Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: Strange Relationships
Part: 02
Universe: Second Best
Summary: A full-length novel that follows several young couples from Second
Best and their families.
Keywords: mf, ir, D/s, voy, oral, F-solo, MF, anal
Keywords for full story: rom, mf, MF, mmf, MFF, M+F, mm, F-solo, ir, D/s,
bdsm, mdom, spank, oral, anal, 1st, reluc, nc, voy
Strange Relationships
Copyright © Thinking Horndog, 2006 im_a_thinker@yahoo.com
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. Reproduction for profit
is
forbidden. Any distribution must include this note and the author's email
address. Don’t be caught attempting to make a buck off me!
Warnings and disclaimers:
This is adult entertainment! Be warned! If you’re not into graphic
depictions of sex, this is the wrong story for you! If you’re too young to
be
legally reading this, move along!
This is a work of fiction. It is not intended to reflect any particular
person or persons, and the incidents portrayed exist in their current form
solely in the writer’s imagination. You get the idea.
Chapter 2
The Way Things REALLY Were...
A prim, proper Sharon Wilson met her daughter, followed somewhat
diffidently by the black boy, Nate, as she arrived home from school. She
eyed the boy warily, but the fact was that there was nothing really awful
about him -- he was tall, reasonably good looking, and seemed to have some
vestigial manners. Nate returned the regard, wondering when Mama was going
to say something, but said nothing -- Nate had determined that his ghetto-
black arrogance and the 'rap' that went with it put him at a disadvantage
where Nora was concerned, so he'd shelved it -- that meant playing it cool
with Mama, rather than going on the offensive and accusing her of being a
prejudiced bitch right off.
Nora detected this standoff immediately -- but she also detected
"live
and let live" vibes from both of them, so she let it alone for the moment,
other than rubbing Nate's hard back after she collected Cokes for the pair
and waved him into a chair at the kitchen table. Nate absorbed the
approval; sooner or later, he was gonna have to let Nora know who was boss
in this relationship, but there wasn't any hurry...
Nate Adams was a tall, thin, rangy product of the local 'projects'.
His mother spent most of her time either high on drugs or looking for
someone to sleep with to earn more; Nate was an accidental byproduct of that
lifestyle, and although she loved him, he was 'old enough to take care of
himself' -- not a priority in her life. Nate was high-strung; when he came
into his own sexually at about thirteen, life had become nearly unbearable
-- he needed pussy constantly, and had it not at all. This stress prompted
him to play the bad-ass, dragging his friends 'Stick' Williams and Draper
Travis into one hairy situation after another, some of which they didn't
escape cleanly. In an effort to attract women, Nate had -- well,
'perfected' is not the right word -- employed a 'rap' -- a constant stream
of oily talk designed to impress them and attract their attention. It did
that, but not in a helpful way; Nate's attention tended to wander while his
tongue was wagging, and something offensive would pop out -- as a result,
women avoided him like the plague. He'd managed to secure a date for the
Prom the previous Saturday based solely on the fact that the girl involved
wanted desperately to go and had no other options -- then his 'rap' had
gotten him slapped in the middle of the dance floor. Divine intervention,
in the form of one Dina Nellis, a local female firebrand with a penchant for
matchmaking, had brought him Nora -- and Nora was a dream come true! Nate
was an ass man, and Nora had more than her share; it was soft and cushy and
Nate could run his hands over it all day. And Nora was white, which was a
dream come true for his suffering ego. But at about 2:30 on Sunday morning,
Nora had taken him beyond such shallow measures by opening herself to him,
and Nate learned what was REALLY important: Nora was pliant, and sweet, was
tolerant of his flashy temper to the point of forcing him to control it, and
saw enough potential in Nate despite his issues to offer him her virginity.
There was no going back; Nate was totally hooked.
So Mama was okay as long as she didn't provoke open warfare; since
she
didn't seem inclined to, Nate merely kept an eye on her. Besides, she
wasn't the dangerous one; Nora's dad had made himself VERY visible as a
threat on Sunday afternoon by sending a goon the size of a house to conduct
a quiet conversation with him. The good news was that the conversation was
relatively cordial; Nora's Papa COULD be a very powerful enemy, but for the
moment he was not. And Nate had excellent reasons for keeping things on
track that had nothing to do with any threat from her father...
Sharon seated herself and after a quick glance at Nate asked, "So,
how
did it go?"
Nora took a sip of her Coke and gathered her thoughts. "Umm, okay,
I
guess. I have a prescription for the Pill and some other things to tide us
over..." She waved vaguely at the bag she'd brought in with her.
Sharon and Nate both started a reach for the bag, but Nate checked
himself. Sharon pawed through a collection of prophylactics and some foam
dispensers to a sample case for some pills. While she read the label for
the item, she pushed the bag back toward Nate, letting him know with an eye-
flick that he was welcome to it. "What are these?" she asked.
"Morning after pills, Mom. The doctor provided them, but didn't
recommend them -- he said they're uncomfortable to take..." Nora flicked a
glance at Nate, who absorbed this with a nod. Well, it was insurance, if
something else didn't work... He resumed pawing at the rubbers, noticing
that some large sized ones had been included.
Nora eyed her mother for a moment, and added, "I think more
interesting was the conversation with the doctor -- and the ones with
Daddy's chauffer and Daddy."
Sharon assumed a guarded expression and flicked a glance that it
didn't take telepathy to decipher to 'Can't we keep this in the family?'
Nora detected it and quashed it, responding with, "Mom, did you know
that Daddy sent a man to visit Nate yesterday?"
Sharon, quelled, directed a glance at Nate, who amplified, "Dude was
the size of a house, an' he looked like it'd take a sledgehammer to get his
attention. But he was cool, an' when Nora's ol' man showed up on the phone,
he was, too. Still, I got the picture..."
"Armand threatened you?" Sharon queried.
"Nah. Not like that. He jus' let me know he could roll over me
like
a steamroller if I pissed him off. That dude he sent coulda bounced me like
a basketball, but he was polite as pie." He directed a look at Nora.
"Where I come from, trouble's easy to find, but jus' as simple to stay away
from. Your ol' man don't want me to do nothin' I wasn't gonna do anyway, so
I ain't worried. He whacks me, I figure I'll have earned it beforehand."
It was time to get back on track, so... "What did the doc say?"
Nora turned her eyes on her mother. "He told me that he examines a
lot of women for my father. He told me that my father is kind of hard on
women -- including Mom." Sharon dropped her eyes. "He also indicated that
he can be hard on men -- but I guess Daddy has a staff for that. That's
what the chauffer told me."
"What's he do? Wear 'em out?" Nate was puzzled. "How?"
"He's into S and M, apparently," Nora returned. "He can be pretty
abusive." Nora's eyes returned to her mother. "But mostly it's about
dominance and control. He likes to break people -- own them."
"Shit." Nate added this to his situation assessment. "So if I piss
him off, he might send a couple of guys around to break me open like a
shotgun? I could end up somebody's bitch?"
Sharon glanced up. "If he wanted to make it personal, you'd be
HIS...
bitch. I saw that, once..." She looked away, shuddered.
"Jeezus..." Nate managed a bit of a pallor for a moment, greying a
bit before visibly shaking the whole thing off. "Okay. So?"
