Month: April 2024

For the Love of Art

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Doggystyle

This is purely dream based. Had it this morning. Potentially a five-part story revolving around a possible sociopath art instructor with a niche for dark arts and an African American student of his whose world slowly opens to his dark one. Mild degradation, non-consent, but eh, ehhhh, he has blue eyes and black hair; he can do whatever he wants.

———————————————–

Ever have a feeling something life changing was about to happen, but you know it’s inexorable, an inevitable fate despite your premonition?

That’s how I felt in Mr. Ryne’s class. Everyday. Except my feeling was always a bad one. I can admit, most of it was in my head, me pointing out monsters where none existed. And then there were the instances the monsters were very real, and one of them, frequent.

But today was different. I watched Mr. Ryne prowl around the class art stand in that uncanny way of his, as though he was listening and monitoring at the same time. Observing. Preying. Again, all in my head. It had to be.

None of the other students were as rigid on their wooden stools in front of their canvases as I was. I was certain none of them turned their gorgeous art teacher into a sinister abstraction, as I did. But when you’ve sat in room 116 for sixty plus days, drawing the male out into a special kind of horror, you start to see things my way.

For instance, that round art table with the white concept foam of different shapes and fruits and items all clustered together, it had black dahlias imprinted against the mahogany wood—or maybe it was black hollyhock. Either way, they were a dark flower with a million lines and designs etched and painted into the wooden table, and whenever Mr. Ryne would stalk in a circle, going on about Discobolus and the epiphany Myron was enraptured by, he would always turn at an angle that would cause his raven curls to dip low over cyan blue eyes. He would proceed to ask the class a question, but did anyone see the glance he would slide me in between him asking and the question mark at the end? The look that made me sick.

I wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t just your average meandering glance. He would look at me—and it wouldn’t be but a moment, mind you!—and everything about the happy, reliable, trusting, artistic, eccentric art teacher of Cambridge University would vanish. His lips would thin, his eyes hardening, and recently, I’ve seen his fingers twitch when he gave me the look that wrote up the apostle of evil. As though he itched to touch me. Grab me. Strangle me.

But like I said, today was different. Today was the last day I would endure my immense fear of the man. The last day of the semester.

“I know my eager ducklings are hungry for their percentage grades and the sweet taste of Christmas with their families,” he said in a joking, light tone. The kind that made the students laugh and feel at ease, especially since he always did refer to his students as his “ducklings”, instead of prodigy or children as other art instructors were prone.

He held out a stack of loosely contained papers, looking at each of them with this smile of white teeth and three-day shadow beard. “I’ve high hopes for you all. Kylie, your surrealism portfolio has caught the eye of many at the European Art Exhibition. A sure sign you followed my advice and added your own idiosyncratic touch.”

The pride in his voice made the short haired girl perk up, a flustered, wobbly smile smattered across her face as he set her semester’s grade sketch facedown on her canvas bracket.

He did this to all of them as he set their paper down in front of them, and they were all fattened on his sweet nothings each time they turned the paper over and took a look at their grades.

Then he got to me.

He stood at the side of my easel, his tall form shadowing out the left side of the room. And it was but a quick moment, two seconds of him flicking the paper then easing it into the easel’s bracket cracks. But in this quick moment, his cyan eyes peered down through the inks of dark locks, meeting mine with a glacial hatred, or it was warning, or maybe it was even the root of all evil.

All in your head, Grace.

Regardless, my stomach turned, and I stuffed my hands between my legs when I realized they were shaking. All in your head.

“Is something the matter, Miss Larson?” His voice was deep, a depth found only in dismal cultures.

I quickly shook my head, not liking how his voice entered more than my ears. It seeped into my bones, wrapping around my awareness of him. His scent, I wished it was acrid, but it was actually a mix between past delights and something cool, something as strong as a night’s allure and minty things.

When he stepped away, I realized I hadn’t been breathing, so the breath rushed out of me for so long, I almost exhausted myself, head leaning to rest on my blank canvas.

None of this mattered. Him. Me. The horror I had painted in my mind. Though this was a two semester Anadolu Yakası escort class, I had dropped from taking the second course with Mr. Ryne, instead transferring the partial credits toward Mr. Frank’s 402 art class. Mr. Frank was an old, funny man who taught with age and rote gestures. A man who didn’t wear masks and make my skin crawl.

Or your body feel strange.

I balled my hands into fists at this, then yanked up the paper of my final grades. I didn’t need anything fancy. A solid 70% would get me the B+ I needed, and that B+ would get me the 3.5 GPA requirement for Nova Scotia’s graduate program.

I flipped the paper over with a silent prayer.

Instead of a final grade, written in that hard, too-straight penmanship were the words: ‘Stay after class.’

The sickness returned.

When I looked up, blue eyes stared back. He was regarding me with the edges of his mouth turned down. His fingers jerked.

I checked the paper again, as though the words might rearrange themselves into a percentage grade. But they didn’t. They glared. They wiped their teary eyes, knowing I would have to stand before the monster and discuss who knew what. That in itself sucked.

It was no news flash that I had intense anxiety. Couple that with my poor sense of resolve, and you could easily make me into a distraught damsel, lost with the world. That was what it was like now. Distraught. Utter malaise roiling at the core of my stomach, reminding me of the breakfast I had skipped for this exact reason. This room. Classroom 116. This instructor, Mr. Ryne.

He would probably tell me I failed so horribly, he needed a true explanation for how an African American woman could have actually been accepted at his university, and pass not two but three of the prerequisite art courses and make it to the final one, his. He was probably wondering right this second, what kind of art could I produce aside from ghetto graffiti or negligent scraps of what everyone had been telling me was art only because I surpassed your average stick figure.

What could I know about contours and the difference between shading and shadowing?

I mean, I did look pathetic and like I would be the type to draw up a soul sister with thick black corns and say it was my soul I was expressing. Never mind the fact that my hair conformed to light, soft curls to my shoulder and my skin resembled honey before it did caramel. No, when you were the only student of darker pigmentation, you were just black. And that could be why he singled me out to hate me. Because it couldn’t actually be my art. My artwork was subpar at least.

Why wasn’t I reassured then?

You can’t get into Nova Scotia without this credit. You need this man’s recommendation letter.

I guess I could pull from my older art classes for a letter of recommendation, but I wanted to pretty my application up with the prestigious Dimitri Ryne, the flamboyant young artist who wowed every judge at the La Plue de L’Art competition six years in a row, until he backed out and allowed others a chance, in turn, studying for a degree so he might have ”ducklings” to follow in his footprints.

But I hadn’t known the male was so . . . odd then. In the photos, he had always spoken with an open body, a smile that I’d bet my money is what wooed the judges more than the art itself. Because it was so white and the hair was so dark and the eyes were these unique blue that pierced anything they landed on.

“No, it’s an honor to be in your class, sir,” I whispered, practicing my line, my excuse, writing up my plea before the court started.

It’s an honor, and please give me a C.

It was minutes later when the class was released. Though they were released early, daylight savings had the sun retiring just as early. Because this was the last class period, 3:50-5:45, the clock read 5:25, and everyone—no matter how much they enjoyed talking after class about nothing with the teacher—was eager to leave, start their winter break, go have social lives. Meanwhile, I packed slowly, heart in my throat, stomach clenching angrily, as if it were upset with me that it didn’t have anything to vomit up.

I sneaked a peek up through curls I really should have tied back, catching the last student to mill out. Mr. Ryne was nodding and giving a light chuckle at whatever commentary had been stated, then patted Jordan on the back. Once the student was out, he closed the door and flipped off the lights, stroking his eyes warily.

I don’t know why, but the sudden change from bright room to creepily bronze, vaguely sun-touched room, sent my mind racing, my heart pounding. Dark things happened in dark places.

All in your head, Grace.

I stuffed the last of my paint brushes in the second fold of my holed and torn backpack before slinging it over one shoulder and walking slowly toward the desk Mr. Ryne was sitting at. Then I noticed the phone in his hand, and already, Anadolu Yakası escort bayan it was to his lips.

How rude was that! I was careful not to scowl as I stared at him. His perfect lips, faint tints of pink and purple, surrounding by the shadow of a beard. He had one ear pierced with a red jewel of some sorts. I couldn’t tell if it was real or fake, but the way it caught the sunlight and refracted with a similar coruscation as the jewels of his eyes told me they didn’t get any purer than that. He was a tall man, lean and fit. Black jeans topped with a silk white long sleeve shirt fell in grace atop the sinew of his muscles. The sleeves were pushed up above the elbows, showing the tone of his forearms.

In his chair, he swiveled, eyes crinkling though whatever had been said on the phone hadn’t been funny enough to make him laugh. “Thanks, Nathan.” Pause. “Mm, no. I might be here a couple hours or so longer—alright, I will be here a couple hours after, if you want me to tack my words to the wall and etch it in stone. It really depends.”

He looked up at me when he said the last part, traces of humor swept clean from his eyes.

“Tell Donnie not to wait up then.” Whatever was said in turn drew a low chuckle from him.

I shifted my weight onto the other foot.

You’d think I’d have lit one of his paintings on fire. His lips thinned, jawline flexing as the anger brought his teeth together. “I have to go. I’ll call you around eight.”

When he put the phone down—too softly—I stared, grabbing at the sleeve of my large button up shirt.

He didn’t say anything.

I continued to stare, though in my head I paved my escape route to the bathroom, where the air wouldn’t be as tight, the toilet readily accessible. The art building was a big building, and I knew where every bathroom existed, knew the nooks and crannies of nearly all their stall locks.

Still no words.

I swallowed and glanced down at my paper from the flagrant gaze. “You wanted to see me?”

“Miss Larson,” he said smoothly, no anger present. “Have I kept you waiting too long?”

I shook my head.

“Not how it would seem. Your feet, their words did not relay the same thing your lips are.”

What was he getting at? The shifting I did with my feet? “It’s just that you were on the phone . . .”

“And?”

And? “And I just think its somewhat disrespectful. It didn’t sound urgent enough to keep someone you requested waiting.”

Not that I had anything better to do. No boyfriend to go home to, friends to hang out with. College may be the place of socialization and making extraordinary long-term friends, but somehow I had none—well, not counting Becky, an accounting student who I’m pretty sure used me to paint herself in a better light. I did have a fat guinea pig that sometimes let me hold it. Man, I was pathetic.

“Respect?” Mr. Ryne asked incredulously, rising to his feet. I couldn’t take back the words I had said, and the ball game always change when people come to their full height before you. My 5 foot measly-two didn’t work in my favor either. “Everyday you enter my classroom dressed like some degenerate from the streets.”

These were the only clothes I’d brought from America with me. All extra funds after tuition went towards class material and food. Did he want me to dress like those cliche art hippies with the beanie and scarf, camisole dangling around me? I balled my hands and stared at the place he once was.

He rounded the corners of his desk, holding a familiar green binder in his hand. “Your attention is faulty, you’re always lethargic. I ask the class the most elementary of questions and you are the only one who fails to know the answer. Apathetic. You spread your apathy within these walls of my classroom and believe you warrant respect? You present finals like this?”

He thrust the binder at me and I grabbed hold just before it hit me in the stomach, taking a step back.

Bathroom, first left, five feet, a right, last stall. Decrepit lock.

Hands shaking again, I looked down at the binder. Clean title tag, printed across: End of Semester Portfolio- Concept Sketches. Dark green borders. Light.

Though I didn’t look up, I knew he now stood in front of his desk, too close to me, his heat spoiling the clarity of my escape route. He didn’t know this was a nightmare class for me, when it was supposed to be my favorite like every other student. He didn’t know it was him that stole the answers from my stalled tongue and kept me counting sheep into the thousands at night.

I needed medicine, that was it. I needed medicine, but my insurance was still in America and I’d yet to be doctored into the Canadian system.

“You must be mistaken. Mr. Ryne, it is an honor to be in your—”

“Open the binder, Miss Larson.”

I did, and when he said nothing, I flipped from the title page to the first piece of art. A sketched pear, its shadows escort bayan captured perfectly, the gradient easy and forgiving, no erase marks, perfect arches with the B12 led. I flipped to the next one. An apple, same as before, perfect. Without fault. I looked up at the douchewad. Honestly, his perfect face made me want to hurl the binder at him and not ask for an explanation for my lack of grade.

