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The first thing I noticed upon returning to my senses was the peculiar
sensation of lying supine in a strange location. I was still naked but on a
soft surface, much like a bed. The lighting was a bit dim, the
surroundings seemed feminine, and the linens were perfumed. My wrists were
locked into fur-lined shackles and confined above my head, with both ankles
being fastened to the bedposts at the other end in a similar fashion.
There was a good deal of laughing and revelry coming from an adjacent room,
all of which seemed to be female voices. It sounded like a party. I
strained to hear some of the things being said, but all of the chatter was
interspersed with giggling and wasn’t too lucid. After a short period of
time, a woman poked her head in the door and called out to the partygoers
after noticing my emerging consciousness.
“Gina!” the voice said. “He’s awake!” She abruptly closed the door and
began conversing with someone in the hall. I tried to shake the cobwebs
from my head as I seemed to hear the assemblage of voices move away. When I
had almost drifted to sleep again, the door opened and an attractive woman
came inside.
It was the woman who had prosecuted me in the courtroom. She had changed
from her business suit into blue jeans and a sweatshirt, but my body still
tensed in mortification at her presence. She smiled sweetly as she sat upon
the bed, and roughly grabbed and pulled my face towards her as I began to
glance away.
“You can look at me, Daniel,” she said, smiling infectiously stroking my
hair lightly. “In fact, I want you to look at me!”
“What happened? Where am -” I was still a bit groggy from whatever drug
they had used to sedate me in the courtroom.
“The jury retired after you deprived us of your conscious presence,” Gina
said, matter of factly. “You were subsequently convicted of first degree
rape. It took them about fifteen minutes to decide.”
“Well, why–why am I here? Where’s my own attorney? What-what’s going
on?” I strained against my bonds. “Why am I tied up like this?”
“You’re here because I wanted you here.” Gina licked her lips and trailed
her fingernail sensuouly down my neck. “I defeated you in public before
the world, and now it gives me enormous pleasure to defeat you in private.”
“What are you talking about?” I raised my head as much as the restraints
would allow. Gina smiled.
“Minutes after the unanimous verdict was read, the world’s various
governments ordered the full implementation of a global policy of male
management. That order is being carried out as I speak, with males
worldwide being separated from one another and segregated into small groups
for transport to labor camps at diverse locations.” I groaned and leaned
back as Gina’s light touch danced about my erect nipples.
“In fact, Daniel, you are now something of a pariah amongst the male
population.” She continued to rub me softly, with my own humiliation
heightened by my arousal. “Some of them speak of inflicting bodily injury
on you. Others talk openly of murder. They consider you weak and
worthless, a poor representative of your own gender.” Gina suddenly reached
down and cupped my scrotum, giggling audibly as she stared into my eyes.
“Which, of course, is what you are. That’s why we targeted you for
prosecution and for this demonstration.” Gina brought my thickening organ
to a fully erect state with some skillful stimulation, much as she had in
the courtroom. She continued to speak.
“We will, naturally, fully protect your safety and provide you with a
comfortable existence. You will never have to work in the camps with the
other males. In fact, you won’t be allowed to work at all. Which is why
you’ll probably never again see another male in person for as long as you
live. From time to time, we’ll take pictures of you apparently living a
life of luxury and leak those photographs to the males in the camps.” She
grinned from ear to ear as I squirmed in agony. “Keeping the males angry at
…End of the part5. To be continued..

I groaned. “I’m not sure I can take another fantasy of yours,” I said.
“It’s been two days and I’m still not fully recovered from the last
two fantasies.”

We were in the small kitchen of her house. Cathie was washing and I
was drying. She wore tight, almost new blue jeans that accentuated
the wideness of her hips and the protruding fullness of her buttocks.
They swelled and swelled in a pair of round curves. She’d managed to
splash soapy water on the front of her Harvard maroon shirt.

I’m not particularly affected by breasts. It just happened, as it
usually does for the female figure, her breasts were big and buoyant,
to balance her big ass, I guess. As unaffected as I am, I noticed that
her nipples were hard and erect through the soft material of her shirt.
I reached over and grabbed her right nipple between the forefinger and
thumb of my right hand, just feeling the rubbery protrusion.

Cathie shook her head to get her bangs out of her eyes. She had fine
black hair, cut in a pageboy that fell to her shoulders. Her hair framed
a perfectly smooth, white complexion. Her face was heart shaped, with
thick, luscious lips topped by a small straight nose and overly large,
deep brown eyes. Although I found her figure to be slightly overblown,
she had the most beautiful, delicate, porcelain face I’d ever seen.

“Ow,” she said, obviously referring to my fingers pinching her nipple.
“I’m going to have my period soon. My tits are ultra sensitive.”

I immediately let go.

“No,” she said. “Pinch the other one for awhile, Goss.”

Obediently, my right hand reached across her body and my fingers squeezed
her left nipple through the maroon shirt material.

“Do you want to hear my fantasy?” she asked again.

“Give me a break, Cath,” I said. “I just got home from work and ate
dinner.”

“Go get a beer from the fridge,” she told me. “A beer will loosen you up.”

I let go of her nipple with my right hand and flipped the dish towel
onto the counter. I got a beer out of the fridge and sipped at it.

Cathie continued to wipe dishes and put them in the rack. “Chug it,”
she said.

“It’s Monday night. Do I want to do that?” I asked.

“Yeah, chug it,” she said.

I chugged down the beer, then got another bottle from the fridge.

“Chug that one too,” she said, gazing out the window over the sink.

“How loose do you want me?” I asked, draining the bottle.

“Keep going,” Cathie told me.

I retrieved another bottle and started drinking it. I noticed the mauve
colors of the setting sun, shining through the window, were starting to
look a bit fuzzy around the edges.

“Maybe I’ll have a shower tonight,” Cathie said, draining the sink.

“Um, golden?” I asked, having connected the beer to the fantasy. I’m not
at all stupid.

“Maybe,” she answered.

We’d both read about golden showers but we’d never done anything like
that. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to do it.

“I don’t know, Cath,” I said, sipping at the beer. “That’s the outer
…End of the part1. To be continued..

(I knew I was going to get in trouble, Lori. My pussy is
practically dripping with excitement. I’ve taken my shirt off to
sit on so I don’t stain the chair. The vibrations are up on my
Butterfly, and I’m back to typing one-handed. My breasts and
nipples wanted too much attention. I’m afraid I may have to take
that orgasm break before long. This letter might take forever!)

