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Angela's Diary - 3
by Senor Smut (senorsmut@gmail.com)

***

In part five Angela experiences frustration, fear, and 
pleasure as she explores the sexual worlds opened to 
her by her dog Charlie and her son David. (FF, inc, v, 
beast)

***

Chapter Five

May 11

I couldn't stay in bed without sleeping, but I couldn't 
risk seeing David again. He came home about two in the 
morning – any question of a curfew for him had long 
since fallen by the wayside – and a few minutes later I 
heard him tramping up the stairs and into his bedroom. 
I wanted an hour to be sure he was asleep, then climbed 
out of bed, pulled on a fluffy robe, and Charlie and I 
went down to the den to read a book. The book didn't 
last long – I couldn't concentrate on a thing – so 
after another half an hour we turned on the TV and 
stared at some strange old English movie on TCM. I was 
exhausted but every time my eyes fluttered closed I saw 
the evil smirk on David's face and I was instantly 
awake and miserable again.

I still couldn't believe what he had done. He had 
coaxed me into giving him even more blackmail material 
and I, like an idiot, had gone blithely along with it. 
Go into the living room, he had told me, and so I did, 
putting myself right in front of the camera. Talk nice 
and loud, he had said, and so I had, making it clear 
that I wasn't resisting or being coerced with what was 
happening. 

He had made me feel good and comfortable and safe, 
loved, adored even, and so I let Charlie take me and I 
fellated my own son (I begged for the opportunity to 
fellate my own son, in fact) and now David had 
something on me that was so much more damning than a 
cell phone movie of me getting licked. The first movie 
he had of me would have been deeply embarrassing, 
socially ruinous, possibly fatal to my marriage; the 
second movie would send me to jail for child 
molestation and bestiality. If I had been afraid of 
what he could do to me before, I was terrified now.

But it wasn't just that I was afraid; I was enraged 
too. He had seduced me. He had opened his heart – or so 
I thought – and showed me something wonderful, and I 
had felt it and loved it and given him what he wanted, 
willingly and gladly. And he had taken that love and 
that trust and betrayed it, thrown it and me away like 
so much trash. What had he told me that was the truth? 
Anything? Had it all been an elaborate lie just to get 
me to expose and incriminate myself? 

With any normal person, the answer would have been no, 
of course; no normal person could have been so 
monstrous as that. But David was abnormal, wicked, as 
deformed in spirit as he was perfect in body, and he 
had led me down the path and then thrown me into a 
cesspool.

Of course it wasn't just David I was angry at: I was 
angry at myself too, and maybe even more so. I knew 
what kind of person David was. I'd known it for years. 
He was a sociopath, the sort of person who causes pain 
simply because he can. I had known better that to trust 
him or anything he said, and yet I had done so anyway. 
He had suggested that I damn myself and so I had, of my 
own free will. It would have been easier for me if he 
had simply raped me; at least that way I wouldn't have 
been responsible for it no matter what happened. But 
instead he had caressed me and whispered to me and made 
me trust and cherish him. He made me beg him to help me 
fuck Charlie and beg him to allow me to suck his cock. 
He made me want him. He made me crave him. And, damn 
him, he made me feel grateful for the opportunity to 
debase myself in front of him. 

And then he had thrown it in my face and laughed. 

I had breakfast going again when Tim came down, and 
once more he was surprised to see me. "OK, two days in 
a row," he said. "This is turning into a habit. 
Couldn't sleep again?"

"No, I couldn't. Too much sleep yesterday I guess."

He took a piece of bacon fresh from the pan and asked, 
"How are you feeling?"

"Not so good," I told him. That, at least, was the 
truth.

"You look like you're going to hock any second," he 
said concernedly.

"Sweet talker."

He laughed and hugged me. "You know what I mean. Why 
don't you go up and lie down? I can cook my own 
breakfast."

It was pleasant for a moment to imagine that I could be 
comfortable in my husband's arms, that his embrace 
could make the bad things go away and erase what I had 
done yesterday and over the past week. But it couldn't, 
of course, and so I let him hug me while I remained 
miserable. Arm around my waist and head on my shoulder, 
he took the fork out of my hand and began to flip the 
bacon. After a moment of resting against him I asked, 
"How was the party last night?"

"It was fun," he told me noncommittally, and I knew he 
was trying to keep me from being jealous that I'd 
missed it. 

"How did Laurel make out with Tony?"

Tim laughed quietly; I felt it through his body more 
than heard it. "Poor Laurel. Tony showed up with his 
new boyfriend, and a very handsome couple they make 
too."

"Oh no!" I laughed. "I'll bet she was crushed."

"Like a bug underneath a bulldozer. I felt terrible for 
her. She had her cleavage working overtime and it 
didn't even get paid."

I reached behind him and pinched his ass. "And why are 
you noticing your daughter's cleavage?"

"Honey, everyone noticed it," he replied cheerily. 
"There wasn't a straight male eye in the place that 
wasn't on her chest all night. Our little girl ain't so 
little any more."

"No she's not," I agreed. "I had to keep her from 
dressing even more provocatively than she did."

"She was dressed provocatively enough. She spent the 
whole night dancing with every boy in the place and 
more than a couple of grown men."

"Good Lord, she's only 15," I muttered. This was making 
me feel old, and old isn't what I wanted to feel right 
now on top of everything else.

"I know," he nodded. "She hasn't even become a woman 
yet. Look at her face, she still looks like a little 
girl."

"But nobody was looking at her face."

"Nope, nobody was."

I was quiet for a moment, listening to bacon sizzle and 
feeling Tim's heartbeat against my back as he held me 
close. I was ruminating, which was a bad thing to do, 
and so after a bit I took a teasing tone and asked, 
"And how about you and Steph? How far did you get with 
her?"

Now it was my turn to get my ass pinched, and I jumped 
and squeaked. "I'm glad you weren't there," he told me. 
"She showed up buzzed and by an hour in she was sloppy 
drunk. She grabbed me in the living room right in front 
of everybody."

"Grabbed you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I didn't play."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hoping he wasn't gay?"

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

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

"I know," she sulked.

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

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

"Yes," I said warily. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And I shouldn't have."

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

"Yes it would," I insisted.

"Why?"

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

"That's a lousy excuse."

"No it isn't."

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

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

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

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

"Nope," was her happy reply.

"Laurel," I said in a warning tone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


May 12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And then you betrayed me!"

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

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

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

"I remember," I muttered.

"Then why were you surprised?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I hear you!" I gasped.

He let loose of my hair, put his hand back on my 
throat, and held his bloody fingers in front of my eyes 
again. His lips curled back in a snarl as he said, "I 
ought to make you bleed for this, cunt."

If he was expecting me to beg, I wasn't going to give 
him the satisfaction. I was terrified, yes, but I was 
too angry and too damned proud to think of giving in to 
him. I just stared back with sheer hostility and stayed 
silent. 

"You could have put out my fucking eye," he fumed, and 
then he rubbed the sticky blood on my face. I closed my 
eyes and felt it on my skin, but my expression stayed 
hard and angry. He huffed again... and then he grabbed 
a fist full of the front of my tee shirt and pulled, 
hard. My body lifted up with it but his hand around my 
neck held me down, and I was sure I was going to choke 
– but then he gave a hard yank and I heard cloth tear, 
and suddenly the shirt was a rag in his hand. He hurled 
it to the side, then put his hand on my bra. Another 
tug and the fasteners popped; he ripped me out of it 
and left me naked from the waist up beneath him.

