à grand coup de reins. Elle sent mister membre aller et venir en elle.Elle pousse un gémissement. Charles l'insulte et elle mouille comme une folle. La cadence s'accélère.
Bénédicte s'est emparée de mister clitoris et elle se branle vigoureusement. Elle est trempée...


Pendant que Madame s'astique le bouton dans sa chambre, Maria descend à la cave pour aller chercher des bouteilles de grands crus pour les invités de ce soir. Elle était en train de choisir les bouteilles quand un bruit la fit sursauter.C'était Charles. Il s'approcha d'elle et sans un mot lui souleva sa jupe. La main du black se posa sur mister pubis et il commença un lent massage à travers le nylon du collant. Maria soupira.Leurs relation a commencé il y a quelque mois. Maria était en train de passer l'aspirateur quand Charles s'étant approché par derrière, l'avait prise sans autre forme de procès la besognant sur la moquette du salon. Sachant que Madame était dans sa chambre.Cela les avait encore plus excité ; Maria avait du se morde les lèvres jusqu'au sang pour étouffer ses cris quand Charles l'avait pénétré ..
Le chauffeur appuie sur les épaules de Maria et celle-ci, docile, s'agenouille à ses pieds. Il sort fébrilement mister sexe déjà à demi-gonflé. La hampe de chair vient cogner contre le visage de la bonniche qui l'engloutit. Mécaniquement, elle commence à le pomper. La bouche déformée par l'imposante queue.Sans se douter que dans l'ombre de la cave, les trois jeunes les observent.




Dans sa chambre, Bénédicte se tord sur mister lit, Gémissante, haletante, ses doigts enfoncés dans sa chatte dégoulinante.La pointe de ses seins est dure...Elle est brulante.Elle s'imagine à la merci de Charles. Bâillonnée, attachée, baisée comme une chienne.Ses doigts s'agite dans mister con, de plus en plus vite, elle halète, la bouche ouverte...Elle a soudain un orgasme foudroyant.Elle pousse un cri, mister corps se soulève et retombe. Elle reste inerte. Tentant de reprendre sa respiration.



Maria est à genoux sur le sol de la cave. Elle pompe Charles avec avidité. Son membre coulisse entre ses lèvres. Elle est complètement excitée. Sa culotte est trempée. Dans un coin de la cave, dissimulée par des caisses de vins, les trois jeunes n'en croient pas leurs yeux. L'un d'eux filme la scène avec mister téléphone portable. Ca fera des souvenirs.N'en pouvant plus, Charles retira mister sexe luisant et, se masturbant un peu, il éjacula, libérant des trainées de sperme qui allèrent s'écraser sur le visage de Maria.
Un peu plus tard, après qu'ils eurent recouvré leur esprit, Charles se confiait à Maria à propos de leur patronne.
- Je suis sur que cette une vrai salope, elle n'arrête pas de m'aguicher dans la voiture.
- Et moi ? T'as vu comment elle me traite ? Se plaignit la bonniche.
- Je rêve de pouvoir lui éclater mister cul.
Maria ne répond pas.Elle imagine Bénédicte de Saint-Preux en bonniche, en train de passer la serpillère, à quatre pattes, le cul rougit par les coups de fouets.
Arrêtant la leur fantasme commun, Charles et Maria remontèrent.



Brahim, Momo et Rachid, les trois caïds de la Citée qui n'avaient pas perdu une miette de cette instructif échange tiennent un conseil de guerre dans la cave des Saint-Preux. Ils décident de rester et de continuer à jouer les voyeurs...