Our little brother was two years younger than I. (I guess he
still is, isn’t he?) His cock had been a fixation for me ever
since I was twelve. I didn’t know why. I just knew I was
constantly curious about it. When we were wrestling, I could
sometimes feel it–and sometimes feel it hard. I was forever
trying to catch him in the act of dressing or undressing so I
could see it. And I was always trying to spy on him when he was
in the bathroom. But he was always so private that I couldn’t see
it–which, of course, made me want to see it all the more!
As I began to develop, I began teasing him to see if I could
make it hard. I’d sit so he could see my panties or stand in
front of the light so he could almost see through my nightie.
Sometimes I’d leave my door open when I changed clothes, then act
surprised and mad when he saw me partially naked. Or I’d leave
the bathroom door cracked when I took a shower in case he wanted
to peek.
It was exciting to watch his reactions. Part of the thrill was
testing out my powers as a young woman. It seems he had a hard-on
all the time, and I knew I frequently caused it. Sometimes I’d
stand outside his bedroom door and listen to him jerk-off. Of
course, I didn’t know what he was doing, but it was something he
wasn’t suppose to do. And that made it more exciting.
(That’s it. I can’t take this any longer. Time for a break!)
(Well, it’s another day. One orgasm wasn’t enough yesterday.
And after the second, I was too wiped out to continue. Today I
thought I’d try one of my soft dildos while I type. There’s no
vibration, but I like the fullness. This is fun, getting naughty
with you, Lori.)
Well, back to the story. After about six months of playing
around with each other, Kathy and I decided to get Scott. By then
she’d touched her boyfriend’s cock when they’d made out, and
she’d told me all about it. I’d told her about Scott, too, so
we’d both been teasing him. And she told me what he was doing in
his room. One night Mom and Dad were gone, so we put our plan
into action. We really teased him that night while we watched TV.
We wrestled with him in our nighties so he could “accidentally”
touch us, and we really sat “sloppily.” Then, when he went to
bed, we waited outside his door until we heard the bedsprings
squeaking.
At that, we rushed in and turned on the light. Sure enough, he
was laying on his back, his hand wrapped around his little
pecker. You should have seen his face, Lori! At first he was
really mad at us, but Kathy got him calmed down and told him we’d
take all our clothes off for him if he’d show us what he was
doing. I was so hot from just seeing his cock that all I could do
was stand there and shake. God, it was so exciting! After we
watched him pump himself for awhile, Kathy said she’d let him
touch her breasts if she could touch his prick. I could take that
for only so long before I had to get into the act. Kathy showed
me how to jerk him off, and I made him shoot all over the place.
Now that I really loved! And at that age, of course, they never
get soft, so we kept playing until we heard Mom and Dad drive in.
As long as we lived at home, the three of us had each other
for love, comfort and fun. Eventually we taught Scott how to play
with us and eat us, and we learned to suck him off. That’s where
we drew the line, but we had hours and hours of loving fun. I
like to think Kathy and I taught Scott how to be a superior
lover, but I suppose I’ll never know. Once each of us left home,
the subject never came up again.

The only feelings I’ve ever had about all of that are Good and
Wonderful. I’ve read where incest is suppose to make people feel
dirty and become anti-social. It’s hard for me to relate to that
because I did well in school, was popular and never felt dirty at
all. No one will ever convince me that what we did was wrong– it
was too good to be bad. It brought us closer together, and
there’s always been lots of love. Although we agreed to stop at
oral sex, I’ll admit I wanted Scott in me very badly. I wanted
him to take my virginity; I still think it would have been better
and more loving if he had. But I’ll admit I don’t think about the
social issues anymore. I’ve spent half my life worrying about my
sexuality and the other half saying, “Who cares?”
What I do in my bedroom is my business. I know I don’t fit any
of the “This Is A Woman” molds. By any standard I’ve ever seen,
I’m definitely over-sexed. I have strong exhibitionist
tendencies, which fits the mold. But I’m also very visually
oriented, and have a strong voyeuristic streak, as well. That
doesn’t fit the mold. Sexual guilt is almost foreign to me, and
I’m more drawn to adventure than security in sexual matters.
So I don’t know where I fit in, but I don’t worry about it too
much. I know that other than the emptiness and loneliness of life
without a woman since I’ve been married, I’ve had a much richer,
fuller and happier sex life than most women ever will.

That first incident with Scott began my life-long obsession
with cocks. I’m an inveterate crotch watcher, wondering what’s
behind the zipper, what it looks like, how it feels and things
like that. Each size and shape has it’s own special attraction,
but I love them all. I love the way they look, the way they feel
in me, on me and in my hand and mouth. I love their taste and
their texture. And I love their warm cum in my mouth or on my
face and breasts. One of my favorite fantasies is to be naked on
my knees, surrounded by 5 or 6 naked sixteen or seventeen year-
old boys. I could go around the circle, giving each a nice, long
suck; then lie back and watch them jerk off until they splash hot
cream all over my body. I know my chance of ever having that
happen is gone, but oh, do I love the fantasy!
As bitter as I sometimes get with my husband’s closed-
mindedness about bisexuality, I’m grateful for his understanding
of my love of cocks. Every once in awhile he arranges a 3-some
with another man. Have you ever done that, Lori? Those are such
wonderful times for me. The “discovery” of a new cock. Two cocks
to play with. And the devoted attentions of two men. I always
feel so female and so special. And I love my husband all the more
for it.
Well, another book and still not enough questions asked of
you. I can’t believe how good it feels to be able to talk like
this with someone. Maybe now that I’ve blurted all of this out we
can move on to a better correspondence.
Write soon, Lori.

Horny for you,
Carla

Finally, I get into her cunt and wow! it’s everything I hoped for– all
juicy and slippery. I spread her legs as far apart as they’ll go and just look
at that beautiful pink pussy before I come down onto it with my mouth. I reach
out my tongue to lick around the soft lips and slide it in and out of her
private opening. I kiss her little clit and nip at it while she squirms and
wiggles her ass around under me. Then I really suck at her and I feel all Hell
break loose when my load comes off in her mouth and she heaves her ass up off
the ground and practically drowns me with her sweet juice.