“What do you see, Miss Larson?”

Beautiful features turned into warm honey, sunlight turning fantastic edges of a stubbled face into a bronze and golden dream. Lips made to trace the planes of bellies, brush the knolls of breasts, suckle buds until—

I blinked rapidly. “W-what?”

Oh God, what the hell was wrong with me? I was staring at his lips, and that fear that had been in my stomach all hour, something else pushed up against it, a hunger that I no longer knew what for.

Something had changed in his gaze, a feverish eclipse taking the gold from his features and revealing an animal reined and caged. “What do you see, Miss Larson,” he whispered.

I looked back at the portfolio, the thing he had been indicating all along. “An-an apple? An apple.”

He nodded, that ravenous hunger fading from his eyes and making it possible for me to semi-breathe again. “Yes. An apple. Tell me why I shouldn’t mark you with a 50%.”

I felt my face convey the horror. “What? It’s conceptual sketches. I-I did the lines perfectly. The shading. The shadows. The vantage points. I-I don’t understand. Why would I get a 50%? You said we could choose the art style of our portfolio. You said . . .” I stopped talking before spittle flew from my mouth and I regressed into a sputtering bull.

“No, Miss Larson, it is perfect. But that was not the assignment I instructed. I specifically ordered my students to come to me with any art style of their choosing, to portray the lessons taught over the last few weeks and wow me with their creativity.” He plucked the portfolio from my hands. “Does this look at all creative to you?”

After a moment of collecting myself, I drew my eyes back to the apple. “No . .?”

“Yes or a solid no? Because right now, it sounds to me like you really don’t know the difference between creativity and imitation art. This,” He motioned all around the edges of the apple. “This is not art. This is considered plagiarizing in this course. This has been done a million times before, and by extension, it falls short of my clear instructions.” He dropped the portfolio on his desk. There was genuine anger in his eyes, fury even, as though I had failed him on a very personal level.

I had stayed up for hours drawing and redrawing those damn fruit. At one point, I even had to come up with the lines myself since the display room had been closed to students after 7.pm. That had taken me just as long as the other students, who I guess were just fantastic baby Picassos.

I clutched my sleeve tighter, understanding what he was saying but not. My five fingers had made those curved lines, those straight lines, all in between those lines.

He let out a frustrated sigh, closing the binder and dropping it back onto his desk. “So, do you want to fail my class?”

At this, I looked up at him. “A 50% shouldn’t fail me. At most it should leave me with a 73%.” He was just being a douchewad, that’s it. Any other student, he would have waved a hand at, found a strong point in their art and bumped the fifty to seventy percent. So why did he have it out for me?

I hardly said anything to him to make him hold such an intense and very apparent abhorrence.

“No, it shouldn’t fail you—but I will.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Do you want to test this? Final grades for this class aren’t entered into the system until the 21st, and it’s only the 9th.”

I opened my mouth, but words failed me. If I failed this class, I would be forced to retake it again next semester. He was the only one who taught Universal Arts 401.

“Speak up,” he demanded. “Do you or do you not want to test this?”

“I just don’t understand, is all.”

“I only know so many ways to spell out a lack of creativity—or is it effort, Miss Larson? Have you devalued my lessons and taken the slackers road? Don’t look at the floor, look at me when I speak.”

Holy shit, my eyes were beginning to burn when I managed to lift them, but there was no way I would cry over a stupid man and his stupid perception of what was acceptable art forms. I sucked in a breath and found it rugged, jumpy, like any moment I would burst into a crying fit before the man.

Not trusting my voice, I shook my head.

“And do you want to fail this class?”

Another shake of negation.

He searched my eyes for a second, the disgust still present in his. “Then go stand at the demonstration easel. Leave your bag at your chair.”

He turned toward his desk the same time I turned to go to the the place he directed me. With his back to my actions, I wiped my eyes quickly, taking in a silent sniffle and a little paste to the cracks in my composure.

Was he going to make me prove I could do my own concept sketches? I knew how to make concept sketches, but I found you couldn’t go wrong when you didn’t stray from what was taught. Apparently I was wrong.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

For the Love of Art

Posted on

Ben Esra telefonda seni bo�altmam� ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Amateur

This is purely dream based. Had it this morning. Potentially a five-part story revolving around a possible sociopath art instructor with a niche for dark arts and an African American student of his whose world slowly opens to his dark one. Mild degradation, non-consent, but eh, ehhhh, he has blue eyes and black hair; he can do whatever he wants.

———————————————–

Ever have a feeling something life changing was about to happen, but you know it’s inexorable, an inevitable fate despite your premonition?

That’s how I felt in Mr. Ryne’s class. Everyday. Except my feeling was always a bad one. I can admit, most of it was in my head, me pointing out monsters where none existed. And then there were the instances the monsters were very real, and one of them, frequent.

But today was different. I watched Mr. Ryne prowl around the class art stand in that uncanny way of his, as though he was listening and monitoring at the same time. Observing. Preying. Again, all in my head. It had to be.

None of the other students were as rigid on their wooden stools in front of their canvases as I was. I was certain none of them turned their gorgeous art teacher into a sinister abstraction, as I did. But when you’ve sat in room 116 for sixty plus days, drawing the male out into a special kind of horror, you start to see things my way.

For instance, that round art table with the white concept foam of different shapes and fruits and items all clustered together, it had black dahlias imprinted against the mahogany wood—or maybe it was black hollyhock. Either way, they were a dark flower with a million lines and designs etched and painted into the wooden table, and whenever Mr. Ryne would stalk in a circle, going on about Discobolus and the epiphany Myron was enraptured by, he would always turn at an angle that would cause his raven curls to dip low over cyan blue eyes. He would proceed to ask the class a question, but did anyone see the glance he would slide me in between him asking and the question mark at the end? The look that made me sick.

I wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t just your average meandering glance. He would look at me—and it wouldn’t be but a moment, mind you!—and everything about the happy, reliable, trusting, artistic, eccentric art teacher of Cambridge University would vanish. His lips would thin, his eyes hardening, and recently, I’ve seen his fingers twitch when he gave me the look that wrote up the apostle of evil. As though he itched to touch me. Grab me. Strangle me.

But like I said, today was different. Today was the last day I would endure my immense fear of the man. The last day of the semester.

“I know my eager ducklings are hungry for their percentage grades and the sweet taste of Christmas with their families,” he said in a joking, light tone. The kind that made the students laugh and feel at ease, especially since he always did refer to his students as his “ducklings”, instead of prodigy or children as other art instructors were prone.

He held out a stack of loosely contained papers, looking at each of them with this smile of white teeth and three-day shadow beard. “I’ve high hopes for you all. Kylie, your surrealism portfolio has caught the eye of many at the European Art Exhibition. A sure sign you followed my advice and added your own idiosyncratic touch.”

The pride in his voice made the short haired girl perk up, a flustered, wobbly smile smattered across her face as he set her semester’s grade sketch facedown on her canvas bracket.

He did this to all of them as he set their paper down in front of them, and they were all fattened on his sweet nothings each time they turned the paper over and took a look at their grades.

Then he got to me.

He stood at the side of my easel, his tall form shadowing out the left side of the room. And it was but a quick moment, two seconds of him flicking the paper then easing it into the easel’s bracket cracks. But in this quick moment, his cyan eyes peered down through the inks of dark locks, meeting mine with a glacial hatred, or it was warning, or maybe it was even the root of all evil.

All in your head, Grace.

Regardless, my stomach turned, and I stuffed my hands between my legs when I realized they were shaking. All in your head.

“Is something the matter, Miss Larson?” His voice was deep, a depth found only in dismal cultures.

I quickly shook my head, not liking how his voice entered more than my ears. It seeped into my bones, wrapping around my awareness of him. His scent, I wished it was acrid, but it was actually a mix between past delights and something cool, something as strong as a night’s allure and minty things.

When he stepped away, I realized I hadn’t been breathing, so the breath rushed out of me for so long, I almost exhausted myself, head leaning to rest on my blank canvas.

None of this mattered. Him. Me. The horror I had painted in my mind. Though this was a two semester Anadolu Yakası escort class, I had dropped from taking the second course with Mr. Ryne, instead transferring the partial credits toward Mr. Frank’s 402 art class. Mr. Frank was an old, funny man who taught with age and rote gestures. A man who didn’t wear masks and make my skin crawl.

Or your body feel strange.

I balled my hands into fists at this, then yanked up the paper of my final grades. I didn’t need anything fancy. A solid 70% would get me the B+ I needed, and that B+ would get me the 3.5 GPA requirement for Nova Scotia’s graduate program.

I flipped the paper over with a silent prayer.

Instead of a final grade, written in that hard, too-straight penmanship were the words: ‘Stay after class.’

The sickness returned.

When I looked up, blue eyes stared back. He was regarding me with the edges of his mouth turned down. His fingers jerked.

I checked the paper again, as though the words might rearrange themselves into a percentage grade. But they didn’t. They glared. They wiped their teary eyes, knowing I would have to stand before the monster and discuss who knew what. That in itself sucked.

It was no news flash that I had intense anxiety. Couple that with my poor sense of resolve, and you could easily make me into a distraught damsel, lost with the world. That was what it was like now. Distraught. Utter malaise roiling at the core of my stomach, reminding me of the breakfast I had skipped for this exact reason. This room. Classroom 116. This instructor, Mr. Ryne.

He would probably tell me I failed so horribly, he needed a true explanation for how an African American woman could have actually been accepted at his university, and pass not two but three of the prerequisite art courses and make it to the final one, his. He was probably wondering right this second, what kind of art could I produce aside from ghetto graffiti or negligent scraps of what everyone had been telling me was art only because I surpassed your average stick figure.

What could I know about contours and the difference between shading and shadowing?

I mean, I did look pathetic and like I would be the type to draw up a soul sister with thick black corns and say it was my soul I was expressing. Never mind the fact that my hair conformed to light, soft curls to my shoulder and my skin resembled honey before it did caramel. No, when you were the only student of darker pigmentation, you were just black. And that could be why he singled me out to hate me. Because it couldn’t actually be my art. My artwork was subpar at least.

Why wasn’t I reassured then?

You can’t get into Nova Scotia without this credit. You need this man’s recommendation letter.

I guess I could pull from my older art classes for a letter of recommendation, but I wanted to pretty my application up with the prestigious Dimitri Ryne, the flamboyant young artist who wowed every judge at the La Plue de L’Art competition six years in a row, until he backed out and allowed others a chance, in turn, studying for a degree so he might have ”ducklings” to follow in his footprints.

But I hadn’t known the male was so . . . odd then. In the photos, he had always spoken with an open body, a smile that I’d bet my money is what wooed the judges more than the art itself. Because it was so white and the hair was so dark and the eyes were these unique blue that pierced anything they landed on.

“No, it’s an honor to be in your class, sir,” I whispered, practicing my line, my excuse, writing up my plea before the court started.

It’s an honor, and please give me a C.

It was minutes later when the class was released. Though they were released early, daylight savings had the sun retiring just as early. Because this was the last class period, 3:50-5:45, the clock read 5:25, and everyone—no matter how much they enjoyed talking after class about nothing with the teacher—was eager to leave, start their winter break, go have social lives. Meanwhile, I packed slowly, heart in my throat, stomach clenching angrily, as if it were upset with me that it didn’t have anything to vomit up.

I sneaked a peek up through curls I really should have tied back, catching the last student to mill out. Mr. Ryne was nodding and giving a light chuckle at whatever commentary had been stated, then patted Jordan on the back. Once the student was out, he closed the door and flipped off the lights, stroking his eyes warily.

I don’t know why, but the sudden change from bright room to creepily bronze, vaguely sun-touched room, sent my mind racing, my heart pounding. Dark things happened in dark places.

All in your head, Grace.

I stuffed the last of my paint brushes in the second fold of my holed and torn backpack before slinging it over one shoulder and walking slowly toward the desk Mr. Ryne was sitting at. Then I noticed the phone in his hand, and already, Anadolu Yakası escort bayan it was to his lips.

