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The prosecutor extended her right hand, lightly scratching the underside of
my scrotum and trailing the sensation up to my member. I closed my eyes,
trying to fill my thoughts with non-sexual themes, attempting to distract
myself as she gently stroked and fondled my penis. The futility of this
strategy was immediately evident as she began to stroke my hair and face
with her free hand and cooed a soft, low noise inaudible to everyone except
me. When her perfume once again invaded my olfactory senses, my resistance
was entirely broken down as my penis rapidly stiffened in her fingers.
Having won the battle to get my organ to respond to her touch, she began to
sculpt it, to stimulate it in such ways that it grew readily into the shape
…End of the part3. To be continued..

Mark broke off the kiss and reached for the cookies. Slowly, he
crumbled them along the center of her chest, watching them fall
against her glowing skin.

“Santa, you’re getting messy again. You really must clean up
after yourself.” She grinned at him. She watched him as his
head dipped down, licking up the crumbs slowly, his beard softly
rasping her skin. “Mmmmm, yes. Now, don’t miss any.” He looked
back up at her, his eyes twinkling in the firelight, and made a
show of licking very carefully between her breasts catching each
small crumb.

“Sorry-no milk there for the cookies. You’ll just have to get a
glass.” She grinned back. He answered her by nipping her
engorged nipple.

“Tease.” She sighed. “Is this my Christmas present?”

“Oh, no, it’s mine.” He licked another line up to the tip of
her breast catching the last of the cookies.

“While I love all this attention, this really isn’t very
comfortable, sweetheart.” She said wriggling against the carpet.

“Hold that thought,” as he got up and strode quickly to the
couch, removing the shams and the afghan they kept there for
chilly nights.

Gently, he lifted her head up and put the pillow under her.
The crumbs were gone, and she turned to her side. He laid down
beside her, pulling her naked back against his chest, then
wrapping the blanket around the both of them.

“I love you,” he murmured as they watched the fire. She pulled
his arm tighter around herself in response.

“The fire is nice. It’s almost hypnotic.” She said. “I could
almost sleep here, if the floor wasn’t so hard.” She added.

“I was thinking the same thing.” They listened to the crackle
of the fire, his hands gently caressing her abdomen and the
undersides of her breasts. She took his hand and brought it to
her lips, kissing it softly before returning it to its
wanderings.

“Lets put the air mattress down here next year. After the kids
go to bed, we’ll put it up, and sleep in front of the fire…a
new
Christmas tradition.”

“Will I be able to eat the cookies in bed?” he squeezed her.

“No crumbs in my bed!” she grinned, turning in his arms and
kissing his jaw.

“Actually, that would be nice…then I wouldn’t have to drag you
upstairs to give you your Christmas present, since you require
more comfort than the floor. You know, now that I think about
it, it would probably be safer too, with the fire and all.”

She nodded sleepily against him, “The kids are going to be up
at the break of dawn.”

He sighed, then stood up and placed the grate in front of the
fireplace.

“Did you put out Santa’s Letter?” she asked.

“Yep, right on the cookie plate, properly covered in cookie
crumbs.” He paused. “I’ll race you upstairs…and whoever wins
has
to give the other their Christmas present tonight.” He smirked.

“Oh, no. You promised me.” She giggled, tossing the pillows for
him to put up as she raced him up the stairs.

In high school, I used to ride on the bus with some
girls from a Catholic school. I had my eye on the
prettiest one for a long while. Her name was Mary. At
sixteen, I had a constant hard-on, no experience and a lot
of curiosity. My selfish urges overpowered my realization
that we had nothing in common. I asked her out and she
accepted. She was overjoyed at my attention. I was
overwhelmed by her beauty and by the realization that I
couldn’t understand anything she was saying due to the
noise on the bus. I just nodded my head.
Now I’m sure you think you know what comes next. Young
boy finds carnal bliss. Well, I didn’t find it with Mary.
Her cool head prevailed (luckily for both of us probably)
and we never got past first base. We were looking for
different things. She wanted to go out and do things with
me. I wanted to find out what her breasts looked like. I
was working six days a week and she was keeping her blouse
on, so we had no basis for a relationship. Selfish person,
I got what I deserved.
I gave a lot of thought over the years to how it could
have turned out differently. It left me with a desire to
fulfill my teen-age dreams and go all the way with Mary or
someone like her. I thought about her in that cute school
uniform, the white blouse, the skirt ending just above the
knee, the white socks, the polished, black shoes. I thought
about the one time I saw her bra down her shirt. I thought
about the one time she bent over a little too far so that
her dress went up just enough for me to see her white
panties.
I met Ginger many years after high school. She was no
Mary despite the fact she had gone to Catholic School. She
did remain a virgin until after she graduated high school,
but between that time and the time I met her, she turned
into a bold, imaginative and wonderful lover. She was also
an incredible mind reader, so I shouldn’t have been so
surprised by her birthday present to me.
I went over to Ginger’s house on my 27th birthday. She
opened the door. It was all I could do to keep from cumming
on the spot! There she was, almost as if taken from my
fondest memories, wearing the white blouse, white socks,
and tartan wool skirt of her old school. She had her hair
in a school girl ponytail. Her small breasts pressed
against her shirt. Her cute ass gave shape to the skirt.
Ginger pecked me on the lips, gave me an innocent hug and
said, “I’m curious about sex. Could you show me how?”
There were no sweeter words she could have said. I’d
been waiting years to be able to explore the pleasures of
sex with this fantasy figure. I wanted to savor this
experience, recreate the thrill and curiosity and tension I
felt, hoping to get into Mary’s pants.
“First”, I said, “there’s the kiss. Open your lips a
little and put them against mine.” She stood on tip toes
and gently kissed me. I put my arms around her, careful to
stay on first. I slowly moved my tongue along to her lips
and searched for hers inside her mouth. I felt it, rough
and soft and wet. She wouldn’t reciprocate at first, then
she started to get into it. As usual, she brought me close
to cumming, just with her lips and tongue against mine. Oh,
did she make me hard!
I broke from her and said, in my best professorial tone,
“That is called French kissing”.
She jumped up and down. “Oh, that was fun! It made me
feel so juicy inside.”
I knew Ginger and I knew what she meant by juicy. But
how I longed to show the fantasy Ginger what the juiciness
was for. I said, “I liked it too, you sure are a good
kisser. Well, that was first base, do you want to go to
second?” I nodded in the general direction of her chest.
Ginger played coy. “Well, I don’t know, maybe just a
little, to see what it’s like.”
I put my hand on her left breast, or what there was of
it. Ginger really doesn’t have much besides nipples, which
is a real turn-on for me. Her breasts were pretty much
lost in the blouse. It felt like she had a padded training
bra on underneath. Anyway, my rubbing and squeezing wasn’t
doing much good.
“Gee, I don’t feel a thing”, said Ginger, confirming my
fears. “There must be more to it than this. If it’s second,
it should be better than first.”
“Well let me try this”, I said, unbuttoning the top
button of the blouse. I put my hand down the front of her
shirt and into the bra. Ginger let out squeals of delight
and mock embarrassment as I gently stroked her nipples to
erection. The blouse slowly slipped past her shoulders and
down, over her breasts to her waist.
I asked Ginger if I could take her bra off. “Oh, but
then you’ll be able to see my breasts!”, she said.
I begged her, “They feel so wonderful, please let me see
them! It’s not really second base unless I can kiss them.”
She nodded, OK, and, with coordination befitting a
typical 16 year old, I fumbled with the clasp in the back.
I let the bra rest on her shoulders and placed my lips on
her right breast, moving under the bra to her nipple,
nuzzling it’s wonderful firmness with my lips. I licked and
sucked it bringing sincere moans from Ginger.
I stopped, and with an innocent voice, I asked Ginger if
she’d like to find out about third. She asked what third
was and I told her it was “petting below the waist”. “That
sounds like fun!”, she said.
I told Ginger that she should feel free to put her hands
anywhere she wanted. She put one on my thigh, not the
boldest of moves. I put a hand on her dress, feeling her
soft, strong leg underneath. I moved my hand halfway up her
thigh, pulling the dress up with it. I reached under the
dress, feeling naked thigh.
I had fantasized about this moment throughout most of my
post-pubescent life. Here was my hand, underneath that wool
skirt, inches away from the mysteries of pleasure I longed
to experience. I slowly slid my hand higher and higher, up
into the warmness, until my hand reached the delicate
cotton fabric that foretold of delights to come. Meanwhile,
Ginger’s hand had slid, unbeknownst to me, up to my
wonderfully hard cock.
“Oooh, it’s so hard and long!”, she said, exploring
outside my zipper.
I was too engaged to comment. I had succeeded in
lifting up her dress. She was sitting with her legs
together, so, although I could see her beautiful panties,
her charms remained well hidden. Her ass cheeks did poke
out cutely from the sides of her undies.
Meanwhile, Ginger had pulled my cock from my pants.
“Wow! It’s got this big fat head on top and all these
veins,” She stroked it, making believe she didn’t know how
excited it was getting me. I countered by putting a hand
down the front of her panties.
I traced the folds of her labia up to her clit and
stroked it with the rotating motion that always makes
Ginger come. She ground her cunt into my hand and began to
hump on it in a frenzy. Ginger came in no time flat,
shooting her juices into the pure white panties.
By this time, it was impossible for either of us to keep
up the pretense. I grabbed a rubber. Ginger raised her ass
in the air and I stuck my cock under her skirt. I pushed
her panties to one side and thrust my rock hard cock into
her steaming, wet puss. She pushed her ass at my cock with
a sharp, rhythmic motion. I thrusted deep inside her, my
hips slapping against her ass.
Oh, the sight of my cock, plunging under her clothes,
pushing the pink cunt flesh aside, deeper and deeper. I
held back for as long as I could, but, finally, I found
myself unable to hold back from consummating my fantasy of
fifteen years. My ass muscles tightened. My jaws clamped
shut. My balls shot a gusher of cum out of my throbbing
cock and into my warm, sassy and fun friend, Ginger.
I wonder what I’ll get for my birthday this year?

“You’re a crude boy, Goss,” she said. “But you’re right. This is the
part of the fantasy where I begin to get aroused. Here I am, alone in
my house with three strangers. Mack asks me to dance to a slow tune on
the stereo and I accept. His strong arms are wrapped around me and his
hard-on is pressing against my pussy and we’re barely moving to the
music when I feel fingers on the back of my bare left thigh.”

She also felt fingers on her bare left breast, sneaking in through the
buttons on her blouse. My fingertips caressed her soft flesh, found an
erect, rubbery nipple.

“Can I ask you to do something a little weird?” Cathie asked.

“Sure, the weirder the better,” I told her.

“Go into the bedroom and get the KY jelly.”

A smile crossed my lips as I got up and went to fetch the tube. When I
got back, Cathie was just stepping out of her panties, totally naked.
“Take your clothes off and put some of that jelly on your cock.”

As I was doing it, Cathie was arranging pillows on the couch. Two large,
fluffy pillows went to the middle and two went to one end. She jumped
onto the couch face down, arranged pillows under her thighs so she
was kneeling without effort and her large, round ass was pointing up.
Her head rested on the other two pillows.

“I want you to put your cock all the way up my bum,” she said. “Don’t
fuck it. Just keep still while I tell you the fantasy. I want to see if
I can make us come, just talking.”

“Hmmm,” I said. “That’s sort of unnatural. How am I going to stop myself
from moving? It’s sort of like a reflex.” I climbed up behind her and
positioned myself between her legs. Upright on my knees, the tip of my
cock grazed her fleshy buttocks and settled in between her ass cheeks.
I grabbed her, one hand on each hind cheek, began squeezing rhythmically.
You could have said Cathie had a fat ass. It was wide and protruding
but it was also perfectly smooth, soft, and round.

“If I can do it, you can do it,” she assured me.

Leaving my left hand on her left cheek, I used my right hand to direct
the tip of my cock to her anus.

“Don’t mess around,” she said. “Just push it all the way in and hold
still.”

Cathie pushed back as I was pushing forward and I felt the length of
my cock swallowed tightly by her asshole. I pulled back a bit, just to
enjoy seeing the shaft disappearing between her ass cheeks, into her body.

“All the way in and hold still, she commanded.

After I complied and we moved around a bit to get comfortable, she
continued with her fantasy.

“Where did I leave off?” she asked.

“You were dancing with Mac and he was feeling your ass,” I prompted.
As I said it, my cock twitched slightly.

“He has his hand on the back of my bare thigh,” Cathie corrected.
“I tell him to stop but I’m giggling as I say it. I tell him Steve and
Tony will see. Mack responds by kissing my neck and putting his hand
right on the left cheek of my bum. He’s squeezing my bum and I’m looking
around to see if the other guys are watching. Tony is sitting on the
couch, smoking a cigarette and watching closely. My dress is hiked up
so I know he can see the whole ass end of my panties and Mack’s hand,
squeezing my ass cheek. Steve is standing in the entrance to the kitchen,
sipping on a can of beer and he can see too.”