Finally, after sucking and licking her up, I turn back and cuddle her in my
arms and we go to sleep with the sun drying the sweat on our bodies.

copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2002

3

My prick exploded into Sue Ann’s tight little hole, and she
grabbed both Daddy and me in a death-grip, as I was almost
squashed between them.
For a moment or two, it was almost as though Daddy was
fucking my little sister right through me. Daddy’s prick would
expand in my behind, and as I felt his sperm squirt in me, I
would send a responding squirt into my little sister. Squirt
after squirt. It felt like Daddy’s sperm would go right through
my body, into the base of my prick, and then ripple through the
tube on the bottom until it ended up being deposited in the
little girl’s womb where it belonged.
Daddy was just emptying the last sticky drops into me, and I
was doing the same thing to my little sister, when Momma came in
from the kitchen to tell us all that breakfast was ready.
“My God,” she exclaimed in mock disgust, “Don’t you kids do
anything but fuck?” “What kind of sex-maniacs have I been
raising around here anyway?” she asked, taking in her two oldest
daughters, obviously both freshly screwed, with their father’s
seed still drooling obscenely out of the eldest, and the sticky
mess on the other matching the wilting rubber-covered cock on her
eldest son. To top it, Daddy, Sue Ann and I were still coupled
like three dogs, while Mary Beth was licking the juncture of our
thighs, and a white gob dripping out of her tight little slit
showed she hadn’t been sexually neglected that morning either.
Two little naked kids watched the whole thing, while still
playing with each other’s sex-parts.
First Daddy, then Mary Beth, then the whole room started
giggling, then laughing outright. If anyone was an example of
someone who liked to fuck, then it had to be Momma. After all,
with nine kids by her own son, one by her father, and two
grandchildren, it was pretty obvious how our mother liked to
spend her spare time.
At first, Momma huffed at our response, but finally the
humor of the situation got to her too. “OK,” she giggled, “now
it’s my turn. Joe, get another one of those rubber things, and
get over here and help your mother out. Mike, you go down and
tell your grandpa and little sisters that breakfast will be
ready, as soon as your mother gets HER share of the fun.”
I giggled, but followed Momma’s instructions by pulling out
of my little sister and padding down the hall to the other
bedroom, that Grandpa shared with the two younger girls and the
baby. Daddy patted me on the ass, as he pulled out of me with a
slight pop. “Ooh,” my ass stung a little, but Daddy’s sperm
soothed it a little too. Sometimes I almost wish I was a girl,
so Daddy could squirt up my tummy and get me pregnant like my
sisters could. Oh well.
I heard a yelp of pleasure as I left the room, and knew my
big brother’s cock was sliding into the womb that we all came out
of; filling it in a way that none of the rest of us could match.
Twice now, Joe has split a condom while fucking Momma, and we all
know that someday he’s going to knob her good. If not by
splitting a condom, then when Momma decides she’s gone long
enough without another baby.

4

…End of the part3. To be continued..

IN>Do they win the lottery and keep having kids?

The only “lottery” Joe is interested in, is the “baby-sweepstakes” that
Lynn has once a year, when they reenact her “lesson” in rape. Other than
that, Joe doesn’t gamble, and neither do the other two.

IN>(Actually, I would not worry about the lottery if I were Joe. He has
IN>already won big.)

Amen.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

BTW, I'm going to try to save all of these comments, and put them in the
package when I send it to you. I'll remove all references to your name,
and to you, when I do. You can then edit it again, and put it out to the
net, as a comment on the story-line. I'm not sure if it should go to
a.s.s, or a.s.s.d. Probably to a.s.s, as it does kind of complete the story.

IN>Frank,

IN>Well, the wait may not have been worth it, I’ll leave that up to
IN>you to decide, but here are my editorial comments on your wonderful
IN>”Bound for Fun” stories.

(Sound of a man releasing breath he’s held for days.) ;-}

IN>First , “BfF I”

IN>> MY GOD! For the first time, I realized just how far I had gone.
IN>> Not only had I came in the little girl, possibly (Probably)
IN>come in the little girl…
IN>…

No, came is right. Past tense of “cum” or come. As in “I came, I saw,
I knocked the girl up.” to misquote.

IN>> using the diaphragm to protect her daughter from pregnancy this
IN>> time. Oh well! At least ONCE, I had done it. Actually squirted
IN>> my seed in the little girl’s unprotected belly, that it. I
IN>that is
IN>…

I already found and corrected that one.

IN>> and Mr. Jones attend to things, OK?”
IN>> “Okay Momma. If you say so.” Dutifully, lay back on the
IN>Dutifully, she…
IN>> bed, and let me open her up, to her mother’s administrations.
IN>Did you mean ministrations?
IN>…

OOOPS! You’re right.

IN>> stimulation, of having her mother poking around in her, and me
IN>> from the thought of this incredible sexy, kinky woman actually
IN>> squirting my sperm in her own daughter womb, while making the kid
IN>daughter’s womb…

OOPS again.

IN>And then, “BfF II”

IN>> huh? Frank looked almost like a nerd, but even though some would
IN>> consider him “over the hill” he still had the best imagination of
IN>> the lot of us, when it came to ingenious torture. Especially the
IN>> kind that hurt, but didn’t damage. Fred was a guy you’d expect
IN>Is this a Hitchcock-like cameo, Mr. McCoy?
IN>…

Weeeelll. . . somewhat. Not exactly, but somewhat. The description is
close, but not completely true. Especially, I DO NOT go for torture.
even bondage, is not really my bag.

IN>> something. It wasn’t real, until that final blow. Now seeing
IN>> the knife sticking in her belly, while she reeled from the deadly
IN>> blow, it finally got home to her. This wasn’t a game, and it was
IN>How do you reel from a blow when you are tied down?
IN>…

You’re right. It was her mind that reeled, not her body.

IN>> couldn’t. Any force over about two ounces, caused the blade to
IN>> vanish into the sheath. It was an amazingly effective illusion,
IN>> especially when combined with fake blood canisters, but not worth
IN>Doesn’t the blade vanish into the handle?

Right again!. My mind slipped.

IN>I hope these comments are of some value to you,
IN>and of course, they are all from a friendly source, and not meant to be
IN>barbed, even if they seem that way when viewed on a CRT.