How rude was that! I was careful not to scowl as I stared at him. His perfect lips, faint tints of pink and purple, surrounding by the shadow of a beard. He had one ear pierced with a red jewel of some sorts. I couldn’t tell if it was real or fake, but the way it caught the sunlight and refracted with a similar coruscation as the jewels of his eyes told me they didn’t get any purer than that. He was a tall man, lean and fit. Black jeans topped with a silk white long sleeve shirt fell in grace atop the sinew of his muscles. The sleeves were pushed up above the elbows, showing the tone of his forearms.

In his chair, he swiveled, eyes crinkling though whatever had been said on the phone hadn’t been funny enough to make him laugh. “Thanks, Nathan.” Pause. “Mm, no. I might be here a couple hours or so longer—alright, I will be here a couple hours after, if you want me to tack my words to the wall and etch it in stone. It really depends.”

He looked up at me when he said the last part, traces of humor swept clean from his eyes.

“Tell Donnie not to wait up then.” Whatever was said in turn drew a low chuckle from him.

I shifted my weight onto the other foot.

You’d think I’d have lit one of his paintings on fire. His lips thinned, jawline flexing as the anger brought his teeth together. “I have to go. I’ll call you around eight.”

When he put the phone down—too softly—I stared, grabbing at the sleeve of my large button up shirt.

He didn’t say anything.

I continued to stare, though in my head I paved my escape route to the bathroom, where the air wouldn’t be as tight, the toilet readily accessible. The art building was a big building, and I knew where every bathroom existed, knew the nooks and crannies of nearly all their stall locks.

Still no words.

I swallowed and glanced down at my paper from the flagrant gaze. “You wanted to see me?”

“Miss Larson,” he said smoothly, no anger present. “Have I kept you waiting too long?”

I shook my head.

“Not how it would seem. Your feet, their words did not relay the same thing your lips are.”

What was he getting at? The shifting I did with my feet? “It’s just that you were on the phone . . .”

“And?”

And? “And I just think its somewhat disrespectful. It didn’t sound urgent enough to keep someone you requested waiting.”

Not that I had anything better to do. No boyfriend to go home to, friends to hang out with. College may be the place of socialization and making extraordinary long-term friends, but somehow I had none—well, not counting Becky, an accounting student who I’m pretty sure used me to paint herself in a better light. I did have a fat guinea pig that sometimes let me hold it. Man, I was pathetic.

“Respect?” Mr. Ryne asked incredulously, rising to his feet. I couldn’t take back the words I had said, and the ball game always change when people come to their full height before you. My 5 foot measly-two didn’t work in my favor either. “Everyday you enter my classroom dressed like some degenerate from the streets.”

These were the only clothes I’d brought from America with me. All extra funds after tuition went towards class material and food. Did he want me to dress like those cliche art hippies with the beanie and scarf, camisole dangling around me? I balled my hands and stared at the place he once was.

He rounded the corners of his desk, holding a familiar green binder in his hand. “Your attention is faulty, you’re always lethargic. I ask the class the most elementary of questions and you are the only one who fails to know the answer. Apathetic. You spread your apathy within these walls of my classroom and believe you warrant respect? You present finals like this?”

He thrust the binder at me and I grabbed hold just before it hit me in the stomach, taking a step back.

Bathroom, first left, five feet, a right, last stall. Decrepit lock.

Hands shaking again, I looked down at the binder. Clean title tag, printed across: End of Semester Portfolio- Concept Sketches. Dark green borders. Light.

Though I didn’t look up, I knew he now stood in front of his desk, too close to me, his heat spoiling the clarity of my escape route. He didn’t know this was a nightmare class for me, when it was supposed to be my favorite like every other student. He didn’t know it was him that stole the answers from my stalled tongue and kept me counting sheep into the thousands at night.

I needed medicine, that was it. I needed medicine, but my insurance was still in America and I’d yet to be doctored into the Canadian system.

“You must be mistaken. Mr. Ryne, it is an honor to be in your—”

“Open the binder, Miss Larson.”

I did, and when he said nothing, I flipped from the title page to the first piece of art. A sketched pear, its shadows escort bayan captured perfectly, the gradient easy and forgiving, no erase marks, perfect arches with the B12 led. I flipped to the next one. An apple, same as before, perfect. Without fault. I looked up at the douchewad. Honestly, his perfect face made me want to hurl the binder at him and not ask for an explanation for my lack of grade.

“What do you see, Miss Larson?”

Beautiful features turned into warm honey, sunlight turning fantastic edges of a stubbled face into a bronze and golden dream. Lips made to trace the planes of bellies, brush the knolls of breasts, suckle buds until—

I blinked rapidly. “W-what?”

Oh God, what the hell was wrong with me? I was staring at his lips, and that fear that had been in my stomach all hour, something else pushed up against it, a hunger that I no longer knew what for.

Something had changed in his gaze, a feverish eclipse taking the gold from his features and revealing an animal reined and caged. “What do you see, Miss Larson,” he whispered.

I looked back at the portfolio, the thing he had been indicating all along. “An-an apple? An apple.”

He nodded, that ravenous hunger fading from his eyes and making it possible for me to semi-breathe again. “Yes. An apple. Tell me why I shouldn’t mark you with a 50%.”

I felt my face convey the horror. “What? It’s conceptual sketches. I-I did the lines perfectly. The shading. The shadows. The vantage points. I-I don’t understand. Why would I get a 50%? You said we could choose the art style of our portfolio. You said . . .” I stopped talking before spittle flew from my mouth and I regressed into a sputtering bull.

“No, Miss Larson, it is perfect. But that was not the assignment I instructed. I specifically ordered my students to come to me with any art style of their choosing, to portray the lessons taught over the last few weeks and wow me with their creativity.” He plucked the portfolio from my hands. “Does this look at all creative to you?”

After a moment of collecting myself, I drew my eyes back to the apple. “No . .?”

“Yes or a solid no? Because right now, it sounds to me like you really don’t know the difference between creativity and imitation art. This,” He motioned all around the edges of the apple. “This is not art. This is considered plagiarizing in this course. This has been done a million times before, and by extension, it falls short of my clear instructions.” He dropped the portfolio on his desk. There was genuine anger in his eyes, fury even, as though I had failed him on a very personal level.

I had stayed up for hours drawing and redrawing those damn fruit. At one point, I even had to come up with the lines myself since the display room had been closed to students after 7.pm. That had taken me just as long as the other students, who I guess were just fantastic baby Picassos.

I clutched my sleeve tighter, understanding what he was saying but not. My five fingers had made those curved lines, those straight lines, all in between those lines.

He let out a frustrated sigh, closing the binder and dropping it back onto his desk. “So, do you want to fail my class?”

At this, I looked up at him. “A 50% shouldn’t fail me. At most it should leave me with a 73%.” He was just being a douchewad, that’s it. Any other student, he would have waved a hand at, found a strong point in their art and bumped the fifty to seventy percent. So why did he have it out for me?

I hardly said anything to him to make him hold such an intense and very apparent abhorrence.

“No, it shouldn’t fail you—but I will.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Do you want to test this? Final grades for this class aren’t entered into the system until the 21st, and it’s only the 9th.”

I opened my mouth, but words failed me. If I failed this class, I would be forced to retake it again next semester. He was the only one who taught Universal Arts 401.

“Speak up,” he demanded. “Do you or do you not want to test this?”

“I just don’t understand, is all.”

“I only know so many ways to spell out a lack of creativity—or is it effort, Miss Larson? Have you devalued my lessons and taken the slackers road? Don’t look at the floor, look at me when I speak.”

Holy shit, my eyes were beginning to burn when I managed to lift them, but there was no way I would cry over a stupid man and his stupid perception of what was acceptable art forms. I sucked in a breath and found it rugged, jumpy, like any moment I would burst into a crying fit before the man.

Not trusting my voice, I shook my head.

“And do you want to fail this class?”

Another shake of negation.

He searched my eyes for a second, the disgust still present in his. “Then go stand at the demonstration easel. Leave your bag at your chair.”

He turned toward his desk the same time I turned to go to the the place he directed me. With his back to my actions, I wiped my eyes quickly, taking in a silent sniffle and a little paste to the cracks in my composure.

Was he going to make me prove I could do my own concept sketches? I knew how to make concept sketches, but I found you couldn’t go wrong when you didn’t stray from what was taught. Apparently I was wrong.

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First Black Threesome

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Group Sex

After the fling that Sandy had with Marty in the storage room, I told her to ask him if he would be interested in doing a threesome. I hope I could watch his big black cock slide into my white wife’s pussy.

A few days later Sandy came home from work with a smile on her face. She told me that Marty seemed very interested in having us for a threesome. He told her that he had been to a few parties that ended up in basically an orgy. Sandy was fondling my cock as she told me that Marty would be at our house this weekend. She told me that Marty had rubbed her tits in the break room as the two of them made plans.

The rest of the week went by in a blur as we were both eager to see a repeat performance of the storage room fun. Saturday evening at 7pm, Marty rang our doorbell. He had a bottle of wine in his hand and a smile on his face. As we at dinner on our back deck, you could feel the sexual tension building between us.

We chatted about innocent things for a while, but we all knew what we really wanted to talk about. I told Marty that we were open to just about anything. I also explained that he needed to understand that no meant no and that above all he needed to be discreet. Yes we liked to have our fun, but we did not advertise our actions.

As the air grew cooler we went inside to the den. Marty sat on the sofa while Sandy and I sat on the loveseat. I broke the ice by walking over to the TV and pressing play on the DVD player. The screen came to life with a porno of a white woman with two men, one black one white. Sandy shifted over to the sofa next to Marty while I took a seat in the recliner.

From where I sat, urfa escort I could see Marty’s arm laid around Sandy and his hand caress her shoulder. Sandy had placed her hand on Marty’s thigh and was lightly massaging, her hand was slowly creeping towards his cock. My own cock was growing at the sight of the three people on the TV screen and the action that was developing right in front of me.

Just as the black man on the movie slid his cock into the woman, I heard Marty groan. I looked over at my wife and saw that she was rubbing his cock through his slacks. Since he did not wear underwear, you could see his hard cock straining to get out. The more she rubber him, the harder my cock got. Sandy looked over at me, and I simply nodded. Sandy slipped down the floor.

Sandy unbuttoned his slacks, unzipped them, and tugged them down. Marty lifted his hips to make things easier. His massive cock sprang free, I was impressed. It slapped against his stomach and touched his belly button.

Sandy stroked his cock. The contrast of his coal black cock and her slim white fingers was amazing. She looked over at me then up to Marty and leaned over to lick his cock like a lollipop. When she reached the top she swirled around his head and slid him into her throat. I almost lost it when her nose to touched his pubic hair. Sandy continued sucking Mart’s cock for a few minutes with slow and steady strokes. Marty groaned that he was going to cum, Sandy just looked up at him with his cock in her mouth. She slowly released his cock and simply stated, “I told you before, that the next time you came, I was going balıkesir escort to drink it from the source.”

With her final word he shoved his cock into her throat and shot a huge load of cum into her waiting mouth. She swallowed a few times and then sucked hard to get the last of his juice out. She stood up, walked over to me, and kissed me, sharing his juice with me. Our tongues mated swirling the cum around in our mouths.

We decided to take a break. I fixed us another drink. We sat around for a few minutes making small talk. Sandy placed her drink on an end table, stood up, and removed her clothes. Marty and I looked at each other and did the same. Marty and Sandy kissed and in no time his cock was rising to the occasion.

I stood by Sandy and she leaned over to kiss me. I saw Marty’s hands were on Sandy’s tits, pulling on her nipples. The contrast between the skin colors was awesome. I took Sandy’s hand and led her to the middle to the room. I lay down and she climbed on top. I dove into her pussy and she attacked my cock.

Marty saw her dripping wet pussy and drove his cock in. His cock forced more juice to come out and into my mouth. When he hit bottom, Sandy let out a moan that I hoped the neighbors didn’t hear.

I focused my attention on her clit, and she sucked harder on my cock. She used one hand to rub across my balls. I thank she was using all of her considerable talents to make us all cum at the same time.