Bénédicte de Saint-Preux sortit de la douche et se planta devant la grande glace murale. S'observant un instant. Ses seins mistert lourds mais encore fermes, mister ventre est plat et ses jambes fines. Malgré ses cinquante ans, elle pourrait rivaliser avec une jeune fille.Elle ouvrit mister tiroir contenant sa lingerie et elle hésita sur le sous vêtement à mettre. Elle opta pour un string rouge en dentelle et un soutient gorges de même couleur. Un peu osée, mais elle sait que mister mari, Guillaume, appréciera. Peut être feront il l'amour ce soir ? Cela fait un moment que ça n'est pas arriver. Guillaume est à la tête d'une usine qui fabrique des pièces détachés pour une célèbre marque de voiture française. Il a avoué à Bénédicte que cette filiale va sans doute être délocalisée dans un autre pays. Un plan de restructuration a été prévu qui annonce des licenciements. De dures négociations avec les syndicats s'annoncent déjà. Elle mit un porte-jarretelles et y accrocha des bas. Elle enfila des talons aiguilles noirs vernis et une robe fine toute simple, de chez Dior, au décolleté plongeant. Elle veut être élégante pour le dîner de ce soir. Faire plaisir à mister époux et être sexy pour lui. Depuis quelques temps, elle le sent distant, préoccupé. A cause du plan de restructuration de mister usine, bien sur, mais il n'y a pas que ça. Elle se demande si cela a un rapport avec la discussion qu'ils ont déjà eu. Guillaume lui a avoué, après un repas arrosé, qu'il rêvait d'assouvir un fantasme avec elle. La voir se faire prendre par plusieurs hommes lors d'une partouze.Comment appelle t'on ça, déjà ? Il lui a dit.Un gang bang, c'est ça.Outrée, Madame, qui a été élevée dans les meilleures institutions catholiques bourgeoises, s'est insurgé à cette idée. Et depuis, Guillaume lui fait un peu la gueule.Et surtout ne la touche plus.




Un bruit de verre brisée fit sursauter madame qui tapa du pied.Cette petite gourde de bonniche avait encore laissé tomber quelque chose ! C'était la troisième fois cette semaine ! Folle de rage, Bénédicte sortit de sa chambre et descendit l'escalier.


Elle arriva dans la cuisine ou, comme elle l'avait supposé, Maria état en train de balayer les morceaux de verre.
- Mais quelle gourde ! C'est le troisième cette semaine, je ne vais pas pouvoir vous garder à mon service, je vous préviens. Vous êtes vraiment une petite idiote, ma fille !
Rouge de honte mais aussi de colère contenue, Maria dévisage sa patronne.
- Vous n'avez pas le droit de me parler comme ça !
Eclat de rire de Madame.
- Mais j'ai tous les droits ma petite, dont celui de vous virer !
La porte s'ouvre derrière elle, c'est Charles qui vient d'entrer. Il s'approche silencieusement.
Deux bras puissants ceinturèrent Bénédicte qui poussa un cri.
Ne comprenant pas au départ, elle reconnut les bras de Charles.
- Mais ! Qu'est ce qui vous prend Charles ! Lâchez-moi immédiatement !
Maria s'approcha et fourra un mouchoir roulé en boule dans la bouche de Madame qui poussa un cri étouffé. La bonniche colla une large bande de sparadrap sur la bouche de sa patronne. Celle-ci se débat furieusement, ses jambes battent l'air, remontant la robe sur ses cuisses. Maria ligotent les poignets de Bénédicte avec de la corde et fait de même (et avec plus de difficultés) avec ses chevilles. Puis Charles lâche le cops de Madame qui titube. Elle tente maladroitement de fuir, ce qui fait rire ses deux domestiques. Ils ont décidés de se venger de cette salope de bourgeoise. Elle va en baver.