By now I knew he wasn't going to kill me, which was 
what the look on his face threatened at first, and I 
was pretty sure he wasn't even going to hurt me badly, 
except incidentally, because if that was what he'd 
wanted to do he'd have done it in the first flush of 
rage after I clawed him. However, it was just about 
this time that I started thinking he was going to rape 
me. 

This wasn't like Saturday night, when he'd made me so 
horny and so loving for him that if he'd have taken me 
to bed I'd have only put up token resistance; I was 
still sexually worked up from the day and my failure 
with Charlie, yes, but that had been brushed to the 
side by my fury. Now if he'd have tried to take me I'd 
have fought him tooth and nail, and one or the other of 
us would end up in the hospital or dead. So I just 
opened my eyes and let him see the contempt there as he 
looked down at my naked breasts.

With his free hand he took my right nipple between his 
fingers, gave it a gentle tug – and then a hard twist 
that sent a ripple of pain through me. I didn't yell 
out; I didn't even wince. Instead I just loathed him. 
"Why do you do this, mom?" he asked me disgustedly. 
"Why do you make me put you in your place? Don't you 
realize what I can do to you? Don't you know that you 
belong to me now?" 

"You're shit," I hissed. 

His lips tightened into a crease, but he didn't hit me; 
I confess I was half expecting a slap across the face 
at least for that. Instead he reached down and opened 
my jeans. I didn't bother to fight him because there 
was no point; besides, I had to save myself for when he 
tried to take me. He had to let go of my throat to pull 
my jeans down over my hips, and I suppose I could have 
tried to get away then, but he wouldn't have let me so 
I didn't bother. I let him strip my jeans off, and 
though I aimed a hard kick at his head he grabbed my 
ankle, forced my leg down and cocked his fist like he 
was going to hit me. 

I flinched – he's strong and his hands are huge – but 
he didn't follow through with the punch. Instead he 
took my panties in his hands (I was wearing one of the 
new pair, a red thong) and ripped the string holding 
them onto my right hip. A second tug and the string 
broke over the left hip, and he yanked them away with a 
single sharp movement. Then he was over me again, face 
inches from mine, and I could feel his erection against 
my thigh, hard in his pants. I kept my legs firmly 
shut; if he wanted them open he would need to pry them. 
I wasn't giving him a thing. 

"I'm sick of this shit, mom," he told me, his voice 
calm but dangerous. "I'm sick of you putting up a fight 
when I try to take what's mine. I'm sick of you acting 
like you somehow don't know the score. You're a smart 
woman. That's one of the reasons I love you –"

"Ha!"

He ignored my outburst. "It's one of the reasons I love 
you, and I don't want you to resist this. I want you to 
take hold of it and make it yours. You wonder how I can 
treat you like one of my sluts? Don't you understand 
that I want you to *want* to be one of my sluts?"

"Get used to disappointment," I snapped.

He shook his head like I had just said something 
remarkably foolish and short sighted. "I can give you 
things you've never had. I can give you things you've 
always wanted and needed. All you have to do is give 
yourself to me and I can make you happy like you've 
never been happy before."

"You just want to use me, David, so cut the shit."

He shook his head again and then, unexpectedly, climbed 
off of me and stood. "Get up," he said tiredly, waving 
his arm in a vague gesture. "Laurel will be home pretty 
soon. Get your ass up and get dressed." With that he 
turned and headed for the bathroom to bandage his face.

I laid there for a moment, naked and trembling with 
rage. I hated him so very much at that moment, and I 
hated myself because I knew that what he told me at the 
end was true. He had made me feel like no one else ever 
had. He had made me feel sexy and beautiful and 
desired. And more than that, he had accepted and 
embraced a deep, dark secret I couldn't tell anyone 
else, and he had helped me explore that secret. I knew 
he hadn't done it for unselfish reasons, but still he 
had done it and I knew he would do it again if I let 
him. The reason I hated myself is that there was a tiny 
part of me, deep down, that wanted to let him. I felt 
as shitty as he was.

Laurel got home at her regular time, but I was in too 
black a mood to do more than pass some perfunctory 
chitchat. I guess she figured I was still sick because 
she offered to make dinner, and I let her do just that. 
I took her suggestion and went to lie down; I hoped it 
would clear my head before Tim got home, but instead 
the frustrations of the situation just kept getting to 
me more and more, and I was edgy, miserable, and very 
touchy by the time my husband came up to check on me. 
He was very solicitous, but I was in no mood and my 
answers were brief and curt. 

The four of us gathered for the dinner Laurel cooked 
(well, the five of us if you count Charlie). She had 
done a very nice job on some cod fillets and rosemary 
potatoes with a green salad, but she and Tim were 
mostly focused at first on the enormous band aid that 
covered David's cheek. I'd really done a number on him, 
and I immediately felt a pang of guilt in spite of 
everything (which just made me angrier). "What the heck 
happened to you?" Laurel asked. "You didn't have that 
in school today."

David glanced at me and then shrugged. "I was playing 
with Charlie and he scratched my face. I think we need 
to get his claws clipped."

"I'll take him in to the vet later in the week," I said 
quickly.

Laurel looked up at me and made a scissor motion with 
her fingers. "Gonna get him...?"

I blushed furiously and shot a glance at David. David 
hid his smirk by looking down at his plate. I was sure 
that the truth was written all over my face, but I 
tried to keep cool. "Nnnooooo, I think we'll let him be 
a while. We may want to let him breed."

"As long as he doesn't get at Nosey," Tim said, 
apparently oblivious to my discomfort (and thankfully 
so). "I'd hate to have their prize dog knocked up with 
a litter of mongrels."

"Oh, I know," David piped up cheerfully, and I felt the 
dread settle into my bones. "How about we have a bitch 
around the house to keep him occupied? If he's all worn 
out from that, he won' go chasing down the street."

I thought perhaps I might die.

"Well we'd like to breed him maybe once or twice," Tim 
explained to our son, "but we wouldn't want all the 
puppies that would come from having a bitch here. We 
don't want to be breeders, necessarily." 

David turned his smile on me. "What do you think, mom? 
Maybe if we had a bitch that couldn't have puppies?"

I stared at him in pretty much exactly the same way 
that a bug stares at the scientist who's just pinned 
him to an index card. My throat was bone dry and my 
tongue felt like a fish in my mouth, but before I could 
make a sound Laurel jumped in. "That's stupid," she 
replied authoritatively. "Everybody knows that female 
dogs only do it when they're in heat, and if you get 
them fixed then they don't go into heat and they won't 
do it. No puppies, no doing it. Doofus."

"Honey, don't call your brother a doofus," Tim 
interjected. "We all have to respect each other."

"It's all right, Dad," David said happily. "Maybe we 
can find another solution for Charlie's problems. Maybe 
we can –"

"Can we PLEASE change the subject?" I interjected so 
forcefully that everyone looked at me; only my son's 
look was knowing. After a moment I added, a bit lamely, 
"I just don't think this is appropriate conversation 
for the dinner table. Um...Tim, how was your day?"

I barely listened to the resulting discussion. Few 
things make a person madder than being embarrassed, and 
I was hideously embarrassed. In other words, by the 
time dinner ended I was pissed off like I seldom had 
been in my entire life. Betrayed, frustrated, mortified 
– it was a hell of a mix. David took off before I had a 
chance to berate him, but he did manage to give me a 
smirk that enraged me even more. Afterward Tim and 
Laurel went to work on her homework and I stayed 
downstairs and cleaned and baked. 