While Cathie is talking, I can feel my cock pulsing in her asshole.
Now and then she squeezes it. “Then what happens?” I ask.

“The song ends and Mack lets me go. I’m pretty embarrassed but I’m also
drunk and horny and I think I’d like to go to bed with Mack so I don’t
say anything. I brush past Steve and go into the kitchen. I don’t know
…End of the part2. To be continued..

This morning is no exception. You’re still asleep, so you don’t really notice
the heat between us, and you certainly don’t notice my insistent cock, pushing
between the flesh of your thighs. As I grow more awake, I notice the distinctly
pleasurable sensation of being trapped between your thighs, and with a tiny
discrete movement, I’m pressed right up against the warm furry patch between
your legs.

Not wanting you to awake too soon, I very slowly begin to move my hips against
you, rubbing against your warm body. The top of my cock rubs against the
sensitive outer lips of your pussy, making you breathe a little harder, but
not awaken. As my movements become a little faster, the moisture from between
your honeyed lips begins to lubricate my passage. I move my hand around you,
from where it had been holding you close to me, and reaches down to stroke your
clit, and play with the tender flesh at the top of your pussy.

With this more direct attention, you seem to wake. A full fledged moan escapes
your lips and your hips begin to grind against me with a conscious effort. I
recognise this sort of sleep-sex. You never wake up that easily. I grin as
I fondle you and slide myself against you. Wanting to take you further, I pull
gently away from you and ease you onto your stomach, spreading your legs.

Your bare pussy now exposed to my attentions from behind, I let my finger tips
dance lightly against you, eliciting another moan. Tips of fingers gently
push inside of you, wetting themselves. Lubed up nicely, I push them into you,
a few millimeters deeper with each pistonlike stroke. Gentle and slow. Soon
I’ve got my middle finger buried to my palm, and I desperately want for you to
get going. My motions become faster, and at one point, I stop to insert another
finger into you.

Soon, I’m levering my arm back and forth, plunging my fingers deeper and deeper
into you, and now, for sure, you’re awake. I know this because you’re clawing
the sheets, slamming your cunt back against me with every stroke, and biting
the pillow to keep from screaming aloud and waking the neighbors. I
intersperse my thrusts with brief slowdowns and alternate between slamming
into your pussy and twisting my fingers in half circles. I then begin to feel
the tightening of the muscles in your tight tunnel. I redouble my efforts at
pushing my fingers all the way inside of you, and you finally let go and
scream in ecstasy.

I awake with the sounds of your screams still echoing in my mind. I open my
eyes to find myself on my back with you between my legs. You’re looking up
at me, your eyes fairly glowing with triumph. Dribbles of my cum are rolling
down your chin, and your lips are curled in a most satisfied grin. It seems
that you finally got your wish. For once, you woke up before I did, and got
to wake me up your way.

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1

“Am I a lucky man or what?” he asked, pulling me into his
arms. Our baby disliked such tight embraces, apparently doing
its best to push Daddy away by kicking him, but that only
strengthened my desire. Of course, Daryll’s hands squeezing my
ass, had a lot to do with my increasing desire.
I steered him back to the couch, surprising him with this
initiative. Not that I was inclined to be shy, but of late, I
felt too tired to cook, much less seduce him. Given my great
girth, I couldn’t fall gracefully onto the cushions. He had to
help lower me down, which made us both laugh hysterically. “I
guess my Mata Hari days are over,” I joked.
“Oh no!” He buried his face between my breasts, growling
deep in his throat. I jerked as he began to rub my nipples
between his fingers, waves of almost unbearable pleasure
spiraling from his touch. Where the rubbing of the clothing was
annoying, his manipulation only flamed my desire. When his mouth
closed around my nipple, I almost fainted. My body responded,
the first waves of an orgasm spreading through my body.
“Wow,” I said, when I could breathe again. I had heard that
some women could orgasm from nursing. I never thought it would
be me.
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Willing Lover.


Her lips were pouting and wet, and she smiled at me again.

“Just to see if you still taste as good,” she said, and then went
down on her knees while I stood there by the side of the bed, and the
next thing I knew she was licking away at my pouty cunt lips.

Bill was sitting on the edge of the bed and he was watching. He was
looking more than happy. Well, most men would have looked happy to have
seen two naked women there, with one of them licking away at the others
cunt.

I felt a thrill go through me as Jane’s wet tongue lapped away at my
pussy lips. Then, she was just poking away inside me with the tip of her
tongue, pushing just the tip inside my cunt, getting a taste of my hot
sweet juices.

After a minute or so, during which time she gave me a couple of good
orgasms, she stood up and licked her lips.

“You taste as good as ever,” she said.

“I want a taste,” said Bill.

“You can suck her out later,” said Jane, steering me toward the bed.
“Right now, Carol here wants to feel that cock of yours inside her cunt,
that’s right, isn’t it Carol?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” I said.

“Okay, come here and get fucked,” said Bill.

“How do you want it?” asked Jane.

“Well, Jane,” I said. “It would be nice if you sat on my face so
that I could suck you out, while Bill fucked my pussy with his lovely
cock.”

“Now, that’s what I call a good idea,” said Jane.

I smiled and nodded, and I was pleased that she was going along with
what I wanted. This really was a secret desire come true, and I was sure
I was really going to enjoy every single thing that happened to me
during the course of the night.

I lay flat on my back, and then Jane moved up the bed and within a
few seconds she was crouched over my face, so that by looking up I could
see every single detail of her pussy.

Large drops of pussy juice were dripping down from her cunt, and
these were soon splashing over my face, and those drops were hot and
lovely. I opened my mouth and some fell inside and I drank them down
…. They tasted as good as ever.

Bill was watching all this. That is the good thing about a
threesome. A man has so much to watch. It must be a real turn on for a
man to see all that.

Anyway, she was above my face and her hot cunt was dripping juice,
and I was drinking it down making my own pussy produce gobs of juice of
it’s own.

Then Jane sat all the way down smothering my mouth with her pungent
pussy. It gave me both the opportunity and the pleasure to snake my
tongue up into her cunt and begin licking her out.

I heard her shout with joy as my tongue went up inside her, and soon
she was shaking like mad, proving that my efforts were making her cum
again and again.

I sucked away, lapped away up there inside her nice tasty pussy
hole, and then I felt something that made me have a huge climax.

What I felt was the head of a huge cock against my cunt lips, and
that is the sensation that will give any woman a mind blowing orgasm.

That cockhead of Bills was all purple, hot and huge, throbbing as he
pushed it gently against my pussy lips. I felt him increase the
pressure, then felt my lips part and my cunt cream flood and cover that
…End of the part3. To be continued..

5

Except one of course, as a sudden howl of hunger reminded
me, before Betty Jean came dashing in the room to supply a much-
wanted breast to her little girl. Even Martha Jane was wanted,
if not planned for like her big sister Julie Mae, now lying on
the bed with her grandfather/great-grandfather’s sperm soaking
into the child’s tight little baby-hole, like her mother and
grandmother before her had taken it inside THEIR vaginas, when
THEY were five.
Now when Mary Beth and I get married, we plan on starting
our kids out at three years old, or maybe even younger, instead
of making them wait until they’re five, like Momma did with us.
I mean, just because a little girl is too small to take her
father or grandfather’s thick prick up inside her cute little
slit, squirting it full of incestuous baby-juice, doesn’t mean
the child won’t enjoy having sex with her brothers and sisters
until she IS big enough! Heck, even Martha Jane likes to have
her little slit rubbed, and she’s only a baby.
Even Joany Lou likes to feel me squirting her cute little
tummy full of cum at least once a week; in spite of the fact that
I’m still a little bit big for the 8-year-old. Still, my little
sister never complains; insisting on getting her “share” of my
sperm every few days. The little girl is so PROUD of the fact
that she’s finally big enough to take somebody besides Grandpa or
her little brother Mike inside her tiny little hole. So, I try
to be careful with her, and we both have a good time. Sex for
her is just fun; as it should be for girls her age, with no
worries about pregnancy or babies.
Children SHOULD be allowed and even encouraged to enjoy sex
as early and often as possible, so they’ll have that much more
time to have fun, before they get so old they have to start
worrying about babies and birth-control. Once they do however,
the kids should learn how to protect themselves, so they won’t
have any unwanted pregnancies. That’s what OUR parents taught
US, anyway.
I mean, can you imagine how big our family would be, if we
did NOT practice birth-control?

6

I sent both stories to the friend for comment, with a gap between them,
as I recovered the second. The enclosed material is excerpts from our
e-mail discussion of the stories. I am publishing this as an addendum
to both stories, to answer some questions (and possible flames) that
might otherwise raise their heads.

IN> Frank,

IN> Thank you very much for the story “Bound for Fun” which I read last
IN> week.

Thank YOU for the nice long response.

IN> Your story sure hits on some of our common and individual favorite
IN> themes. The girl is old enough for my tastes, I hope she is young
IN> enough for yours.

She is.

IN> I loved the allusion to “Preggie Sarah.” That was really choice.
IN> You really have a thing for getting them pregnant, don’t you?

As I’ve said before, getting pregnant is one of my biggest fantasies.
I’d give half of what I own, for the chance.
I know that I’m not the only man to harbor such desires, and
many women love the thought of BEING pregnant.

IN> The promise of a mother/daughter hot combo is also quite
IN> appealing, especially if both of them are kinked in the same
IN> directions as the protagonist, as they seem to be.

They are, but in slightly different ways.

IN> I appreciate the fact that you stayed away from specific descriptions
IN> of the bondage, etc, which you are not an expert in. This is great
IN> by me, since I find stories that start to read like parts catalogs for
IN> fetish wear to be tedious.

I always toss the ones that are nothing more than a description of torture-
devices.

IN> I am certainly no expert in bondage, although I have lurked about
IN> alt.sex.bondage for quite a while, but I think this story has some
IN> real-world problems with consensuality. Please let me note at the
IN> outset that I __know this is just fantasy, and no harm done, etc. etc.
IN> But the aspect of consensuality that primarily concerns me is the
IN> pregnancy one. Is the girl dumb, or am I? Does she know that she has
IN> been knocked up, and approve, or is she being taken along for a ride
IN> by her trusted parent? This could generate a lot of flames in a.s.b.

A. She’s dumb. Well, not DUMB exactly, just WAY too trusting. This is
explored MUCH more deeply in the second story. She trust EVERYONE,
even when she shouldn’t. Most especially, she trusts her mother to watch
out for her best interests, and in her own way June does.
B. Does she know? No.
C. Does she approve? I tried to make the implication, that she actually
WANTS to get pregnant, but is scared to do it, because:
1. She isn’t married, and doesn’t even have a steady boyfriend.
2. She’s afraid of what her school-mates would think, if she showed up
at school with a bulging belly.
3. This is the kicker. Most importantly, she THINKS her mother would
disapprove, and she doesn’t want to hurt her mother. If it wasn’t
for fear of overburdening her mother with raising another child,
Lynn would probably have already sneaked out and gotten pregnant
anyway. Her mother knows this, and implies at the start, that Lynn
would have to “earn” the privilege of getting pregnant.

IN> Also, I think, again with the “this is only fantasy” caveat, that it
IN> would be pretty weird for a loving, caring mother, which this one
IN> seems to be, to leave her kid in the hands of a semi-pro BD
IN> specialist, with only threats of retribution to safeguard her. I
IN> think a bit of talk about her extensive checking of Jones’ background,
…End of the part1. To be continued..

“And he was to marry
A girl who shown with beauty and light
And they loved each other
And with me watched the sun set into nights.”

Sarah. I remember the first time I saw her. She stood on the prow of a wooden
fishing ship leaving the bustling docks then traveled through the bay that lay
behind me. Sarah’s long skirt floated out behind her, as did her shining,
unbound hair. I could feel the wind myself. There was a brightness and pure
joy to her smile. The ship slowed as it dropped a dory. A few of the seaman
helped her down into it, where she rowed herself to us.

She scrambled to shore, and rushed into Joe’s arms. I think if I had had arms, I
would have wrapped them around them. It was obvious how much they loved
each other. He led her up to me, and I felt her soft fingers caress my doorway.
“Our home.” Joseph whispered. Sarah’s fingers brushed over the tables,
cushions, furnishings; my walls. I was smooth, clean and bright. She twirled
towards him and smiled. “I love it,” she said. “It’s beautiful, Joseph.”

They sat and talked, ate and planned. I watched them walk out along the now
choppy shoreline, hand in hand. As dusk fell, he pulled her up to my balcony,
carrying a blanket. He lit my lamp and curled up with her against my wall.

Their warmth spread against my cool exterior, as they watched the sun set over
the bay and how Aurora painted the sky in luscious, romantic colors and how it
played over the sails of the ships returning for the night. When the final ray of
sun caught the tip of my light, the ship that dropped her off set anchor and
awaited her dory. Sarah would snuggle into Joseph with a sigh, and he would
lead her down to the shore, where she made her short row back to the ship.