"So I left the doctor with a lot of questions," Nora resumed. "I
asked the chauffer -- Jorge -- a couple, and he hedged -- until Daddy called
him and told him to cooperate fully. I even talked to Daddy for a bit in
the car."
"This is big, I guess," Nate opined, "But I'm not sure why..."
Nora again swung her eyes to her mother. "I figure that Daddy has
decided that I am old enough to deal with 'full disclosure'," she
hypothesized. "Until now, he's basically ignored me, and Mom's kept some
things secret." Sharon cringed. "I guess he's decided I'm an adult." She
mused for a moment, then: "So, Mom, how bad is it? Doctor Beckman says
that if the perversion has a name, Daddy's probably tried it -- and that
he's probably invented a couple." Sharon glanced at Nate, but Nora wasn't
having any. "Nate's an interested party, Mom. Spill."
"It's embarrassing," Sharon began, haltingly. "Your father and I
weren't so much married as I was his sex slave. He fooled your grandparents
into thinking he was a wonderful husband, but I was... property. And I was
basically his sole toy. It was exhausting. By the time I was pregnant with
you, I was at my wit's end." Sharon shuddered, remembering an incident when
she, in the grip of morning sickness, was required to choke on Armand's
cock. She vomited, and all he did was wait it out and redirect her to his
cock. Then, when she'd finished the job, he'd merely arisen and walked out,
leaving her to clean up the mess and wash the soiled bedding... "Then your
great-uncle died, and Armand's sphere of influence expanded. He discovered
he could have other toys, and that and the fact that I just couldn't keep up
while pregnant led him to ease up on me and look elsewhere..."
"So he found something better an' divorced you?" Nate guessed.
Sharon frowned, her face a study in remembrance. "Well, he divorced
me. I'm not so sure about the other thing, though. Nora didn't know it
until recently, but I wasn't totally... let go. When Armand calls, I go to
visit him -- and he always reminds me I'm still his."
"What do you know about other women?" Nora asked. "What else is he
into?"
Sharon smiled ruefully. "I always go to his office. You'd think
that
would be a neutral place, but it isn't. Every time I go, he's got a woman
stashed somewhere. Only a couple have lasted more than two visits." She
wouldn't look at the others, but stumbled doggedly on, "When a woman is new,
he usually rapes me in her presence -- something demeaning -- my throat,
or..." Sharon wriggled in her chair; the others got the idea. "It's an
object lesson to them." She looked up, oddly defiant. "When they're on
their way out, he rapes THEM in front of ME!" She actually smiled. "I've
seen -- dozens -- come and go, every size and shape and color..."
"But YOU remain," Nora noted. "Mom, it's not QUITE rape, is it?"
"Of COURSE it is!" Sharon argued vehemently. "I -- he -- it's..."
"You don't fight much, do you?" Nora asked gently.
"I CAN'T!" Sharon wailed. "He's too..." She waved her arms;
adequate
description failed her.
"You go back..." Nora pressed.
"I HAVE to!" Sharon whined. "He'd just come and get me! Besides,
there was you to think about..."
"Would he?" Nora countered. One look at her mother said there was
no
doubt in her mind. "You know, Mom, that says something about HIM..."
"Erk?" This brought Sharon up short, momentarily, but she dismissed
it; she'd been down this road of justifications a million times before, and
it had deep ruts...
On the other hand, Armand Wilson, watching the exchange live on
hidden
camera from his media room, blinked, and began thinking furiously. Once
again, his daughter had provided a new insight... Unlike Sharon, who
emotionally couldn't afford to, Armand processed this piece of data, and
started drawing conclusions...
In the distaff Wilson's kitchen, Nora pulled her mother out of her
funk with a new announcement: "Daddy has invited me to dinner, at his
house."
"What? When?" Sharon, again brought up short, flailed a bit. All
sorts of vague spectres flitted across her consciousness -- she'd never been
to Armand's manse, but that didn't keep her from visualizing it as a den of
iniquity.
"Thursday." Nora watched her mother begin to nerve herself up for
the
episode, and quashed it. "Daddy asked me to come alone."
Sharon's first flash of instinct was horror, but the whole thing
settled back to unease relatively quickly. Armand's capacity for extreme
behavior was a given, but Sharon instinctively decided that Nora was safe
from direct participation in her father's darker pursuits. Logic would not
have provided her that certainty, but she KNEW Armand; if he'd had a direct
sexual interest in his daughter, it would have manifested itself before now.
"Why?"
"I think he wants to clear the air, and give me a chance to decide
what I think of him," Nora replied.
"Why alone?" Sharon asked the question, but Nate was all ears.
"I think that Daddy feels that a trip to his house would be so
distracting for you that we couldn't accomplish anything," Nora said
carefully. "It's not the same issue of being lured into his den for me as
it is for you. Who knows? After I come back and report that the place is
just four walls, and the screams from the dungeon aren't too loud, maybe
you'll be able to handle it better..." She grinned.
Humor warred with worry in Sharon's expression. "He'll merely have
gagged the poor wretches..."
Nora cackled, then gathered herself in. "Really, Mom, is he that
bad?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Certainly, he deals out the abuse. There
may
well BE a dungeon there. On the other hand, most of his victims go there of
their own accord..." Sharon was too pensive, but Nate caught Nora's
expression; obviously, Sharon wasn't including herself in Armand's list of
willing victims -- and Nora was beginning to suspect that she should be...
"Well, Daddy says I'll be back before bedtime, so the dungeon tour
is
probably out," Nora commented lightly.
"Obviously, you accepted his invitation, so I'll stay out of it,"
Sharon replied. "I don't know what he's up to, and that bothers me -- but I
don't think you're in any serious danger from your father. Not that he
ISN'T dangerous!" A warning look accompanied this. "If Armand has limits,
I'm unaware of them. He was carnivorous before he obtained money and power,
and it hasn't slowed him down any, that I can see. What he did with Nate is
one of his more subtle manipulations. He can be a lot more direct. But he
seems to have set a different level for his dealings with you..." Sharon's
voice trailed off. God knew what the man was up to. If this was a trap, it
was pretty subtle...
"Time will tell," Nora murmured. Collecting the bag, she rose,
"C'mon, Honey..." She took Nate's hand and began leading him out of the
room. Nate eyed Sharon sidelong as he rose.
"Homework!" Sharon admonished in a vain attempt to sidetrack the
pair
from Nora's intended activity. Nate watched her, waiting for a second
sally, but Sharon merely threw up her hands. The couple reached the stair
and Nate turned his attention to the hypnotic sway of the wide, sweet ass
before him.
--------------------
Nate stood in the center of Nora's room, surveying it while she
closed
the door behind them. It wasn't terribly frilly -- for which Nate was
somewhat grateful; he didn't think Nora was the 'little princess' type,
which he probably would have been unable to stomach. The place was still
light-years above his digs, but then, almost anywhere was...
Nora slid into his arms and they shared a short but deep kiss before
Nate pulled back and murmured, "Maybe we oughta get the crap out of the
way..."
Nora's pout made HER priorities clear, but she conceded, "Okay, you
go get the books and stuff, and I'll start up my computer." Nate nodded and
nipped at her neck before turning to the door; the knowledge that they were
going to have sex made having it in the next fifteen minutes less urgent --
not that he wasn't EXTREMELY ready... Nate boiled down the stairs and
collected his and Nora's books from the car and returned, collecting an
approving nod from Sharon as he hit the stair. Maybe Mama wasn't going to
be a pain in the ass after all...