I should explain: my mother always told me that he two 
best ways for a woman to calm down and work out anger 
were cooking and cleaning. I've found it to be pretty 
true, most of the time anyway, and so I made a pan of 
brownies, cleaned the kitchen until it glowed in the 
dark, and then went down the basement and did all he 
wash. Unfortunately, this time my home remedy failed 
entirely. I was just as upset when I headed up to bed 
as I had been at the end of dinner.

Tim was already in bed when I got upstairs. He was 
marking up some papers for work when I walked in and 
began to undress. I was wearing some of the sexiest 
underwear David had made me buy – a frilly black see-
through bra and lacy thong – and it was so different 
from what I normally wore (and so much more 
provocative) that I thought I had a right to a reaction 
from my husband, or at least a comment, but he didn't 
even look up from his work. I even paraded around the 
room a bit, trying to get him to notice, but no dice. 
By the time I put on my nightgown I was ready to 
explode.

Now, I have to explain something. Tim and I had never 
really argued about sex, or rather the lack of it. His 
interest in me had never been all that high and after 
Laurel was born it was pretty much zero, but aside from 
a few failed passes back then I had just let it be. I 
was absorbed in raising the kids and I guess...well, to 
be honest, I assumed I wasn't all that attractive 
anymore. I knew I wasn't attractive to my husband, and 
aside from my brief affair I didn't feel attractive to 
anyone until a week before this night.

But then everything changed. I got on this terrifying 
roller coaster and for all that I was in a spot I 
didn't want to be in, at least I no longer felt 
unattractive. My gorgeous teenaged son wanted to fuck 
my brains out. A teenaged girl had practically molested 
me in a changing room and another girl only slightly 
older wanted to screw me silly tomorrow; yes I still 
wasn't planning to do it, but I knew I could and that 
fact made me feel very sexy. I felt like I should be 
desirable, and if Tim didn't desire me then I knew, for 
maybe the first time, that it wasn't my fault – it was 
his. It was his fault he didn't want me every damned 
night like I deserved. 

I wasn't just a sexless mom the way I had thought of 
myself for most of my adult life. I was a woman, damn 
it, and I had needs that my husband was most definitely 
not fulfilling; the fact that he wasn't Charlie (or, 
God forbid, David) and therefore didn't have what it 
took to fulfill me didn't even enter my mind at the 
moment. 

On most days, that thought would have gotten me a bit 
irritated but I would have simply talked to Tim about 
it in a rational way (or at least I hope that's what 
would have happened). But tonight I was so angry, so 
frustrated, and so easily upset that being ignored as I 
displayed myself was all it took to send me over the 
edge. I'm not proud of the fact, God knows, but in 
simple truth, I lost it. I rounded on Tim, hands on my 
hips, and demanded, "What's wrong with me?"

The tone of my voice was so angry and my question was 
so unexpected that Tim gave me a baffled look as he 
lifted his eyes to me. "What?"

"What. Is. Wrong. With. Me?" I demanded again, lifting 
my arms up like a mannequin. "Am I ugly?"

Poor Tim. He had no clue what had prompted this and 
even less how to react. He was holding his papers in 
his hands and looking so adorably at sea that at any 
other time I would have just laughed and gone in for a 
cuddle. This was not any other time, though, and 
instead I glared daggers. All he could say was, "Um..."

In all honesty, nothing he said at that moment could 
have mollified me, but a monosyllabic bit of 
nothingness certainly wasn't going to calm me down. 
"Answer me!" I snarled like a wildcat. "What is wrong 
with me, Tim?"

His eyes were wide, like I was a tornado that dropped 
out of a clear blue sky. "I...don't know what you mean, 
honey..."

"No, you don't know what I mean! Of course not! Why 
would you?" He didn't answer, which was maybe the 
wisest thing, so I roared on. "Something is obviously 
wrong with me! I mean I must be just completely 
horrible!"

Charlie whimpered, put his ears back, and climbed off 
the bed to huddle by the door. They say animals can 
sense disasters before they happen.

Tim shifted very uneasily. "I'm not sure what you 
mean..."

I reached behind me and undid my bra – or at least I 
tried to. I was going for a grand gesture, something 
elegant and muscular and cinematic, but the goddamned 
clasp caught, or else my fingers were fumbly with rage. 
Either way I struggled with it for several long, 
painful seconds that increased my embarrassment and 
anger, even as Tim watched uncomprehendingly. Finally I 
got it undone, ripped off the bra and hurled it into 
Tim's chest. He looked down at it in complete 
mystification, then back up at me as I spread my arms. 
Fiercely I demanded, "Are my tits ugly?"

He blinked and stammered, "I – I never said they 
were..."

"No! No you never did! Do you want to say it now?"

"No!"

"But you don't want to touch them!" I yelled 
triumphantly, as though he had just proven my point. 
"You don't want aaaaaaaanything to do with them, do 
you? You don't even look up when I'm parading them 
around in front of you! You have no reaction at all!"

"Look, honey..."

I shucked out of my thong and hurled it across the 
room, standing naked in front of my husband, hands on 
my hips in a belligerent posture. "And here's something 
else you don't want! No, don't want anything to do with 
this pussy, do you?"

Poor Tim was starting to look like an overmatched 
prizefighter who realizes too late that he doesn't have 
the skills to deal with his opponent and he's in for a 
brutal beating (hey, I love boxing and especially MMA – 
I think it's sexy as hell to watch two mostly-naked, 
sweaty guys beat the crap out of each other, so sue 
me). "Angela..."

"Don't Angela me! Don't you dare Angela me!" I snapped, 
pointing my finger at him like a weapon. "I shaved my 
cunt and what reaction do I get? Do you give me a good, 
rowdy fuck? Do you put your mouth on me? Do you even 
*touch* it?"

"I—"

"NO YOU DO NOT!" I yelled, and I knew I could be heard 
all over the house. I didn't give a damn. "Any other 
husband in the world would have shown a little 
interest. Any other husband in the world would have 
PRETENDED to have a little interest! But not you! Not 
my Tim! So there's obviously something terribly wrong 
with me! I must be ugly! I must smell funny! What is 
it, Tim? Why do I make your skin crawl!"

"Now wait just a second!" he shouted, finally losing 
his temper a bit. He's a marvelous, patient man, but 
anyone can be pushed too far. "You don't make my skin 
crawl! That's not it at all! I just have a lower drive 
than you, that's all."

"A lower drive? Are you fucking KIDDING ME?" I was 
screechy again now and I heard Charlie whimper again. 
"You have NO DRIVE! YOU DON'T WANT TO FUCK!"

"Will you keep it down!"

"NO! I WILL NOT KEEP IT DOWN!" I shouted even louder, 
pitching my voice so it could be heard by the 
neighbors. Now, it was right about here that I started 
to think that maybe, just maybe, I had become a tiny 
bit irrational – not that it stopped me. No, the 
possibility just made me angrier. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH 
ME THAT YOU DON'T WANT TO FUCK ME, TIM? WHAT"

He dropped his papers and climbed out of bed, 
undoubtedly in an effort to calm me, but I was not in a 
mood to be calmed. "Honey, please, we can talk about 
this..."

"Oh you're all talk, Tim, you're all fucking talk and 
NO FUCKING!" I stepped back when he came close. "WHAT 
IS WRONG WITH ME?"

"There's nothing wrong with you!" he told me. "You're 
beautiful and sexy and I love you! I just...don't want 
to...have sex, that's all."

I put my hands to my face and choked off a sound of 
frustration, then shouldered past him, grabbed his 
papers off the bed in crumpled handfuls, and hurled 
them at him. "Get out of here, Tim! GET OUT!"

"Angela!"

"SHUT UP!" I howled, wadding the last of his work 
papers and bouncing them off his chest. "If you aren't 
going to fuck me then shut up and sleep in the 
goddamned guest room! I mean it, Tim! GO!"