BARBED???!!! Heck, those are FRIENDLY comments. I even welcome barbed ones,
if they show mistakes in what I was trying to get across.

IN>I hope to hear from you soon!

I’ll try to edit in these changes, and the others we discussed sometime this
week, and send you the final disk. I’ll also send along another story that’s
been sitting for almost a year, waiting to be completed, but neither Tammy or
I seem to want to finish it, so we wrapped it up, and left it where it ended.
It ends fairly nicely, but it was originally planned to be twice as long. If
we ever do finish it, it’ll have to be “Chapter 2″.

IN>I have seen all of the material I posted (finally)

I saw your second post, just the other day.

IN>and have sent out some stuff to folks who missed part 1 of 4, etc.

Thanks.

IN>I will be posting more from your first disk soon.

Could you send me another copy of the list of files I sent you?
I forgot which, and I don’t want to duplicate.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

You say that because you don’t know, or don’t think. Yes, yes, he was my best friend’s
father. But you’re missing the point!

I was wandering the park. It was Monday afternoon; not many people out. It looked like
rain, but its not like I was gonna melt or anything.

Then I saw him. He was walking along the avenue of oaks. He looked gaunt, tired. No,
that’s not right. He looked alone, not the kind of closed off alone, but the kind like a
child has, and has lost something that kept them safe. Compared to the Mr. Allard I
knew, it was devastating. I mean, this is the man who actually let us teach him how to do
the Swim and the Monkey. He was so vibrant.

I knew Mrs. Allard had passed. Breast cancer. She only lived 4 months after they found
it. Such a shame. I read about the funeral, but hey, funerals are for the living. She knew
I’d miss her and wished her well and I wasn’t going to cry because I had known such a
beautiful person.

But here he was coming toward me. Actually, bumped right into me.

“Mr. Allard, I’m so sorry. I heard. It was so sudden. She was too young.” I said and I put
my hand on his arm. All of which are true. Words just never do service to the feelings we
have.

You could see it too him a moment to recognize me. Well, I guess that is fair, I stopped
straightening my hair when I graduated high school in ‘67, though he’s seen me since
then.

“Thank you,” he said forcing a slight smile. “It was quick; she didn’t suffer much.”
Odd how men have to act so macho, when its obvious he thought the world fell apart. I
fell into step with him. Why, You ask? Quite frankly, the man shouldn’t have been
alone. For all the times he listened to me, I could damn well listen. Maybe remind him
he didn’t die with her.

“This place,” he shook his head as he continued walking, “It was so special. Did you
know, Laura and I met here? I proposed to her, at the fountain.” He chuckled slightly. “I
was never so scared. I shook so bad, I actually dropped the ring in the fountain.” I
smiled. I could see him doing it. “We both jumped in, running our hands around looking
for it. She was so wet….” His voice trailed off suddenly. Like I was going to care? Hell,
I lost my virginity to Matt Jamison in his basement junior year. No, that wasn’t going to
bother me. Not only that, but I believe its important to remember those things. I reached
out for his hand. He looked so lost.

“It’s okay. It’s important to remember her that way. I’m not exactly the little kid you
remember.” I’d been practically living at their house since I was 7, so I guess his not
wanting to share that was understandable. But, he needs this, and it is certainly better he
talk it out with me than Denise. Kids don’t want to know about what their parents do after
hours.

Then it began to rain. I mean RAIN. It had been warm, so I had been wearing one of my
old hippie days peasant shirts. Not exactly good for rainstorms. Then I noticed it. He
was staring at my chest, but oddly, it wasn’t me he was staring at. I mean, come on,
Laura died of breast cancer; and I realized. I wasn’t hitting on him. I wasn’t asking for
anything. But, somehow I knew, I knew he needed to see, to feel, to realize that they all
didn’t go hard, malignant and murderous.

I took the hand I was holding and softly pulling it to my breast. “Its okay,” I murmured.
His hand shook, then rested on my breast.

“So soft,” He whispered. That is when I knew I was right. But I was getting soaked, and
the bandstand was way the hell over on the other side of the park. His fingers kneaded my
breast momentarily, then as though realizing the sky was opening up, he pulled me by the
hand, running toward a stand of hemlock Denise and I used to play house in, when we
were little kids.

We pushed our way through the outer boughs, and into the inner sanctum. It would stay
dry here, unless it started to downpour. Suddenly, he leaned low and kissed me softly,
putting all his boiling emotion into it. I knew it wasn’t me. He was far too in love with
Laura. But I realized this, and knew that this was his way of saying goodbye, or gaining
closure, or just healing. Call it what you will. I’ve done a lot of things in this life I
wasn’t exactly proud of, but letting him make love to me was not one of them. His hand
caressed my face, memorizing each detail, the slope of my jaw, the curve of my neck. He
kissed surprisingly well, and I soon found myself kissing him back; between the affection
and sensuality, I began to lose myself.

I showed him with my body, reminded him he was alive. My leg went up and wrapped
around his legs. Our lips parted, gasping for breath. We suddenly lost our balance and I
landed on top of him. We laughed out loud, and I rubbed his backside, pretending to
make his boo-boo feel better. We rolled in the dry, brown, slick needles.

He pressed into me, kissing me, but suddenly shy, sluggish; so tender of me. My hands
told him though, placed on his shoulders, bringing his lips to my breast. His lips covered
a chilled nipple through my shirt, warming it with his tongue. Oh, god I couldn’t tell you
how I felt. The sensation was incredible, yes, but I found I was needed. He needed me,
showed me how much he did, as he moved to my other side. This new sudden power
surged through me, and I could no long keep my body still.

“Please.” I whispered. Please forgive me for not being Laura, please let me help you.

He continued to trail down my tummy. My skirt was pulled up around my waist, and he
could see the tops of my stockings. He knelt between my legs, kissing my thighs just
above my stockings. My hands reached for his hair, pulling him closer. He nuzzled at
me, at my warmth. I reached down to help him, peeling it all off. He sighed. Such a
sigh!

Suddenly, he was licking against me. I went a bit hazy then. I shivered, quaked. Then
out of nowhere, I came. I mean really came hard. I usually make a ton of noise as I get
close, but this was such a surprise, I was speechless. His tongue fluttered over my clitoris,
and my orgasm continued, until I began to whimper low. God, I wanted him. It no longer
mattered that he was my friend’s father. He was someone I loved and respected, and was
making me feel incredible. I pulled him up to me, wanting more of him.