This was their habit for the weekends; her father, who was a fisherman, would
drop her in a dory to visit with Joseph, and pick her back up at the sun’s last
rays. And every evening, before they left, they would watch the sunset on my
balcony.

“She’d had to leave us
My keeper he prayed for her safe return
But when the night came
The weather to a raging storm had turned.”

One Saturday evening, the weather grew rough. They watched from my
balcony as the waves beat against the jagged rocks, the wind twisting Sarah’s
unbound hair and slapping it against my sides. They watched as ships bounced
on the choppy waves and as the sky turned grey and chill, Joseph turned on my
light. They saw her father’s ship fight to get closer to the island, so the dory
wouldn’t get swamped. Joe begged Sarah, “Wave your father off, I’ll row you
to shore myself in the morning.” She kissed him softly. “I want my first night
here to be our wedding night. I can wait. It will be soon.”

He hugged her tightly, and then led her down the stairs. I watched as he placed
her in the dory, kissing her once more. I wished for a voice then, to scream, to
let them know this was no ordinary storm. But I have no voice, and I watched
in distress as her father’s boat was getting pushed by the wind closer and closer
to my shore.

“He watched her ship fight
But in vain against the wild and terrible wind
And me so helpless
As dashed against the rocks she met her end.”

Joseph stood on the shore, watching her dory pitch and swale in the rough
water. Sarah became drenched as the cold rain started to pour down, nearly
flooding the small dory. Joseph yelled into the wind, calling her back, but the
wind tore his voice away.

Her father’s ship started to list, and its bow scraped the rocks on my shore. He
shifted his sails and managed to get back off, but further away from the
struggling dory. The wind began to twist, and even my solid walls began to
quake. Sarah and the dory were flung about like a feather in the breeze. Her
small boat, nearly submerged finally pulled along side her father’s ship. The
ship moved to block the wind, so she might climb on board, the dory lost, when
a particularly nasty gust pushed the boat sideways into my shore. It listed
under the weight of the wet sails. The port side- the side that Sarah had been
climbing- smashed against the rocks. Quickly, the ship sunk beneath the
violent waves as it was torn apart and dragged out to sea.

Joseph ran to the shore, screaming.The storm howled around him as he
searched frantically along the shore. He sought all night as the storm raged.
then on the next day.

“my keeper found her
washed up on the shore
he kissed her cold face
that they’d be together soon he swore. ”

I saw her before he did, her pale, limp body, tossed up on the shore in the first
light of dawn. Joseph was still circling the shore. It was a bright morning and
the sun glistened in her golden hair. He came upon her and fell to his knees at
her side. He brushed the sand from her face. I saw him whisper to her as he
leaned over her slight body and kissed her cheek.

He stumbled away, then turned and walked toward me with grim determined
steps, his face pale and his eyes red from crying and the wind. He reached the
shed and pulled out his shovel before returning to her side.

His tears consecrated the ground to his love as he dug her burial place in the
sand. He lifted her gently, kissed her one last time before placing the sand on
her final resting place.

He left the shovel on top of her sandy grave and trudged back toward me. He
looked up at me, squinting in the now bright sun. He slowly climbed the stairs
to my tower. He sat for a moment, in their usual sunset spot. I felt the wet
warmth of his back.

He stood then took a few steps forward and opened the safety grate to my
railing. I wish I could have closed it. I wish I could have stopped him. He
pressed his body against my side one last time, his fingers gently touching my
face, as if to say goodbye then he ran off the edge of the balcony to land on the
rocks below.

“I saw him crying
Watched as he buried her in the sand
Then climbed my tower
And off the edge of me he ran.

I am a lighthouse
Born by the weather and the waves
And though I am empty
I still warn the sailors on their way.”

I am alone now. Some people even say I am haunted. A new-fangled
automated system replaced my oil lamps, so no one need stay with me
anymore. Majestic sailing ships don’t pass by my shore much these days, just
motor boats speeding past.

I will not forget the happiness I saw, that I shared. As long as I stand, their
love will be remembered.

*thanks to Poison Ivan for the Edits! *
Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2002 http://www.asstr.org/~Dryad

Dear Diary, 11/5/88
Today I went to work. Chris was 1/2 hour late. Linc had left early (about 8:30) because he had to go to the Home Product Show. During first break, I kept bothering him; he told me to cut the shit. I kept going though. Why was I doing that? I was thinking maybe It was something like I can’t have him love me, I would want him to hate me? (Thin line between love and hate?) I don’t know. I kept myself extremely busy at Players the whole time. I got paint all over myself. Daniel was there till 5 Valerie, Michele, Eric, Carson, Linda and Jill left before the rest of us.

Dear Diary, 11/6/88
Today we cut up the deer Dad got. I had told Sandra and Maggie was there. Maggie’s chin dropped to her chest. It was so funny! I now have 18 1/2 hours in on the players (you need 200 to get a letter) Daniel gave me a ride home. We all, (Tabitha was there too!) started hitting eachother-Daniel hit me in the eye because he couldn’t see where he was hitting. We had a partial run through of Adam and Eve- during the blackout Sandra and I moved their new home on stage and put it nearly in the right spot; in the dark. I was proud of myself…don’t know why really…we have to know that anyway. I think rehearsal is until 9:30 tomorrow. Players paid for my dinner (also the people who came early) This is great therapy- I don’t have time to get mopey. I guess I ought to go to bed. Night!

Dear Diary, 11/7/88

Worked on show all afternoon. Deirdre took me home, Mr. Lion wanted to get up to Passionella’s change scene- we only got up to the first part of Lady or the Tiger. I honestly don’t think we’ll be done in time. Its late. Sandra and I were dropped off by Mr. Lion at Mama’s . We ordered pizza and brought it back (we walked) I’ve gotta get to bed. Night!

Dear Diary, 11/8/88

It’s 11:18 at night. We had the total run through of the play. There is a ghost in the Auditorium. We named it Sarah. Katherine’s been really edgy, but then so has everybody. I hope (as probably everyone else does) that opening night will be a success. It seemed to go fairly smoothly.

Dear Diary, 11/9/88
Opening night was a success! We only had maybe 2 mishaps. Linda forgot a few lines to her song- but it still sounded beautiful and the wheel on Adam and Eve’s hut broke, so we had to put a new one in. Sarah showed herself. There was a glowing in the back room and the work lights went on mysteriously twice. We accounted for one where Amanda flicked the switch on and off. Nicki had a sore throat but she still sounded beautiful. One of the candles fell out of the candlestick and off the platform. Afterward, everyone was hugging everyone. Daniel hugged 4 of us at once! (this is one growing boy!)
I’m starting to mend but I had a setback when I saw that boy again. Dierdre gave me a ride home. Night!

Dear Diary, 11/10/88
The play went great! In Adam and Eve Adam’s first hut fell over. Daniel said, “It’s all your fault Eve!” and they improvised until they got it back up. Nick had gone to the mall. There was a parrot in the pet store. When people said, “hi” it said hi; when people said “John” it said “John”. Well, Nicki thought she’d be smart and say, “Nicki’s God”. And the parrot LAUGHED! The whole entire store laughed.

I’m working 8-4 tomorrow, so I’ve got to get to sleep.

Dear Diary, 11/11/88
Nothing much today. I went to work and we did geraniums, new guinea impatiens and fuscia oh, and vinca. It was Linc, Chris, Sasha, me and mom. Got home and went to eat at Dragon City. Its 7:00 now. I’m gonna get ready for bed.

Dear Diary, 11/12/88

I worked at the store today, 9-1. I got home, ate, sat and moped. I am feeling extremely sorry for myself. I miss Chris (as a boyfriend) The play went beautifully, near success. Daniel’s mom drove me home because everyone else went to Friendly’s. Last night I had the strangest dream. I had a dream that I was going out with Eric Brando and that we were rolling all over the ground, fucking like mad. If his lips are as good in real life…
My subconscious has a filthy mind.

Dear Diary, 11/13/88
I slept until 8, which is late for me. I putzed around, did 2 loads of wash (still have 2 left). Lianne and I are going to do the seminar for the Newspaper tomorrow. It ought to be fun. I am feeling worse and worse. When I was working on the play, I was kept busy enough. I always seem about to cry.
I have a dull ache in my chest where my heart used to be. But now, my heart has shattered causing my breath to be short and a constant lump in my throat.
I am in a constant state of melancholy though no one even sees it. I would honestly be a fantastic actress.

Dear Diary, 11/14/88
I went to the journalism workshop which was interesting and I got letters from my pen pals—on the same day. I am tired so that’s all I’ll say except that I’m getting a 62 in French.

Dear Diary, 11/16/88
Nothing much goin on. I am sending a poem to YM to see if I can get it published. Daniel lost his voice. We are hoping that he will get it back. (oh, well) I sent the letter to Australia the next day.

Dear Diary, 11/17/88
Nothing much. It was a ½ day so I went ot work. Got my report card. English-78, foreign policy-85, Algebra- 71, French- 62, CPR- 88, Gym- 88 Chemistry- 83. Test on Moby Dick tomorrow. UGH.

Dear Diary, 11/18/88
I am in the pits of mortal despair. (Dryad note: obviously stolen from “Anne of Green Gables”.) I hurt so badly, If only I could cry and let it all out, but instead I have this horrid ache inside. It is so hard to be on the verge of tears all the time and never being able to cry. Putting on a brave face so no one (and honestly no one does) knows how badly I’ve been hurt. Its something like putting a bandaid over a chopped off arm.
Why? I care for him surely, but do I (honestly now do I love him? My symptoms are pointing to that, but its too late for me to do anything now.
On to cheerier matters. The play went great. Daniel had his voice (praise the lord). Daniel is having the cast party tomorrow night. I had better get to bed now.

Dear Diary, 11/20/88
Being so early in the morning (1:30am) and so much to tell, I’ll finish in the morning. All I’ll say now is that I went to the cast party, the play was the best yet, and work was okay. Finish later.

I never finished last night. Mom got mad at me this morning for asking if she was going to the play. Chris cheered me up (not just the sight—verbal wise!) Mom and dad took me to school. Closing night was our best night. Daniel made a joke about Quayle as president in Adam and Eve. The party was fun. We watched a video tape of the show. Lizzie’s mom took me home. I didn’t do much today.

Dear Diary, 11/23/88
Sorry so late in writing. Nothing much is going on. We’ve been taking down set, sophomore class is selling cookies, I got an A+ on my French composition and a 91 on my oral report in English and an 80 on my chemistry test. In volleyball, I dove for the ball and got a floor burn. (feels nasty too) (Dryad note: still have the scar too!) Well tomorrow is thanksgiving. What am I thankful for? My family of course, friends? I put a question mark there because I have no real friends anymore. I used to be able to tell Lianne anything but now it’s hard. I have plenty of friends though between classes and Players. Well, I’ve got too many to count.
Mr. Cloog liked the changes I made in my poem. In a way, I hope YM doesn’t print it, because It’s so much better now. I’m still extremely sad all the time, but I’m getting better–I can forget about it for a second now and then. After my oral report, Josh started clapping and everyone followed. I think I’m healing because I’ve been thinking about Josh. We have so much in common. Just a thought of course, and like I said, no more unless someone says something to me. I refuse to ask a male out again. Forever! I hate (!) feeling this way. Ah well, C’est la vie! Not only that, Josh is cute (though tall).

Dear Diary, 11/24/88
Thanksgiving is over. Tomorrow I work 8-4. I’m still tired. Last night I asked mom to cut my hair. Its shoulder length now. Its nearly all even except for my bangs and a small part where my hair used to be feathered. It looks nice, but I want my long hair back! Mom cut about 5 inches off –OUCH! I have a headache for some reason, so I’m going.

Dear Diary, 11/25/88
Today I went to work. A while ago I said I had bothered Chris and said it might be “thin line between love and hate” I figured it out. I did the same thing today. I wanted to inflict pain onto him, he had inflicted onto me. And it hurt to realize this. We had a long talk about things after that. I think I have finally come to terms with it. He told me it was all psychological. I told him he wouldn’t say that if he felt like I felt. I hate that saying “its better to have loved and lost…” I’m going to feel worse if I write anymore on that so I’m going to bed.

Dear Diary, 11/26/88
Worked today. I was in a fairly good mood. Chris and Linc read my poem. Linc didn’t say anything and Chris said it was nice. My face is itchy again. We went to my aunt and uncles house right after work. The first Star Trek of the new season was great. Deana Troi had a baby that grew rapidly. Wesley’s mom left and he was supposed to but he is staying. (Thank god!) Anyway, I’m going to bed.

Dear Diary, 11/27/88
Have I really changed a whole lot? I figure as long as I’m not happy with myself, I’ll keep changing! I did my wash and a little homework. That’s really all.