They worked for ninety minutes, either seated before Nora's computer
(which was a luxury to Nate, who had to use school machines or handwrite
everything) or draped across Nora's bed, side by side, with books and papers
scattered around them. Nate was continuously prey to the distraction of
Nora's soft ass; once she discovered that Nate really considered it to be a
drawing card, she began to enjoy the attention he imparted to it without
embarrassment.
Finally, after an hour and a half, Nora rolled up on one elbow and
announced, "I'm done."
Nate grinned. "So am I."
"I kind of figured that when I started getting both hands..." Nora
started tossing books on the floor only really showing proper regard for the
homework sheets she had just finished. Nate took the hint and started
stuffing his things back in his backpack. As he finished, Nora rolled over
to him and offered an embrace, which Nate gingerly settled into...
... And quickly got lost in. Nora tended to be levelheaded during
Nate's short dealings with her, gently controlling things with small
comments backed by the huge carrot she dangled. But when the time came to
deliver that carrot, suddenly she was a soft, squirming creature whose
primary drive seemed to be an eagerness to please. The idea that he might
be some super-stud didn't occur to him -- after all, he hadn't been actually
HAVING sex any longer than she had -- but he found it totally amazing that
once she got going, NORA would escalate things! It was Nora who somehow
magically got him out of his shirt while they were kissing. It was Nora who
likewise divested herself of her blouse and bra, and gently shifted his lips
from hers to a distended nipple. And it was Nora who, crooning softly,
wrapped warm fingers around his cock, rolling her thumb over the sensitive
head. "God, I love the feel of that thing!" she moaned. "We'll have to do
the rubber thing -- or I can suck it..." Nora offered.
'Huh! Like I'm gonna settle for a blowjob!' Nate thought to
himself.
Aloud, he remarked, "We got bigger rubbers..."
That was all Nora needed to hear; she went scrabbling for the bag of
goodies collected at the doctor's office. Collecting it, she rolled onto
her back and Nate commenced his first aggressive move of the evening, going
to work on the fastenings of her pants. The pair didn't stand on ceremony;
Nate wrestled down Nora's pants and panties as one unit, exposing an already
open and damp set of heavy inner lips below the sparse brown wisps
decorating her pubic mound. As soon as she was free, Nora rose up and
pushed Nate over to onto his back to do the same for him, but Nate altered
the program a bit, "Swing around here so I can play with that ass, Baby!"
Nora complied, and discovered that pushing his jeans upward to get
them off his legs was a more difficult proposition than pulling them down --
but it didn't seem to matter as his hard hands began kneading the soft
cheeks of her ass. In a moment, her arms at full extension managing only to
get his jeans to mid-calf, Nora found herself with her nose buried in Nate's
musky crotch -- and previous levels of excitement proved to be mere warm-up!
Nora inhaled and moaned; a long finger slid between her nether lips and
Nate's wondering voice announced, "Jeez, Baby, you jus' dripped on my
chest!" Her upper body flat out atop him, Nora began laving Nate's hard
ebony shaft with her tongue.
Nate started kicking his way out of the constricting pool of fabric
around his ankles. "Get that rubber! I'm gonna go nuts!" The uproar
brought Nora back some and she rose up and snatched a rubber out of the bag
and started fighting with the wrapper.
Nate was swimming in a cloud of aroused female musk and the smell of
wet pussy was driving him insane! Nora managed to roll the rubbery sheath
down over Nate's diamond hard shaft -- an effort made easier by the
prophylactic being a larger size, but still no picnic -- and not a moment
too soon; with a roar, Nate grasped her by her generous hips and dumped her
off him. Before she'd settled on her side, those same hard hands driven by
wiry arms had her back up on her hands and knees and the rubbery tip of
Nate's probe was nosing between her labia.
At this point, things slowed down while Nate picked up some
lubrication from Nora's damp tissues and squeezed himself through her tight
opening; leftover K-Y jelly from Nora's vaginal exam earlier in the day
actually lent an assist. Neither of them was complaining; Nora embraced the
welcome fullness while Nate marveled at the wet heat of Nora's channel. The
couple sighed in unison as the flanged head of Nate's cock passed the
constriction of Nora's opening. Instinctively, Nate set up a pattern of
short sawing strokes, each of which gained him additional depth until he was
buried to the hilt, then he shifted to longer strokes, driving against
Nora's soft ass with every stroke. The aroma of Nora's juices was maddening
and he had no control, but it was irrelevant to Nora; the driving pattern
set fire to her nerve endings from the tip of her stiffened clit to the
depths of her vagina, lighting the fuse of a powerful orgasm.
Downstairs, cooking dinner, Sharon became aware of a rapid pattern
of
muffled thumps and immediately guessed the cause: Nora's headboard was
banging the wall in tune to their frantic lovemaking. She dried her hands
and turned toward the stair in a not-too-well thought out attempt to control
the situation, but the effort was wasted...
Neither of the youthful participants in the lovemaking session had
any
control; the whole act lasted less than ninety seconds. Nora tensed up,
raising her head, and erupted with a lung-constricted,
"EeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEE!!! Uh! Uh! Uh!" as the waves of her orgasm washed
over her. She clamped down on Nate's already over-stimulated cock setting
the lean black off with a quiet "Hurrrgh!", but a loud final slam as he
attempted to bury himself to the neck in Nora's pulsing channel.
Sharon, halfway across the kitchen, faltered and stopped. She
didn't
hear Nate, but she DID hear Nora -- and the authority of that final thump
told her all she needed to know about her timing. Shaking her head, she
returned to the sink and resumed dinner preparations. Sharon really
couldn't get a handle around her feelings at this evidence of her daughter's
ongoing sexual activities; the negatives of the situation seemed to be
offset by the surprising fact that Armand had blessed the union and the
forbidden thrill of her partner's racial origins. Nate's race was a two-
edged blade; Sharon knew that Nora would face a certain amount of ostracism,
despite modern attitudes -- but she also knew that there would be a certain
amount of envy among others -- even those enforcing the racism -- and that
in some circles both their stocks would rise. Sharon was certain that in
general Nate stood to gain, and probably Nora to lose, but perhaps Armand
was right; best let the pair work the whole thing out on their own, without
interference. At worst, it was a learning experience; at best, the pair
would beat the odds and she'd have some beautiful grandchildren... That
thought sneaked up on her, followed by 'Omigod! Grandchildren!' Humming to
herself, she added a place setting at the table; the boy was pretty thin --
he needed to eat more...
Upstairs, a gently panting Nate murmured a reverent, "Goddamn!"
Pussy
was even better than advertised; this time had been even better than night
before last! He couldn't see how he could do without for any length of
time, having had the stuff; too bad he hadn't done any better... "Sorry,
Baby."
"Mmmmm?" Nora was still awash in the aftermath, gently pulsing
around
Nate's still-rigid invader. "What for?"
"Didn't last very long..."
"Neither did I. It was wonderful..." Nora emitted a satisfied
sigh.
"Supposed to give ya more than one."
"Nate, Honey, it's not a requirement. Believe me, one is as good
for
me as it is for you. More is just... gravy. Besides, some girls can't cum
more than once..."
"Huh! Really?"