He knelt between my legs, pressing his head against me, rubbing it softly into my
wetness, before pressing slowly into me. He filled me. His warmth, his caring. This was
different from all the times I’d slept with people; it wasn’t for fun, it wasn’t to prove a
point—wasn’t because I had hopes of marrying. It was just caring.

He pressed in fully, before sliding back out just as slowly. I couldn’t help but moan,
feeling the pressure build within me again. Felt how he was feeling in an odd sense.
Shaking beneath him, feeling him lose himself in my body.

I watched his face as he relaxed from his orgasm. I smiled softly. He looked stunned,
even a bit embarrassed; it was very sweet. But then I saw the pain creep in. He fell onto
my chest, weeping the large tears that only come with something so painful. I didn’t say
anything. I wrapped my arms around him, and let him lose himself in me.

Later, he tried to apologize, said I could press charges for raping me. I shook my head. I
knew what I was doing.

So now, you think I’m a pig. Well, you know what? I don’t care. Cuz I just saw a
smiling man hold his new grandchild. A man who hasn’t REALLY smiled in a long time.
Denise had a baby girl. My god daughter’s name is Laura.

Fin

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) http://www.asstr.org/~Dryad

It was then that the captain, for he couldn’t have been
anything else, came off the forecastle deck. Her breath stuck
in her throat. Pure male perfection in a uniform that left
nothing to the imagination. She gulped. He caught her gaze and
gave a sheepish grin.

“Hi there! You must be Mrs. Aubrey, the lone parent brave enough!”

She nodded in answer.

“Garish, isn’t it? And I’m Evan.” he flashed a winsome smile.

“I don’t know. I imagine you get hit on a lot because of it,”
she replied, shaking his hand. “Please call me Ann. ‘Mrs.
Aubrey’ makes me sound like my mother-in-law.”

Her own buccaneers were chasing each other around the deck
soaking everything in their path with the Supersoaker 3000’s
they carried. She couldn’t follow what it was they were playing,
but there were plenty of kids getting soaked.

“Seems like a nice set-up,” she said changing the subject.

“It is, during the tourist season, and during the Conch
Republic Independence celebrations.” He replied, leaning against
the ships’ rail. “Let me guess, the husband is fishing.”

She blushed. “You must see us fisherman’s widows a lot.”

He grinned. “Why do you think we have the costumes? Drums up
business.” He chuckled. She would’ve nudged him but stopped
herself; she didn’t know him well enough to be that familiar.
She settled for replying, “That’s terrible!” but grinning with
him through it. She looked out over the deck as the boys chased
each other with their water guns.

She heard the blast of water before she felt it. Her nipples
reacted quickly to the cold water, pushing out against the wet
cloth, as though they hoped to escape into the warmer air. The
cloth itself became nearly transparent so that even her areolas
were visible.

“BOYS!” She yelled. Embarrassed, she crossed her arms in front
of her chest, berating the boys for not being more careful. She
blushed dreadfully; she was talking with one of the sexiest men
she’d seen in a while, and here she was acting like a gauche
schoolgirl.

“Shit.” She muttered under her breath, loud enough for him to
hear.

“Hey, this happens all the time. Come with me to the Captain’s
quarters. We have some extra uniforms there.” He waggled his
eyebrows. She gave it serious consideration. She knew he was
flirting with her, but then, he himself had mentioned the myriad
fisherman’s widows they had. It could be just as much an act as
the rest. But hell, she was giving everyone a show now…she
needed to get something over her. She followed him across the
deck, circumspectly sighing over the perfection of his ass.

He led her beneath the forecastle deck into a shadowy room. It
was furnished just as you would expect a pirate captain’s
quarters to be furnished; a large wooden desk, old maps, swords
and muskets hung on the walls. When she looked about, he noticed
and explained.

“Sometimes we have to hold our festivities below decks, like
when we hit a rain shower; so we use this room. She nodded as he
pulled an extra poet’s shirt out of a chest then continued to
…End of the part2. To be continued..

Dryad
***************************************************************************************

We have huge pine trees in our backyard. We’d been talking for years of getting rid of them. They’d drop needles all over our yard, as well as the yards of our neighbors. We couldn’t cut them down ourselves; they were too large, and with our luck we’d hit our house, or worse the house of a neighbor.

So we did what all suburbanites do, and called a tree service. My husband was at work, and my mother took the children so they wouldn’t be in the way and get hurt. I let them in early in the morning. The crew drove the heavy trucks into the backyard. They had one truck with a chipper on it, and one truck that held the cherry picker that raised them up high to top off the tree.

The crew included 4 men. They were all young, in their twenties, and very muscular, as you’d expect them to be. The crew chief was in his late 20’s, with short dark hair, and dark eyes. His smile was infectious, and soon, he had me feeling at ease.

I watched for a while, while things were explained to me by the various workers, answering my curiousity. It started to get warmer out, so I brought them out some drinks, to much applauded thanks. Since there were 4 good sized trees, I had been told they would be there the day. As the sun grew higher, Mike, I found the crew chief was named, called lunch break. The cherry picker came down in a loud hiss of hydraulics, and he hopped out and smiled at me. I offered my kitchen to the guys, knowing it wasn’t often they were able to get out of the sun and heat, which they all gratefully accepted. I looked at the cherry picker, knowing of my fear of heights, but also intrigued with the machine. I had surruptiously been watching Mike as he wielded his chainsaw high overhead, and had been getting warmer and warmer; a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun.

Mike was still outside, getting things together. I strode up to him, smiling sweetly. He smiled back, “What’s up?”

“Well…..I was wondering if you’d help me.” I smiled. I was still feeling my way through this half-hatched plan. It was wild, fantasy material, a bit of my former self that had been buried since my marriage.

“sure, what do you need?”

“Well, see, I’m afraid of heights. And I was wondering if maybe you could take me up in the picker. I know you can do it from the basket.” I smiled, hopefully sounding innocent, yet giving a hint of what I was thinking.
He looked at me quizzically, as if he wasn’t sure he was reading me right. My smile brightened as I saw he was reading me between the lines.
“Oh, sure, I think we can do that…You’d get a great view of the neighborhood.”