Marty slid his black cock out of my wife’s pussy. He was coated in her cum. Some of the cum dripped off his cock and onto my face. He slid trabzon escort his cock all the way back in and the pulled all the way out again. Each time he did this, his balls would rub against my face and nose. I could smell the wonderful aroma of sex. It was almost overpowering.

After about the third time of Marty pulling his cock out and having his balls rub across my face, I started licking the cum off his balls. Marty groaned. Sandy asked looked back to see what was going on and saw me licking the guy that was fucking her pussy was getting his balls licked by me.

Watching that black cock slide in and out my wife’s pussy was getting me so hot I was about to loose my load. When Marty pulled his cock out again, I grabbed it and slid it all the way in my mouth. Sandy and Marty both groaned out loud. I took his dick out of my mouth and lined it up with Sandy’s open pussy.

Marty started to pick up the pace. I knew that he was getting close. Marty pulled out one more time and I knew what he wanted, so I sucked his cock a couple of times and then put it back into her pussy. Marty started slamming his cock into Sandy. She let out a scream and came all his cock and my mouth. I licked the cream from both her pussy and his cock. Marty growled that he was cumming and I saw his balls tighten up and I watched his cock pump and load into her pussy. When he pulled his softening cock out of her pussy, I could see the cum filling her up. I opened my mouth wide and stuck my tongue deep into her pussy. I swallowed the first mouthful, but saved the rest.

Sandy released my cock from her mouth, swung her legs around, and planted her soaked cunt over my cock. She rode me like a mad woman. She leaned over and we shared Marty’s cum. Our tongues battled to see which could get more. Sandy slammed her pussy onto me and we both came hard. To our surprise, Marty dove between her legs and ate my cum from her pussy. Sandy cam again as he sucked the cum her pussy.

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I’m Now Called Dee Ch. 08

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Amateur

I’d now been on the waiting list, for my surgery, for almost two years and now had a date in less than a month. I was lucky because living in the U.K., our overstretched and understaffed health service, cared enough to offer people the chance to live as the gender they preferred. I know this wasn’t possible in other countries, the costs being prohibitive for some in my situation.

Dad still wouldn’t see me or talk to me, but mum was now proud of her ‘daughter’. She loved to go shopping with her two girls, as she referred to me and Kate. If we were trying on clothes, we would wander into each other’s cubicles to ask opinions, so mum often saw me in my lingerie.

One day she said, “you look beautiful in your lingerie. I’ve never had anything like it, it would be wasted on your father.”

That was first and only time I had any clue about mum’s life. Did I detect a hint of disappointment with the intimate side of her life?

Kate’s family were brilliant, even my once bratty sister-in-law Ellie. Now almost 22, with a steady boyfriend. When she was 18 she had burst into the bathroom to pee and caught me, wearing lingerie and adjusting my false breasts. I’d seen parts of her that no brother-in-law should see.

We all knew she had progressed from the ‘they can finger not fuck’ and ‘I’ll suck not fuck’ stage. When she and her boyfriend stayed over at our house we could hear them making love in the spare room, and the evidence left on the sheets confirmed. The sounds of them making love, turned both Kate and me on. The whole house would soon filled with the sounds of love making. Ellie’s mum was also aware of her love making.

“After all,” she said, “I’m the one that washes her knickers.”

We all wondered why they hadn’t yet moved in together. Kate’s family openness about sex never ceased to amaze me, my family had never been like that.

I fantasised about her shaved pussy. One of my favourite stories on Literotica, was the turning of an innocent church girl into a cunt worshipper. I imagined a post op me, introducing Ellie to the joys of sex with a woman, I didn’t think she’d ever tried it.

Another story I liked, was where the main character was a transvestite with an abusive boyfriend who is cheating on him/her with another woman. I wasn’t that sort of girl and couldn’t understand why s/he hadn’t kicked him into touch. Nobody whatever their sexual preferences should be treated like that.

Sometimes in my head I was the mistress and she was my pet. I would make her go down gaziantep escort on me and slowly lick, nibble, tongue fuck and lap up my juices till I eventually came. If she was a good pet I would reward her with a finger fuck. Other times the idea of her straddling my head and lowering herself onto my face, so I could explore every nook and cranny of her hot steamy sex, appealed. I would nibble her lips, run my tongue from her ass to her clit and back, suck her clit and my favourite bit would be my nose buried in her wet slit and her grinding herself on it. I wanted to feel her cum on my face, while she fisted me.

Of course I never shared this fantasy with Kate or anybody else, nor would I ever initiate such action.

The day finally came for my op, Kate and my mum accompanied me to the clinic. By that time I’d read all I could and watched videos repeatedly. I knew every cut and snip off by heart, but no amount of reading prepared me for how much pain I would be in after the op. The nurses were wonderful, giving me painkillers, instructing me how to care for my post op genitals, with sitz baths, dilators and what to expect during the healing process.

During my convalesce, I read a lot, and not just Literotica. I found an article about the first recorded instance of a transgender woman breastfeeding because her pregnant partner didn’t want to. I thought, wouldn’t that be fantastic if we decided to have a child, and we shared the breastfeeding. That had me thinking, I searched the internet, could a transgender woman have a foetus implanted and give birth? Surprisingly I’d not been the first to wonder and I wasn’t so far off the mark. There’d been some recent uterus transplants for women, who for whatever reason had damaged uteruses, resulting in them being able to give live births. This also gave hope that transgender women could have a uterus transplant, but that might not happen for some time yet.

As my healing progressed Kate and Ellie persuaded me that I needed some skin tight jeans, I hadn’t worn trousers, except pyjama trousers, for over three years now. When I tried some on, I had to agree they looked amazing. I ended up buying two pairs, a couple of blouses and a pair of high heeled ankle boots to complete the look.

With the scaring almost gone, I was once again fantasising about revenge sex. I also wanted to know how it felt as a woman to have sex with a man. What would a hard cock in my cunt feel like? What would it feel like to konya escort have him cum inside me. I loved Kate and didn’t want to hurt her, but I had to know how my new body worked. Kate told me she understood.

“After all you let me live my fantasy with Cynthia, I have to let you experiment,” she said.

Ellie stayed over with us after a party one Friday. The next morning it was just us three girls lounging about in our pyjamas.

Ellie turning to me said “can I see your op?”

I was gobsmacked. On the one hand I was proud of it, and did want people to know, but she was my sister-in-law, and I’d had fantasies about her.

“We’re all family, girls together,” said Kate, “it’s OK.”

Desperately trying to suppress my fantasies, at the same time thinking, I saw yours that day you burst into the bathroom. I took off my pyjama bottoms and opened my legs. Her hand reached out to examine me. What happened next shocked both me and Kate. Until she touched me I hadn’t realised just how wet I was, her fingers parted my lips one of them slipping inside me and her thumb caressed my hard clit. I let out a little moan.

“ELLIE!” cried Kate.

She pulled her finger out, sniffed it and licked it.

“If you weren’t my sister-in-law, I’d be tempted to go down on you.”

I grabbed my pyjama bottoms and scurried upstairs, shutting myself in the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet sobbing, my emotions at war in my head, yet needing to finish what Ellie had started. Stuffing the corner of a towel in my mouth, I masturbated furiously.

Meanwhile downstairs.

“Oh Kate I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I didn’t expect her to look…so…so…so womanly. When I touched her and felt her arousal…I don’t know what came over me. Forgive me, I apologise to you both.”

“Ellie I forgive you, but you need to speak with Dee. She is the one person I forbid you to have sex with. What I ask of you is to treat her with care. She is still getting used to her new body and she doesn’t seem to know how to control herself yet. …Is the reason you haven’t moved in with Mike yet, because you want to be free for lesbian sex?”

“No, I’m just not yet sure that Mike is the one. I’ve never been with another woman. I’ve often heard the two of you making love, when I’ve stayed over. When we were younger and mum and dad went out leaving you and a girlfriend to babysit me, I would spy on the two of you. kayseri escort I didn’t understand what you were doing at the time, I just thought you were playing a fun game. It wasn’t till I was older that I understood.”

“Hmm, I did suspect you of spying on us, but was enjoying myself too much to care about what you thought. We also hear you and Mike making love when you stay over, and I have to admit, it turns us on.”

“Haha… you pervs. No seriously, don’t you miss a good fuck? A cock in your cunt?”

“Oh Ell…no I don’t miss a cock in my cunt, as you so eloquently put it. A dildo works well, it doesn’t go limp like a man does when he’s cum and I’m not left unsatisfied, with cum dribbling out of me.”

“I agree up to a certain point, but I like to feel living flesh inside me and I like the feel of him shooting his load in me. Maybe you didn’t find the right man.”

“I did, Dave wasn’t the first male I bedded, but he was the only one who seemed to understand me the way my girlfriends had. The others, once they had cum, seemed to forget I needed my own orgasm. That’s why when s/he came out with her fantasy about being lesbian, I didn’t discourage her. I realised I had also been living a lie. Apart from the fact she will never have a period or experience pregnancy, Dee is all woman.”

“I can see advantages in never having a period, and some women don’t want pregnancy,” said Ellie.

“Yes, but Dee will never have that choice.”

When they came upstairs, Kate found me slumped in front of the vanity mirror in my underwear. I’d started my makeup but couldn’t concentrate. She sat next to me and put her arms round me. I turned and buried my head in her chest, blubbing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I kept repeating.

She hugged me, rocked me and stroked my hair.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, you didn’t do anything. … Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed, ready to face the world.”

While she helped me get ready, she told me about her conversation with Ellie.

There was a knock on our bedroom door and a timid voice asked if she could come in.

“Come in,” said Kate and turning to me, “I think Ellie has something to say to you.”

Ellie came and gave me a hug, saying, “I’m sorry Dee, I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to hit on you.”

“I’m not sure I could have resisted if you had,” I said.

“You need to try some cock, girl, …and I need to find myself a woman,” she replied.

“Yes, we’re going clubbing tonight. It’s time you tried a penis in you,” said Kate.

“Haha… what she means is it’s time you got a good fuck. Have fun, and call me next week, to tell me all about it,” said Ellie on her way out.

I couldn’t believe the pair of them, they were giving me permission to do what I wanted, and that was to get my girl cunt filled!

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The New Bank Security Ch. 3

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Anal

Kevin is totally helpless to an Amazon Fembot of unknown identity. Yet he’d wouldn’t want to be anywhere else and she knows it …

Peek a boo …

Attempting to clear my head, I gazed down at the floor and became lost in thought for what must have been 30 seconds. Upon looking up, I let out a small gasp … The phantom had surreptitiously slid her scarf down to her neck, during my lapse, exposing her lower face.

The phantom’s heart shaped lips were smiling at me in an enigmatic way. Her glossy dark brown lips contrasted with her lightly tanned skin, making them more dramatic, even mesmerizing. She had high cheek bones and a firm chin line that would have made any Hollywood plastic surgeon proud. Her nose was of medium size and straight, being slightly upturned at the end. It had a softening effect in contrast to her dramatic bone structure, complementing and adding to her beauty. The hood and opaque glasses still masked her eyes and hair.

My captor seemed to throw me a pouty air-kiss as a smooth black hand worked the car’s directional signal lever. Her booted feet stepped on the gas and brake pedals in unison, which tightly controlled our deceleration rate, as we exited the highway. The exit road had no lights and was surrounded by woods. The car’s brights switched on automatically. We continued on this road no other cars passed us. At this point, my captor turned to me and spoke!!! …

ARE YOU ENJOYING THE RIDE? I HOPE YOU DON’T FIND YOUR ACCOMMODATIONS TOO UNCOMFORTABLE.

–I’m really not sure what this is all about. (Lying though my teeth)

I’M SORRY KEVIN, BUT YOU’RE NOT BEING TOTALLY HONEST. DON’T EVER TAKE ME FOR A FOOL! YES, I KNOW YOUR NAME AND YOU ARE NOT THE FOURTH NATIONAL BANK CEO.

My arm wrests became unbearably tight against my waist as the phantom adjusted the pressure using the small joystick on the console. After about a minute, her glove eased the joystick back to a moderately uncomfortable setting and returned to the steering wheel.

FOR YOUR INFORMATION, THE BIOFEEDBACK SYSTEM CONNECTED TO YOUR PRIVATES ALSO FUNCTIONS AS A LIE DETECTOR. I CAN DETECT A LIE BY A SPIKE IN YOUR PULSE RATE.