Nora engaged Nate's eyes over her shoulder. "I won't tell you who,
but I know a couple. I don't know yet -- I've had sex twice, now, after
all." She eyed him a moment, lazy satisfaction in her expression. "How
many times have YOU had sex?"
Nate opened his mouth -- and shut it. She knew; she was just
fishing
for the admission. "Counting this time?"
"Uh huh." Nora's eyes laughed.
Nate assumed an expression that said, 'I'm just telling you what you
want to hear...' "Twice."
Nora clenched her vagina; Nate was still solidly erect. "Besides,
you're not done yet..."
Nate did a self-assessment. "Yeh, well, maybe -- but you don't use
a
rubber twice!" Especially after the object lesson of Saturday night; only
the fact that it was ungodly tight had kept Nate's spend from leaking around
the edges of the rubber they'd used to consummate their union.
Nora sighed regretfully and said, "Bring it around here, Honey, and
I'll clean it up..."
Nate blinked. He didn't see anything that she could use, except...
Nahhh... He backed out of her tight channel and got down off the bed, while
Nora re-oriented herself crosswise on it, prone on her elbows, facing the
edge. Diffidently, he presented his erection, and Damn! She did it!
Gently, Nora removed the full prophylactic from his sensitive probe, (it was
fuller, if possible, than the somewhat smaller item used Saturday night --
Nate had cum, big!), and began laving it with her tongue -- even gently
sucking and swiping at the springy hairs at the root where the shaft met the
scrotum. Then watching Nate with an impish look in her eye, she lifted the
used prophylactic to her lips and... Jeezus! She was sucking the cum out
of it! If Nate hadn't just cum less than five minutes before, he'd have
shot all over the place! Nate's ship had come in, and Goddamn! It was the
Queen Mary! Never in the heat of a jerk-off session had he EVER imagined
anything so hot! When she dropped the emptied husk on the floor and ovalled
her lips around Nate's throbbing shaft, his knees shook as he surrendered
himself to her attentions.
This wasn't necessarily just an act of generosity on Nora's part,
though; Saturday night, Nora had discovered that she LOVED Nate's cock --
its unique feel, its musky scent, the taste... Maybe she loved ALL cock --
at present, though, all she could be certain of was that she loved Nate's.
Handling it, smelling it, sucking it was a source of tremendous arousal.
And she loved the taste of his cum, too! It tasted kind of weird, but her
nipples crinkled as it slid along her tongue... The rubber hadn't done the
stuff collected in it any good, but it was still nice -- and watching Nate's
eyes get round like that? Priceless! She worked her mouth along the solid
length for a few moments, but the fire it had lit would require direct
attack to extinguish... "Nate, Honey," she purred, "Get another rubber..."
Nate scrabbled for the bag and went fishing for another rubber, his
poker face concealing absolute glee -- could it get any better than this?
Holy Shit! Nora maintained her grip on his cock, slowly jacking it until
he'd fished out a rubber and the bag went flying, then rolled over while
rotating ninety degrees so that she was positioned on her back. "Gimme!"
Nate handed her the rubber and, following her waved directions, moved to
straddle her, settling gently over her narrow waist. Nora got the package
open and raised her head to give the tip of Nate's member a quick swipe with
her tongue before beginning the fitting process.
Nate, momentarily at loose ends, took a coral-colored nipple in each
hand and began working them between his fingers. "Ummmmmm." Nora's eyes
drifted shut momentarily as she took in the sensations Nate's fingers were
generating. Her vagina pulsated and she could feel the dampness of fresh
lubrication. Finishing with the rubber she hissed, "Now, Honey! Fuck me!"
Nate slid down and began to insert himself between widespread legs.
No, this wasn't gonna work... Nora was splayed open, but her heavy thighs
still limited his access. Kneeling up, he put his hands under her knees and
lifted her legs up and out. Oh, yeah! He had a straight shot right down to
the flat plane of her slit! Nate commenced to slowly work his rubber-
encased length into Nora, using her lubrication to defeat her tightness and
the rubber's resistance.
"Oooooooooohhhhhh!" This was better than before! Saturday night had
been wonderful, their doggy-style antics of a few minutes before even better
-- but THIS was incredible! Nora could feel Nate's heavy rigidity deep in
her channel, creating an itch in her depths that only his shaft could
scratch.
Nate, bottomed out, started pile-driving from his bolt-upright
position, carrying Nora's thighs on his upper arms. Nora tried to help with
the legs, but the sweet tension kept causing her to instinctively tighten
up, trying to climb impossibly higher on Nate's impaling poker. Nora
started a series of high whines, punctuated by loud heavy snorting breaths
through her nose as her chest tightened to the tension Nate was winding in
her.
For the first time in his short sexual history, Nate was in control;
between the rubber and the fact that he'd cum VERY recently, controlling the
urge to shoot wasn't Nate's top priority. Oh, Nora's twat was a hot oil
bath, all right, but he could enjoy it with a bit less urgency. The look on
Nora's face said that if he kept his cool, he'd discover just how many cums
she was capable of... Nate set a driving pace, just short of the point
where he himself would get into trouble, and settled back to watch his
partner.
Nora was major entertainment. Less than a minute in, she was
flushed
and panting, eyes wild and unfocused as she groaned, "Oh, BABY! OH! OH!
OH!" She set fingernails in both of Nate's biceps as she clutched herself
against him and rode out her climax, slowing him momentarily.
Downstairs, the resumption of rhythmic thumps had stopped Sharon in
mid-motion. Good God! They were going at it again? She replaced the open
box of pasta on the counter; it would get overdone if she started it now...
She stood there, pondering what to do. In a moment, Nora let out a wail,
and the thumps slowed... Sharon grinned despite herself at the speed with
which they'd finished the act a SECOND time, and reached for the box -- but
the rhythm picked up again! Rolling her eyes, Sharon put the box back down
and turned down the burner a bit. They were in for the long haul,
apparently...
Watching Nora hit her peak had almost been Nate's undoing; her
excitement had created a feedback loop, bringing Nate to the edge. The
requirement to slow down for a few strokes while Nora hit the top of her
cycle allowed Nate to get a grip, though, and he was able to resume at his
previous pace when she relaxed. Nora's eyes danced as she rubbed his back,
exclaiming, "Oh, Honey, that was GREAT!" Nate grinned and leaned down to
capture and work a stiff nipple between his teeth and Nora started rocketing
toward another climax. Nora, Nate reflected, had nice, chewy nipples on
sweet, round titties; they were a helluva lot of fun... What Nate DIDN'T
see was the way Nora's eyes widened when his lips engaged her stiff bud; his
gentle gnawing generated current along what appeared to be a direct link to
Nora's clitoris that hastened her second climax of the bout significantly!
Nate's first notice came when Nora clutched his head to her breast
and
began surging powerfully, moaning, "NNNnnnNNNNnnnnnNNNNnnnnNNNNnnnn..." in
time to his somewhat constricted strokes; her grip on his head had him
hunching his back to maintain the pace. Waves of sparks flashed through her
as she went rigid, undulated, and collapsed, allowing Nate to resume his
full stroke.
Nate rose up, grinning from ear to ear. "So, them titties are
sensitive, huh?" he teased.
"Unh huh," Nora agreed thickly. Nora was drained; she didn't see
how
she could rise to another orgasm.