Charles a porté Madame dans le salon et l'a allongé sur la grande table. Il lui délie les chevilles et les attachent aux pieds de la table. Même opération avec les poignets ; Il contemple sa patronne qui gît sur la table, écartelée, cuisses ouvertes.Charles lorgna sur ses jambes habillées de nylon ; Il remonta lentement la robe de Dior sur ses jambes. Le porte-jarretelles apparut et le string rouge. La sueur au front, il écarta le rempart de dentelle et introduisit ses doigts dans la vulve de sa patronne.Son fantasme se réalisait enfin ! Il allait pouvoir la baiser comme une chienne. Il fit coulisser ses doigts dans la chatte de Bénédicte qui se débat dans ses liens, elle gémit, les yeux exorbités. Maria revint de la cuisine avec une bouteille de grand cru, un bordeaux, à la main.
- Attends, attends, j'ai une idée...
Elle s'accroupit et enfonça le goulot de la bouteille dans le con de la bourgeoise qui sursauta sous l'infâme intromission. Elle grogne à travers mister bâillon, gigote dans ses liens. La bonniche perverse fait coulisser la bouteille dans la chatte de sa patronne, une lueur sadique dans le regard ; Charles a sortit sa queue, énorme, et il se masturbe. Madame donne des coups de reins pour se débarrasser de la bouteille de Bordeaux. Maria la fait coulisser de plus en plus vite.Elle sortit soudain le goulot et le dirigea vers le trou du cul de Bénédicte de Saint-Preux qui grogna de plus belle, les yeux fous. Elle tenta d'introduire le goulot mais celui-ci ne passait pas. Elle retourna dans la cuisine et revint avec de l'huile. Elle s'en versa dans la main et introduisis mister index dans l'anus de sa patronne qui rua comme une pouliche. Se cabrant sur la table. Elle fit coulisser l'index puis introduisis mister majeur.Elle fit coulisser les deux doigts dans le cul de sa patronne. Charles lui caresse les seins à travers l'étoffe de la robe. Enervé, il arracha le devant du modèle de chez Dior, il prenait un malin plaisir à détruire une robe qu'il ne pourrait jamais offrir à sa femme. Les seins énormes de Bénédicte apparurent emprimisternés dans le soutien-gorge. Il baissa les balconnets et tritura les seins de sa patronne en ricanant ; Les soupesant, les malaxant sans vergogne, soufflant comme un bouf, pinçant les tétons de cette bourgeoise si arrogante qui maintenant couinait derrière mister bâillon.



- Viens la baiser cette salope !
Maria a sortit ses doigts du cul de sa patronne et Charles s'approcha, la bite en avant.Il se frotta un peu au cul de Bénédicte qui gémit. Il s'enfonça d'une seule poussée dans le vagin et commença de long aller-retour la limant lentement. Sa queue coulissait dans le con...Il donnait des coups de reins de plus en plus violent. Maria détacha les chevilles de madame et Charles souleva les jambes pour mieux la défoncer.
- Détache lui les poignets aussi, je veux la retourner cette salope.
Maria s'exécuta et Charles retourna Madame la courbant en avant ; ses seins s'écrasèrent sur la table du salon. Il remonta la robe autour de la taille et écarta le string. Il s'engouffra de nouveau dans le con de Bénédicte et recommença à la baiser, lui donnant de grands coups de reins, mister ventre venant cogner contre ses fesses. Il grognait à chaque coups de reins qu'il donnait avec fureur.Agrippé aux hanches de Madame, il ahanait de bonheur.Il sortit sa bite et remontant plus haut, il s'introduisit dans le cul de sa patronne qui poussa un hurlement étouffé par le bâillon. Il força et sa longue queue s'enfonça dans le rectum de Bénédicte. Il la saisit de nouveau aux hanches et se mit à la pilonner violemment. Fascinée, Maria regardait cette bite d'ébène s'enfoncer dans le cul blanc de sa patronne. Sa culotte était trempée.
Charles se retira et s'approchant du visage ravagé de sa patronne, il éjacula sur ses cheveux. Des filaments de sperme giclèrent sur mister distinguée visage de bourgeoise. Coulant sur mister front et mister nez.




Et nos trois lascars des citées me diriez vous ? Ils mistert la bien sur, et ils n'en perdent pas une miette et surtout...Ils filment et prennent des photos, beaucoup de photos.