–Can you tell me what annoys you so I can avoid your wrath?

ACTUALLY, MY RULES ARE PURPOSEFULLY INCONSISTANT. I’M VERY UNPREDICTABLE. THAT PUTS YOU AT A DISADVANTAGE, DOESN’T IT?

— Yes.

In a nervous voice, not knowing what the outcome will be –Mmam, I’m dying of curiosity, will you show me the rest of your face? Would you share your beauty with me?

The phantom reached over and started to lightly stroke the hair on my thigh with her long black glove.

HOW SWEET AND SHY! FLATTERY MAY GET YOU SOMEWHERE.

She slowly unzippered her coat leaving her hood on as both stilleto heeled boots crushed down on the brake pedal in unison. The car came to a halt. Next the sunglasses were removed and she eased out of her coat and placed it in the back seat. Her high heeled boot reapplied pressure to the gas and we continued on our journey.

What I saw made my c— point true north (like a compass) …

She had straight blond hair in different tones ending a bit past her shoulders. Each tinted lock of hair seemed to end gracefully at a different length, layered on her back and shoulders. Her bangs were expertly squared off to complement her facial features. A tasteful silk black dress hugged her curvaceous figure. Her breasts were full, well formed and filled out the dress. The sleeves of her dress ended above the elbow covering the tops of her long black leather gloves. The dress ended several inches above the knee, yet there were still no signs of boot tops. She kept her pastel colored scarf around her neck, which added color to the black dress and accesories. As I observed this image of perfection, I was also being watched through large almond shaped grey-blue eyes that had a very knowing gaze. I also noticed that the eyes were not human… Like Moriko, the phantom’s facial expressions did not always change smoothly. On the phantom, this was a bit more subtle. She stared at me intently and seemed to be reading this thought. Her voice did not give away that she was robotic.

–Thank you for showing yourself. You are truly beautiful!

THANK YOU. I’VE BEEN KNOWN TO HAVE THAT EFFECT. SINCE YOUR ESCAPE IS QUITE HOPELESS AND I’VE BROUGHT YOU TO THIS REMOTE AREA, I THOUGHT I COULD GRANT YOUR WISH AND SHOW MYSELF. I’M mersin escort AFRAID THOUGH, SINCE YOU’VE SEEN ME, YOUR FULL NEUTRALIZATION HAS TO START EARLIER.

Neutralization?

–Can you tell me what your plans are for me?

ACTUALLY, I’M ABOUT TO ASSESS THAT DURING OUR CONVERSATION.

–What may I call you?

MISTRESS DIA OR DIA IF YOU’RE FEELING LUCKY.

–What does Dia stand for?

ACTUALLY, THAT’S A SENSITIVE SUBJECT, I’M SURE YOU’LL FIND OUT SOON ENOUGH.

Dia offered her gloved hand to me to kiss and just as quickly removed it.

Feelings of hopelessness were seriously deflating my male ego. I couldn’t break out of my bonds. Even if I tried, certainly the robot could physically overpower me or easily serve up some new punisment with a flick of her gloved fingers. I tried not to feel bad about what I couldn’t control, not being superman, but that was impossible. What the hell was the story behind this robot? Who and how would someone create something like this? I could see a high level design spec read, “control and titilate in every possible way”. It was also scary thinking that if the adroid was totally autonomous, what else was she capable of doing to me?

This strange situation was causing me to have conflicting emotions. Being kidnapped caused me to develop affectionate feelings for this mechanical mistress, due to feelings of dependency that I hadn’t felt since childhood (plus other obvious reasons). Another “being” was , totally controlling me, yet in a bizarre way seeing to my needs. I felt like I was 2 years old. The fact that she was a robot and a fetish fantasy made it all stranger. I was also becoming confused, I didn’t know if I wanted to run away, sit and gawk at her or lose it completely and beg her to let me sit on her lap while she caressed me with her black leather hands. (Any typical male aggression was of course totally ridiculous and dangerous.)

Dia gave me a deceptively sweet smile as her left black boot positioned itself over the wicked device enabler pedal. Her right glove let go of the wheel and grasped a nearly hidden black and silver valve under the dash. Her kidskinned hand barely turned the valve to the right as her left boot stepped all of the way down on the device enabler pedal. The sound of a fan started up and I instantly became light headed. I thought that I might pass out, but didn’t.

–Wha’s dis (sluring my words)

MR JONES, THIS IS THE LAST PHASE OF YOUR NEUTRALIZATION. MY LEATHER GLOVE WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY HIGH HEELED BOOT, BOTH OF WHICH YOU ARE SO OBVIOUSLY FOND OF, ARE CONTROLLING THE MIX OF AIR AND GAS IN THE CAR MAKING YOU QUITE DOCILE. THE VAPORIZED SODIUM PENTATHAL ADDITIVE WILL ALSO CAUSE YOU TO SUPPLY TRUTHFUL ANSWERS DURING OUR CONVERSATION. YOUR RESPIRATION IS BEING MONITORED BY THE BIOFEEDBACK SYSTEM. BEING THAT I AM AN IMPROVEMENT OVER A HUMAN, I AM NOT AFFECTED BY THE GAS. YOU ARE NOW FULLY NEUTRALIZED AND TOTALLY UNDER MY CONTROL. YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT I HAVE REDUNDANT NEURAL NETWORKS AND WILL NOT INVOLUNTARILY NEED ANY DOWN TIME LIKE MORIKO.

As the ex-phantom spoke, her glove glided down my thigh and wrapped itself firmly around my scrotal sack. Dia had a slightly low resonant voice that had a soft midwest twang. She accented and hissed the “Z” in “neutralization” in quite a sultry fashion. She would tighten her grip to emphasize certain words.

SLAVE, THE REASON THAT YOU’RE HERE, AS YOU WELL KNOW , IS THAT YOU HAVE ACQUIRED KNOWLEDGE OF MORIKO AND NOW ME. I REALIZE THAT YOU ARE A VICTIM , BEING IN THE WRONG PLACE AT THE WRONG TIME, BUT NOW THAT CAN’T BE ERASED. CAN IT?

Dia stopped speaking for a moment and licked her dark leather index finger and thumb. She slid off my feedback ring, and rubbed my cockhead between her thumb and index finger. This time to emphasize her meaning, she would stroke me very lightly and slowly, taking several seconds to stroke from the c— tip to the base.

KEVIN, DID YOU SPEAK TO ANYONE ABOUT YOUR ENCOUNTER WITH MORIKO?

–No (truthfully)

YOU’RE EXTREMELY LUCKY THAT YOU DIDN’T SHARE THIS INFORMATION. YOUR BIOFEEDBACK READING SHOWS THAT YOU ARE BEING TRUTHFUL.

THE FACT THAT YOU KNOW ABOUT MORIKO AND I MEANS THAT YOU MUST REMAIN AS OUR “PERMANENT GUEST”. IF YOU ARE ABLE TO SERVE US SATISFACTORALLY, AFTER AN INITIATION PERIOD, WE CAN AFFORD YOU MUCH PLEASURE TEMPERED BY PROPER kocaeli escort DISCIPLINE. I DON’T EVEN WANT TO SAY WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU DISAPPOINTED US IN YOUR TRAINING…

AS I’M SURE YOU KNOW, THIS WHOLE OUTING HAS BEEN SETUP TO PUT YOU AT A DISADVANTAGE IN EVERY WAY, MAKING YOUR CAPTURE A CERTAINTY. NOT ONLY CAN I OVERPOWER YOU PHYSICALLY, BUT MY ANTI-PERSONNEL SYSTEM MAKES YOUR ESCAPE IMPOSSIBLE. WE ALSO KNOW ALOT ABOUT YOU FROM MORIKO’S SAMPLING.I AM WELL AWARE OF YOUR FASCINATION WITH MY LEATHER ACCESSORIES. THE BIOFEEDBACK READINGS SHOWS THAT YOU TRULY ENJOY WATCHING MY BOOTS AND GLOVES CONTROL YOU REMOTELY THROUGH THE CAR’S ANTI-PERSONNEL SYSTEM, EVEN THOUGH MY ACTIONS ARE SNEAKY AND SOMETIMES CRUEL. YOU ACTUALLY CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF IT. CAN YOU?

–That is true, mistress.

IN TIME, YOU PROBABLY WOULD NOT LEAVE, EVEN IF I OFFERED TO RELEASE YOU. I ASSUME YOU WILL SERVE ME WILLINGLY?

The gas had a strange affect on me. I felt like I was outside of my body, yet I felt an inner calm.

–Mistress Dia, I tink I would have to ajus to the wole of servin you, but it would be bery excitin.

VERY WELL SLAVE. YOU PASS THE TEST. CONSIDER “US” YOUR PERMANANT “BABY SITTERS”.

Dia’s hand moved off of my swollen c— and replaced the biofeedback c— ring leaving me high but not dry. She then looked me in the eye and spoke …

IT’S PAST YOUR BED TIME LITTLE BOY!

What I remembered before everything went black was Dia blowing a kiss off of her glove to me. She then smoothed her silk dress and grasped the gas valve again, turning it slowly with coordined pressure on the “enabler” pedal from her black stilleto heeled boot, increasing the gas flow. Unconsiousness came quickly…

Part 7: THE CONTEST?

I awoke with a start in another strange place, which was getting to be a habit these days. A hand was holding a smelling salt packet under my nose. I was naked and slumped on a white tiled floor in a large bare room.

As the hand withdrew, I noticed a familiar pair of black boots, one of which was impatiently tapping on the floor. Dia had removed her silk dress and gloves and was standing over me. She wore only black panties and her shapely breasts were nearly bursting through a black bra, which was a little small for her. Her body was designed to have a sensual athletic appeal. Her stomach was flat and showed the individual abdominal muscles. Her arms and shoulders were developed, yet not muscle bound and were quite toned. Her hands were very smooth and attractive in proportion to her above average stature. Dia’s boots rose to within a few inches of her crotch.

GET UP SLAVE!

As I stood up I saw that Dia had over 5 inches on me. I suppose that barefoot we were about the same height.

KEVIN, I PROPOSE A CONTEST TO YOU. PLEASE NOTICE THAT ACROSS THE ROOM BY THE OPEN DOOR ARE THE DAY CLOTHES THAT I TOOK FROM YOUR APARTMENT. ALSO NOTICE THAT THE KEYS TO THE CADALLAC ARE PLACED NEXT TO YOUR CLOTHES IN A PADDED ENVELOPE. IF YOU GET PAST ME AND REACH THE DOOR BEFORE I DO, I WILL PERSUE YOU NO FURTHER. YOU MAY DRIVE THE CAR BACK TO NYC AND MAIL THE SASE ENVELOPE BACK INDICATING WHERE THE CAR IS.

PLEASE PROCEED!

Thinking quickly, seeing a sucker bet — Please mistress, I have no desire to escape from you!

KEVIN, I AM ORDERING YOU TO TAKE PART IN THIS CONTEST, OTHERWISE YOUR INSUBORDINATION WILL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED!

–Ok.

MAYBE YOU’LL EVEN GET A CHANCE TO PAY ME BACK FOR MY CRUELTY BY PUNISHING ME! YOU ARE PERMITTED TO “FIGHT BACK” TO REACH THE DOOR.

If she were human, with her physique, she could most probably kick my ass. As a robot, forget it! My chubby body was no match against steel and servomotors. I’ll try to evade her for a while …

Dia kept her distance, but always tracked me, as she stayed directly in line between me and the door. I noticed that as time went on, she stepped closer and closer to me, nearly backing me up to the rear wall. This together with the klick of her bootheels and her silence were driving me crazy. Finally, nearly losing it, I ran nearly to her and in an attempt to do a quick pivot around her, slid on my butt. Without looking back, I put all of my weight on my right palm and tried to push myself into a forward lunge. My left foot then hit the ground attaining balance. Before I could break into a run, a stiletto bootheel pinned samsun escort down my left foot across the toes just before I transferred all of my weight to my right foot. I felt like I sprained several toes and then crashed to the ground on my back. Before I could move, Dia trapped my wrist under the arch of her right boot. She then prodded me in the ribs with her spur. The points of the spur applied so lightly was an effective form of tickling, which also caused me to get very aroused.