Nate, however, proceeded to show her. Having easily succeeded in
bringing Nora off twice, the urgency of the search for his own release began
to take the forefront of his attention. Accidentally, he discovered a new
pattern of motion, one of alternating short and long strokes. This seemed
to up the ante; the rubber no longer mattered under the impetus of the
variety of sensations this activity generated, and Nate began to feel the
deep tickle in the head of his cock that signaled a cum. "I'm gonna c-
cum..." he groaned, picking up the pace.
But Nora was right with him; the new pattern had been as effective
on
her as it was on him, and the excitement of sharing his approach generated a
feedback loop. "Cum, Honey, cum!" she crooned, hips churning as she rose to
her third peak of the session.
"AaaaAAAAaaaaahhhhh!" Nate moaned, and let go, burying himself deep
and straining against her as his cock bucked and pulsed, pouring his seed
into the rubber in heavy gouts. The realization brought Nora to her third
peak, one somewhat weakened by Nate's premature halt (she was two or three
strokes from a big one), but a nice surge of pleasure, nonetheless. Sated,
the pair collapsed into euphoric aftermath.
Downstairs, Sharon waited a few seconds and then picked up the pasta
box, now certain that the main event was complete. She'd been impressed
despite herself at the evidence of Nora's second orgasm and was even more so
by the end of the bout; whatever young Nate's issues might be, his
proficiency as a lover didn't seem to be among them... While she stirred
the pasta pot, Sharon unconsciously ground her pubic mound against the
corner of the oven handle to ease the tension that had built up during her
eavesdropping -- not masturbation, exactly -- more on the order of stubbing
out a cigarette...
Nate was wasted; he didn't work this hard at basketball practice!
Then again, round ball didn't provide the same rewards... He was collapsed,
boneless, across his softly panting lover when her mother yelled up the
stairs, "Enough, already! Dinner in ten minutes!"
The pair exchanged surprised glances; Nora murmured, "I didn't think
we were THAT loud..." Nate struggled up and began retrieving his clothing.
'Hell,' he mused, 'I shouldn't be grumpy -- what'd I expect, to live here?'
Nora collected her outfit, and began sliding into it, too. The couple hit
the bathroom -- first Nora, then Nate - and caught a quick kiss and clinch
on the stair before emerging in the living room, Nate with his book bag over
his shoulder.
Sharon was standing in the kitchen door. "Nate, do you have dinner
plans?"
"Uh, no..." Nate was caught flat-footed.
"Well, c'mon, then. You like spaghetti?" Sharon threw over her
shoulder.
"Yeh," Nate admitted, but that noncommittal response was nothing to
his thought process! 'Goddamn! Mama's bein' nice! I'll be fu -- come to
think of it, I was...' Grinning, he settled in his previous seat, next to
an equally surprised Nora, who was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Sharon waited until things were well under way -- everyone served
and
settled -- to make her only reference to the younger generation's
activities. Eying Nora sidelong, she announced, "Your headboard bangs the
wall..."
Nora inhaled Coke, then spewed it. Nate had serious problems
breathing until he gave up and snorted laughter. Sharon feigned total
indifference, spearing a forkful of pasta and chewing reflectively. But her
funny bone was tickled. She didn't really approve of what the kids were
doing, but SHE had been slave to Armand by Nora's age... Besides, Nora had
been clear that while she could make the relationship difficult, Sharon
couldn't stop her. And given Armand's apparent approval, it might amuse him
to assist the pair, driving a wedge between herself and her daughter. No,
it was best to fight the battles she could win; given what she'd overheard
of the run-in upstairs, Nate was a more than capable lover -- clearly, sex
would be a regular agenda item for the pair for the near future. Nora's
grandparents would be shocked, but they were out of touch with the realities
of existence in the Wilson family, anyway... The trio settled in to enjoy
the best dinner Nate had eaten in some time...
--------------------
Jason, Armand Wilson's majordomo, found his employer in his library,
sipping brandy. "Witherspoon informs me that there has been significant
sexual activity among the distaff," he intoned.
"Young Mister Adams?" Armand guessed.
Jason displayed his teeth in what passed for a smile. "Indeed. But
before that, your ex-wife put on an impressive display of obedience to your
directive to please herself with the toys."
Armand chuckled, "Didn't she do that last night?"
Jason nodded. "Yes, and of course we have decent infrared video.
But
today she apparently adjusted the curtains to ensure visibility from our
observation post and then put on quite a show!"
Armand laughed. "Sharon is a source of continual amusement! No
doubt
she wishes to be spared any gang-bang scenes -- although I KNOW that she
would break down and enjoy it! If she only knew that we have the interior
of the house covered in depth..." Another chuckle escaped him. "I assume
that the raw catch is on the way?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I'll see it when it arrives." Armand waved dismissal, already
thinking about what he would do for diversion while watching. Perhaps
Felicia... "Oh, Jason," he murmured, prompting the majordomo to turn and
face him, "Have you and Charles made up?"
Jason showed his teeth. Over the weekend, Felicia -- now known as
'the Wench' -- had occasioned a certain loss of face for Jason, and Armand
had enforced it by elevating Charles, the head groundskeeper, to Overseer of
his as yet tiny stable of actual slaves. Jason was still unhappy with
having to share his domain with the interloper, but he figured that Charles
would fail to please Armand at some point in the near future and all would
return to normal. In the meantime, Charles had made shift to heal the
breach by allowing Jason to vent his irritation upon the hapless Wench, and
he had spent several hours making her life truly miserable despite having
Charles looking on as chaperone. He'd engendered abject fear in the young
redhead, and for now, that would do. "Yes, Sir."
"Good. Have the Wench deliver the take when it arrives."
"Yes, Sir." Jason dipped his head and stalked out.
Ninety minutes later, while Armand was going over production figures
for the Midwestern states, the Wench arrived carrying a couple of DVDs and a
few sheets of hardcopy. The statuesque redhead entered and knelt, nude,
beside Armand's chair, presenting the documents. Until very recently, the
Wench had gone by the name Felicia, and had been pursuing a promising career
in modeling -- but about a month previously, she had drifted into Armand's
orbit and become a toy. Armand had submitted her to a gentle course of the
usual indignities, expecting more or less the usual rate of descent into
depravity, but Felicia had surprised him by breaking almost immediately,
becoming pliant to the point of overriding her instinct for self-
preservation. Armand had subjected her to a whole catalog of tortures and
humiliations, but Felicia merely absorbed the abuse and presented herself
for more. Many masters would have been thrilled to death to obtain a slave
of such pliancy, but Armand enjoyed observing the struggle, both physical
and mental, of victims under his control. Felicia didn't struggle, either
physically or mentally; she merely endured, and made shift to enjoy her
mistreatment. Armand's first impulse had been to put her back on the street
with his other ruined playthings, but it became clear that Felicia was
altered to the point of being unable to operate properly in a 'normal'
environment; she had needs and hungers the slaking of which would have no
'safe' venues in the outside world. So Armand had accepted her total
submission and assigned Charles as overseer; she was the 'house slave', her
station beneath even the young kids who maintained the grounds of Armand's
estate. Her primary job function was to act as a vessel for the sexual
energies of anyone Armand designated, whether it be himself, houseguests,
servants... Charles' job was to see to it that she was sexed regularly, and
that she considered no perversion unusual. The pair had only been in their
new jobs for a couple of days; Jason didn't think Charles would measure up,
but then Jason was unaware of the little incident that had brought Charles
into Armand's uncle's and subsequently Armand's employ...