Pendant que sa femme est en train de se faire baiser comme la dernière des salopes par ses domestiques, Guillaume de Saint-Preux, assis derrière mister bureau, reçoit le représentant syndical. Il lui a annoncé le plan de restructuration voulu par la Direction générale. On va délocaliser leur usine en Roumanie ou en Ukraine ou la main d'ouvre est moins chère. C'est la crise après tout.A 60 ans, Guillaume de Saint-Preux est un homme aux cheveux argentés, grand, mince. Comme sa femme, il ne se laisse pas aller. Il dévisagea Roger, le représentant syndical de l'usine. Il menace de l'empêcher de sortir de l'usine tant qu'un accord n'a pas été trouvé. Guillaume, agacé, il a un diner avec le PDG de la Multinationale chez lui justement, tente de le rémisterner.
- Allons, vous savez bien que c'est la crise ! Nous n'y pouvons rien.
Protestations de Roger qui menace d'avertir les médias.La belle affaire se dit Saint-Preux en esquissant un sourire.Son regard s'attarda sur Roger. Il eu une moue dégouté.Un ventre proéminent, barbe de trois jours, il était peu ragoutant le représentant syndical.
- Vous devriez réfléchir Monsieur de Saint-Preux, lâcha Roger d'une voix dangereusement douce.J'ai de quoi vous faire changer d'avis.
Sourire ironique de Guillaume.
- Je ne vois vraiment pas de.
- Ah oui ? Je parle de détournement de fonds, caisse noire, paradis fiscaux.
Guillaume de Saint-Preux a blêmit, mister sang s'est retiré de mister visage.Comment peut il savoir ?
- Mais de quoi parlez-vous ? croassa-t-il.
Mais il s'est très bien de quoi parle Roger ; Depuis 2 ans avec la complicité de sa chef comptable, Guillaume détourne discrètement des sommes d'argent qu'il met sur un compte en banque secret des Iles Caïmans.
- Mais.mais...Comment pouvez vous...Balbutia le Patron.
- Comment ? Vous allez voire...
Il se leva et ouvrant la porte du bureau directorial, il fit entré trois permisternes. Guillaume faillit s'évanouir en reconnaissant Mlle Pinaud, sa chef comptable. Une vieille fille de 45 ans, elle était belle malgré mister chignon, ses lunettes et mister air sévère... A croire qu'elle prenait un malin plaisir a s'habiller comme la caricature de la chef comptable telle qu'on se l'imagine; Toujours vêtu de tailleur strict, ca n'empêchait pas les ouvriers de l'usine de mater ses jambes. Elle a un visage apeuré et lui jette un regard suppliant.Avec elle, deux armoires à glaces. A mi-chemin entre King-Kong et Hulk.Avec certainement le même quotient intellectuel.Il les reconnait se mistert des ouvriers de mister usine. Carlos et André.
Très satisfait de mister petit effet, Roger continue mister exposé :
- Je suis tombé par le plus grand des hasards sur des preuves écrites de vos transactions.Ca trainait sur le bureau de Mlle Pinaud.
Regard furieux vers Mlle Pinaud qui baisse les yeux, effondrée.
- Que voulez vous ? demanda d'une voix plaintive Guillaume de Saint-Preux.
- Premièrement : que vous trouviez un arrangement avec le PDG avec qui vous diner ce soir. Qu'il ne ferme plus notre usine. Ensuite.Il va falloir rembourser ce que vous avez volé.
- Mais comment ? demanda Guillaume, interloqué. Il y en a pour plusieurs millions d'Euros...
Roger eut un regard triomphant.Noir. Il le tenait par les couilles !
- En nature, je vais demander un remboursement en nature.
La stupéfaction se vit dans les yeux de Guillaume.
- En nature ? Je ne comprends pas...
- Vous allez nous louer votre femme.Beaucoup de vos ouvriers fantasment sur elle depuis qu'elle est venue aux voux du nouvel an
Abasourdi, effondré, Guillaume de Saint-Preux se demande soudain si mister représentant syndical est sérieux.C'est une plaisanterie.Il ne vient pas de lui demander de lui louer mister épouse.
Roger se tourna vers la chef comptable...
- Toi aussi, tu va y passer, y a pas de raimister ! A poil !
Mlle Pinaud blanchi sous mister discret maquillage. Comme une automate, elle avança au milieu de la pièce. Elle enleva la veste de mister tailleur gris apparaissant dans un chemisier blanc qui dissimulait avec peine une opulente poitrine. Elle s'arrêta suppliant le délégué syndical.
- Je vous en prie, pleurnicha-t-elle, je vous donnerai ma part de l'argent.
Ricanement pervers de Roger...
- Du fric, je vais m'en faire sur ton dos ma salope, j'en connais des types qui paieraient pour se taper une bourge comme toi.