We walked over to the basket, where he lifted me over the side and deposited me in as if I were a feather, and I shivered at his touch. He climbed over the edge as well, and reached behind me, in the close confines, leaning into me, to grasp the belt there. “for safety,” he replied, winking at my quickened breath. He attached his and I found I had quite a free range of movement with it, which afterwards I thought should have been painfully obvious, considering what they needed to do in the basket.

He pressed the button, and I felt the hydraulics jerk as we began our ascent. He studiously looked the other way, looking out over the horizon. I was beginning to be unsure of what I was doing. After all, maybe he was just being nice…and he wasn’t aware of my limited seduction. I started to bemoan my lack of practice. Then, we were at the full height, and indeed, you could get a fantastic view of the whole neighborhood. He came to my side, his breath fluttering my hair as he pointed out various features of the land. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and looked at him.
“feeling adventurous?” I smiled as I slid down before him.

His eyes widened as he began to understand me. “discretion, right?” Well, I had to ask, after all, I am married. He nodded mutely, dumbstruck. The sides of the basket now hid me from view, and anyone looking up would assume he was by himself. I smiled up from my kneeling position, seeing only him and the blue sky above. I reached for his belt, and his hands settled over mine, helping me. I could feel his hardness pressing against his work pants, so I reached my hand in to keep the zipper away as I tugged it down. I looked up when I heard his soft moan. I smiled, as I dragged his pants and boxers (gotta love a man in boxers) to his knees.

His cock sprang out before me. I looked at it, smiling dreamily. Its one eye couldn’t seem to focus on me, as it kept bouncing around trying to get a better look. Its head was purple, flat and wide, silently begging for my attention.

So I gave it. No pretense, no complications. I took the head into my mouth quickly, my tongue flicking at the eye. I sighed softly, missing that which my husband long ago had decided was unnecessary. I slid my mouth lower, wondering if I was still as able. I bounced up and down on it a few times, but did finally manage to deep-throat his 6 inches, moaning deeply when his cock jerked in my throat. I looked up to see him holding either side of the basket, his eyes closed as if in deep concentration.

I began to swallow. Long hard swallows that squeezed his head in my throat. I smiled against his cock as I heard him moan rather loudly. I slid back up to his head and then off, blowing lightly at his tip and watching it jerk in response.

“Wow, where did you learn that!?” He shuddered in amazement, “Your husband is one fucking lucky guy!”

I snorted in derision, “he’s been turning my blowjobs down for years…why do you think I’m up here?” I smiled, the dove my head lower, and sucked one of his balls into my mouth. I savoured the tightness of his skin, the taste of his sweat. He began to buck against my face, his cock sliding against it, as I sucked his balls. I looked and could see his knuckles getting white from the strength he was exerting. I took pity on him, and frankly myself, and latched back onto his hard, heated cock. My tongue swirled in mysterious patterns along the underside, my lips tightly over his head, as I began to truly suck. The suction was so great, I felt his balls tighten further, and my hand went down to squeeze them lightly. My other hand, wrapped around behind him, as I squeezed his ass.

I smiled as I felt his hands stroke my sun heated hair. I felt his confusion, trying to decide whether to pull me closer, or push me away. I took the choice from him, sliding back down to his base, continuing to suck and heard his gutteral moan. I took his hands from my head, and placed them on either side of my face, offering silently. He took my offer, beginning to quickly fuck my mouth, I moaned, feeling him shudder at the vibration. I got hotter and hotter, knowing he was close, knowing how close we were to others. He started to buck into my mouth, his smooth gait suddenly breaking down as he neared completion. I let my teeth gently graze and catch the underside of his head, my lips closing tightly as he exploded into my mouth, groaning loudly. I swallowed greedily, drinking as shot after shot of his salty sweet cum poured into my mouth. I slid back down to his base, sucking him cleanly off, absorbing the last spasms of his orgasm, before releasing his cock, and standing up.

It was at that moment the other workmen came out. They hollered up to me in their jovial way, “How’d you like the view?”

I grinned back, winking at Mike, “oh, its spectacular!”

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2001

I am the author of this story.

I own the copyright of the story.

I am legally entitled to enter this contest.

This story has not been published prior to the contest.

I will not permit this story to be published during the
judging period.

If the story is selected as a finalist, I will permit
Calendar.atEROS to publish the story in Calendar.atEROS
through April 1st, 2003.

If the story is selected as a finalist, I will permit
Calendar.atEROS to publish the story in an ebook through
October 31st, 2003.

If the story is selected as a finalist, I will not permit
the story to be published outside of Calendar.atEROS prior
to April 1st, 2003.

I’m going insane.

The burning I feel in my gut, behind my eyes, in my groin…all crying out for releases of
different sorts.

Scream therapy no longer works. A beetle has crawled into my brain, making me feel
and do things that are not me. A stranger has taken residence in my body, forcing me,
creating the ache I feel. And it churns and curls in me, wrapping around my fragile
control, tightening and squeezing it, as a python would it prey. And I scream inside,
scream for the loss of me, wanting to get back to me…

No longer in control no longer in control…

Reaching out, grasping, crying for help. Curl up fetal style, pulling your arms tightly
around me. Make me forget, make me forget what I am right now.

Hand softly stroking my hair, and I feel my body tense, feel the anger surge from no
where, irrational, feelings not my own.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Anger curls, swelling and receding, leaving a miffed pressure
behind my eyes, begging to be unleashed. The poisoned tears squeeze out, as my body
shudders again. My brain hurts. My body aches.
I’m so tired. Tired of fighting the alien inside me. The control slips. I hate myself. Hate
myself for the weakness. Hate being a stranger in my own skin. I feel the creepy crawlies
take residence under my skin…nothing is comfortable. I feel jittery, as though I was on a
caffeine high. I can’t seem to keep still, the neural synapses snapping, begging for
release.

Sex.
I don’t care how. Hell, I don’t care who. Buy stock in Energizer, but that ain’t doing it
anymore either. Just fuck me. Make me forget I don’t know myself. Use that power in
me, make it melt away. Flip me, bounce me on the bed. Hell, invite your friends, fill me
with cock from all angles, drown me, drown me in sperm. Override this monster in me,
use this anger, make me scream, make me curse and act like one possessed. Make the
tingle in my skin feel positive, rather than the wanderings of a soon-to-be insane mind.