He glared at me with a look that told me I was being as 
unreasonable as I suspected I was, then bent and picked 
up his papers. "Unbelievable," he muttered, and I 
commend his restraint that he said nothing more. He 
took his work and left the room, slamming the door so 
hard behind him that Charlie yelped and the walls 
shook.

It was at that moment that I made up my mind to go to 
XXXFantasy the next morning. I was going to go there 
and I was going to fuck Petra's brains out, and I 
wasn't going to leave there until she satisfied me.

That night I slept curled up with Charlie, who was 
deeply worried about me, and I cried myself to sleep.


May 13

To say that breakfast on Wednesday was tense would be 
an understatement. Tim wouldn't even look at me, and 
both David and Laurel had heard my rant last night. 
Laurel was mortified at knowing so much about her 
parents' (lack of) sex life, and to his credit, even 
David seemed embarrassed. They all left for their 
various daily tasks...and I got ready to have sex with 
a woman for the first time in my life. 

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous, but I was 
excited too. So much of my frustration over the last 
couple of days was sexual, especially after my failed 
attempt with Charlie yesterday, and I needed someone to 
release it. I could have made myself come, or even had 
Charlie lick me, but it wouldn't have been the same. I 
needed touch, I needed contact, I needed reciprocation; 
I've always gotten much more satisfaction from my own 
orgasms when I'm giving them to others at the same 
time. So even though I wasn't sure about being with a 
woman I did know that I wanted to be with someone who 
wanted to be with me, and Petra wanted to be with me. I 
would give myself to her, and take her in return.

I spent the early morning primping. It's funny how much 
time I spent getting myself to look good for Petra as 
opposed to how little I spent for David. Something 
about getting ready to be with a woman made me want to 
look the best I could – I guess specifically it made me 
want to look as good as she did, to be more accurate. 
Jealousy? Competition? I don't know, I just know that 
no woman ever wants to look bad for a lover, and when 
that lover is a beautiful woman, it puts that much more 
pressure on. And so I showered and shaved (all over) 
and I powdered, and I fussed with my makeup and my 
hair. 

I spent half an hour picking out my clothes. The only 
really sexy clothes I had were the ones I bought the 
week before with Brandy and Petra, and I couldn't wear 
those (they'd already seen me in the slinky little 
skirt and top, and the dress was evening wear). I tried 
a whole bunch of combinations before I came up with one 
I liked, and it wasn't what I was expecting when I 
started: a prim white blouse that buttoned to the neck, 
a plain black skirt that came down to an inch above the 
knee, and a proper and completely inconspicuous black 
jacket with white pinstripes. When I pinned up my hair 
it made me look like a school teacher... but it was 
what Petra would find when she stripped it off of me 
that made me smile: black thigh-highs with a Cuban 
heel, a thong that barely even existed, and a sexy 
little black bra that pushed up my girls and made them 
dance with every step I took. 

I finished it off with the sexiest shoes I owned: a 
pair of black pumps with a 4" heel. I couldn't do much 
walking in them without getting sore, but then I wasn't 
planning on doing much to begin with. I smiled at my 
reflection. I felt sexy and desirable, and if I was 
nervous, well, there was no cure for that but 
experience. 

I got to the store at 10:12 and parked around back. I 
checked myself over and I liked what I saw: I was 
dressed like a proper MILF. I was anxious about what I 
was doing, yes, but I was also horny and needful. More 
than that, I was eager to explore something that I had 
never even considered in a serious way before all this 
madness began. Really I think it was that more than 
lust that drove me forward; I had spent my life having 
nothing, and now I suddenly realized I didn't need to 
spend the rest of my life that way too. I could try 
things, and if I didn't like them I didn't have to do 
them again. And if I did like them...well, I'd cross 
that bridge when I came to it.

When I walked into the lingerie store, I saw Petra 
talking to another customer – a kind of emaciated 
looking girl with bad teeth, like you see on the anti-
meth billboards – and she looked up and smiled hugely 
when she saw me. Petra was wearing a red halter top 
that tied behind the neck and accentuated those 
enviable boobs of hers, and a shortish black skirt. I 
felt my throat tighten and my pussy spasm when I saw 
her – was I really going to go through with this? I 
pushed the thought aside as soon as it occurred to me, 
though; yes, I was going through with this. I had to. 

Brandy was behind the counter when I walked in, and she 
called out, "Angela! Glad you could make it!" She 
crossed the room in just a few steps and hugged me in a 
purely friendly way... but a clothes rack was between 
me and the meth-head customer, so the woman couldn't 
see that Brandy had her hand on my pussy and was 
squeezing it through my skirt. I giggled and hugged her 
back, and with one hand gave her crotch a squeeze 
through the clingy hiphuggers she was wearing. "Pet, 
I'll take over," she called. "You can have that meeting 
with Angela."

"Fantastic, I've been looking forward to it!" Petra 
replied. "Come on into the back room, Angela. We can 
get set up there." I followed along, smiling like the 
cat that ate the canary and watching Petra's luscious, 
ample ass sway in her little skirt. Behind me I heard 
Brandy explaining to the customer that I was a new 
designer the store was considering working with, and I 
couldn't help but chuckle. Oh, I had designs, all 
right!

The place where Petra took me was a combination of 
store room and office – there were boxes of merchandise 
along two walls, a work table, a desk with a computer, 
a few cabinets, a fridge, a microwave, and a little 
bathroom. It was basically like every other store back 
room I had ever seen... except this was the place where 
I would have sex with a woman for the first time. 

I didn't really have time to dwell on it, because no 
sooner had Petra closed the door behind us than her 
hands were on my ass and she was pulling me close. Her 
breasts flattened against my ribs (she's half a foot 
shorter than me) and she looked up into my eyes and 
whispered, "I didn't think you were going to come."

"Neither did I," I admitted with a smile. I had to tell 
my hands to move – it wasn't a natural response for me 
to touch a woman this way – but once I had them moving 
across her perfectly feminine hips and around to her 
back, I confess I did like the feeling. David, and Tim, 
and men in general are hard and angular, all planes and 
muscles. Petra, though, was like Brandy only more so – 
she was feminine, soft, warm, curving, yielding to the 
touch. She was a woman. Even Brandy hadn't felt this 
way under my hands – Brandy was a gorgeous girl, but 
she was a girl. There was no doubt that Petra was a 
woman through and through. 

"I'm glad you did," she said as she squeezed my butt 
and pulled my body to hers. "I spent a lot of time this 
last week thinking about you and being jealous that 
Brandy got to play with you and I didn't. She said she 
was the first girl you ever played with."

"She was," I nodded, filling my hands with Petra's ass. 
We were moving together, swaying very softly, as though 
we were dancing to music neither of us was conscious of 
hearing. "She made it easy though."

Her lips found my neck and I tilted my head back to 
give her access (I adore having my neck nibbled and 
nuzzled and kissed) and she murmured, "I kind of got 
the impression you were mostly doing it for your 
boyfriend."

It took a monumental effort on my part to keep me from 
correcting her that I had been doing it for my son, but 
I managed it just in time. "I was...then. But I'm not 
doing this for him. I'm doing this for me. I want you 
to show me what it's like, Petra. Will you do that?"

She looked up at me, eyebrow quirked, and asked, "How 
far do you want to go?"

My eyes were locked with hers as I replied, "All the 
way. I want your hands on me. I want your mouth on me. 
I want my hands and my mouth on you. I'll do whatever 
you tell me to do so long as you promise me it will 
feel good for both of us. I don't want to walk out of 
here wishing I'd done something I didn't do."