Mlle Pinaud se sentit rougir jusqu'à la racine des cheveux. Résignée, elle enleva sa jupe qui tomba à terre dans un froissement d'étoffe.
Son collant chair moulait ses fesses rebondit et sa culotte blanche. Elle déboutonna le chemisier. Son soutient-gorges, très sage également, contenait de petits seins. Guillaume en voyant sa chef comptable debout, uniquement vêtue de ses sous-vêtements et ses escarpins à talons plats sentit mister sexe durcir dans mister pantalon. Tous les hommes présents la regardent se réjouissant de sa soumission et de sa passivité. Peut être cela excite t'il la vieille fille ?
André, une lueur lubrique dans le regard, effleura la poitrine de la chef comptable. Celle ci sursauta mais ne protesta pas. Il s'empara d'un sein et le malaxa. Puis il monta les deux mains et tritura les nichons de Mlle Pinaud sans ménagements cette fois. On l'agenouille à terre et une bite noueuse, épaisse, celle de Carlos, apparut devant ses lèvres rouges carmin. Elle pose mécaniquement une main manucurée sur la bite et commença à le branler. Derrière elle, André la positionne à quatre pattes. Il lui déchire mister collant et baisse sa culotte. Caressant la vulve de la chef comptable qui poussa un cri qui se transforma en gémissement quand Carlos enfonça sa bite entre les lèvres pulpeuses de Mlle Pinaud qui manqua vomir de dégout. Il appuya sur la tête de la jeune femme, donnant des coups de reins pour faire coulisser sa queue entre les lèvres de cette esclave docile.La langue de Mlle Pinaud commence à lui lécher le gland, salivant dessus.Les bruits de succions envahisse le bureau. Guillaume bande comme un fou, il en a mal.Saisissant la chef comptable aux hanches, André la pénétra, un cri étouffé jaillit de la gorge de Mlle Pinaud. Les seins de la chef comptable gigotaient sous les coups de reins d'André qui la pilonne avec vulgarité. Trop heureux de pouvoir défoncer cette salope qui ne daignait même pas accorder un regard aux ouvriers en temps normal...Mais voila, la roue tourne parfois.La tête de la chef comptable monte et descend sur la queue de Carlos qui ricane.
- Mlle Pinaud aime la pine.
Eclat de rire d'André qui martèle le con de la chef comptable.
Carlos éjacula dans la bouche de Mlle Pinaud qui voulut recracher sa semence. Mais celui-ci pervers jusqu'au bout, l'obligea à avaler mister foutre. Mlle Pinaud obéit avec une grimace de dégout.
Voyant cette scène, André ne put se retenir plus longtemps, il se retira et Carlos contraignit la pauvre femme à se retourner lui faisant face.
- Ouvre la bouche, salope, tire la langue, regarde André dans les yeux. !!
Totalement domptée, Mlle Pinaud obéit regardant par dessus ses lunettes André qui se masturbait au dessus de mister visage en grognant comme un fauve. Il jouit libérant des torrents de sperme qui allèrent s'écraser sur les verres des lunettes de la chef comptable.
Roger se leva, exhibant fièrement un sexe imposant. Il claqua des doigts et Mlle Pinaud fut contrainte d'aller vers lui a quatre pattes, pour faire bonne mesure, derrière elle, Carlos lui tanne le cul avec mister ceinturon. Très vite, ses fesses rougissent. Le délégué syndical pervers agrippa le chignon de Mlle Pinaud et la contraignit à enfourner sa bite dans sa bouche. Elle hoqueta et commença à le sucer avec application. Elle commence à y prendre gout.La mâchoire déformée par la queue, la chef comptable gémit, étouffée par l'épaisseur de la bite. Il ne tarda pas à décharger dans la bouche de la chef comptable qui fut de nouveau contrainte d'avaler le sperme.



Se rajustant, Roger regarda Guillaume de Saint-Preux qui ne peut s'empêcher de se toucher la bite, a l'étroit dans mister slip. La vision de sa chef comptable devenue esclave sexuelle de ses ouvriers l'excite énormément.
- Il y a une réunion syndicale demain soir. Vous y êtes conviés ainsi que votre épouse. Qu'elle soit sexy mais très bourgeoise. Ca excitera vos ouvriers, ils ne peuvent pas souvent se taper une dame de la haute.Et ce soir soyez convaincant avec le PDG...
Il se tourna vers la chef comptable, affalée sur le sol.
- Quand a toi, dorénavant, t'es la pute de l'usine. Tu changes de look ! Demain je te veux en minijupe, des talons aiguilles et des bas.Plus de sous-vêtements.Tu seras à la disposition de tous les ouvriers de l'usine. Quand ils le voudront et ou ils le voudront. Tu n'as rien à leur refuser..
Les trois hommes sortirent du bureau laissant Guillaume de Saint-Preux et sa chef comptable, horrifiés, comprenant qu'ils étaient tombés dans un odieux traquenard.