No! No, don’t make love to me! My feeble brain can’t use it…I said FUCK me. Slam my
body, slide me up against the wall roughly, take my body, until my brain slows down,
before exploding.

But my body doesn’t care. I get a moment, perhaps two, of clear thought, before my
body begs to shut my mind down again, and I am crawling over you, begging,
threatening…fuck me, or someone else will. I can see you’re tired, and it angers me
further. Some small part in the back of my head tries to pull me back, but I don’t care, all
I care about is the storm inside me, my orgasm much like the eye of a hurricane, and I’m
thrown about. I’ve lost all control, don’t want it, don’t need it.

Feel myself falling, no longer aware, blissfully unaware. I close my eyes to the feeling,
all that’s left…no thought, no anger, no fear. And even in the midst, my body grows
slack, relaxed, blessed with a mind emptied of all thought, no longer desperate, jittery.

Until the next time, which could be soon. But for a few moments, respite from the
pressing insanity.

“Get out.” She was prim and quiet as she met him at the door.

“Baby, what’s going on?” he stepped toward her, but she flinched away.

“Kelly.”

The word dropped like a stone in his gut. He knew she somehow found out. He dropped his hand to his side, then brought it back up to run through his thinning hair. He looked at her. Even now she appeared to be calm. He could see through it though, see how tightly she gripped the cloth of her skirt, the white of her knuckles, the tension lines around her mouth. Her back was straight, her eyes downcast. He reached out for her again, realizing his silence had just proved his guilt.

“Sweetheart…” he stopped abruptly–he didn’t know what to say.

“Get out,” she whispered again.

He looked at her beautiful long brown hair, reached to stroke it, to touch her soft skin, anything to ease the tension he created within her. He let his hand slowly drop back down when he saw her silent tears.

“I love you.” He answered just as quietly. He turned away and shut the door.

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 3
By Dryad

Dear Diary, 12/5/88
Mom called my doctor, and he wants me to go to a gynecologist.
My luck-there’s no female gynecologists!
Players is starting a Christmas game. Its called Secret Santa.
For the week of the 12-16th you give the person a present each
day-you receive one too, from a different person. After school
Friday, there’s a meeting. Each person who was in it guesses who
his/her secret santa is-if you’re wrong, you make an idiot of
yourself; but nothing happens if you are right.
So far only 3 people have signed up for it. I figure this out
to help narrow it down a little (yes, I joined into doing it!)

Dear Diary, 12/13/88
I’m sorry I’ve neglected you but, well, you know how it is.
Today has been a day of ups and downs. First, I know I failed my
English test (vocab and myth) and I got an 88 on my Grammar
test! Then in chemistry, the teacher only gave us the problem
part of the test, which was a snap. Then I got a warning in
Algebra. I didn’t even get my gift from secret santa (yesterday
I got a little thing of lip gloss-children’s lipgloss!) I’ll get
back to that later.
On the bus on the way home, Jason smacked me on the forehead
once and hide in the seat so I didn’t see him, then he’d do it
again. I always believed 3 strikes and your out, so I got up out
of my seat; He turned around and went to go in the back and I
grabbed a handful of hair and pulled back-hard. We got into a
scuffle which I got the better of. That was pretty cowardly-
hitting from the back then hitting a girl? Most ungentlemanly
like. That could be taken as a good or a bad. I now reinforced
that I’m not to be reckoned with and made Jason look like a
fool, so he’ll probably want revenge. Mom found out and said I
should have told the bus driver-I was in the second seat, and
the bus driver saw!
I told mom he started it, he did it more than once, and I got
sick of it, and I’d be damned if he was gonna hit me again! So
much for my fight, he doesn’t deserve the ink I’m writing with.
I am being mean to Sandra, my secret santa person. I created a
riddle to help her guess who I am. Monday I gave her a candy
cane wreath. Today I gave her a pin that said “of course God
made man first–As a rough draft!” She thinks women are superior
to men. I’ve gotta go now, its past my bedtime.

Dear Diary, 12/25/88
Its Christmas! I have gotten a color TV (!) a skirt from Sasha,
3 pairs of socks from Lianne, powder and a Sachet from Chan, I
got perfume, a mini piano, bubble bath from my secret Santa (who
turned out to be Lindsey) sheets and a unicorn blanket from Mr.
and Mrs. Castle, a book about winter gardening and a sachet
holder from Kim and Al. A shirt and a purse from Aunt Edith and
Uncle Maurice. Perfume and pantyhose from Grandma. The last 3
books to Anne of Green Gables from mom and dad. A scientific
calculator and a Reba tape from Katie; more socks, 3 essential
oils (strawberry, violet and rose) a Bellamy Bros. Tape (which I
already had) Peanuts, Macadamia nuts a whole set of different
colored pens. My TV is really great. It has push buttons and is
a 13″. This is just this morning, though we still have this
afternoon. Katie got a synthesizer for her big xmas present.
Actually, its pretty neat-it plays things like fireworks,
popcorn, iceblocks.

Dear Diary, 12/29/88
Its Thursday. The week is going by so fast-I am starting to
write a new book-between Rainbow Valley and Rilla of Ingleside.
I am trying something new; I write a chapter, correct it until I
feel it’s perfect, then go on to the next chapter. I got a raise
in work. I bought Reba’s new tape-sounds pretty good. Paid mom
back and put the money in the bank.-my next check I pay mom for
the tape put half in the bank, school clothes and “Further
Chronicles of Avonlea”. I got that stupid rash back (Yuck!)
I talked with Josh today at the music store. He introduced me
to his father. (saying about Aunt Laura, since his mom went to
school with her-which reminds me, I still have to send a thank
you letter…oh shoot!)
I now have $936 (or something to that extent) in the bank. Or
was it $948? I don’t know and I’m too lazy to look it up! “Rilla
of Ingleside” was soooooo extremely pathetic! Walter gets killed
in the First WW. Jem comes back with a limp, Carl (Meredith)
lost an eye. Rill at first was a spoiled brat, but then she
“adopts a war baby”. The mother had died and she became a much
better person for it. (let me tell you!) Diary, its too bad you
can’t read, this is like the best book I have ever read (and I
have read more books than anyone could imagine!) All my plants
are dying-yes, I’m a murderess-I never could keep a plant alive
in my room-except that stupid cactus which always comes back! I
really must go to bed now!