SLAVE, I’M SO HAPPY THAT YOU’RE BEING PROPERLY ACQUAINTED WITH MY BOOTS. THEY CAN CONTROL YOU IN SO MANY WAYS BESIDES OPERATING THE CAR’S ANTIPERSONNEL DEVICE PEDALS. I’LL BE VERY DISAPPOINTED IF YOU DON’T TRY TO DEFEND YOURSELF. DON’T HOLD BACK.

Using all of the speed and strength I could muster, I recoiled and tried to pry her leather clad leg off of my wrist using my feet. She just shifted her weight, which dodged most of my blow and bent my wrist into a more uncomfortable position causing excruciating pain. My legs were deftly swept aside and Dia stepped lightly on my scrotum with the tip of her other pointy boot. The boot tip slid forward until her sole covered the length of my c— and balls.

UP UNTIL NOW, YOU’VE BEEN A SPECTATOR TO MY PEDAL PUMPING KEVIN. HOW DOES IT FEEL FOR YOU TO BE MY PEDAL, YOU LITTLE “CHUNKY MONKEY”? I’M SURE YOU’VE FANTASIZED ABOUT THIS, HAVEN’T YOU?

I really should have gone on that diet, this is nearly embarrasing.

–Yes.

Dia’s boot applied pressure to my c— and balls in a suprisingly gingerly fashion. Thank god for small favors! She then removed her foot from my c— and wrist.

TRY TO GET AWAY FROM ME SLAVE!

As I would try to roll away or get up, a long black boot would either trap my motion, give me a light kick in the ribs or lightly step on my c— and balls, done to prod me back to the center of the room. This went on for a minute or so. To be honest, I didn’t want this part of the game to end.

I HOPE YOU LIKE MY VERSION OF SOCCER KEVIN.

–Truly.

The next thing that Dia did would have blown my mind even if I spent the last ten years in the World Wrestling Federation (which is staged wrestling in the US). She grabbed me by the ankles and hoisted me into the air upside down. In wrestling, this was called a pile driver. I prayed to god that she didn’t crash my head on the floor. After my ankles were raised up to her full height, she lifted me up further by placing my thighs on her shoulders and supported my weight by holding my waist.

IT’S TIME TO SHOW MY BOOTS RESPECT. PLEASE SHOW YOUR TONGUE LOVE.

I did the best I could to lick the tops of her boots while hanging upside down. I really had no idea where this was going until she began to lick my inner thighs and balls, making me unbelievably hot. Next she took my c— in her mouth and lightly teased the tip before taking in my whole shaft. She took me straight to orgasm and then gently laid me down. She then sat down on the floor and urged me to sit on her lap. Her short white nails played a sensual symphony on my nipples and thighs as she also rubbed her booted legs against mine. She also teased me with the proximity of her large breasts. Her sensual touch and the smell of her soft leather was enchanting!

Shortly after, Dia stood up and went to a closet where she took out the black dress and gloves that she was wearing during our “drive”. She first took her time pulling on each glove up to the shoulder and smoothing it. Next she slipped the dress on and admired herself while combing her hair in the mirror on the inside of the closet. For my benefit, she did a slow pirouette showing her magnificence at every angle.

Dia then took me by the hand as we walked across the room to another door.

KEVIN, I HAVE MUCH WORK TO DO AND I CAN’T SPEND ANY MORE TIME WITH YOU RIGHT NOW. ACTUALLY I THINK THAT SOMEONE FROM THE BANK HAS SOME UNFINISHED BUSINESS TO SETTLE WITH YOU.

Could this be Moriko? I wasn’t certain. I didn’t like the word “settle”.

Robo-dom Dia opened a door showing a steep, yet stopped escalator going down into a poorly lit passage. It must go down several stories, the bottom landing was not visible. She firmly, yet gently, guided me onto the steps and then gave me a kiss on the lips, letting her black leather hands linger on my face just long to intoxicate me with their heavenly scent. I heard her mumble something very low about level 3 interogation. Abruptly, quick as a flash, a long black glove pulled on a lever, which jump started the escalator causing me to grab on to keep from falling backwards. As I looked back the same glove flicked a switch to turn off all of the lights and then I heard a deadbolt turn as I continued down into the darkness …

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I Is for Irene

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Feet

***
A series of stories with transgender themes which I hope will be of interest to those who like women, or would like to be a woman. Which includes me!
***

It was all down to ‘Jennie’, really. If she hadn’t reacted so clearly and positively when I’d suggested we should meet, things could have – indeed would have – turned out oh-do differently.

I’d actually been in touch with her for several months by that time, chatting and sending emails and pictures and so on. You know the sort of thing. Oh, and doing role-plays too in a chat-room, sometimes me being the woman, sometimes her. Occasionally with both of us dressed up, wanking off in a pseudo-lesbian role-play where I virtually fondled her legs, slid my fingers up her virtual thigh while we virtually kissed and fondled each other’s virtual bodies. The one I liked best was when I played the housewife and when Jennie, or rather John, was some sort of salesman visiting and being attracted by my bulging voluptuous figure and my feminine charms, and ….

Anyway, it was Jennie who suggested the meeting one day when we were ‘chatting’ online. We’d vaguely tried to arrange it two or three times before, always hitting the two-wife problem. When her wife, John’s that is, was away from home, Carol wasn’t and indeed needed my attention, for decorating or entertaining or going to the cinema or whatever. And when Carol was maybe at her Mum’s for a night or two, Mary wasn’t. John’s wife, that is, if that’s her real name. I think it probably is.

Then when I’d mentioned something about Carol being away for three nights in a couple of weeks time, we realised that for two of those nights her absence coincided with Mary’s college course meetings for a whole week. Two nights. Overlapping. Friday and Saturday. We could meet.

Right at that time, what with work and Carol’s preparations and me helping her I didn’t have much chance to contact Jennie or sort things out until the night before. We met up in ‘our’ chat-room and made the final arrangements. She had met problems trying to visit me, basically she – or rather he – had to meet a client the next day and really didn’t want to risk anything feminine-related occurring. So we decided, for this first meeting, that he would come to my house in male mode, and just meet ‘Irene’ rather than Ben. We’d both agreed, several limes in our chats, that meeting either M-F or F-M would be most fun.

**-Irene**- What shall I call you, then?

Since Jennie would be in male mode, I’d obviously need to use a male name for her. Him, I mean. I’d clearly picked a femme name a bit similar to my male name, I just didn’t know about Jennie. I’d always called her Jennie. Was he really John? James? Or Jeffrey? Even Joshua?

**-Jennie**- Call me John. OK?

Maybe that was his real name, but it didn’t matter, did it? John was fine by me.

**-Jennie**- And how are we going to do this? How about some role-play, IRL this time?

**-Irene**- OK then, what do you suggest?

**-Jennie**- How about I be the salesman? OK?

**-Irene**- OK, sounds good to me.

**-Jennie**- Got to go. W.

Jennie’s name disappeared from the chat-room. W. That meant wife. So Mary had interrupted him, or more likely he’d heard her on the stairs and off-clicked the chat-room straight away, maximising something else, a letter to his mother or something.

OK, so we’re both trannies and both rather devious. After all what was I about to do? Entertain a man in my own home, someone Carol didn’t know about, and someone she’d be very upset about if she knew. Specially if she knew what I’d be wearing to entertain him.

I closed down myself, then sat there for a few minutes thinking. The role-play, in real life, the thought did excite me. It’s one thing doing it on-line if you don’t use video. You can lie about all sorts of stuff or rather just pretend. To be wearing something sexy like fishnet stockings, or even go on about how big your boobs are and how you’re feeling your vagina and so on. But to do it in real life, the rules would have to be a bit different. If I was to be the housewife I was going to go for the sexy housewife, short skirt and high heels and so on, and flirt massively with the ‘salesman’. I shivered at the thought.

Because something sexual was almost bound to happen. I’d always thought of myself as ‘bi-curious’, that’s the phrase everyone used, not exactly gay but …. I’d never actually done anything about it. I never needed to, in fact I’d never even been out of the front door in femme mode. Just minced around and posed and so on in front of the mirror and so on. OK so I wouldn’t need to go out since – John – was coming to visit me. But I was determined to do as good a job as I could.

And when the due day arrived I did just that. I pulled out all the stops, as it were. You know the sort of thing, ultra-short and indecently tight skirt, very high heels, heavy make-up, all the features of the caricature tart. At last I was ready. I did one final inspection in the mirror, turning and urfa escort twisting to inspect my hourglass figure as best I could in the big mirror in the hall. I noticed the clock. Ten to. I shivered. I was nervous, of course I was.

I crept into the kitchen and took the bottle of white wine I’d opened out of the fridge. I poured myself a tall glass and sat at the kitchen table, legs crossed in typical tranny fashion, sipping it, trying to breathe calmly. Was I really going through with this? It was too late now, ‘John’ would be here in a few minutes if he got the directions I’d given him right. It was nearly five-to on the clock, I took another deep gulp of the wine.

The doorbell rang. He was early. I very quickly looked out of the kitchen window, carefully. Yes, a red car parked just outside the gate. He was here. I didn’t have time to check in the mirror. I opened the front door.

John was stood there. He opened his mouth to say something, then really saw who he was visiting. He ‘froze’. Not surprising really given the circumstances. I had to jerk myself into action. OK, so I was the housewife.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Er – yes. I’m John Green. Er – I notice you have full double-glazing here, I was just wondering – have you a conservatory already? We’re doing a special offer in the area.”

Conservatory. Nice touch, John!

“Er – no, we haven’t. Do come in. Mr Green.”

I moved to one side to allow John to pass, then shut the door behind him, making sure the little lock engaged. Not that anyone was going to come in, of course, but I needed to be sure.

“Come on through into the lounge. I’m Irene. Irene Jacques.”

I held out a hand, John shook it gently. I had to smile when I saw John’s large male hand take my own, with its long, long red nails, it really had been great doing them.

“Please sit down” I said, offering him the sofa. “Can I get you a drink? I’ve just opened a bottle of wine, or would you prefer beer, Mr Green.”

“Er – no, wine will be fine thanks. And it’s John.”

Of course it was. I smiled at him, maybe a little conspiratorially as I handed him the wine.

“So, John, come and have a look out of the lounge window. What about this conservatory, then?”

We stood side by side looking out at the rain. I thought John would go into some sort of spiel about letting light in or something like that but he didn’t. He just stood in silence, apparently staring out of the window. After a minute or so of this rather strained silence I sat down facing him and finished my glass. I crossed my legs – like you do. And he almost choked on his wine.

“Look, Mrs Jacques. It is ‘Mrs’, is it?”

I showed him my left hand, with my imitation wedding ring on the third finger. I decided the silence had to be broken. I reached out a hand towards him.

“But my husband isn’t going to be back for a couple of days. So, John, come and sit here, beside me. You seem ever-so quiet.”

“It’s just – Irene – you’re not quite what I expected.”

“In what way?” I asked quietly.

“Well, on your own at home, Irene, and looking so attractive. I mean …”

Afterwards, a couple of days later, I got to wondering just how things might have turned out differently. He seemed to be about to embark on quite a long speech about what he expected and so on. But I interrupted him. Like any tranny in that situation I wanted him to tell me just what he did think, in what way he found me attractive.

I mean, at that moment, I myself had no doubt at all what I looked like. Of course I’d have preferred to look convincing rather than attractive. Many trannies want both, just the first would have done me. Just so long as convincing didn’t have to include ugly, of course.

“Attractive? What do you mean?”

John changed tack. Maybe the wine was getting to him, just a little.

“Well you really do have a very nice figure – that tight top is very revealing.”

I realised I’d not really explained my obsession with breasts to John in our online chats. I’d been so thrilled to find such a well-shaped pair of breast-forms in a flesh colour which so closely matched my own on-line, and also to find on a web-site somewhere – I think it was ‘Terri’s TV Times.’ I’d found some very clear and simple instructions on how to use just a small amount of make-up to blend in the edges of the falsies.

But the wine was getting to me too.