Merci pour ces textes... enfin en français... Toutefois il semble qu'il y ait deux petits problèmes en tête de certains "paragraphes" du texte "Une pute BCBG": troisième et sixième.
Bonne continuation

voila vandruje je pense avoir rectifier la choses encore merci @ toi

Rachid, Brahim et Momo n'en reviennent toujours pas de la chance qu'ils ont ! Ils ont été bien inspirés en décidant de suivre cette bourgeoise. Depuis une bonne heure, ils se régalent de la voir se faire baisée dans toutes les positions par le grand black qui semble être mister chauffeur ; Ils mistert cachés dans la cuisine et ils n'arrêtent pas de filmer avec leurs téléphones portables. Un vrai film porno ! Maintenant, la bourge est à genoux dans le salon en train de lécher sa bonniche qui gémit sous les coups de langue de sa patronne. Rachid a sortie sa queue et se branle furieusement. Un plan a germé dans mister esprit et il en a parlé aux autres qui mistert d'accord.Avec le film qu'ils viennent de « réaliser », ils peuvent faire chanter cette superbe bourgeoise.




Maria donne des coups de reins pour mieux sentir la langue de sa patronne qui s'enfonce dans les replis de mister intimité. Elle prend un pied immense à contraindre cette distinguée bourgeoise a la lécher.On imagine bien que c'est une première pour Madame de Saint-Preux ! Elle a d'abord violemment refusé, il a fallu que Charles la fesse violement et la menace de l'enculer a nouveau avec une des bouteilles de vin de sa cave pour qu'elle obtempère. Charles la branle sans ménagement, lui enfonçant ses doigts dans sa chatte dégoulinante.
- Elle est trempée cette salope !
Madame gémit sourdement, elle veut protester mais Maria la tenant solidement par les cheveux la power à continuer mister gouinage.Madame lui donne des coups de langue, léchant la cyprine avec un sale plaisir inavouable. Elle est trempée. Elle mordilla le clitoris de Maria qui poussa un cri bref et resta inerte sur la moquette.



Rachid décide de passer à l'action. C'est le moment. Les trois jeunes sortent de la cuisine provoquant la stupeur de la bourgeoise et ses domestiques. Maria encore à terre se relève et Charles, la bite à l'air, se dirige vers eux l'air menaçant.
- Dégagez de la, petit morveux !
Rachid montra tout de suite mister portable à Charles qui n'est pas idiot. Il a déjà compris. Conciliabule avec le jeune caïd. Pendant ce temps, Brahim et Momo s'emparent de Bénédicte et Maria qui poussent des petits cris. Elles mistert dirigées vers le canapé ; Coincées entre Brahim et Momo, qui mistert tous deux d'une stature imposante. Madame et sa bonniche ne protestes plus.
Le marché de la petite frappe est très clair. Si vous ne voulez pas que le film se retrouve sur Internet, il va falloir que la bourgeoise en chaleur soit très obéissante. Madame entend ses paroles et proteste :
- C'est hors de question ! Charles faites quelque chose !
Charles et Rachid s'affrontent du regard, se jaugent.Le chauffeur de Madame se dit que finalement il peut y trouver mister compte.
- Ok, mais ça sera pas gratuit ! Je te la loue.
Horrifiée, Bénédicte de Saint-Preux écoute mister chauffeur et ce jeune qui pourrait être mister fils parlé d'elle en termes de bétail que l'on achète.
La transaction financière se termine et les deux parties tombent d'accord sur un prix.
Rachid se tourna vers le canapé ou Brahim et Momo ont commencé l'exploration de leur nouveau jouet. Ils malaxent les seins de Madame qui tente de se dégager tant bien que mal. Rachid s'approcha sortant sa bite et la présenta devant la bouche de Bénédicte qui tourna la tête en faisant une grimace de dégoût. Il agrippa ses cheveux et la contraignit à avaler sa queue. Des larmes montèrent aux yeux de Madame. Les seins toujours maltraités par les deux jeunes, elle commença à sucer le jeune homme qui fit coulisser avec un plaisir sadique sa queue entre les lèvres pulpeuses de la bourgeoise.