To be Continued
in
Dating Diaries, 1989

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2003

Later-
Damn! Today is rally my day. I think Chris caught my cold, but
either way he is sick, so I can’t talk to him. I hope he’ll be
okay cuz I know I hate being sick. Sunday is supposed to be
rainy so we probably can’t go to the cliffs even if he was okay.
If he goes to work tomorrow I’ll ask. The only bad thing is
that I can’t warn him that Linc knows. Life is a Bitch! If he
calls back I’ll write more, if not, well bye

Chris didn’t call, but I remembered something I wanted to write,
Mom told me something about Arlene. Arlene was married to John
it seems and they had gotten divorced. After a period of time,
john came back and Arlene took him. They’ve been living together
since (3 years) every year he leaves her though. Sounds like a
soap opera, huh? Well. Later.
Dear Diary, 10/22/88
Life sucks!
Chris didn’t come to work today. Lianne told me this poem that I
like
I may not always tell you
Exactly how I feel; but the love I have for you
Will always be real.
You mean so much to me-
More than you will know;
And I will always love you
Wherever you may go
So when your days are really rough
And you don’t know what to do
Remember these words I am saying now
I will always care for you.
I’m upset (right) I’m miserable and I’m depressed . Help! I miss
Chris, I’m sorry he’s sick, I’m bored (naw, me, bored? must have
me mixed up with someone else.) I’m miserable because I know
Chris doesn’t care for me the way I care for him, and I’m afraid
he’ll get tired of me and break up with me. I’m afraid I’ll fail
my classes, that I’ll fail at everything (including life)
It hurts me that mike doesn’t care as much as I do, I mean it
hurts a lot.
You know what diary? My life sucks.
I nearly lost my job today. Chris was sick, I’m not doing
anything this weekend. This morning I weighed myself…89 pounds!
I lost 5 lbs, gross! I weighed myself again around 4…92! I’ve
…End of the part2. To be continued..

IN>Do they win the lottery and keep having kids?

The only “lottery” Joe is interested in, is the “baby-sweepstakes” that
Lynn has once a year, when they reenact her “lesson” in rape. Other than
that, Joe doesn’t gamble, and neither do the other two.

IN>(Actually, I would not worry about the lottery if I were Joe. He has
IN>already won big.)

Amen.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_ / <_

BTW, I'm going to try to save all of these comments, and put them in the
package when I send it to you. I'll remove all references to your name,
and to you, when I do. You can then edit it again, and put it out to the
net, as a comment on the story-line. I'm not sure if it should go to
a.s.s, or a.s.s.d. Probably to a.s.s, as it does kind of complete the story.

IN>Frank,

IN>Well, the wait may not have been worth it, I’ll leave that up to
IN>you to decide, but here are my editorial comments on your wonderful
IN>”Bound for Fun” stories.

(Sound of a man releasing breath he’s held for days.) ;-}

IN>First , “BfF I”

IN>> MY GOD! For the first time, I realized just how far I had gone.
IN>> Not only had I came in the little girl, possibly (Probably)
IN>come in the little girl…
IN>…

No, came is right. Past tense of “cum” or come. As in “I came, I saw,
I knocked the girl up.” to misquote.

IN>> using the diaphragm to protect her daughter from pregnancy this
IN>> time. Oh well! At least ONCE, I had done it. Actually squirted
IN>> my seed in the little girl’s unprotected belly, that it. I
IN>that is
IN>…

I already found and corrected that one.

IN>> and Mr. Jones attend to things, OK?”
IN>> “Okay Momma. If you say so.” Dutifully, lay back on the
IN>Dutifully, she…
IN>> bed, and let me open her up, to her mother’s administrations.
IN>Did you mean ministrations?
IN>…

OOOPS! You’re right.

IN>> stimulation, of having her mother poking around in her, and me
IN>> from the thought of this incredible sexy, kinky woman actually
IN>> squirting my sperm in her own daughter womb, while making the kid
IN>daughter’s womb…

OOPS again.

IN>And then, “BfF II”

IN>> huh? Frank looked almost like a nerd, but even though some would
IN>> consider him “over the hill” he still had the best imagination of
IN>> the lot of us, when it came to ingenious torture. Especially the
IN>> kind that hurt, but didn’t damage. Fred was a guy you’d expect
IN>Is this a Hitchcock-like cameo, Mr. McCoy?
IN>…

Weeeelll. . . somewhat. Not exactly, but somewhat. The description is
close, but not completely true. Especially, I DO NOT go for torture.
even bondage, is not really my bag.

IN>> something. It wasn’t real, until that final blow. Now seeing
IN>> the knife sticking in her belly, while she reeled from the deadly
IN>> blow, it finally got home to her. This wasn’t a game, and it was
IN>How do you reel from a blow when you are tied down?
IN>…

You’re right. It was her mind that reeled, not her body.

IN>> couldn’t. Any force over about two ounces, caused the blade to
IN>> vanish into the sheath. It was an amazingly effective illusion,
IN>> especially when combined with fake blood canisters, but not worth
IN>Doesn’t the blade vanish into the handle?

Right again!. My mind slipped.

IN>I hope these comments are of some value to you,
IN>and of course, they are all from a friendly source, and not meant to be
IN>barbed, even if they seem that way when viewed on a CRT.

BARBED???!!! Heck, those are FRIENDLY comments. I even welcome barbed ones,
if they show mistakes in what I was trying to get across.

IN>I hope to hear from you soon!

I’ll try to edit in these changes, and the others we discussed sometime this
week, and send you the final disk. I’ll also send along another story that’s
been sitting for almost a year, waiting to be completed, but neither Tammy or
I seem to want to finish it, so we wrapped it up, and left it where it ended.
It ends fairly nicely, but it was originally planned to be twice as long. If
we ever do finish it, it’ll have to be “Chapter 2″.

IN>I have seen all of the material I posted (finally)

I saw your second post, just the other day.

IN>and have sent out some stuff to folks who missed part 1 of 4, etc.

Thanks.

IN>I will be posting more from your first disk soon.

Could you send me another copy of the list of files I sent you?
I forgot which, and I don’t want to duplicate.
_____
/ ‘ /
,-/-, __ __. ____ /_
(_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_

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..

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