“Do you like them? My breasts, I mean, do you think the cleavage looks good?”

By which I meant ‘convincing’. Again, later, I realised he had interpreted ‘good’ differently.

“Oh, Irene, they look totally gorgeous.”

And his hand moved. Just a little, towards them. I didn’t realise then why he was hesitating. It had been clear to me from our online chats that this afternoon may include some sort of sexual involvement. I really did expect him at that stage to reach out and cup them, maybe to see just how realistic my boobs felt. But he didn’t, balıkesir escort maybe he was shy.

I realised again I was going to have to make the running. I re-crossed my legs, allowing my red-tipped fingers to push the hem of my short skirt up just a little to provocatively reveal just a little of my stocking tops. I didn’t say anything yet, but John just gulped. I decided to take the role-play forward, to maybe tease him a little in the way I had done when we’d acted out a scene very like this online, when he’d ‘visited’ me as a horny, lonely housewife.

“And my legs, John, do they appeal to you too?”

“Oh my, yes they do. Certainly.”

“Tell me John, when you’ve been out selling your double-glazing, do you often come across women alone in the house, dressed in tight tops and mini-skirts?”

“Well, not usually….”

I cut him short again. He really was being rather slow, this wasn’t just shyness. Still I continued our theme. I reached across and took his hand and placed it on my thigh, well above my exposed knee.

“And do the women you meet ever make advances at you? After all, you’re a very handsome man, John.”

“Really, Irene. I don’t think ….. Oh hell!”

And he kissed me. Basically he snapped. He’d clearly been wanting to go on, to carry on the role-play or so I thought. But suddenly he’d had enough. Basic animal instincts took over. And as soon as my lips touched his, at the moment I felt his hand slide up my skirt, I snapped too.

“Oh my God, John, my darling, I want you. So much, you really must – ooooooooh!”

His hand had slid round the back and was clutching my arse as his lips worked on mine.

‘OK so this may well have be the first time he’s done this with a guy’, I thought, ‘but he’s up for it now, whatever was slowing him down earlier.’

And within seconds, there on the sofa in the living room we were at it. On the way to my first taste of sex with a guy, I knew I was going to enjoy myself. OK, so he was about to cheat on Mary, and I was going to be unfaithful to Carol. But for the moment neither of those seemed to matter. Right then I was playing at being a woman, and a horny woman at that, eager to get screwed by any salesman or visitor who I could get onto my sofa.

I realised it would be better not to mention either Carol or Mary at that point. Maybe he was having similar thoughts but I didn’t want to spoil the illusion we’d created. I was the horny housewife, so …

I slid my hand down to the waistband of his trousers and undid the zip, sliding my hand in to grab his now-fully-erect cock.

“John, please, I want to – well, you know.”

Clearly John wanted to too. Within seconds he’d undone the small buttons down the front of my blouse, and was fumbling round at the back to undo my bra. As it fell off he cupped my right breast, oh-so gently at first and then more firmly.

“Oh Jeez, Irene…”

I was amazed, John was doing so well. I grinned at him, OK so if he could be the randy salesman I could be the willing wanton wife. I smiled a knowing smile at him.

“Well, John – er – since my husband isn’t going to be back for such a long time …… “

I left it to him to carry on with the role-play, maybe to say something like ‘No, I can’t, I’ll lose my job’ or ‘but Irene, I’m a married man’ or something like that. But as I slid my hand down again to stroke, for the first time, a man’s engorged prick – he just groaned as he buried his head in my neck. Maybe he didn’t want to carry on the role-play any further. Maybe he just wanted to fuck.

But as he got more and more into it, as I nearly ripped his shirt off and his hands groped higher and higher up my thighs, he got back into it.

“Are you sure, I mean, if he comes back, I could get the – OH!”

I’d just gone the final step, just finished undressing him, just leaned down towards the bulging crown in front of me. He had huge, heavy balls and a long, thick cock. I stared. This was a tranny dream – it was such a gorgeous penis. I reached out my red-nailed hand and started slowly sliding my hand up and down. His erection shot up to an even more gorgeous-looking eight inches. My own cock was rock hard in my panties but I knew it had to stay there for the moment. I didn’t want anything to spoil what was turning into an amazing IRL role-play. I don’t think I have ever been that hard before in my life. I have to admit I was enjoying my girly role even more than I’d expected.

Some pre-cum had begun to leak out of his piss hole and was trailing down the head of his dick. I gave him one last look, and lowered myself down to John’s fat, beautiful cock. I kissed the head and licked off the pre-cum, then in one mighty swoop I took the whole head of his cock into my mouth. He tasted salty, hard, soft, warm, and smooth in my mouth. It was a wonderful feeling.

“Oh! Oh! Wow! Mrs Jacques, that is so ….”

He was good. He was giving a brilliant, Oscar-deserving performance!

I trabzon escort lowered myself further down, feeling every thick vein that lined the sides of that gorgeous throbbing cock until I could feel it poking the back of my throat. I raised back up, sucking hard, tracing my tongue all the way along the underside of his shaft. Once back at the top, I began to tease his cockhead with my tongue, trying to get into his piss slit. I lowered myself back down .Mr Smith’s moaning was loud and getting louder. I teased and grabbed his balls while I sucked away. I then pulled off of his cock and licked it, tracing the veins from the base to the head and back down again.

“Oh god, Mrs Jacques! You are so fucking good!” moaned Mr Smith – John – loudly.

I backed off briefly to breathe, then wrapped my glossy red lips around his penis again and took him as deep into my mouth as I could. After a minute or so I again pulled away slowly, squeezing his cock with my lips as I did so.

“Oh wow, you are amazing! You are so much better my wife! Oh. Mmmm.”

John was clearly having fun – I started moaning and groaning as I sucked his cock up and down. I began to slide more quickly, then I reached my other hand between my legs and began stroking my own cock, rapped in the black silky pocket within my thong. Needless to say I swelled up somewhat, but I managed to ease my own erection into a more comfortable position.

Once that was settled, I returned to John’s organ. I kissed it up and down with small, soft caresses. Then I moved down to his balls, sucking on each one, slowly rolling it around in my mouth. He really enjoyed this and started squirming.

“Oh my God, Irene. You love my cock, don’t you?” he said.

‘Irene.’ At last we were on first name terms!

I managed to lift my head and raised my heavily-made-up eyes to look my companion in the face. With a mouth full of his I stared at him and smiled.

“Mmmm,” was all I managed to say.

“Oh my God, Irene. That is so good. You really are one hell of a cock-sucker.”

John seemed to be produced more pre-cum than previously. I really didn’t properly know what that meant, this was such new territory for me. For ‘Irene’. For the ‘woman’ sucking John’s thick shaft. I pulled my smooth glossy lips back up to the crown of his cock and allowed it to slip out of my mouth. John was clearly disappointed, and let me know in no uncertain term.

“Oh no, you bitch! Don’t stop now, I’m so close.”

I leaned down again and stuck my tongue in his piss slit, working my tongue all the way around it, then I moved to the underside of his fat, blood-engorged crown and licked it hard. With only his cock-head in my mouth I carried on teasing him while my red-taloned fingers rubbed the base of his cock.

I managed to look up again. John was staring at me.

“Oh my god! This is fucking amazing. Oh! Oh! I’m really close, baby. I NEED TO CUM!!”

He climaxed. His entire body jerked, as I felt my own cock pulsing within its silky prison. John’s body arched upward and his cock squirted an enormous spurt of hot sticky semen into my throat.

In that situation, not surprisingly, he just couldn’t stay quiet.

“Oh hell, baby. Yes. YES. YES!!”

The first wave hit the back of my throat. Followed by a second, which seemed larger. And a third, larger still. I swallowed as the cum gushed out, determined to do myself justice as a quality cock-sucker, and cum swallower. John just kept on cumming until, after almost a minute of continuous spurting, his shaft began to wilt in my mouth.

I swallowed the last of the semen, then eased myself up to a sitting position. I turned to look at the man who had, in some sense, become my lover. John looked at me..

“Mrs Jacques – Irene! That was the best blowjob I have ever had. You are amazing!”

I managed to stand up, and to ease my skirt down to cover my thong and my stocking tops. I realised – I hadn’t finished.

“Hang on a minute, baby,” I said, picking up my handbag and turning to head for the downstairs cloakroom just off the hall. I’m pretty sure it took me less than a minute. I slid off my thong, and dropped the condom into the loo. I grabbed my bag, took out my lipstick, and did the best job I could under the circumstances in refreshing that part of my make-up. I re-tucked my blouse into my skirt, turned, and walked somewhat unsteadily on my high heels back to the living room. John was there, still not dressed, he was teasing his cock.

I sat down again, almost next to him, anticipating that I might be horizontal soon. I reached over and began to stroke his cock with my red nails. It began to react.

“Don’t worry, my love, you’ll soon be back to full strength. So, you want to fuck me?”

It was at that point that I realised something was about to go wrong with the role-play. When John saw what was under my skirt, now thong-less, we couldn’t pretend any more that I was a real housewife. Hell, by then it wouldn’t matter. The role-play had been to make us both feel a bit more comfortable in the initial stages of what was, after all, the first gay meeting for the both of us. And by the time we were both naked or nearly naked – for some reason I desperately wanted to keep my stockings and heels on – the role-play really wouldn’t be relevant any more. My excitement was mounting.

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I Adore Crossdressers Pt. 02

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Bdsm

Day One – Part Two

I put on a video and I moved a big mirror so she could see herself and watch the TV at the same time. I sat back in the chair and watched. She was a little slow but as she watched those big dicks she got hot. She was playing with that nice cock, stroking it, spitting on her hand and stroking some more. She pulls her panties down and really starts working her cock. It’s pretty. 6 inches. So hard it’s pointing straight up. Everything shaved and glistening with her spit.

I hand her a dildo I brought. It’s big. BIG. She stares at it. Looks at me. She says “I can’t” but before she says another word I stop her. I tell her show me what a little slut you are. You don’t have to take it all the way – ok. She nods. It’s a lie. She’s going to ride that fucking thing all the way.

I change the video to a sissy riding a big dildo :). She lubes it up, sticks it to the floor, and starts trying to get it in. She moaning. My dick is getting hard now. She’s looking from the TV to the mirror to me and back again. I move my chair closer. I’m talking to her. You are such a pretty little sissy. Look at that pretty little cock. You love dick don’t you. “Yes yes yes”. You want a big dick don’t you? “Yes yes yes.” Little sissy’s ALWAYS want dick.

She’s working on it. I admit it’s pretty big around. I move my dick very close and say baby you can’t have this until you get it in. She kept trying. It took several minutes of working it then she got loud – “Uhhhh, oh god ohhhhhhh oh shit oh god yes oh god oh yes ohhhhhhhh.” That big fucking dildo just slipped in her pretty little ass. And my dick got fully hard!

She’s got this huge dildo just starting in her ass. She’s squatting. Legs spread. Dick pointing at me. Leaning back against the bed. Panties around one ankle. And goddamn it’s perfect!! My dick is engorged now. I grab it at the base and show it to her. Can you see what your show is doing to me? Her head nods yes. Good, keep going just a little more ok?

She kept riding. Now I’m stroking my dick 2 feet from her face. She’s not looking at the TV anymore. She’s entranced by this swollen 8 inch dick that she can’t have. Goddamn she moaning, grunting, and crying. She’s gets about half way down on that dildo. I can tell it’s really getting her. She’s staring at me and telling me it too fucking big. But she is still riding it.

I stand up. I put my dick within 6 inches mardin escort of her mouth. She immediately leaned forward. I stopped her inches away. She looks up at me and I tell her I’m going to rub this dick on your face. Your lips. I’m going to stroke it. And you don’t get to touch it, lick it, or suck it until you take that entire dick. She looks up and moaned “I can’t.” Yes you can. And more important you want to. Say it, say you want that huge dick all the way in. She shook her head. I said then we are done. She literally yelled “NO NO NO!” Damn I loved that!

So I started stroking my dick again. Literally inches from her face. She was meseramized. Staring at it. Wanting it. Then I would stop. And look at how far she’d taken that big dildo. Damn she was trying. And she’s moaning. Grunting. Every time she goes down “Uhhhhh Ohhh fuck Uhhhhhh Oh god FUCK.”