Dear Diary, 11/28/88
I am feeling very poetic this evening. If my name were Elizabeth, my mood would certainly be that. Most of the day today I was a Liz; the majority of the time I’m a Beth though. I just wrote “If you keep a smile in your heart and a laugh on your lips you shall always be happy” On October 24th I asked, “how long does it take for a broken heart to heal?” I think I can answer that as being now. Approximately a month. I am ready to live again! Watch out world, here I come!
Would you believe-
I talked with Lianne today. This is a list of who she likes (in order of course):
1)Peter 2) Sean 3) someone I don’t know 4) Josh 5) Seth 6) Karl and 7)Jeff.
This is my list:
1)Chris (still) 2) Josh 3) Seth 4,5,6 (in no particular order—because I’m only mildly interested) Daniel, Eric and Chad,

Players is doing (the believe) 12 Angry People (actually men, but well, obviously) [Dryad note: perhaps your drama dept was unlike mine, but we were very male challenged…and female heavy] I am going to try out for it. That’s all for tonight, G’night!

Dear Diary, 11/29/88
Nothing much today. I have a French test, a vocab test, anything else (?) tomorrow. Joy, Joy.
I had a dream last night about Josh. We were lying side by side on the grass, and he asked “What would you say if I said we were the perfect couple?” very softly and (both of us being on our sides) leaned over and kissed me. I answered back, “ I’d die of happiness.” And we began kissing again. Then we were up in my room, and we were going downstairs. We were holding hands. Mom, Dad, Uncle Chris, and Grandma were in the kitchen. We had gone out the back door, and he put his arm around me. Then the scene changed and we were under a tree house and he said, “you’re plan came out well.” And a bunch of other things I can’t remember. We had a short argument and we kissed. Then Sean or Matthew (I can’t remember which) popped out a window and were like, “ooooh, look at you two kiss” type thing. It was a nice dream. Oh, Well! At least I can kiss (I mean, know how for sure.) That’s really all.

Dear Diary, 12/4/88
I forgot to mention on 11/23 that I got my hair cut. I was extremely depressed Saturday morning, but Chris cheered me up. He really is a great friend. He’s the one person I can talk to- not even how I talk with Lianne. I tell him nearly everything. My shopping is done except I made a mistake on Uncle Chris’s present (I got him a Christmas tape, and he doesn’t really care for the artist) So, I’ll return it and get another one.
I got dad a black leather wallet; mom a CD; Grandma a PenDelfin named Jingles; Ron some blank tapes; Sabrina a pair of silver heart earrings; Aunt Ellen and Uncle Leo a meat and cheese set; Sasha a sweater; and got the rest of my girlfriends earrings. Whew! I spent well over $100, which for me is an awful lot. I might get Chris a present and I might get Bea one too. U have 3 small jars of herbs which I’m thinking of giving her. I have to start my term paper for Foreign Policy- I haven’t even started, (oh, shit!) it’s due something like January 7th. I’m doing better in French class except for the asses, such as Melanie and Roberta. We had a sub in class on Friday, and she asked the class who hadn’t had a turn reading the dialogue. And Roberta says, “Marie hasn’t!” It wasn’t so much her words, but the venom just oozed from her lips like it poisoned her just to say my French name. Ah well! Life is full of undesirable people. The photo for the newspaper for the yearbook, for instance. Linda went up to Julie and told her Tasha and her were Co-Editors. I go to tell her, 1) she spelled my name wrong, and 2) that I’m assistant editor. Linda says, “oh, that isn’t necessary.” As if it isn’t enough she already took editor, but won’t even let me have that scrape of recognition? After writing all the wrong things of that day, no wonder I was depressed! Just thinking gets me feeling down again. I’ve cleaned my room. So that’s all.
P.S. I started my period—again! (Already, I should say)

Work in Progress

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2003

Dear friends and readers,
This is different from many of the stories you’ve seen me write. It is more or less true (names and places have been changed to protect …well, ME). I had my first real boyfriend when I was 14, and a sophomore in high school. I began my diary. Told it more than just my dating quandaries, but filled with all sorts of teenage angst and melodramatics. (and looking back, I could be incredibly melodramatic). The diary ended about a month before my wedding, so I guess you really could call this the Dating Diary.
Why post my pathetic diary? Easy. While I realize many of us write in fantasy, I’m tired of 14/16 year olds thinking like 30 year olds. Realism Folks! And what’s more real than an actual diary? In some respects the writing sucks. I have changed nothing but actual names. Thought about elaborating, but then, you’d get my near 30 year brain in places it doesn’t belong. This is what it is.
The basics, however, still apply. This is my work, (for better or worse) is copyrighted by me, and no posting without my prior permission. Celeste’s blow job principle is still in action guys. This may or may not include adult situations, so if you’re not allowed to watch a nc-17 movie, scram. All other enjoy (or not *shrug *).
*****************************************************************************************************************************
Dating Diary 1988 part 2
By Dryad

Dear Diary, 10/24/88
I asked Chris today the usual question when I see him-“Est ce que tu amore moi?” He wouldn’t answer, so I kept pushing. Finally he said no, that he liked me but It wouldn’t work romantically. He was worried about me being depressed. Right, now I’m either in shock, or I didn’t care in the first place. For some reason, I knew he really didn’t care- now I truly believe in that line in the song I wrote:
“I’ve given up on love now/ it causes too much pain.” I wrote another line to another song- “my heart’s been broken so many times/ it’s falling apart”

Why can’t my heart just leave my body? That way I wouldn’t hurt. For some reason, I was really mad (before he told me) and he told me he better not tell me (naturally I assumed the worst) I got even madder. He told me I shouldn’t assume yet, I was right.

How does a broken heart feel? It seems to me to be a dull ache inside. We came home instead of going straight from work. I’m drowning and no one will save me! I can’t cry until I go to bed. I should get an academy award for what I am about to do. My family isn’t going to know. I am going to ask Chris as a favor to a friend to help me cover it up. I hope he does. I’ve gotta go now. I’ll write tonight. I know what this is- I had a dream, and now I’m waking up. Only thing is it was too real- so it still hurts. I wrote before that love is like a roller coaster. Yeah, but mine came to a stop after turning my world upside down {Dryad note: Egad, did I really write this drivel??}

Can you believe this? Here I am at Diamond mall writing this? I got so bad I couldn’t even shop! Finally I called Chris, from here!

I’m back home now. I called Chris. I told him there were 2 ways to go. Either we are just friends, or if there is a chance of romance, go as we have been. We both agreed our minds were too foggy (due to the late hour) to decide. (not to mention, he was downstairs) I told him I didn’t know what I wanted. I would like to go on the way we have, but not if there isn’t a change for me. It wouldn’t be fair to me to keep me dangling. I’m really zonked. Gotta go. Bye bye.

Dear Diary, 10/30/88
Chris never called me. Right now I don’t expect he’ll ever call.

Sasha came over today. She said something about keeping work and personal life separate. Linc noticed how I jumped (as he said, 5ft) when he came into the office during break. He asked Sasha how he should bring it up and Sasha told him she’d handle it. I told her be probably wouldn’t have to worry about it much longer. Therefore she is the only one besides Chris who knows about what happened. You are the only one, Diary, who knows everything though. So much for my love life! Who needs it? I’m going to become a hermit and live by myself. (idea- Crista says that Seth wants to be a hermit too.) I’m through with love- I’m not touching unless someone throws themselves at me. (besides Rod, heaven forbid) I’m going to be a writer; a best selling writer and everyone will die for me just to shake my hand! There, I fixed that! Chris said I had talent. I’ll make him wish he never said no! yeah, I’m hurt. I’m sick of the whole damned human race!

This is a song I wrote:
The memory of his kiss
Is still fresh in my mind
The las words he said
The feeling of his hand in mine
But now he’s gone
And I don’t know if I can go on.

Chorus: why did he leave?
Why did I say goodbye?
I loved him
But I let him go.
Now I’m the one that’s hurting
And he’s the one that’s gone away.

I put a padlock on my heart
He pried it open and crawled inside
I felt without knowing
I gave without caring
If my love was going to be returned.
(repeat chorus)
I ought to be used to this by now
My hearts been broken so many times
Its falling apart
Now I cry nearly every night
Especially when I see a picture of him.
(repeat chorus)
(repeat first verse)

I feel better now diary-writing songs usually has that effect on me. So does sleepyness, which is why I’m gonna stop here. Night!

Dear Diary, 10/31/88
Halloween! Tonight I was Odin, King of the Norse Gods. Mom and dad got mad, because I used so much powder in my hair. Chris still hasn’t called. I called him Wednesday since tomorrow is Katie and Dad’s birthday. 6 months (I think) and I finally got my period (unfortunately) I’ve got homework; bye.

Dear Diary, 11/1/88
It’s Katie and dad’s birthday. I got really bad in school today. I nearly cried in study and I when I saw that boy that looks like Chris. I hate myself for feeling so depressed but I can’t help it.
I really like Mr. Cloog. He’s a teacher I can relate to. I still have my period I Hate it. I’m going to bed now, night!

Dear Diary, 11/2/88
Chris still hasn’t called-I didn’t have time between trying to finish everything (Friday’s the last day of the marking period) Melissa asked me again about working on the stage crew. I told her who lived near me, and who to ask for a ride for me. She was supposed to call me, but she hasn’t.
My room’s cleaner-I did all my regular homework and part of my makeup work. I made apple and rose potpourri. It ought to be done by Christmas. (ripening time) I’ve gotta go to bed.
P.S. Katie said she read you!!

Dear Diary, 11/3/88
My room is clean, and Deirdre can give me a ride.
I called Chris today. He was in the shower so he called me back. He said to him, boyfriend and girlfriend meant love and if we went on as we were we would be so we ruled that out.
At least that ‘s cleared up. Now maybe my heart will mend. I really feel terrible (about this)
How long does it take to fall out of love? I’ll tell you when I find out.
Why can’t I just cry and get it all out? Everytime I hear “addicted” “I know how he feels” see the boy who looks like Chris or such instance as what Mr. Cloog said today makes me almost but never have.
Oh yeah, Mr. Cloog was talking about a word meaning Rejection; he says something on the idea of “your boyfriend tells you he doesn’t want to go out with you anymore.” I nearly screamed. I’m another Julliet on the stage of life, and my romeo doesn’t care. I have to start something else or I’ll just wither away into the woodwork and die. I’ve gotta go to bed now.

Dear diary, 11/4/88
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Mark broke off the kiss and reached for the cookies. Slowly, he
crumbled them along the center of her chest, watching them fall
against her glowing skin.

“Santa, you’re getting messy again. You really must clean up
after yourself.” She grinned at him. She watched him as his
head dipped down, licking up the crumbs slowly, his beard softly
rasping her skin. “Mmmmm, yes. Now, don’t miss any.” He looked
back up at her, his eyes twinkling in the firelight, and made a
show of licking very carefully between her breasts catching each
small crumb.

“Sorry-no milk there for the cookies. You’ll just have to get a
glass.” She grinned back. He answered her by nipping her
engorged nipple.

“Tease.” She sighed. “Is this my Christmas present?”

“Oh, no, it’s mine.” He licked another line up to the tip of
her breast catching the last of the cookies.

“While I love all this attention, this really isn’t very
comfortable, sweetheart.” She said wriggling against the carpet.

“Hold that thought,” as he got up and strode quickly to the
couch, removing the shams and the afghan they kept there for
chilly nights.

Gently, he lifted her head up and put the pillow under her.
The crumbs were gone, and she turned to her side. He laid down
beside her, pulling her naked back against his chest, then
wrapping the blanket around the both of them.

“I love you,” he murmured as they watched the fire. She pulled
his arm tighter around herself in response.

“The fire is nice. It’s almost hypnotic.” She said. “I could
almost sleep here, if the floor wasn’t so hard.” She added.

“I was thinking the same thing.” They listened to the crackle
of the fire, his hands gently caressing her abdomen and the
undersides of her breasts. She took his hand and brought it to
her lips, kissing it softly before returning it to its
wanderings.

“Lets put the air mattress down here next year. After the kids
go to bed, we’ll put it up, and sleep in front of the fire…a
new
Christmas tradition.”

“Will I be able to eat the cookies in bed?” he squeezed her.

“No crumbs in my bed!” she grinned, turning in his arms and
kissing his jaw.

“Actually, that would be nice…then I wouldn’t have to drag you
upstairs to give you your Christmas present, since you require
more comfort than the floor. You know, now that I think about
it, it would probably be safer too, with the fire and all.”

She nodded sleepily against him, “The kids are going to be up
at the break of dawn.”

He sighed, then stood up and placed the grate in front of the
fireplace.

“Did you put out Santa’s Letter?” she asked.

“Yep, right on the cookie plate, properly covered in cookie
crumbs.” He paused. “I’ll race you upstairs…and whoever wins
has
to give the other their Christmas present tonight.” He smirked.

“Oh, no. You promised me.” She giggled, tossing the pillows for
him to put up as she raced him up the stairs.