Her smile managed to be gentle and avaricious at once, 
and she undid the belt that held my skirt in place, 
then quickly lowered the zipper on the back. "Have you 
imagined this a lot? Being with a woman?"

I thought, then shook my head. "No, not really. I mean, 
sometimes. Everyone does sometimes. But no, mostly I'm 
straight, I think."

"But you're still here now."

"Yes. I'm still here and I'm not going anywhere before 
I make you come as many times as I can."

My skirt dropped to the floor. She stepped back to look 
at me, and her eyes gleamed. "All kindergarten teacher 
on the outside and slut underneath. I like that."

I giggled again, feeling less like a school teacher and 
more like a school girl having her first sexual 
experience. I pinched the fabric of her skirt and 
asked, "And what do you have under here?"

"You want to know, you're just gonna have to find out." 
So that was exactly what I did. I found the clasp on 
her skirt and opened it, and in an instant she was 
naked from the waist down. What I discovered thrilled 
me: she didn't have a thing on underneath. Her muscular 
thighs rose up to a lovely pussy, even darker than the 
rest of her skin, with the inner lips just barely 
visible between the puffy outer ones. It was shaved 
bare except for a thin landing strip of curly black 
pubic hair. I wasn't even aware that I licked my lips 
until she chuckled. "Looks good to you?"

I nodded, my eyes wide. That was going to be the first 
pussy I ever sucked. I didn't know whether to be 
lustful or intimidated, so I was a bit of both. 
"You're...you're really pretty."

Her big, dark eyes flashed again, and she brought a 
hand down on my ass in a soft little slap. "And you're 
a hot little bitch. Now get out of that top before I 
put you over my knee."

Her dominant side came out so suddenly that I gasped, 
but I didn't even think of saying no to her commands. I 
needed to explore this, it was true, but having someone 
in charge would make it so much easier. Without 
hesitation I stepped back and opened my jacket, tossing 
it on the desk. My black bra was plainly visible though 
the white blouse, a fact which thrilled me with its 
small naughtiness. I didn't pause there though, and in 
another few moments I had unbuttoned the blouse with 
swift fingers and dropped it on the desk. I was there 
in my underwear and pumps now, and I looked up at Petra 
with half-lidded eyes to see what she wanted next. 

Petra stood with her hands on her tilted hips, naked 
from the waist down and looking like a princess. She 
pursed her lovely full lips and made a twisty motion 
with her fingers. "Get rid of the rest of it, except 
for the stockings and shoes. I want my horny little 
sluts naked."

I shivered at the tone of command in her voice and 
hurried to obey. The bra went first, my breasts 
bobbling free and showing my hard nipples (I hadn't 
even been aware that my nipples were hard, but they 
were, as hard as rubies), and the thong came off next. 
I tossed my underwear to an unseen and unheeded corner 
– I didn't even care where it went at that moment. 
Petra wanted me naked, and I wanted it too, and so I 
stood before her with a shy sort of pride and watched 
her look at me. That she liked what she saw was obvious 
from the way her eyes ate me up and the smile that 
crooked her mouth. "You're a hot cunt, you know that?" 
she asked me. "I bet you make all the little girls' 
pussies wet."

"I...I don't know," I stammered. Laurel had plenty of 
friends, but I had never even considered that any of 
them – the female ones especially – would be horny for 
me. The thought seemed utterly bizarre. 

She laughed. "Well maybe you ought to find out. You got 
kids, right?"

"Yes," I nodded. "A son who's 17 and 15 year old 
daughter."

"Either of them ever bring girls over to the house?" 
she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Like your 
daughter ever have sleepovers?"

"Yes, sometimes."

"Well next time all those 15 and 16 year old girls come 
through your house, you watch them. I bet at least one 
of them will be watching you too."

"I don't know..."

"I do," Petra replied with utter certainty. "You're too 
fucking gorgeous not to have some girls want your mouth 
on their pussies. Maybe when you notice it, you'll do 
something about it now."

I had no idea what to say about that. The thought of 
having sex with one of Laurel's girlfriends was 
overwhelming. I can't say I found the idea as 
compelling and sexually immediate as, say, the idea of 
having sex with some hard-bodied high school football 
player, but there was something to it that was powerful 
anyway. 

It's hard to explain, and I know I didn't understand it 
then, but the idea of seducing a young girl – or being 
seduced by one – was incredibly erotic to me on a level 
very different from an imagined encounter with a 
teenage boy. Teenage boys, after all, will pretty much 
stick their dicks into anything that doesn't move fast 
enough to get away, so having a boy want to fuck me was 
no accomplishment. But a girl – a fresh young teenage 
girl – now that was something else entirely, and a 
feeling of sexual power rippled through me as I 
imagined one or another of Laurel's friends looking up 
at me with her mouth buried in my snatch. 

Petra didn't give me much time to revel in the thought 
though, because she quickly ordered me into action: 
"Get over here and take my top off."

I've mentioned that I'm proud of my tits, but when I 
took off Pet's blouse and saw hers for the first time I 
felt undeniable envy. They had looked gorgeous through 
her clothes, but being clothed didn't do Petra justice. 
The woman was born to be naked, and her breasts were a 
case in point. Bigger than mine, round and full, 
perfectly proportioned, taut and perky in the way that 
mine just couldn't be any more at my age, with big 
round nipples so dark that they looked like ebony – to 
cover those ladies up was a crime. 

She put her hands on me, on my bare skin, and for the 
first time in my life I marveled at the amazing, 
thrilling contrast between white and black skin. I'm a 
Nordic blonde, pale even when I'm tanned (and I wasn't 
tanned on my belly because I hadn't worn a two-piece 
bathing suit since before I got pregnant with David) 
and Pet is as dark-skinned as anyone I've ever seen. 

Even beyond the fact that I was being touched 
intimately by a woman, and by a black person for the 
first time, there was something aesthetically very 
appealing about her skin on mine. It took almost no 
imagination to make the leap of visualizing my naked 
pink pussy being spread by a thick black cock...

And then I had no time for imagination, because Pet put 
me in motion. She surrounded me with her arms and 
pushed me back with her body. Two steps and I felt the 
table against the back of my thighs; I put my butt on 
it and she followed, pressing me over onto my back as 
she straddled me. In just a few moments I was lying 
down with my legs over the end of the table and she was 
above me, knees on either side of my waist, her perfect 
breasts hanging down almost to mine as she leaned in to 
kiss me. And this time when I felt a woman's lips on 
mine I didn't even think of wavering – this was what I 
was here for, and I was going to revel in every second 
of it. 

Our tongues met between our lips, and the kiss started 
out soft and easy because that was the way Petra wanted 
it. Tip on tip, our tongues moved together slowly, and 
after a moment I found myself sighing into her mouth. 
This was it – for the first time since my brief affair 
years before, I was with someone other than my husband 
because I wanted to be, of my own volition; and whereas 
I had felt years of guilt from that previous dalliance, 
I knew I would feel no guilt whatever from this one. 
Tim was still my husband and I still loved him, but he 
had no further claim on my body. From now on when I 
wanted someone else, man or woman – or maybe even dog – 
I would take them. It was that simple.

I remember when she lowered herself onto me and we lay, 
length on length, warmth on warmth, mouth on mouth. Her 
hands were on my flanks, caressing my ribs and my hips, 
and after a moment I moved my hands as well. At first 
they came to rest on the backs of her shoulders, my 
touch gentle, but it didn't take long for them to begin 
to drift down across her curved back to her tiny waist 
and then further, onto her ass. Oh God, Pet has an ass 
to kill for. 