Armand let her stew a bit; it was good for her to learn patience, he
reasoned. From appearances, the effort was wasted; the wench knelt there as
if she had all the time in the world to act as furniture for her Master.
After a few minutes, though, her arms began to shake from holding them in a
raised position for so long. Armand let this continue for another minute or
so, then blandly collected the materials. After having read the hardcopy,
Armand announced, "We're going to the media room," rose, and stalked out,
the Wench following at two paces. Once in the media room, he handed the
DVDs back to the Wench, directing, "Mount these in the DVD changer, this one
first, and start it."
The Wench executed her instructions and returned to kneel beside
Armand's recliner, remote presented. Armand reflected that there WERE
things to be said for perfect service... The next twenty minutes were
occupied by Armand's perusal of his ex-wife's VERY visible interlude with
the vibrator. Yes, she knew him; her intent was clear: it was a show of
obedience to stave off his threat of escalation. Armand was somewhat
surprised that she allowed herself enjoyment of the exercise -- but then
control, ultimately, was not one of Sharon's strong points. More amusing
than watching her responses while in the throes of orgasm (he was as
familiar with Sharon's response pattern as Witherspoon's operative was not)
was her fastidious recovery; it was an exercise in denial of the type that
never ceased to bring forth a chuckle.
"Switch DVDs," he directed, and the Wench did so, after some
fumbling
with the remote. Armand settled back to watch the antics of his daughter
and her rangy black lover. After a bit, he stood, and ordered, "Have
someone bring my robe and pajamas."
The Wench punched the intercom button on a nearby console. "My
Master
wishes to have his pajamas and robe brought to the Media Room."
A waspish male voice issued from the speaker, "So why don't you go
get
them, Slut?"
The Wench glanced up at Armand, who frowned and shook his head.
The
Wench spent a moment visibly composing her response before replying, "That
is not my Master's intent."
"Oh," came the short response. "Very well." There was a bit more
before the intercom cut off, the word 'lazy' being the only one clearly
discernable.
"That was Raoul, wasn't it?" Armand asked mildly.
"I believe so, Master," Wench answered carefully. She knew that
tone.
Armand pointed at the receiver for the house phone and snapped his
fingers; Wench leaped to retrieve it. "Jason, we have a disciplinary
problem," Armand announced.
"Sir." There was a click -- Jason was on his way. In a moment,
Consuela arrived with Armand's clothing. The Wench collected it while
Armand queried, "Raoul sent you?" A nod. "Get him." Consuela got out of
there.
Armand signed for the video to be put on hold while this other
matter
was dealt with; the Wench handled it, juggling clothing and the remote.
Jason arrived next, followed quickly by Raoul, for whom one look at
the occupants of the room signaled trouble. "Raoul," Armand murmured, "You
are correct that the Wench occupies a position of low estate in this house.
However, if she is responding to my directions, she represents ME, does she
not?"
"Uhhh, yes, Sir, sorry, Sir," Raoul placated nervously, his eyes
flicking back and forth between Armand and Jason.
"The Wench was very clear in relating her instructions, and again
very
clear in transmitting the fact that it was my will that she remain here,"
Armand continued inexorably, "yet you insisted upon assuming that she was
merely being lazy. Why?"
"I, uh," Raoul really had no answer; he'd been watching television,
and had reacted more or less instinctively at the interruption. "I, uh was
being less than attentive, Sir."
Armand's eyes flicked to Jason. "See to it that Charles is informed
that Raoul is to have no use of the Wench, either sexually or as a menial."
Raoul blanched a bit; this lowered him somewhat in the staff pecking order.
"How old is your daughter?" Armand continued, "Fourteen?" Raoul knew fear;
his whole family was quartered below stairs. This was the first time he'd
realized that this was a bad thing, that they were hostages to his good
behavior. "It's time she learned a bit about reality," Armand announced.
"For the next week, she will see to the Wench's needs; feed her, clean her
kennel, and such. Yes, that's an idea." He flicked a glance at Jason, who
nodded. It would be done. Raoul's family knew their place; his wife, in
fact, had been well able to read the writing on the wall without troubling
Raoul with any announcement of the fact. In fact, she'd offered physical
acknowledgement of Jason's power over her household on a number of
occasions... Jason stood there, reflecting that next time he fucked her,
maybe he would allow Raoul to detect the fact... He showed his teeth in his
characteristic blank grin and Raoul wondered what ELSE he would heap upon
the Master's punishment.
Armand wasn't quite through yet, though. "She'll have to be
available
twenty-four by seven, of course," he mused.
Raoul swallowed, but gathered his courage. "She's in school,
Sir..."
Armand dealt with this equably. "Quite right, mustn't interrupt
THAT.
When she's not in school, then. Day and night; school is her only excuse.
Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." Raoul hung his head and Armand waved
dismissal. Before Raoul hit the door, though, Armand added, "She starts
tomorrow at, say, six a.m.?" He glanced at the Wench, who nodded. "She can
check to see that the Wench hasn't fouled her cage." Raoul nodded
acquiescence and got out of there before things got any worse. Jason dipped
his head and followed Raoul out; Armand knew from experience that Jason
would add icing to the cake in some manner.
Turning to the Wench, Armand announced, "You may undress me." He
didn't do this often; it had been a spur of the moment thing brought on by
mild arousal -- and, frankly, Raoul had ruined it. But the Wench had his
change of clothing, so it was politic to follow through... The Wench
stepped up and began sliding him out of his jacket. She didn't realize it,
but she was smiling; this was a good thing -- it might lead to sex, and
maybe even a chance to sleep in a bed (her kennel was a hard, unpleasant
place, made so deliberately as an incentive to provide good service).
Armand looked on, amused, as the Wench divested him of several layers of
clothing and installed him in his pajamas and robe, helping her only
minimally. The Wench's obvious happiness at such menial activity brought a
return to joviality; Armand settled in his chair and ordered, "Send for
refreshments -- iced tea and some fruit, I think. And restart the DVD."
The Wench leaped to obey. This time, there were no screw-ups; Consuela
found the Wench kneeling between Armand's legs having her breasts fondled
absently while the pair watched some interracial content on TV when she
delivered the drinks ten minutes later.
That 'interracial content' was Nora and Nate making like bunnies, of
course. Armand watched the proceedings with a curious mix of detachment and
arousal; he had no sexual interest in Nora, but fucking WAS fucking, and the
pair was doing a fine job. Armand grasped the Wench's chin, turning her
head, and she got the hint immediately, reorienting and engulfing his
member. The Wench might not fulfill his urge for strife, but she had the
mechanics down pat. And she appeared to enjoy her work, going deep every
few strokes without prompting. Armand let her deal with it on her own, and
returned his attention to the video. Yes, obviously Nora had her mother's
wild response pattern -- but without her hang-ups, apparently. Armand had
sometimes wondered if Sharon came so hard BECAUSE she was otherwise so
rigidly controlled, or it was purely her natural state; the jury was still
out, but Nora was definitely a slut, once aroused. On the other hand, the
Adams boy had a decent-sized erection and the will to use it -- and he
WASN'T treating Nora like a tramp. No, Armand's genes were apparent here --
Nora had the black boy wrapped around her little finger, and controlled him
virtually without thought -- smoothly, too; the boy seldom realized he was
being manipulated. That he was smitten was obvious; time would tell whether
it was love or merely the miraculous fulfillment of his every sexual need.