Merry Christmas! If you aren’t old enough to vote, please find
something more suitable for you to read. These works pop out of
my own head, so unless you’re one of the voices in there, this
work is mine, just ask if you are interested. Comments Grovelled
for.
******
Written with much love for my buddy Wiseguy. Love you! I’m
glad you enjoyed it!
********

She quietly closed the door. It took two readings of “The
Polar Express”, one “Night before Christmas” and “The Fourth
Wise Man” to get the two wiggle worms to fall asleep.
Threatening that Santa wouldn’t come until they were asleep
didn’t seem to do any good.

“Mark, They’re asleep.” She stage whispered down the hall. “I
need your help bringing down the rest of the gifts.” She heard
him bound up the carpeted stairs, his long legs taking them
three at a time. She walked down the hall ahead of him into
their bedroom, where Santa’s presents were waiting in their
closet.

“Here. You take these, I’ve got these. One more trip should do
it.” They quietly carried the beribboned booty back down the
stairs.
“I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus….” Rang low through the stereo
speakers as they placed the presents carefully around the tree.

“You filled the stockings?”

“Mmhmm. Did you remember that present we hid in the office
closet? What possessed you to buy such a large one?”

She smiled at him. “Oh, stop being such a bah humbug.” He
grinned back.

“One more job to do!” He said with a salacious look on his face.

“What’s that?”

“Well, Santa needs to eat his milk and cookies.”

“Oh, Really?” she asked as he sat down in his recliner. She
took the plate off the mantel and straddled his lap.

“Which one would you like first?” her eyes twinkled
mischievously.

“That one.” He pointed. He took a bite as she held it out for
him. “Oh, wow. These are awesome, Kit. You have got to make
these again next year.”

She giggled as he dropped crumbs all down his front.

“Such a sloppy Santa. Do you need some help?”

With a twinkle in his eye, he answered, “Of course, are you
going to clean me up, Mrs. Claus?”

“Kitty Claus. I like the ring of that.”

Mark nearly snarfed. “My Kitty does not have claws. Come here…”

Mark pulled her down in front of the fire they’d built in the
fireplace. Some show the kids watched said that the fire needed
to be there, or Santa wouldn’t come. Since it was on TV of
COURSE it had to be true, but the fire was welcome. Mark placed
the cookies on the hearth before leaning back and wrapping his
arm around Kit. He nuzzled her ear and murmured, “The kids are
asleep.”

“Why Santa.” She grinned as she leaned into his oncoming kiss.
Her fingers came up to his jaw, stroking the beard as his tongue
flickered against her cheek. She turned in his embrace, catching
…End of the part1. To be continued..

I’ll be waiting with “baited breath”, like the cat who ate cheese, and sat by
the mousehole.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_ / <_

P.S. Do you mind if I save this letter, except for your name, and use it
and my response to answer any future flames/criticism? It helps not
to have to do it twice.
P.P.S. I got the scanner, and recovered part-2. Story follows this post.
PLEASE don't get squicked, until you've finished the whole story.
THEN feel free to let me have it with both barrels. ;-}

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

IN> Frank,

IN>1. Using my last letter to respond to other critics, some
IN>probably not as friendly. I re-read the letter, and it is fine, except
IN>for my personal identity, which you should please safeguard totally, and
IN>the first paragraph. The first paragraph is not only irrelevant to the
IN>story, but also is pretty identifiable as written by me. To those who
IN>know me, that may be true of the whole thing, but they would not be able
IN>to prove anything, so go ahead.

I’ll remove the first paragraph, and anything else that points to you.

IN>2. Have not yet had time to go over “BfF I” in the detail I
IN>promised, to send you the minor typos, etc. Hope to do so today,
IN>if not, tomorrow.

I’ll wait on both stories for your criticism.

IN>3. “Bound for Fun II” – the blistering literary criticism! ;=}

IN>Anyway, I liked “BfF II” It certainly
IN>did not squick me. It dealt well with the trust issues, and the whole
IN>fascination with violence and torture as “fun” when in the real world
IN> 1) they actually go on, and
IN> 2) they are __NO fun.

Amen.

IN>Now, the literary hard part for me, is that I must tell you that you
IN>did not pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. This reader, at least.
IN>Jones is clearly too careful of Lynn’s feelings, her peripheral
IN>circulation, etc. etc. for him to actually be planning to kill her
IN>This plot reminds me of the movie “The Sting” I thought that
IN>was a fantastic movie, because it was all about a sting operation, and
IN>audience member thinks he is in on it, but in the end, gets totally
IN>taken in himself, and actually gasps when it appears that one of the good
IN>guys kills the other. Again, at least this viewer.

IN>I do not read a lot of the NC stories, except the Parker works,
IN>and so I am not too good at telling you what a NC perpetrator must “think
IN>like” in a story, but one thing is that he must be totally
IN>uncaring about the victim, except regarding leaving clues.
IN>Clues don’t really have to do with
IN>the victim, just protecting himself, but at least that as close as he gets
IN>to giving a damn about the victim. Jones is way too careful.
IN>He is also clearly too nice a guy. I really don’t know
IN>how to remedy this from the dramatic
IN>viewpoint in the story. That he is careful is okay,
IN> but that he is careful of the girl’s
IN>feelings and comfort is not. I don’t know how to get across his care,
IN>and maybe carefully and intentionally mislead the innocent reader, with
IN>statements
IN>that when read quickly look like the self-centered detail worries of a
IN>schmuck trying to cover the clues, but on rereading after the surprise
IN>ending actually may be interpreted to see that he was looking out for
IN>her all along. A difficult task,
IN>but the only way I can see to get the desired effect and leave it in 1st
IN>person.

The idea was never to pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. The Idea was
to see if you could convince the reader that “Joe” was good enough and
convincing enough to pull the wool over Lynn’s eyes. Since you don’t point
…End of the part3. To be continued..

I’ll be waiting with “baited breath”, like the cat who ate cheese, and sat by
the mousehole.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

P.S. Do you mind if I save this letter, except for your name, and use it
and my response to answer any future flames/criticism? It helps not
to have to do it twice.
P.P.S. I got the scanner, and recovered part-2. Story follows this post.
PLEASE don't get squicked, until you've finished the whole story.
THEN feel free to let me have it with both barrels. ;-}

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

IN> Frank,

IN>1. Using my last letter to respond to other critics, some
IN>probably not as friendly. I re-read the letter, and it is fine, except
IN>for my personal identity, which you should please safeguard totally, and
IN>the first paragraph. The first paragraph is not only irrelevant to the
IN>story, but also is pretty identifiable as written by me. To those who
IN>know me, that may be true of the whole thing, but they would not be able
IN>to prove anything, so go ahead.

I’ll remove the first paragraph, and anything else that points to you.

IN>2. Have not yet had time to go over “BfF I” in the detail I
IN>promised, to send you the minor typos, etc. Hope to do so today,
IN>if not, tomorrow.

I’ll wait on both stories for your criticism.

IN>3. “Bound for Fun II” – the blistering literary criticism! ;=}

IN>Anyway, I liked “BfF II” It certainly
IN>did not squick me. It dealt well with the trust issues, and the whole
IN>fascination with violence and torture as “fun” when in the real world
IN> 1) they actually go on, and
IN> 2) they are __NO fun.

Amen.

IN>Now, the literary hard part for me, is that I must tell you that you
IN>did not pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. This reader, at least.
IN>Jones is clearly too careful of Lynn’s feelings, her peripheral
IN>circulation, etc. etc. for him to actually be planning to kill her
IN>This plot reminds me of the movie “The Sting” I thought that
IN>was a fantastic movie, because it was all about a sting operation, and
IN>audience member thinks he is in on it, but in the end, gets totally
IN>taken in himself, and actually gasps when it appears that one of the good
IN>guys kills the other. Again, at least this viewer.

IN>I do not read a lot of the NC stories, except the Parker works,
IN>and so I am not too good at telling you what a NC perpetrator must “think
IN>like” in a story, but one thing is that he must be totally
IN>uncaring about the victim, except regarding leaving clues.
IN>Clues don’t really have to do with
IN>the victim, just protecting himself, but at least that as close as he gets
IN>to giving a damn about the victim. Jones is way too careful.
IN>He is also clearly too nice a guy. I really don’t know
IN>how to remedy this from the dramatic
IN>viewpoint in the story. That he is careful is okay,
IN> but that he is careful of the girl’s
IN>feelings and comfort is not. I don’t know how to get across his care,
IN>and maybe carefully and intentionally mislead the innocent reader, with
IN>statements
IN>that when read quickly look like the self-centered detail worries of a
IN>schmuck trying to cover the clues, but on rereading after the surprise
IN>ending actually may be interpreted to see that he was looking out for
IN>her all along. A difficult task,
IN>but the only way I can see to get the desired effect and leave it in 1st
IN>person.

The idea was never to pull the wool over the reader’s eyes. The Idea was
to see if you could convince the reader that “Joe” was good enough and
convincing enough to pull the wool over Lynn’s eyes. Since you don’t point
…End of the part3. To be continued..

Maybe that part, I didn’t make clear in the story. June had made VERY
extensive checks on “Jones” before bringing her daughter over. she had
not only checked him out, but had talked to several of his “bottoms”, and
even observed a couple of his “training” sessions, as a helper, and once
she had let him demonstrate on her, though it wasn’t her “bag” so to speak.
By the time the story starts, the two were good friends, and he had been
teaching her things to use on her daughter, as Lynn had fallen for the
whole bondage-thing through reading about it. After a while though, second-
hand, amateur knowledge wasn’t enough, and Lynn had asked to be introduced
to an expert.

LYNN was a trusting soul, and had never been really hurt in her life.
She had NEVER been abused, not even by a school-bully. She thought
EVERYONE was like the people in the stories she read, caring and thinking
about the other person, even when designing tortures for them, so that
in the end, the recipient always loves the “master” for what he/she does.
Lynn, to put it bluntly, was a romantic.

Her mother June, was anything but. She would go to great lengths to
protect her daughter, and had the personality, and ability to do it.
She’s as tough as a marine drill-sergeant, and could lick double her
weight in professional bar-bouncers. She would do anything to give
Lynn what she felt the girl needed, and if it was a professional B&D
experience, or a baby in the belly, she would see to it.

Perhaps there’s another thing I didn’t make clear, though there are
hints all through the story. “Joe” was a “professional” By that,
I mean he did it for a living. He was good, because he had to be.
He had a business, and he advertised, and he relied on repeat business.
June wouldn’t have set this up with anyone else. He did enjoy his
work, but nobody who gets into THAT line of work does so, if they
don’t like it. Joe prided himself on giving the customer EXACTLY
what he/she ordered. If they wanted to be marked for 3 days, Joe
provide welts and abrasions that would be not noticeable by that
dreaded 4-day-from-now meeting. His customers relied on him, and
he supplied. Joe wasn’t the “best” top in the city, but he was the
best “professional” one. All the others who were any good, did it
for personal pleasure, and quite often paid for the privilege, or
had a “stable” of “bottoms” to work with. Word-of-mouth sort of thing.

IN> about the building of trust, the reliance on trust, and the fantastic
IN> feelings of letting go __after you really trust a person (in many
IN> cases literally with your life.) But the trust always comes first, at
IN> least in the success stories. But that’s real life, or as close as
IN> the world of BD gets to real life, so maybe my comments do not apply
IN> here.

As I said, Lynn trusted EVERYBODY. Really TRUSTED them.
NOT a good idea, as the second story points out.

IN> As always, please take my comments as coming from a completely
IN> friendly direction, and not meant as criticisms of your views or
IN> positions, just as my suggestions for possible improvements in the
IN> story.

I do, I DO!

IN> Finally, I have a question to ponder. You and I like this story. Who
IN> else will? Is it silly to consider the “market” for a story which
IN> will eventually be immortalized on the net, and never see any other
IN> form of publication? What I fear is that the pedo interest may be
IN> squicked by the BD content, the BD types may be squicked by the pedo
IN> content, and the consent concerns I blathered on about above, and
IN> surely somebody will be bothered to learn that people’s mothers have
IN> an interest in sex, or have ever participated. Just something to
IN> think about. I suppose we could put it on the net, when you have
IN> edited as much as you want to, and see what kind of reaction it
IN> brings. I would be interested to see.

THAT doesn’t bother me. SOME people out there will like it.
There are LOTS of stories out there that I don’t like, and
I ignore them. I expect others to do likewise, with these two.

IN> I am looking forward to the next story you are trying to recover. I
IN> will reread this one this week, and probably send you a short list of
IN> spelling and other typographical errors that I noticed, which probably
…End of the part2. To be continued..

It was only an email message from my girlfriend. I mean, how ominous could something so seemingly innocuous possibly be? Melinda wanted me to meet her at 9:00 P.M. at her home. She hadn’t discussed the possibility of anything resembling a date for the occasion, so there were no definitive plans to go anywhere or to engage in any specific activities except for my visiting her at the house. Simple enough, one would think we would simply pleasure ourselves with one another’s company once we got together. Since I had never actually been inside her home before, I was certain that there would be plenty for us to see and do.