I'm not ashamed of mine, especially for being in my 
middle 30s, but Pet's... Pet's ass is one for the ages. 
Her figure is the sort that you can't have once gravity 
starts to get hold of you – broad shoulders, big firm 
tits, a waist you could almost encircle with two hands, 
and a big, bodacious ass that any man would love to 
hold onto while taking her from behind. It was the sort 
of ass that would look good in a skirt or pants that 
were tight or loose, clothed or naked. It was firm and 
hot and I loved the way it felt when I squeezed it and 
pulled her pelvis down against mine.

Quickly enough our kissing stopped being soft and 
exploratory and became something altogether more 
urgent. I don't think either one of us was in the mood 
to pussyfoot around for long, pardon the bad pun – she 
was hotter for me than I was for her, and I was plenty 
hot. Her lips were on mine hard and I was taking the 
air right out of her lungs, just like she was taking 
mine. Our nipples were hard, mine against hers, and my 
hand crept over her ass and stroked her shaved lips at 
almost the exact same moment that hers went between our 
bodies and found mine. 

I could feel her grin through her kiss as she slipped 
her middle finger deep into me, and I followed her 
lead. It was the third pussy I had ever fingered, my 
own included, and it was getting so that I was getting 
used to the feel. I didn't think I'd ever love it as 
deeply and instinctively as I loved putting my fingers 
around a hard, thick cock, but there was no doubt in my 
mind that I could get to like it easily enough.

It didn't take long for us to start fucking each other 
pretty good, pumping each other nice and deep. Her 
pussy was tight and wet and it clasped hard on me as I 
pushed into it, and sucked hard at me as I pulled back, 
and the feeling was addictive. It was no wonder, I 
thought, that men went bananas for pussy if they were 
all as nice as Petra's and Brandy's; it was soft and 
yielding, warm and moist and inviting, a pleasure to 
touch just as Brandy's was. It felt smooth on the 
inside and yet gently rippled, and I knew that those 
little dips and variations of flesh that felt so 
innocuous as I pumped my fingers – two of them now – in 
and out of her body were what kept men drooling to get 
their cocks into women. 

I know it sounds terribly mundane, as though I was 
amazed to discover that the sun is bright, but there's 
a difference between intellectually knowing a fact like 
that and having visceral experience with it. I didn't 
have a cock and I could never know what wonders they 
gave to men, but now I could imagine 
the tremble in David's limbs as he pushed himself into 
some neighborhood housewife and thought of me –

I stopped myself from thinking about David. I was still 
fiercely pissed at him – he had betrayed me and been 
unapologetic, telling me that I had been a fool to 
trust him. And I HAD been, I knew... but I had wanted 
to trust him, after what he had said and how he had 
made me feel. I had wanted to give myself to him. I had 
wanted to cross that enormous boundary and violate a 
taboo that was even bigger, to me, than fucking a dog. 
I had eagerly sucked his cock, and if he had just left 
things there then I would have eagerly sucked his cock 
the next day and the day after, and I wouldn't have put 
up a fight when he finally took me to bed and shattered 
the last taboo. But he had thrown that away, 
deliberately and cold bloodedly, and now he was going 
to have to pay the price for that by having to drag me 
kicking and screaming every step of the way from now 
on. That he would do so I had no doubt, but I would 
leave scars.

But fuck David. Fuck him all to hell. He wasn't here 
and I what I was doing now had nothing whatsoever to do 
with him. I was doing this because it was something I 
hadn't allowed myself to even want in the past, and 
because I deserved to push back all the boundaries that 
had kept me a hemmed-in little hausfrau all these 
years. I was doing it to break free.

And suddenly I wanted to suck pussy. I mean I honestly, 
truly wanted to suck pussy, not just for the fact of 
knocking down a barrier but because I knew it would 
taste good and feel good on my mouth, and because I 
wanted to make Petra cum on my tongue, writhing and 
gasping and moaning my name. I wanted sex with her for 
the sake of sex with her, not because it would mean 
anything but simply because it would feel good. And so 
I pulled my mouth away from hers (with some difficulty) 
and whispered, "I want to lick you, Petra..."

She smiled like a tiger and whispered back, "You do?"

"Yes, I do. I really do."

"Well maybe I want to do the same to you first." She 
put a kiss on my nose and ran her tongue along my 
cheek. "What do you think about that?"

"Will you make me cum?"

"I'll make you scream."

I swallowed hard. "Please make me scream, Petra."

Her mouth was around my right nipple then, sucking it 
in and rolling her tongue over it. I noted in an 
abstract sort of way that her technique was different 
from Brandy's; Brandy was soft and gentle, even when 
she used her teeth on my breasts. Pet wasn't. Pet was 
hard, driving, and even though what she did to me felt 
amazing and perfect, I knew immediately that she would 
push me to my limits. She would make me dance the line 
between pain and pleasure and teach me how much of one 
I could take before it became the other. In normal 
times the idea might have at least intimidated me, but 
now I surrendered myself to it completely. I would go 
where Pet took me.

She didn't linger all that long on my breasts; she was 
too eager to get between my legs. And so when she began 
to kiss her way down my stomach I just braced myself 
and spread my thighs, my eyes closed and my hands ready 
to grip the sides of the table. I still remember the 
instant I first felt a woman's breath hot and close on 
the wet folds of my sex and knew that her lips would 
soon follow. It occurred to me then that I was leaving 
something inside me behind here, that I would be 
changed by this just as certainly as I had been changed 
by the evening with Charlie and David, but I knew 
instinctively that I couldn't both stay what I was and 
become what I had to be. Something had to give, the old 
skin had to peel away, the old me had to die before the 
new me could be born. What would the new me be like? 
There was only one way to find out.

Her mouth settled on my pussy and I let out a breath, 
something between a gasp and a moan, not because of the 
sensation so much, though it was very pleasant, as much 
as what it represented. And when her lips began to move 
on me and her tongue went inside I felt something 
profound and deep and wonderful happen in the heart of 
me. Sex because I wanted it, with a person I wanted to 
be with, was a revelation.

Pet knows how to go down on a girl. Her mouth 
immediately began doing things to me that I had never 
even imagined to be possible, not even in my most 
feverish sex fantasies after reading some tawdry 
romance novel. I won't say she was as good at licking 
me as Charlie, but then she didn't have a foot-long 
tongue or whatever my lovely lover has. What she did 
have that Charlie didn't, though, was lips...and oh my, 
what a difference lips do make! 

I should mention at this point that in addition to 
being a generally indifferent lover, Tim was never a 
big fan of eating me out. Oh back when we used to have 
sex, he'd do it if I asked, but his lack of enthusiasm 
and lack of anything remotely approaching skill made it 
unenjoyable, and it wasn't long before I stopped 
asking. And so it's not surprising, really, that I 
never really thought I liked it.

How wrong I was. Once Petra started to lick me in 
earnest I knew that I not only liked getting head, I 
loved it...and I'd want it plenty from now on. Her 
tongue was constantly in motion, the tip flicking my 
clit one second and the next burying itself deep inside 
me. Her lips moved on me too, kissing and caressing 
even as her tongue probed and dived. I opened my eyes – 
not deliberately, it was a reaction to the sensations – 
and lifted my head to watch her pretty, dark face 
between my pale legs. Her big brown eyes were on mine 
and there was a smile in them as she opened her jaw 
wide, plastered my cunt in an enormous kiss, and 
started tongue-fucking me like a pro. "Oh FUCK Petra!" 
I hissed, "you're so fucking good at that!"