Armand began to feel some urgency, which was surprising -- he didn't
expect to get much out of a blowjob given by a woman who obviously wasn't
feeling anything much in the way of humiliation. Perhaps he should have
choke-fucked Raoul for his temerity... The thought added to Armand's
arousal, but he dismissed it -- it would have left Jason with fewer options
when HE heaped his own punishment atop Armand's. Besides, Jason liked doing
men a lot more than Armand did... Things got really good, and Armand sat up
to take a hand, capturing the back of the Wench's head and driving her to
repeated deep strokes. The orgasm arrived, and Armand spiked the hapless
redhead, pouring spunk down her choking throat and taking additional
pleasure from its spastic movements.
Immediately after her release, the Wench vomited, spewing on the
floor. She looked up, sniffling, "I'm sorry, Master! I tried to hold it
down..." The woman never ceased to amaze Armand; the expected reaction
would have been something on the order of "Why did you do that? See what
you made me do?" Of course, Armand would have punished THAT severely...
After a moment's thought, Armand returned, "Practice makes perfect.
Throw a towel over it; your new assistant can clean it up in the morning.
Tell Charles I said to have the yard boys use your throat until you develop
control."
"Yes, Master."
The Wench rose to collect a towel from an adjoining bathroom, and
Armand added, "Hurry back and kneel up; I want to soak a while." The Wench
left the room at a dead run, and was back in no time, covering the slimy mix
of saliva and semen (which didn't smell much, thank God), and kneeling up to
accept Armand's still solid member, doggy-style. For the moment, Armand
merely made insertion and soaked his cock in the hot oil bath that was
Wench's pussy; time for more, later, if he felt like it. Wench tried to up
the ante by rhythmically clenching her vagina -- anything to make Master
happy. She'd fully expected to have to clean her vomit from the floor with
her tongue.
Wench's efforts had their effect; toward the end of the younger
generation's second bout, Armand began moving his hips. Depletion from the
throat fuck kept him from attaining orgasm during the playback, despite the
primal energy of the content; Armand had just killed the playback and was
beginning to concentrate on getting some pleasure out of the Wench when the
intercom came alive. Jason's voice announced, "Sir, Witherspoon's people
say that Sharon is preparing to again amuse herself. They recommend the
live feed from her bedroom..."
Wench picked up the remote from where Armand had tossed it on the
floor and handed it to him over her shoulder. While she wouldn't have his
full attention, even money said she would collect his seed -- something
she'd been worried he would not allow. Armand muttered "Thank you, Jason,"
rubbed Wench's back in a silent extension of the same sentiment to her, and
tuned the monitor.
--------------------
Sharon had retired for the evening soon after Nate had bounced out
of
there; Nora hadn't complained because she, too, had reason to seek quiet
relaxation (while thoroughly enjoyable, sex was hard work, and she was
feeling the effects of using muscles never used before). Sharon was jangled
-- the kid's antics, even merely overheard, had her imagination going and
her juices flowing. She pretended to herself that this was not the case,
however; her efforts at self-justification centered around the idea that
perhaps Armand's surveillance team had been unable to obtain good footage
during the daytime. If she did this thing at night with some lights on, it
should be better... She slid into a short nightie and fussed with the
curtain, again deliberately leaving an opening.
Sharon then fished the large vibrator out of what she had come to
think of disparagingly as the 'toy box' and started rummaging through the
DVDs. She perused each of the commercially made videos, but the underlying
thought process at work made her pass them by and select one of the pair of
DVDs at the back -- the ones Armand had had made. Viewing visible evidence
of her humiliation might not be stimulating, but should at least be
educational...
Sharon popped the DVD in the player and a professional-looking menu
appeared, displaying dates and strange codes: 'O's and 'A's predominated,
but there were a couple of 'V's and 'W's. There was no legend; Sharon
figured that if she looked at a few scenes, she would puzzle it out. She
selected a date early in the year, and the scene opened...
She remembered it immediately; they had discussed the interest of a
local city councilman in securing ongoing support for a youth program and
its possible benefits when hearings on the variance required for some plant
upgrades Armand was pursuing came up. Then, as usual, conversation veered
away from business...
--------------------
"Those are nice hose," Armand commented. "They aren't pantyhose,
are
they?"
"No," Sharon replied shortly, thinking, 'Here we go...'
"Show me."
"Armand," Sharon huffed, "We're NOT married any more! You can't go
lording it over me like this! It's not right!"
Armand merely eyed her through this outburst. "Now!" he ordered,
flatly.
Habit and training took over; Sharon found herself on her feet, with
her skirt pulled above her waist. In an attempt at recovery, she hissed,
"There! See?"
Armand got up and came around his big mahogany desk, eyeing the
exposed garter belt and panties. "Red, huh? They go well with the black
garter belt, but not the skirt." Armand's hand flashed out and one leg of
her panties shredded.
Sharon shrieked, "Armand!" indignantly, but it did no good; while
she
was reaching for the torn spot, Armand shredded the other leg, and they
fluttered to the floor.
"Take off the skirt," Armand directed. Sharon shook her head in
negation, but Armand wasn't having any. "It will be worthless to you in the
future if you don't," he warned, while he caught a forearm in one hand and
menaced her waistband with the other.
Sharon forestalled him, her hands flying to the button and zipper at
her back. "Armand, you shouldn't be doing this. It's not right -- not
decent." But the skirt pooled itself on the floor.
--------------------
Sharon sat before the TV, watching the incident, remembering. It
was
every bit as humiliating and degrading as she remembered, but those memories
were shifting a bit from their well-worn track. A vague disquiet made
itself know within her. On the screen, events continued...
--------------------
Armand caught her right arm while it was still behind her, and
occupied his left hand by firmly collecting her left breast in a hold she
KNEW could become viciously painful -- he applied just a bit of pressure to
remind her of the fact as he drove her before him toward his desk with his
hip. "It suits my purposes," was his bland reply to her accusations. The
hammerlock and breast grip were more than sufficient to maneuver her around
behind his desk and to drape her over it. "Don't move," he admonished,
punctuating the order with a vicious squeeze of her breast that left her
breathless.
Armand's desk had a couple of items of optional equipment that
weren't
visible to the casual eye of someone seated before it, to wit: a pair of
ankle restraints, attached to the drawer pedestals. Swiftly, he knelt and
secured her ankles in the quick-closing Velcro wraps.
--------------------
Watching, Sharon mused to herself that if she'd been able to shake
off
the pain, she might have disabled Armand with a swift kick at this point.
But short of killing him under circumstances that made it clear that her
life was in danger, crossing Armand only caused him to escalate things; if
he decided that it was necessary to get even for some slight, and his
imagination kicked in... Sharon shuddered. Dark things moved in the back
of her imagination when she envisioned the possible consequences of, say,
kicking Armand in the testicles... And those dark things would move in the
forefront of Armand's imagination...
--------------------
On screen, Armand ordered, "Take off the top and the brassiere -- I
want you nude."
"No!" Sharon protested.
Armand removed a ruler from a desk drawer beside her and whacked her
soundly on the ass. "You're in no position to argue," he retorted, blandly.