Upon reading the message a second time, however, I felt the familiar sensation of beetles dancing in my stomach and goosebumps raising on my skin. The single paragraph email was more of an order than an invitation. There were no directions to call her to confirm things and it hadn’t seemed as though she’d considered the possibility that something urgent would arise at the last moment. The unspoken instruction was to drop everything and attend, an instruction she knew I was certain to follow.

With each successive encounter, Melinda seemed to be consolidating the rather dominant role she had defined for herself in our relationship. She was the one who initially pursued me at a party thrown by a mutual acquaintance, cornering and engaging me in a conversation about blues artists. It was a subject she somehow knew would pique my interest and about which she proved to be unusually knowledgeable, a trait that impressed me greatly.

When the conversation drifted to topics of a more personal nature, Melinda bemoaned the fact that her 5’11″ frame and assertive nature intimidated many of the men she dated. She was indeed a rare beauty, tall and statuesque, of Asian ancestry and wearing a clingy jade green silk dress, a garment that accentuated her shapely body exceptionally well. I took the opportunity to reveal my interest in her.

“Well,” I stuttered, “perhaps then you need to find someone older than yourself who’s maybe a bit more mature.” I smiled broadly, pausing for just a second, “maybe someone like me.” Melinda looked into my eyes, her curiosity piqued.

“And what makes you think that you’re older than I am?” She giggled just slightly, but knowingly, as though she were guarding a secret.

“Umm… it’s obvious.” I smiled and shifted uncomfortably, not wishing to reveal too much. “You’re still a young woman, I’m approaching middle age.” Melinda smiled and pecked me tenderly on the lips.

“Awww, that’s sweet,” she cooed softly, “but please remember that things are not always as they seem, and that it’s not too difficult sometimes to get yourself into more trouble than you had bargained for.”

“Trouble?” I chuckled, sensing a cryptic come on. “I’d risk all the trouble in the world for someone like you.” I watched her eyes widen as she licked her lips and looked me up and down, in much the same manner that a butcher would inspect a side of beef.

“Yes,” she repeated, “trouble. You look like a man well worth having, but I need for you to understand what you’re getting yourself into” I shot a quick glance between Melinda’s legs as she uttered the words “getting yourself into.”

“I would take that chance for the opportunity to be with someone like you,” I smiled, eyeing her in the same manner she had me.

Melinda didn’t utter a word, rather she smiled and took me by the hand, leading me to an adjacent bedroom. The ensuing sexual encounter, while indescribably erotic in the conventional sense, was also one of the more esoteric trysts I had ever experienced. Melinda repeatedly licked my head and neck, and seemed to have an unusual interest in a tiny spot on my face where I’d recently cut myself shaving. She sucked on the small wound, successfully drawing a drop of blood, smiling as she swirled it sensually on her tongue. Melinda sucked harder and carefully drew a tiny stream of blood. She raked it across her teeth, smiling, then cupped my face in her hands. She pulled us nose to nose and swallowed slowly, her mouth puffing up into a contented grin as I lost myself in her earthy gaze. A powerful chill simultaneously danced up my spine, short circuiting my nervous system and briefly buckling my knees. I knew in the depths of my being that it was coming through her eyes.

Those eyes, gazing deeply into mine, piercing my psyche and laying a claim on my soul.

“On you knees, lover,” she whispered, pushing on my shoulders until I crumpled deliriously to the floor. Melinda guided my head under her dress, between her legs, shrinking the size of my world, encapsulating me in a velvety darkness strongly punctuated by the aroma of her most intimate scent. I allowed my mouth to hang open, my tongue protruding ever so slightly.. until a strong hand clutched the back of my neck and pushed me into her sex.

I greeted the swelled, moist familiar shape of engorged labia lips with abandon; suckling, licking, kissing and slurping. I greedily swallowed her wetness like a dehydrated man inhaling the last few drops from a spent canteen. I was overcome with arousal, then dizziness, then an odd detachment as the secretions stung my eyes and dribbled down my throat. Melinda clamped her thighs around my face and spent herself on me, her moans muffled as I instinctively parted my jaws to catch and consume her gushing juices.

Melinda lifted her dress, split her legs and I dropped. I fought an odd altered state of semi-paralysis as I fell to the floor, watching helplessly as she methodically undressed us and mounted my stiff cock, fucking me hard and deep, pinning my wrists and raking her teeth across the soft skin on my neck. When she drew blood she sucked and lapped it luxuriantly as though she were a debutante at a wine tasting. Melinda rode herself to a long, throaty orgasm before dismounting and taking my cock into her hand. With a few short jerks I spasmed in climax,sending a rope of hot cum spewing across my stomach and chest. She smeared my spunk evenly across my body before piercing her own finger with a needle, carefully measuring out a few drops of her own blood and commingling it with my semen, forming a paste of sorts. I watched helplessly.. my limbs still feeling like lead.. as she dolloped the mixture lightly onto strategic areas on my body, my forehead, my neck, behind my kneecaps, and on my scrotal sac. Then she rose and stood over me.. licking her lips.. a predatory smile crossing her face.

“There is no turning back now, my love,” I breathed deeply, feeling the paralysis abate a little. I looked into her eyes as she licked her lips. “You are to be mine.” Melinda helped me to my feet, rubbing the mixture of drying bodily fluids deeper into my skin.

“I don’t want you to shower today, darling.” she cooed, “I want you to think about me all night and through tomorrow. I want our scents to linger and I want every thought that enters your mind to be prefaced with a thought about me. Now get dressed and go home.” She turned and walked away, blowing a brief kiss as my strength returned. I staggered away, staying at the party only long enough to regain my composure before slipping away.
***********************************************************************

I had no trouble finding the house. It was a modest, modern split level bungalow overlooking the ocean with an oversized front yard and a chained Rottweiler dog barking in the front yard. Although it was difficult to make out specific details in the darkness, it was obvious that the structure was tidy and well kept up.

I had an ominous feeling as I approached the house, having dated Melinda for some months now and nurturing a premonition of dread I was afraid awaited me on this particular day. We had replayed the sexual tryst that took place on our first meeting several times by now, at some times more intensely than at others. It always involved her consumption of a small quantity of my blood and my wearing a small quantity of hers. I couldn’t help but feel a psychic exchange, a compromise of my free will, a progressive invasion of my soul strengthened with each encounter. Melinda was on my mind more and more frequently, and it became increasingly difficult for me to concentrate on my job or many of the more mundane matters of my day to day life. I found myself masturbating perpetually, neglecting my own affairs for the sake of fondling thoughts about my sweet siren.

The dog growled ominously at me as I teetered up the walkway. I jumped as he lunged for my leg, barely escaping the animal’s clenching jaws as I retreated, hearing a sharp rebuke break the darkness.

“Bruce!” It was Melinda. “That will be enough of that.” Melinda looked into my eyes as she swatted the retreating dog and smiled at me deeply, greeting me with a warm embrace.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, the puppy will not harm you,” Melinda licked her lips, “only I will harm you.”

She was casually dressed, wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and her trademark python boots. I smiled nervously and offered her my arm, which she took as she led me into the modestly furnished home. We seated ourselves on the sofa, at which time she kissed my forehead tenderly and caressed my hair.

“How are you feeling, darling?” Her concern seemed genuine enough.

“Well, I-” Melinda smiled.

“Nervous, scared, a little afraid of me, aren’t you?” I nodded tentatively, pierced again by those globular brown eyes, softening and comforting me now as she stroked my hair again and cradled me in her arms.

“I know, darling.. I know. It’s normal to feel that way right about now. My other pets all had the same experience, so be still. Don’t make things worse by resisting me. I am here to guide you through this unsettling time. After tonight, things will become much clearer for you.” Melinda leaned over to kiss me, pushing her tongue deep inside my mouth, enveloping me in the familiar canopy of control that had come to characterize our relationship.

She kissed passionately for a moment, then broke it off, abruptly directing my attention to an old high school science textbook she had placed on the coffee table. I thought it odd to punctuate an erotic moment by consulting a drab reference, but I said nothing. She leisurely picked the book up and began leafing through the pages. Melinda found the appropriate place and grinned. The article looked to be one about a specific insect.

“You know what? This has got to be my favorite bug,” Melinda spoke casually and pointed out a picture of an odd looking little creature. I looked, mildly curious, wondering where she was going with this train of thought. “..Abrostocetus Hagenowii.. it’s a tiny little wasp that lives in the western United States. It’s a little carnivore which feeds primarily on carrion, but when it comes time for the wasp to reproduce, it does a very curious thing.” Melinda looked into my eyes, licking her lips, then continued.

“It goes out and searches for an insect to host its eggs. Typically this is a beetle or some similar creature.. generally much larger than the wasp itself. It stings the beetle with a poison that disorients it without killing it. The wasp waits patiently for the poison to take effect, to make his prey nice and docile.” Melinda took time out from her narrative to stroke my hair, placing special emphasis on the word “docile.”

“The wasp then measures and chops off a portion of the beetle’s antennae, effectively rendering it senseless. It then herds the confused prey into its lair, where it lays an egg on it and gives the beetle one more sting to put it to sleep without killing it. When the egg hatches, well…” Melinda smiled and closed the book “..let’s just say that breakfast is served.” I looked at Melinda’s soft smile and squirmed uncomfortably, dreading that she was preparing to draw an analogy of some sort between the carnivorous insect and the two of us. I didn’t have to wait long.

“Relationships are funny, daniel. Really they are. There’s always a good deal of talk about equality and the equitable distribution of power. But in the real world, partners are seldom equals. Typically one partner very clearly takes charge.” Melinda looked right at me. “In this particular case, I think the partner who has taken charge of things has been me, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You’ve taken charge sexually, I will admit to that, but I don’t necessarily think that means that-” Melinda laughed throatily.

“Oh, but it does. And I plan to prove it to you.” She licked the tip of her finger, trailing it along my nose and lips slowly, resting it on a tuft of chest hair. “daniel, would you like to share with me what has happened to you since we met? Do you find yourself thinking about me a lot?”

“Uhmm.. I think about you, yeah.. but I think that’s normal in a er-uhmmm.. man woman relationship.” Melinda just laughed and licked her finger again, unbuttoning the top button on my shirt.

“I think you’re not telling the whole truth, daniel. I believe that you think of me all the time. I believe that your first thought in the morning is of me and the last thought at night before you turn in is of me also.” I gulped and sighed heavily as she locked her eyes onto mine. Melinda smiled and tugged my chest hair. Her voice lowered as she moved close to me and almost whispered in my ear. “I’ve bitten you, daniel. Just like the wasp, I have confused you and paralyzed you. I have disoriented you, rendering you nearly unable to function. The first part of my plan has gone well, very well indeed.” I looked at her for a minute, horrified, then began to stand up.

“I think-I think I need to leave…” I stood up, but found myself dizzy, dazed, barely able to move. It was impossible to find the door. Melinda came over and grabbed my wrists, forcing them over my head and looking into my eyes. She spoke softly, unsmiling.

“Sit down, daniel..” Her grip was strong, my soul riveted. The senses that had betrayed me returned once I was in her grasp. The only option was obedience. I sat down and Melinda smiled.

“That’s very good, my love. Now let me explain a little bit about what is going to happen next. Please keep in mind that what I am about to impart to you constitutes ancient knowledge, very powerful and profound. If you weren’t already mine, I wouldn’t share any of this with you. However the process has already progressed beyond your mortal ability to stop it.” She smirked and sat next to me, stroking my hair and wiping the perspiration from my brow. She took a deep breath and looked as though she was preparing to deliver a familiar speech. Melinda licked her lips and cleared her throat.

“Many centuries ago, a group of women who lived in the South American Andes discovered something very special about the psychic connection between the exchange of bodily fluids between people and the ensuing bond that may be formed from that exchange. In many cases, the bond is egalitarian, and people develop a relationship akin to one that close siblings would have.” Melinda paused and smiled, gently stroking my neck near the carotid artery. “The ancient women, however, discovered that such an exchange coupled with very specific sexual acts allowed them to gain control of their partners to an almost frightening degree. They further noticed that each psychic and sexual conquest allowed them to restore their youthful beauty and vigor, and eventually that it allowed them to extend their lifespans for an extraordinary period of time.” Melinda licked my neck, lightly scraping her teeth across my artery. I noted an increase in my heart rate, as well as a sense of impending doom. “The lifespans of the men, by contrast, tended also to lengthen by such exchanges. But they benefited in other ways as well, because the essence of the woman lived in them, providing a calming influence and checking their beastly nature for as long as they did live. The man also had an unusual opportunity to express his total devotion and undying love for his woman by offering himself to her in this manner.”

“So you mean to tell me that you’re a vam- vampire?” I was aghast, trying to resist her but feeling the psychic leash tightening. Melinda laughed.

“No, silly. Modern vampire stories are based on the reality of what I just explained to you. They are also terribly sexist and inaccurate, since they almost always depict a male vampire and a female supplicant. Typical nineteenth century sexism, in my opinion. The reality is completely different, the roles are utterly reversed.” Melinda smiled. “I haven’t taken your soul yet, but once I do you will feel the length, depth, and breadth of my power over you.” I looked at her in disbelief, a rebellion welling within me.