She mumbled something pleased but incomprehensible and 
redoubled her efforts, and it wasn't long before she 
had my chest heaving for breath and a delicious liquid 
fire circulating through my veins. Could she make me 
cum? Could I orgasm on the tongue of a woman? If I had 
doubted it, I had no doubts now. Pet was going to give 
me a climax and make me howl.

It was then she started using her teeth on me. Now, I 
can't exactly recommend that for the beginner because 
if you do it wrong you can really ruin an impending 
orgasm. But Petra did it right. The first I knew she 
was going to do it was when I felt her teeth on my 
clit, and I nearly flew apart right then and there 
because it was so unexpected. One instant her tongue 
was on my little bud, flicking and dancing and moving, 
soft and deft and flexible – and the next instant there 
were hard teeth on it, scraping against the raw nerves. 

Now that makes it sound really painful, but it wasn't 
at all – there was pain, because like I said Petra 
loves to dance the line between pleasure and pain – but 
it was a wonderful pain and there was so much pleasure 
with it that I screamed and my whole body lifted off 
the table and shook against her mouth. It was like 
nothing I had ever felt before and it set me quivering 
like a bell after its rung. And then she did it again, 
and this time it hurt more and felt better and I was 
crying. My thighs clamped hard on her head, both hands 
grabbed her curls and I slammed my cunt fiercely into 
her face. 

I knew she loved my reaction from the way she ground 
into me even harder, and within a few seconds we were 
pushing against each other, my cunt into her face and 
her face into my cunt; I felt her lips, her tongue, her 
teeth, her cheeks spreading me open wide as she licked 
me as deeply as she possibly could, taking me higher, 
faster, hotter...and then I came. And when I came I 
screamed, just like she promised I would. I screamed 
her name and I screamed for her to keep sucking me and 
I screamed a stream of profanity that I blush to 
remember, and then I just screamed, and came, and came, 
and came.

When I opened my eyes she was above me again, smiling 
down at me like a saint. Her dark-skinned face was 
shining with my juices and her eyes were shining with 
triumph. She was watching my face for a sign of how I 
felt about the whole thing, and she got it when I put 
my arms around her neck and pulled her face down to 
mine. 

I know she thought I was going to kiss her because she 
opened her lips for me, but that wasn't where I went at 
first. My tongue found her cheek, her cheek that was 
wet with the juices from my sex, and I licked myself 
off her face. I don't even remember what it tasted 
like, only that I was buzzing hard from an afterglow 
that had me feeling mellow and very, very sexy, and 
that it was a thrill to be licking my pussy from the 
cheeks of a woman. Petra let me lick to my heart's 
content, and when I finally put my mouth on hers and I 
savored myself there, I knew that I was on the way to 
becoming whatever it was I had decided I needed to be.

She broke the kiss with a grin and looked into my eyes. 
"Bitch," she whispered, "I want my pussy sucked."

"I want to suck it."

"You're gonna make me cum."

"I am."

"You're gonna put that pretty white face in my dripping 
black snatch and lick me until I get what I want."

"Yes."

"What do you think your husband would say if he saw you 
now?"

I laughed. "Who cares? He doesn't want what I have 
anyway."

"And what do you think if your boyfriend saw you?"

A smile this time. "David would love it. He'd jerk off 
while he watched."

"Think he'd fuck you while you ate me?"

"He'd sure want to. He'd want to fuck you too."

"Tough for him. I only like girls. You better be ready 
because I want to cum."

"I want to make you."

She rolled off of me and onto her back as I stood. She 
lay with her ass on the edge of the table, her compact 
and utterly feminine form displayed before me. Her 
pussy was so dark it was almost black, but the lips 
were spread open just a bit to reveal a slash of pink 
inside. It was glistening wet all across her puffy 
labia and down onto her perineum. It was beautiful, and 
I stood still and looked at it as she ran a hand idly 
over her tummy (her belly button was pierced and her 
fingers were twittering on the blue glass gem in her 
navel). She watched my face as I looked at her, and I 
guess I must have displayed some emotion or other 
because she chuckled at me and asked, "You like the way 
it looks, huh?"

"Yeah...yeah I do. A week ago I'd never even thought 
about it, but now..."

"Now you want your face in it."

"Yeah. I do."

"Then make me cum, baby. I love it when straight girls 
lick my pussy, it makes me cum so hard..."

I was trembling as I knelt between her legs; part of it 
was fear, yes, and part was apprehension at something 
unknown, but a lot of it was simply excitement. She had 
made me want to do the unthinkable (for me) and now I 
was about to do it. I put my hands on her thighs and 
felt her. Her skin was soft, like silk is soft, and I 
could feel her heat and her strength and the blood in 
her veins coursing beneath my fingertip. It was a good 
feeling, a lover's feeling. I loved being a lover. 

"Do it, baby," she whispered, eyes on my face. "Put 
your mouth on me."

I leaned forward, my nose just an inch from her sex. I 
could smell her now, smell her fragrance. A woman's 
pussy isn't perfume, that's for sure. It's a biological 
smell, a living smell, a smell of heat and wetness 
contained in a vibrant and breathing body. But at the 
same time I didn't find it a bad smell, not at all. It 
was a living smell, the smell of the place we had all 
come from, and it was rich and heady and seductive. It 
was a sex smell but it had nothing whatsoever to do 
with men or things masculine; it was feminine, as 
purely and completely feminine as anything could ever 
be. 

I know most men don't like to think about how... well, 
not to gross you out, I'll just use the word biological 
again – how biological women's bodies, and especially 
our genitals, can be. That one little area is used for 
a lot of different things and sees a lot of traffic, 
and it produces a lot of different aromas and, um, 
fluids. To a man it's a hole to fuck, but as I was 
looking between Petra's legs I saw what I had, the same 
thing but in a different color (and younger than mine, 
to be sure) and it was a very powerful experience to 
know that I was about to give pleasure to the same 
sorts of nerves as I had.

I put my mouth on her. Her skin was soft and smooth, 
obviously freshly shaved or waxed. Her labia yielded to 
the pressure of my lips and I felt her inner folds 
against my mouth. It was official: I was going down on 
a woman. I let my mouth rest against her for a second, 
just feeling it, experiencing it, lips closed, 
breathing her in and rolling over the sensation of a 
pussy against my face. And then, gently, I parted my 
lips, put out my tongue, and began to lick her. Her 
lips parted before even the softest of pressure and I 
tasted, for the first time, another woman's sex. 

I guess the easiest thing it to say it tasted like it 
smelled, but that's not a fair description. I 
immediately knew it wasn't a taste I would ever love in 
the same deep, vibrant way I loved semen, but I also 
knew that it wasn't offensive in the least. Even if I 
wouldn't long for it, I knew that I could, and would, 
get used to it with very little effort. 

I knew that I could, and would, put my mouth on another 
woman if the mood struck me or the woman bewitched me, 
and I wouldn't hesitate a moment to do so. Women... 
and, as I recalled the idea Pet had put in my head of 
Laurel's friends, maybe girls too. It was a savory 
taste, strong but not unpleasant, female like nothing 
else could ever be, perhaps just a little tangy and 
salty and maybe even just a hint of metallic at the 
very edge of my taste buds. It was a human taste, not 
similar to a man's taste in any way but, at the same 
time, identical to it: it was the taste of arousal, of 
desire, of need, and soon enough it would be the taste 
of a lover's release, earned as it flowed over my 
tongue. 

"Mmm, that's it girl," Petra told me. "Just slow and 
easy. Take your time and don't rush."