"Ow! Ouch! Ow!" Sharon took two more swats, spaced a second or so
apart, to re-think her position and whip her blouse over her head, then
reach back to unclasp her bra.
Armand waited until she was working at the clasp, then deliberately
jangled her with another swat. "Hurry up!"
"Y-yes, Armand!" Sharon piped, struggling with the clasp. Finally,
the hooks popped loose, and her breasts spilled out as the straps dropped
off her shoulders.
"Good," Armand approved. He didn't just stand by during this
exercise, however. Reaching into the drawer, he extracted a bottle of
lubricant and drizzled it down the crack of her ass, causing Sharon to jump
at the cool sensation between her burning ass cheeks. Picking up a bit of
lubricant, he roughly worked two fingers between her labia, sliding them up
and down to apply the lubricant, then sliding them into her vagina to use as
an anchor for the thumb he began driving into her protesting anus.
Lubrication battered down her defenses, and Armand applied more, left-
handed, as the thick digit sank to the first knuckle.
--------------------
Sharon remembered this; it had hurt like Hell... But things were
starting to morph a bit; memory patterns were shifting...
--------------------
On screen, Sharon whined and arched her back as Armand pushed the
thumb in and out, pulling the fingers out and rubbing the wet groove between
her inner lips so he could get more depth for the offending digit.
"Oooooh...." It WAS a whine, but was there another component there?
Armand's fingers began to whirl over her clitoris, and Sharon moaned, "Ohhh,
God..." She dropped on her elbows and raised her ass...
--------------------
Watching these antics on-screen, Sharon went white as a sheet! It
looked like she was enjoying it! Sharon remembered this episode as a brutal
anal rape -- or did she? Oh, God! A veil lifted in her mind, and her
sensations matching the on-screen activity began to flow through her
consciousness...
--------------------
It WAS a brutal anal rape -- in that much, Sharon's memories had not
deceived her. Armand gave her about thirty seconds' worth of clitoral
manipulation while she moaned and gasped in pleasure, then stopped to step
out of his trousers and drape them nonchalantly over a nearby wooden valet.
Sharon surged and whined and reached between her legs... Whack! "Ah ah!"
Armand admonished. "I didn't tell you that you could play with yourself!"
He came around the front of the desk and grabbed a handful of Sharon's hair,
pulling her head toward his crotch. Sharon's mouth was open and her tongue
was out, questing, before it came into contact with his glans. Armand used
her, holding her head by the hair and playing with a nipple with his other
hand while driving himself deep, choking her and incidentally coating his
cock with her spit, then he withdrew and returned to a position behind her.
Spit wasn't required for vaginal penetration; Armand attempted to be
brutal about the insertion but failed, solely due to Sharon's wet readiness.
The penetration had only been Phase Two, anyway, though; after a couple of
strokes, Armand withdrew and repositioned to Sharon's anus. This time,
brutality WAS possible, but Sharon apparently welcomed it. Sharon watched
herself in horror as she braced herself against the desk, moaning about the
pain while obviously working to assist the insertion. And the look on her
face... Sharon covered her face in shame, but peeped between her fingers,
mesmerized by the revelations on-screen.
Armand got himself fully organized and began pounding Sharon's ass
in
a steady rhythm. Sharon continued to moan, but the quality of the sound was
different; Sharon's masochistic pleasure was there on her face for all to
see, and, given the visible cue, the matching memories were there, too.
She'd enjoyed it! Oh, God! She'd enjoyed it! Always before, Sharon had
remembered the pain, the humiliation -- but the worst of it had been 'put
away', bottled up, hidden, an avoidance that let her live with Armand's
brutal practices. Now, however, with the evidence before her eyes, she
realized that what she'd been hiding from herself was not the worst horrors
of the acts that he forced upon her, but the shameful pleasure she took from
his abusive treatment! Now the memories rushed in, and Sharon recognized
the glazed look on her on-screen face as that of a woman chasing an orgasm!
Armand drove his thick cock into her rectum again and again, going
deep and delivering an occasional swat to Sharon's ass to keep her clenched
and focused. Sharon became red-faced, hunkered down on her forearms and
began actively driving herself back onto his probing member, her agitation
rapidly increasing moment by moment. Armand, who had obviously been
awaiting a particular moment, picked up his telephone and directed, "Send
Therese in."
In a moment, the door opened to admit a leggy blonde with
suspiciously
large breasts and a look of open-mouthed surprise. Armand collected her
attention with, "Ah, Therese. Come in, have a seat; I'll be done here,
shortly." He paused a moment, and then in a tone that only slightly
reflected the effort he was expending in pounding Sharon's abused rectum,
announced, "This is my ex-wife. I know any number of men who would be
envious of my ability to visit this particular activity upon her, but to me
it is only another indication of my basic nature." His eyes bored into
Therese's. "Once I have something, letting go of it is something done at MY
discretion, not someone else's. Isn't that right, Dear?" He punctuated the
question with a loud swat to Sharon's right ass cheek.
Sharon's memory had held this to be a moment of supreme humiliation
--
not an uncommon occurrence, but a peak, in any case. The video revealed
another peak; Sharon's eyes rolled up and her eyelids fluttered, she emitted
an impassioned, "Uuuuuuuuhhhhhh!!!!", and clear fluid poured down her thighs
as her vagina pulsed in a thunderous orgasm. Armand enforced the sensations
by doubling the impact power of the next four shattering thrusts, then
pouring several bursts of semen into her spasming colon.
Sitting there, Sharon remembered everything clearly -- even the feel
of Armand's cock surging and pulsing in her anus. She remembered the shame,
the humiliation, and the intense masochistic joy as the pleasure and pain
mixed to bring her to a mind-numbing peak. She remembered that Therese had
backed out of the room, shocked -- which was Armand's intention, no doubt --
but that she'd been there ten days later, sucking Armand's cock, nude, her
hands tied behind her and Armand controlling her efforts by pulling a chain
suspended between clips mounted on her nipples. Therese hadn't lasted to
visit number three.
For ten minutes, Sharon sat there, blindly staring at the chapter
menu
of the DVD that appeared when the clip was complete, in an agony of
remembrance. Oh, God! Would each of these scenes be similar? Would ALL of
them depict not only the pain and humiliation she remembered, but the fact
that she'd ENJOYED it? She knew the answer instinctively, but the
implications refused to resolve themselves. What did it all mean? What was
the big picture? Did this change anything as far as Armand was concerned --
provide a justification for his atrocities, and for her endurance of them?
Sharon shook her head to clear it. All she knew for certain was a single,
highly-embarrassing fact... Resolutely, she reached for the vibrator and
applied it to her vaginal lips in an effort to ease the unbearable itch that
her daughter's antics had started and the video had amplified.
For ten minutes, she worked the hard, buzzing phallus, sliding it
along her labia to rattle the nerves of her clitoris, then sliding it in and
out of her channel, slowly losing her deliberation and control until the
orgasm lurking there came rushing out to overcome her. When it was over,
she collapsed across the bed, chest heaving. Was it enough? Nooooo...
Sighing, she picked up the remote for the DVD player and restarted the scene
she'd just watched, this time with the vibrator to augment her memories.
And Armand, slowly sawing his cock in and out of the Wench's
distended
ass, chuckled again and again...