“This is absurd. For you to lay claim to my “soul” based upon your swallowing a few drops of my blood is…ridiculous!” Melinda’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at me. I felt a familiar twinge in my stomach and those dark brown eyes burrowing through me. I sensed her displeasure but continued with my diatribe.
“..hypnosis, perhaps, or the inducement of a peculiar form of panic. I attribute that to some skillful erotic manipulation on your part. But a “soul” is far to ethereal to quantify, much less possess.” Melinda only grinned and then spoke very, very softly.

“Oh but the soul does exist, daniel. Your soul will, in fact, be taken over by mine before the evening is over.” She ran a finger along my forehead and nose, scratching very lightly, then down my lips to my neck. She pinched a spot on my throat ever so slightly. “Right there is a good place, I think. That’s always a wonderful spot to open a wound. The blood tends to gush, and the supplicant does stop resisting after only a few seconds.” She smiled as I began to back away from her on the sofa. Melinda followed, scooting near. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill or even seriously injure you. But I am going to make you mine. You will know what it is to be overwhelmed by a force which you cannot comprehend.” She smiled wickedly as I shook my head wordlessly, fearfully, trying in vain to keep her at bay.

Melinda reached out and grabbed me suddenly by the ear, pulling my head abruptly towards hers. I resisted, jerking away as she pulled harder and managed to snake her other hand through some of my hair. After roughly yanking my head to one side to expose the arteries bulging beneath my skin, she opened her mouth wide, clamping down hard on me and sealing the grip tightly with her lips. I felt her tongue briefly scan my defenseless neck, searching, probing for exactly the right spot, then shrieked in terror as her incisors punctured me, simultaneously drawing the blood from my body and yet holding me tenderly, beckoning me wordlessly not to fight her. I felt her skillfully take my essence from me, the blood spilling out of me in hot spurts at first until I became dizzy and detached, unable to resist her, perched on the cusp of losing consciousness.

She stopped sucking and just lapped at my wound now, seemingly able to stem the flow of blood from my severed artery magically with a few strokes of her tongue. She licked like a kitten, trailing her tongue leisurely across my neck, savoring the liquid that remained until she had consumed it, then blowing lightly on the bite to seal it shut before looking into my eyes.
I met her gaze weakened and barely to move or breathe, my mouth agape, so submissive and contrite. Her eyes were a conduit for something powerful, and as I lost myself in their depths I felt something enter me, an energy dancing electrically down my spine and then back up again, filling me with vigor yet not filling me too fully. Melinda leaned down and kissed me deeply, forcing her tongue inside me, painting the roof of my mouth with the taste of my own blood. She pulled back, regarding me, licking her lips and smiling broadly.

“Stand up and take off all your clothes.” she said. “Do it slowly. Unwrap yourself like a Christmas gift for me.” I did as she said, slowly rising and removing my clothing methodically as she kicked me a little with her boot.

“Dance, boy. Don’t bore me. You need to keep me happy.” I responded by dancing sinuously, sensually for her, moving licentiously to some imaginary tune I knew she was thinking of, teasing like a strip club performer and slowly disrobing.
I surprised myself and delighted her, my limbs taking a life of their own as my own motor skills were repressed. I took my cues from her gaze, ultimately winding up naked before her and suddenly weak again, collapsing into the couch beside her. She looked at me and smiled, stroking my hair, then forcing my mouth open. She deliberately cut her finger on my tooth and then removed her hand, dotting her blood on my face, neck, and shoulders, marking me, purring lowly. My body responded almost on cue with a deep sexual arousal as
she moved down to grope my genitals, deliciously painting them in blood as she did so. She licked my neck and face again, then paused to look into my eyes.

“We’re almost finished, daniel. Very soon now you will be mine.” Melinda locked her eyes onto mine, pulling me into an inescapable psychic vortex. She continued speaking softly, sensuously, and very slowly. “The bondage I’m creating for you involves an exchange of fluids, daniel. I have extracted and consumed a good deal of blood from your body, but unless you extract and consume a specific bodily fluid of mine, the bond will not seal.” She stroked my hair and tended to the wound on my neck with her finger, continuing. “The final exchange must be consensual. I cannot force you to relinquish your soul, nor would I desire the soul of one who would notwillingly give it to me.” She kissed me tenderly on the cheek and looked into my eye, stroking my hair. “I’ve taken you this far, daniel, will you allow me to guide you the rest of the way into your new life?” I inhaled sharply and trembled, mustering my vanquished will, and glared defiantly, albeit weakly.

“No.” I whispered, almost inaudibly. Melinda looked at me and broke into a giggle.

“No? Are you saying no to me?” I nodded as she continued to chuckle, almost as though she’d expected such a response.

“Please Melinda,” I whispered softly, weakly, nude and rock hard before my fully clothed girlfriend. “please let me go. I don’t want this. Allow me to go home. Give me my life back.” Melinda just smiled and spoke softly.

“Darling, if you want me to release you from your bondage, I will freely do so.” She licked her lips and held me tightly, her hand stroking my rock hard cock. “You should know, however, that your carotid artery is severed. It is only the spell of dominance that I’m weaving which keeps your blood behind its walls. Should I release you now, you will likely bleed to death in less than a minute.” She smiled triumphantly as I whimpered, not certain whether to believe her but knowing that a mistake could be fatal. She continued to speak. “So you see, sweetheart, while you may be free of me if you so desire, this is the last time you will ever say ‘no’ to me regardless of your decision.”

Melinda smiled and abruptly stood up, breaking eye contact, striding purposefully across the room. “Come to me darling. Crawl to me. Give yourself willingly, unconditionally. Surrender to me. I give you a minute to decide before I break the spell. Choose your freedom and die, or be mine and live forever!”

My consciousness churned like a tornado. I looked across the room at Melinda standing, legs spread and arms crossed, licking her lips. She was so sexy, so powerful, and essentially irresistible. I crumpled to the floor and found myself crawling slowly, hand over hand, knee over knee, to where she stood. She looked down at me, expressionless, unimpressed.

“Tell me what you want, daniel. Tell me now, please.”

“I want…” The words came with great difficulty “I want to be yours, Melinda.” She looked down at me, smiling slightly.

“Mmmmm, I must have scared you then, mustn’t I?” She strode in a circle around me as my body began to weaken. I could feel the wound on my neck begin to crack open slightly, with a few drops of blood trickling out and spilling onto the floor. “Why should I have you now? Just a moment ago you wanted me to release you. Is your change of heart truly out of devotion to me, or is it to save your own hide?”

“Please, Melinda! I beg you!” A warm stream trickled down my neck, nestling in my chest hairs and dripping onto the floor. The severed artery was breaking open. “I don’t want to die!”

“Not good enough,” she smirked. “Nobody wants to die. Either convince me now that I should take you or I shall shortly feed your carcass to the dog!” I shook with terror as the wound opened a bit more, the stream of blood gushing a little more freely, my senses reeling, lightheadedness setting in. I looked up at her in reverie, deciding suddenly to bare my soul.

“Oh Melinda, I-I must be dense. I have not been able to grasp what has been happening to me of late.” I barely noticed as the trickle of blood began to slow. “I love you and want to be with you, but I am afraid of you as well. Please don’t misinterpret my trepidation. My first response is a cautious one when it comes to ownership of my soul, but if I were to give it away, it would be to you.” Melinda looked down at me and smiled, mussing my hair ever so slightly.

“That is sweet, daniel. But do you really feel that way? Would you really give it freely if it were not forced upon you?”

“Yes, Mistress.” It was the first time I had called her that. “To you, I would give it freely.” Melinda held me close. The bleeding had stopped.

“Then I release you,” she said. “The spell is broken. You will not die. Should you choose to walk away from this relationship right this minute, the wound will not reopen. You are free.”

“No, Mistress,” I nuzzled next to her legs. “I would rather that you take me if you will have me.” Melinda smiled down on me, then bent over to plant a kiss on the crown of my head.

“Thank you, daniel. That is very sweet. We must complete the exchange in order to seal the bond. Are you ready to do that now?” I nodded, weakening just a little bit once again. She looked down at me. “daniel, I want you to use just your mouth to take down my pants, then I want you to pleasure me orally. When I climax, you will swallow all of it. You may feel a little strange as you do so. Don’t worry about that and don’t try to fight it. Just think of me, think of your life up until now, and consider what your future probably holds for you. Allow it to sweep you away. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I reached for her belt using just my mouth. Melinda flashed an approving smile as I awkwardly tugged it loose. I wrapped my tongue and lips around the clasp holding her jeans up, and managed to unbuckle it. I unzipped the jeans with my lips and teeth, releasing a pungent, dizzying, intimate scent that served to weaken me a bit further as I tugged her panties down. Melinda grabbed me by the hair and began backing up, beckoning me to follow as she sat down on a leather easy chair, flipping her legs over my head, using her pulled down jeans to trap me between them as I found myself staring straight into her sex.

“Kiss me, slave. Worship me with your mouth and give me the gift of yourself.” I nuzzled my way up Melinda’s inner thigh, intoxicated by her feminine scent, and felt a tingle dance up my tongue as I touched her wet clitoris with it and commingled some of her juices with my saliva. I opened my mouth wide, holding my tongue out for her as she pulled me inside. I kissed and licked with abandon, letting go, bathing her pussy with my warm breath and plunging my tongue between her labia folds, curling it, suckling, swallowing her juices as my eyes burned and my face became numb. I felt a detachment, a displacement within my body, an almost incomprehensible sensation of ecstasy coupled with dread. I burrowed my tongue deeper within her, opening my mouth wider to capture her nectar, more ardently stimulated her genitalia with my lips, tongue, and nose, desiring above all else to please her and comply with her wishes. I jettisoned my free will and acquiesced, a decision I was certain she sensed when she pushed me deep within her wet crevice, clamping her thighs tightly shut, reaching down to hold me close and hug me as she climaxed, her juices covering my face and trickling down my throat.

Something intangible entered me, I’m not certain what. It worked its way down my head and shoulders to my torso, then my pelvis, and finally to the tips of my very toes. I felt a oneness with my Mistress, although the merging was not of an egalitarian nature. She enveloped me, took me over, pushed my psyche behind the scenes, and began taking control of my thoughts, feelings, and even my motor skills. I abruptly became rock hard, stiffer than I had ever recalled being, as what blood remained in my body engorged my organ as though on cue. She lifted me up by the hair and captured my gaze, pulling me towards her, thrusting her legs into the air, coaxing my hard cock between her labial folds.
I pushed myself inside her to the hilt, thrusting slowly at first, then faster, harder, and deeper as she writhed beneath me and emitted a low moan. Presently her eyes widened as she gazed at my wounded neck, hungrily lunging for and capturing it between her jaws again, emitting a primal scream as she fed on me and then threw me over onto my back. She rode me, taking me, as physically endowed with strength as I had been weakened, as though there had been a transfer. She bucked and writhed atop me, as I lay supine and unable to move, her mouth still fused to my neck. We climaxed simultaneously as I gave everything to her, moaning, shaking, writhing, and then collapsing powerless, paralyzed, feeling near death.

We lay like that for a while, with Melinda closing the wound on my neck with a few deft flicks of her tongue. She purred and enveloped me with her psyche, my spine tingling again as our eyes met and she seemed to restore my strength with her gaze. Melinda smiled down at me.

“Well, lover,” she asked. “How does it feel to be mine, utterly completely mine?” I looked up at her, awestruck, terrorized, defeated, and remade.

I tried to move my lips in response, but couldn’t. I simply couldn’t. Melinda kissed me tenderly on the forehead, licking her way down my face, sliding her tongue between my lips and probing my mouth delicately, nurturing me. She looked into my eyes, her expression softening into a luscious smile. “It’s okay my sweet,” she said. “No reply is necessary.”

Jeff held the door for us, and we entered, walking into the bar part of
the restaurant. The girl behind the counter waved to him, and Jeff
waved back. He motioned us to a table and we sat down, off in the
corner. “That’s my sister Chris.” Jeff said, pointing to the bartender
he’d waved to. “She’s a terrific kid. You’d never guess she has two
kids of her own.” He was certainly right. Chris looked to be only
about 23, and when she came over to say hello, her tight fitting black
pants showed curves that would make most women extremely jealous. Chris
is pretty, with brown hair and big brown eyes, but not outstandingly so.
“Picking up girls on the beach again, eh, Jeff?” She chided him. Chris
looked us over, asking us for our orders. We gave them to her. “Just
be care- ful if Jeff suggests taking you to his place. He’s a real
wolf.” “Thanks.” I said, seeing that Chris was just teasing her
brother. Jill and I talked with him, and when Chris came back with our
drinks, she said that she would be off work at midnight. It was quarter
of, and we waited for her to come over and join us. In the meantime,
Jeff was telling us that he thought of “carrot-tops” as very sexy. Jill
asked about blondes, and Jeff said that he liked blondes too, but since
redheads were scarer, and pretty ones even more so, he was intrigued.
Chris joined us finally, and Jeff went to the restroom. “Jeff’s really
a sweet guy.” Chris said. “If it weren’t for Jeff, I’d be a lot worse
off.” Chris said that she had two little girls, and her husband had
died in a car accident just after the last one was born. Jeff stepped
in and helped her out, and now she was making it on her own. Jill was
impressed by Chris’s emphatic praise of him. “How long has your brother
been helping you?” Jill asked. “Is that what he told you? That he’s
my brother?” Chris laughed a bit. “No, Jeff’s actually my
brother-IN-LAW. My husband was his older brother.” Jill and I looked
at each other then, and realized that Jeff was really an interesting
guy.