I did as I was told and licked her in one long, slow 
swipe from the very base of her twat where she opened 
into her vagina and up, between her lips, tasting her 
and feeling her and smelling her, until I came to her 
clit. It was hard and peering out from its little hood, 
perfect and pink and as sweet and innocent looking as a 
little girl in pigtails. I was gentle as I put my lips 
on it, surrounding it, and gave it a soft kiss. My lips 
parted and my tongue flicked over it, just for an 
instant, just the tip. 

"Slow, girl, slow," she whispered. "Lick my pussy for a 
while..."

I was more than willing to take guidance, not just 
because this was my first time doing this but also 
because I wanted Petra to cum like she'd made me cum. I 
knew I couldn't do with my teeth what she'd done (I was 
so inexperienced I'd draw blood if I tried) and I 
didn't have enough experience with getting my pussy 
licked to know exactly what I liked, so anything she 
could tell me was welcome. I lowered my mouth to her 
opening and put my lips on it; I could feel her vagina 
open before me like it wanted me inside it. My tongue 
moved inside tentatively and instantly I was in a world 
of Petra's flavor, of her juices, of her sex. 

I didn't really think then, I just started to do what 
felt natural to me: I began to lick, pushing my tongue 
in as deeply as it could go and then pulling back, up 
and down, in and out. She was wet when I began but she 
rapidly got wetter and in a few moments she was flowing 
into my mouth. 

I was enough of a naοf that I didn't realize yet how 
different women get wet in different amounts and that 
Petra was a flooder; all I knew was that there was more 
juice than I could lick up, and with every lick I made 
more. The oddness and unfamiliarity of it faded almost 
immediately and I became comfortable with what I was 
doing, just licking deep, feeling her pelvis hard 
against my cheeks and my chin, her softness and 
fragrance wonderful to me. 

I looked up and saw her smiling down at me, and I 
smiled with my eyes. "God you look good eating pussy, 
slut," she told me, running a hand along my hair. "Your 
pretty white face stuck in my black cunt! I wish your 
boyfriend was watching us – no, fuck that, I wish your 
husband was watching us so he could see what a good 
cuntlicker his wife is!"

I laughed into her body. Tim's skull would pop if he 
saw me this way, naked and on my knees, eating out a 
young black woman in the back room of a sleazy lingerie 
store! Then again, I thought, maybe it would finally 
stir his cock into life. Who knew? And at this point, 
who cared? He didn't want me for the sex I needed, so I 
would get it somewhere else. And right now I was 
getting it from Petra. What could be complicated about 
that?

"All right, now lick up to my clit. Be slow...be 
gentle..." She sighed as I did just what she told me. 
"That's it. Put your fingers into me. Two at first, get 
me loosened up, and then give me three. Yeah... yeah 
that's it... suck my clit real gentle, real soft... 
mmmm... pump my pussy..yeah... yeah that's it..."

She was clamping down on my fingers, squeezing them as 
I fucked her hot little hole, and she was lifting her 
clit against my mouth. I didn't know much about making 
women happy at this point but I knew enough to know I 
was doing it for her, and I knew enough to know I was 
going to make her cum. I felt absolutely fantastic, 
strong and powerful and clever. I loved that feeling.

"Harder now... fuck me good, fuck me nice and 
hard...squeeze on my clit a little with your lips, not 
too much... tongue it..."

She was humping against my face and my hand now, her 
pussy spasming on my hand, and I knew the signs of an 
impending orgasm when I saw one. I didn't fool myself 
into thinking it was my consummate skill at cunnilingus 
that had brought her to this place so much as the fact 
that she had a straight suburban Suzy Homemaker 
worshipping her cunt, but I was doing my best and 
learning with every motion of my fingers and every lap 
of my tongue. 

"I'm almost there, honey," she told me. We had found 
each other's rhythm (it took me a bit, honestly, 
because I was still clumsy, but I finally got it) and 
she was fucking my fingers just as much as they were 
fucking her, just as she was rubbing her clit on my 
lips and tongue just as much as I was sucking it. But 
that's how good sex always is, isn't it? I watched her 
face, her big eyes scrunched tightly shut and her lower 
lip caught between her teeth, and I loved the passion, 
the need, and the rapture I had put there. I loved 
making love to her. "Gonna cum... keep going... gonna 
cum... gonna ...gonna..."

And then she did. I didn't make her scream my name the 
way I wanted to, but I did make her suck in air and 
gasp adorably at the same time like she was springing a 
leak (a very sweet, lovable sound), I made her whole 
body shake (her tits vibrated mesmerizingly, quaking 
and rolling with every quiver in her body) and I made 
her thrust her pussy into my face and yank me into her 
by my hair (I admit I panicked a bit at the sudden, 
hard movement and the pain from my scalp, but I kept 
doing what I was doing so it worked out in the end). I 
mouth-rode that clit and pumped her cunt as she held 
herself stiff against me – and then she dropped, limp 
and spent, to the table, smiling and panting and 
sweaty.

I had done it. I had made a woman cum with my mouth. I 
felt like the Queen of America. 

After a few moments she pulled me up into her arms and 
we lay together on the table, naked, skin on skin and 
earned sweat on earned sweat, tangled up with each 
other. I was grinning, and she looked at me knowingly. 
I was a little shy as I asked, "Did I do OK for a first 
time?"

"Oh hell yeah," she laughed and put a kiss on my lips. 
"You made me pop, and that's what it's about."

"I didn't really know what I was doing. I don't have a 
lot of experience even on the receiving end..."

"Do you want more?"

I nodded. "I do... receiving and giving. I liked it."

"I can take you places," Petra told me, looking into my 
eyes to gauge my reaction. "Places where they don't let 
me in the door, where they don't even let women in the 
door unless they're looking to fuck other women. Do you 
want to go to places like that?"

I paused. "Like...in front of everyone?"

She laughed. "WITH everyone."

"Oh...I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet," I told her. 
"I mean I like the idea, but I want to... get more 
comfortable with it, I guess."

"More one on one?" she asked. I nodded, and she smiled. 
"Well whenever you want, I'll get with you. If you 
don't mind letting Brandy come, we could have lots of 
fun together."

I smiled back, surprised at how shy I was feeling. "I 
think Brandy would be all right. I know her and...and I 
want to do to her what I did to you. I think it would 
be good."

"I know she'll like it," Pet told me, and that was the 
last we talked for a while. We lay in each other's 
arms, cuddling and kissing and looking into each 
other's eyes, stroking each other's skin, moving our 
limbs against each other. I was just about to suggest 
Round 2 when there came a knock on the door and Brandy 
poked her head in. She grinned huge when she was us 
tangled up like we were and said, "Hey Pet, I hate to 
interrupt but I'm swamped. Can you help out?"

"Be there in a minute," Petra said, then looked back at 
me and said ruefully, "Duty calls, or some shit like 
that."

I chuckled and smacked her ass. "Well you leave me 
wanting more, and that's a good thing. I'll help you 
get dressed."

I did, and after a session in the bathroom to adjust my 
makeup and hair I joined the other customers out front. 
I picked up some more clothes – more underwear, a 
couple more skirts and dresses, a few cute tops, all 
very sexy and ranging from sort of classy to outright 
trashy. Pet and Brandy copped feels off me when they 
could do so without getting noticed and I did the same 
to them, giggling as I did. I felt playfully naughty, 
like a schoolgirl secretly acting up in class and half-
hoping she got spotted by the cute boy. I didn't have 
time to get either Petra or Brandy alone, but I did get 
both their phone numbers before I left. 

I walked out of there with my head held high, feeling 
strong and confident and smart. 

To be continued?

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 62