Just as I was going to ask Chris if Jeff was married, he came back to
the table, smiling. I could see no wedding ring (or a “cheaters mark”)
so I guessed him to be single. “I just called Pete to come join us.”
Jeff said. Chris’s eyes lit up and she told us that Pete was a
“true-blue hunk”. Jeff looked at Jill, and said “I hope you don’t mind,
but I think you’ll like Pete. I know he’ll like you.” Jill was a bit
miffed at Jeff taking the liberty, but when Pete came in, she changed
her mind. “Hunk” was right! Pete was about five eleven and every bit
as fit and trim as a girl could want. He had dark hair and a smooth
dark complexion (from his spanish mother) and gleaming blue eyes (from
his father). A few more drinks and Chris suggested her place, as her
mother had the kids for the weekend. Feeling pleasantly relaxed, Jill
and I agreed.

Jill’s place wasn’t far away, and it was a very nice large apartment
near the beach. Just near enough to hear and smell the ocean (but not
see it), and far enough away that the rent was reasonable. About a half
hour after getting to her place, Chris disappeared to get out of her
“work clothes”. I was sitting right next to Jeff on the sofa, while
Jill and Pete were looking through some of Chris’s record albums.
Jeff’s finger touched under my chin and I turned to look at him. His
eyes were so soft and gentle, I could feel the electricity in his touch,
and I leaned into his soft, warm lips. I kissed him, feeling his lips
slowly part, and his tongue gently stroked my lips. I parted my lips
and let his tongue enter my mouth, eagerly swirling my tongue around
his. I chased his tongue into his mouth when it withdrew, and that
excited him, his hands now sliding urgently down my back. We were both
…End of the part2. To be continued..

This morning, I woke up horny (as usual) so I slipped my
prick up inside my sister, and fucked her.
Mary Beth was already slippery, so it wasn’t hard to get
inside her. By the time I felt the familiar tingling in my prick
that told me I was about to squirt, Mary Beth had woken up, and
was humping back at me just as hard as I was pushing into her.
My sisters all like to fuck just as much as I do, and Mary Beth
is no exception. Still, just because she likes to fuck, doesn’t
mean she wants to get knocked up.
“I’m going to shoot up you,” I warned her; giving her the
opportunity to pull off, if she didn’t want me to squirt her.
After all, I didn’t want to knob my own sister by accident.
“Huh, huh, huh, It’s OK,” panted Mary Beth, as she pushed
back even harder, “you can squirt me, if you want to. My period
was last week.”
Well, that’s a little close, but since my sister didn’t seem
to mind, neither did I. At least I had warned her. Still, we
had to be careful, ’cause Momma won’t let us marry until we’re
older, and earning enough money to afford babies of our own.
I barely had time to reflect on this, before my sister’s hot
wet hole sliding on and off my swollen prick got the better of
me, and I let her have it. Oooh, did that feel good! I felt
wave after wave of hot sticky goo squirt through my prick and
into my sexy sister’s tight little hole.
Mary Beth seemed to like feeling me shoot up inside her as
much as I did; milking each thick drop out of my dick and into
her sexy little tummy.
Our little sister Sue Ann was awake by this time; watching
with disappointment as I filled her big sister’s vagina with my
warm sticky cum. The little kid likes to have me squirt up in
her, when Mary Beth can’t take my stuff up inside her, without
risking a baby. So today, Sue Ann figured she would only get
“sloppy seconds.” Only today, seconds it turned out were better
than firsts. But she didn’t know that.
As I slowed down, with the last sticky drops of cum oozing
into my twin-sister, I became aware of the action going on on
either side of me. It seems that my fucking my sister had woke
everybody else up, and had started a regular orgy on either side.
On one side, Betty Jean and Joe were going at it like
newlyweds, while on the other, Daddy was sticking it to my big
sister Lisa Marie. Even the little kids Mike and Joany (Joanne
Lou) were “practicing” making a baby; even though neither one has
reached puberty yet.
For the next few minutes I watched the rest of the family
fuck, while I kept my half-hard prick up inside Mary Beth’s tight
little hole; leaking the last drops of cum inside her.
Mary Beth and even Sue Ann watched too; knowing that the
sight would probably get me excited enough to take care of my
little sister as well.

1

It was exciting. Daddy’s prick isn’t as big as Joe’s, but
he sure knows how to make our big sister’s pussy hum with it. I
knew Lisa Marie must be close to her period, as Daddy wouldn’t
fuck any of the girls unless it was “safe” to do so. One
accidental pregnancy was enough.
Daddy never pulls out like me, so he has to make sure he
doesn’t fuck any of the girls unless it’s the right time of
month. Once he’s gotten inside a girl, Daddy knows he doesn’t
have enough control (like I do) to pull out; so he doesn’t even
start unless it’s OK.
Me, I don’t mind pulling out, because there’s usually one of
my other sisters willing and able to take my squirts; like Sue
Ann had been hoping to. Even if not, none of my sisters would
ever leave me with “blue balls”. They were all just as good with
their mouths and fannies as they were with their tight little
pussies. It had been years since I last had to resort to a “hand
job.”
I watched as Daddy speeded up; thrusting his swollen prick
into my big sister, until they were both panting and grunting
with the effort to cum. Lisa Marie’s wail announced her orgasm,
…End of the part1. To be continued..

BTW, the story is NOT about LYNN’s suffering, but JOE’s. HIS hurt, is the
one that’s supposed to break your heart.
Think about it, having to do that to someone you love, in the HOPE that
it MIGHT save her for someone else. To be willing to make someone you
love, and had hoped to have love you, hate you, so that they’ll survive.
“Greater love hath no man. . .” I think that being willing to give up
the love of someone for their well-being, is at least as great, and THAT’s
the point I was trying to make.

I’ll admit, I WAS trying for shock-value, when Joe “did-in” her mother.
I wanted to raise at least a LITTLE doubt in the reader’s mind, whether
or not they had figured Joe out right.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

IN>Frank,

IN>Re whether Lynn was hoodwinked, yes, I think
IN>Joe and her mother did a good job of convincing the trusting
IN>starry-eyed girl that she was actually given up to a degenerate,
IN>and that he would enjoy her, and then kill her.
IN>Joe’s suffering is evident. Maybe you could put the “greater
IN>love hath no man…” quote in the story. It is both dramatic
IN>and succinct of the feelings Joe must have gone through before
IN>Lynn came over and all was patched up.

I would like to. I just can’t think of a neat way (or place) to put it in.
I’ll re-read it, maybe I can. Hmmmm. maybe afterwards, in a comment by
Lynn, or June. I’ll have to think about it. It’s a nice Idea, but I want
the story to flow smoothly. I’ll try. No guarantees though.

IN>For my own version of “what is right” you might
IN>also add in the epilogue that Lynn finished HS on the honor roll,
IN>despite her bulging belly.

Good point. I’ll fit that in somewhere at the end. “After finishing
High-school, Lynn has worked her way through college, and is now working
on her doctorate by taking evening classes, while June and I watch the
kids, sometimes alternating, and sometimes together. Now that the oldest
is 12, and can watch the younger ones, we find interesting things to do
together while still maintaining a presence in the house.”

Something like that. I’ll have to work on it. Any suggestions about this,
or the other will be appreciated. I think, that if I put in that Lynn’s
working on her doctorate, then her finishing high-school (honor-roll or not)
would be superfluous. What do you think?

IN>Everybody seems to live and make love happily ever after.
IN>Does Joe continue as a professional top?

Yes, but in later years it becomes more of a side-line. His main line
becomes designing and supplying bondage clothing and accessories, with
Lynn as his main model. Do you think this needs to be in the story?

IN>do Lynn and June become his beautiful and kinky assistants?

Lynn does, as explained above. June is closer to being a “top”, than
a “bottom”. Sometime she helps him with a fantasy with Lynn. June remains
as kinky as ever, but with her own twist on things. How and why and where
she gets those kids of hers, are each stories in their own right. Joe
THINKS almost all the kids are his, but he’s not sure about at least 2 of
them. June likes to keep him guessing. (BTW, outside of the story,
for your information only, they ALL are. June loves him just as much
as Lynn does, and wouldn’t dream of cheating him. Make him THINK they might
not be his, yes. Actually HAVE anyone else’s kids, no. Joe suspects this.)

IN>Does the huge family move out of the soundproof apartment?

That’s a bachelor apartment. What do you think? One-bedroom, bath,
kitchen and tiny living-room, plus the one extra “dungeon” room. Of course,
the owners have bigger, fancier apartments, at sky-high rentals. No, they
moved to a small fixer-upper ex-farm-house, at the outskirts of the city.
By the time the story ends, with the three of them working on it, they’ve
…End of the part4. To be continued..

Maybe that part, I didn’t make clear in the story. June had made VERY
extensive checks on “Jones” before bringing her daughter over. she had
not only checked him out, but had talked to several of his “bottoms”, and
even observed a couple of his “training” sessions, as a helper, and once
she had let him demonstrate on her, though it wasn’t her “bag” so to speak.
By the time the story starts, the two were good friends, and he had been
teaching her things to use on her daughter, as Lynn had fallen for the
whole bondage-thing through reading about it. After a while though, second-
hand, amateur knowledge wasn’t enough, and Lynn had asked to be introduced
to an expert.

LYNN was a trusting soul, and had never been really hurt in her life.
She had NEVER been abused, not even by a school-bully. She thought
EVERYONE was like the people in the stories she read, caring and thinking
about the other person, even when designing tortures for them, so that
in the end, the recipient always loves the “master” for what he/she does.
Lynn, to put it bluntly, was a romantic.

Her mother June, was anything but. She would go to great lengths to
protect her daughter, and had the personality, and ability to do it.
She’s as tough as a marine drill-sergeant, and could lick double her
weight in professional bar-bouncers. She would do anything to give
Lynn what she felt the girl needed, and if it was a professional B&D
experience, or a baby in the belly, she would see to it.

Perhaps there’s another thing I didn’t make clear, though there are
hints all through the story. “Joe” was a “professional” By that,
I mean he did it for a living. He was good, because he had to be.
He had a business, and he advertised, and he relied on repeat business.
June wouldn’t have set this up with anyone else. He did enjoy his
work, but nobody who gets into THAT line of work does so, if they
don’t like it. Joe prided himself on giving the customer EXACTLY
what he/she ordered. If they wanted to be marked for 3 days, Joe
provide welts and abrasions that would be not noticeable by that
dreaded 4-day-from-now meeting. His customers relied on him, and
he supplied. Joe wasn’t the “best” top in the city, but he was the
best “professional” one. All the others who were any good, did it
for personal pleasure, and quite often paid for the privilege, or
had a “stable” of “bottoms” to work with. Word-of-mouth sort of thing.

IN> about the building of trust, the reliance on trust, and the fantastic
IN> feelings of letting go __after you really trust a person (in many
IN> cases literally with your life.) But the trust always comes first, at
IN> least in the success stories. But that’s real life, or as close as
IN> the world of BD gets to real life, so maybe my comments do not apply
IN> here.

As I said, Lynn trusted EVERYBODY. Really TRUSTED them.
NOT a good idea, as the second story points out.

IN> As always, please take my comments as coming from a completely
IN> friendly direction, and not meant as criticisms of your views or
IN> positions, just as my suggestions for possible improvements in the
IN> story.

I do, I DO!

IN> Finally, I have a question to ponder. You and I like this story. Who
IN> else will? Is it silly to consider the “market” for a story which
IN> will eventually be immortalized on the net, and never see any other
IN> form of publication? What I fear is that the pedo interest may be
IN> squicked by the BD content, the BD types may be squicked by the pedo
IN> content, and the consent concerns I blathered on about above, and
IN> surely somebody will be bothered to learn that people’s mothers have
IN> an interest in sex, or have ever participated. Just something to
IN> think about. I suppose we could put it on the net, when you have
IN> edited as much as you want to, and see what kind of reaction it
IN> brings. I would be interested to see.

THAT doesn’t bother me. SOME people out there will like it.
There are LOTS of stories out there that I don’t like, and
I ignore them. I expect others to do likewise, with these two.

IN> I am looking forward to the next story you are trying to recover. I
IN> will reread this one this week, and probably send you a short list of
IN> spelling and other typographical errors that I noticed, which probably
…End of the part2. To be continued..

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