The whole time I’m telling her you have to take that entire big dick. Every fucking inch. You don’t get my dick until you are all the way down on the balls. As far as you can go! She’s pushing herself. I’m rubbing my dick on her lips. On her face. Damn I want to fuck her. But not yet. She opens her mouth. My dick slides in. I look at her. She’s fucking lost. No idea what the is happening. She just wants fucking dick. I back away. She looks at me. I bend down, kiss her, our lips crushing, my tongue down her throat. She’s moaning and groaning. I back away, look at her, and tell her – ALL THE WAY. Watch yourself in the mirror while I record this. She went crazy. Riding that dildo. She’s moaning loud ” Uhhhhh Ohhh fuck Uhhhhhh Oh god FUCK Fucking Dick Fucking Dick.” She’s gorgeous. Leaning back, legs spread and hard dick flopping up and down while she went for balls in. And she did it. This pretty little cunt took a 9 inch dildo all the way down to the balls. She’s grunting and groaning but she looks up at me and says “LOOOOK!!” She had stopped and that damn thing was buried all the fucking way. It was sexy as hell! I get done on my knees look her in the eyes, tell her she’s a good little sissy, and kiss her. Hard. Deep. She’s moaning like hell.

Now I really fuck with her. I tell her to sit. With that dildo buried all the way in her ass. My pretty little girl sat. Immediately. Then moaned hard. That dildo was all the way in her ass and her weight made it go even deeper. She’s looking van escort at me and all she can get out is “uuuhhhhhh uuuhhhhh uh uh uh.”

Fuck me I’m ready now. I have an adorable crossdresser with a nine inch dildo deep in her ass waiting to suck my dick. I move the camera and mirror so it has a good view. I move toward her, my cock swollen and purple. She opens her mouth. I’m gentle at first. But that won’t last.

She’s good. She’s has a hand wrapped around the base and is hungry. Taking my cock about 4 or 5 inches in. I make sure she’s looking at me as she sucks it. Damn she’s cute with that dick in her mouth. Fucking turns me on to no end. I tell her to stroke it. Spit on it and stroke it. She’s staring at that dick throbbing in her hand. Then back in her mouth. Now I start working her. Thrusting a little harder. Making her take a little more. She gagged and pulled off. I tell her that’s ok but she has to get right back on it. Now I’m pushing harder. More gags. More choking. Spit starting to drool out of her mouth. I must be fucked up because I TRULY LOVE THAT SHIT.

I pull her off and tell her to squat on that dildo again. Fuck it while she sucks my dick. She pulls up. She rides it. My dick is right back in her mouth. I’m a little easier now because I want to have her ride that huge dick. Up further baby. Now fucking TAKE IT. All the way. Every time she goes down I yell FUCK THAT DICK. She’s riding it hard and she’s loud now “oh god oh god dick fucking big big dick uhhhhhh!” She’s staring at the mirror. This gorgeous little girl riding dick and sucking cock.

Now I start really going. I look down and say baby I’m going to get this dick all the way in your mouth. Her eyes get big and she pulls off my dick and says “I can’t – I’ll choke!!” I answer yes you can, you know why? Shakes her head no. Because you are my good little sissy slut. You took that huge dildo in your pretty little ass and now you have to take my dick down your throat. Now open your mouth really wide. I can see how freaked out she is but she opens her mouth. Wider! I put my cock in. She tries to close her lips around it. NO! Open your mouth!! I start working it. Deeper. Let her breathe. Deeper. Breathe. She’s gagging. She’s choking. And we are NOT stopping.

She’s completely stopped riding that dildo and is completely focused on trying to take my dick. 4 or 5 ankara escort more minutes of me thrusting. She has pulled off gagging a dozen times. But I’m getting close. I finally get in her throat but she still has an inch or two to go. I pull her off. She’s got spit hanging off her chin. It’s all over her lingerie. Her face is red, Her makeup is getting fucked up. She’s breathing HARD. She looks in the mirror and looks shocked. I tell her she’s only an inch away. Look at this big dick! You are going to finish this! And right back in. Then I tell her to open as wide as she can, I grab her head. And I pull her all the way down on it. Keep her on it for 2 or 3 seconds. She’s blowing spit everywhere. The sounds coming from her are perfect – “uguguguguummmpphttt!!”

I let her off. She’s just trying to breathe now. I just look at her. Just perfect. I give her 15 seconds. I think she thinks we are done :). Then it was right back at it and now I was just brutal. I got her all the way down on that dick a dozen times. Down her fucking throat. Gagging. Spit blowing. I pull her off and look at her. She has tears in her eyes. Face red. More spit hanging off her chin and all over her face. Mascara running. Fuck – I’m done. I tell her I’m going to cum and I want her to get all the way back down on that dildo. You are going to have a huge dick buried in your ass and another one in buried in your mouth. She drops on that dick like a perfect little slut. I slam in a few more times all the way. And she does it. 9 inch dildo in her ass and an 8 inch dick down her throat. It’s the hottest thing in the world!! Then I pull out and cum all over her face. She gasping for air. She making sounds I’ve never heard before. I’m growling you fucking little slut over and over. And I’m pumping cum all over her face and hair.

When I’m done my knees buckle and I fall in the chair. I tell her not to move. As soon as I grab the camera, tell her to pull off the dildo a few inches, and take a picture. It’s perfect. Huge dildo up her ass, spit running from her chin, cum all over her face!!

I hand her a wash cloth but tell her it just to clean her ass and not to touch her face. She tries to get up but she can’t. I help her get to the bed and she cleans up. Then after minute I have her stand. I fix her panties, her dress, her wig and get her pretty again. I hand her cash and tell her to go get me a coke from the machine at the end of the hall. She looks at me, looks at her face in the mirror. She says “Look at me!! What if someone sees me???” I just smile and say god I fucking hope so. She looks at herself again. I tell her if she wants to come back tomorrow she has to do this. She looks at me again. Then she goes to get me a coke.

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Farmer Pt. 07

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Asian

Part 07. The sweet fate of a white mare.

Special thanks to the Literotica member for editing assistance and excellent creative input. Thanks to the efforts of merrySM, new colors have appeared in this story.

Mary’s morning awakening was completely different from what she was used to in recent years. After a restless night, consciousness slowly returned it to reality, but there was something completely unusual and at the same time pleasant in this release from sleep. There were no loud and sharp sounds of movable furniture that always accompanied her husband if he got up before her. There was no ringing plates in the kitchen and noisy boiling water from taps. The voices of the children from the yard were not heard when on weekends they stayed at home and the first thing they started was playing games and noisy arguments under the windows of her bedroom. There was none of this! The woman lying with her eyes closed was surrounded by silence, and her body remained relaxed in the gentle embrace of the bed, giving her body warmth and comfort. And then, this smell … Yes, she could not be mistaken – it was a distinct smell of coffee! For some time she did not dare to open her eyes, until an even more unexpected sensation finally plunged her into confusion.

The bed creaked quietly. A man’s hand hugged her shoulders and the man’s lips glanced eagerly over her shoulder to her neck. A rough palm gripped her breasts and a succulent greedy kiss was interrupted by her husband’s hoarse whisper – “Honey, yesterday you were magnificent. It turns out you can be not only a wife, but also a delightful whore!”

At the same second, his hands overturned her backward, with a rough movement, the nightgown was crumpled under her saggy breasts, and her legs could not resist this onslaught. Not yet aware of what was happening, Mary opened her eyes. Her hands instinctively rested on the chest of a man hanging over her, but meeting her eyes with a crazy look she dutifully spread her legs, and after a few seconds the couple merged into a hot kiss.

Responding to the chaotic movements of male hips between her legs, Mary slipped her hand to her lower abdomen and with precise movement her thin fingers sent her husband’s penis where he was aiming. A mirage of events that happened to her on the eve, like a fog, touched her consciousness and responded with fright from the possible consequences for such an unusual beginning of the day. But her husband’s behavior, these tremors familiar to her in which desire and powerlessness merged, unexpectedly returned her peace and confidence in herself. Perhaps yesterday, these two men broke her usual foundations and woke up a completely different woman, and her husband felt this difference. Whatever it was, but in this morning gave her a new game and she unconditionally accepted the rules of this game.

With a perverse pleasure, the red-haired predator suddenly wanted to serve this rude and at the same time stupid man who, by the will of fate, was her husband and father of her children. But there was no genuine sympathy or love in this concern that awoke in her. She was guided by the delight of an evil fairy leading the victim in the wake of her recent crimes. Does the husband want sex? – OK. Let him go to the goal along the dark corridors of female secrets. And if the wild beast destroyed everything in its path yesterday, then why cannot the humble servant affectionately remove this mess today?

Bizarre patterns of thoughts entangled Mary sticky web of temptations. Guided by her instincts that aroused her and increasing sexual arousal, she wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, and her legs bent at the knees carefully lifted the female pubis towards the morning guest. The chaotic jerks of both spouses smoothly gave way to the rhythmic movement of the bodies merged together and only the heavy breathing of the man violated this idyll of intercourse. And in this rhythm a new meaning of their further relations on the conjugal bed was born.

Intoxicated by the poison of thin debauchery, the respectable wife and mother turned into a lustful doe, whose hands slid on the man’s back and with jerks on his buttocks each time emphasized the next movement of the swollen white penis. Burning from the lust born from the wreckage of prohibitions and taboos, she demandingly squeezed male flesh and did not allow him to slip out of the pool filled with juices. And she achieved her goal. Following another push, her husband’s penis froze at the lower point of the fall and then, the pulsation of the spilled seed echoed with a guttural moan bursting from her chest. In small portions, his sperm irrigated her vagina and each portion responded with a high note in her lingering moan. He gave, and she took…He naively enjoyed his wife’s vagina, and she enjoyed the fact that his sperm was sucked by a pussy of a whore waking up in her …

Not. It really was a beautiful morning. A very long time ago her husband was not so affectionate with her. Resting from the morning marathon in sex, they both lay bursa escort in bed and joked, remembering all the circumstances of the morning adventure. Then there was morning coffee and a discussion of plans for the weekend. Older children had their own plans. And as the best option, they decided together with younger children to visit the water park next week. Petty household chores did not shake their confidence and when Sunday came, the family went on a pleasant journey.

* * *

Sitting in a deck chair near the pool, Mary watched her children through the sunglasses. It was obvious that her fifteen-year-old son was clearly bored in the company of his parents. Nevertheless, he found amusement for herself, and she proudly watched how he beautifully jumped from the tower into the water to the applause of peer girls floating along the pool wall. As for the youngest daughter, she was always there, and only the excitement of a steep descent along the water slides over and over again accompanied her delight with joyful exclamations.

She spent all the way there covered in the car sitting in a chair with her eyes closed. Lazily reacting to her husband’s words, she occasionally answered him and he did not disturb her dream, thinking that she was tired over the past week. In fact, she was pretending to be, and her thoughts wandered far beyond their family.

After she crossed the line between “forbidden and possible” in the Farmer’s house, an emotional storm raged in her soul, throwing her from one extreme to another extreme. More than a week passed, but she never called Farmer. He, too, did not bother the red-haired beauty, guessing her embarrassment after what had happened. Like some other women, Mary has gone from horror these days to feeling the sweet taste of adultery. And in her reincarnation, her own husband played an important role. She now recalls with irony how she woke up after the turbulent events in the Farmer’s house.

That night she slept no more than an hour, and only in the morning did the sleep spare her. For many hours, she listened to the breath of her native man and held back the sobs tearing from her chest. The faster her intoxication left, which paralyzed her strength and will and which knocked her under a huge black bull, the stronger her fear and despair. Minutes and hours flowed, and in this flow of time all events appeared more distinctly. She was paralyzed by the realization that she sucked the cock of the old libertine and did it without coercion and on her own initiative. Before her eyes flowed pictures of black hands feeling her saggy white breasts, and a picture of thick sperm flowing from her vagina. She again saw her reflection in the mirror, and this memory restored the picture of Mary kneeling docilely, while a huge black bull repeatedly mounted it on a thick black phallus. Her meeting with the naive husband, who patiently waited for her at home and whom she allowed to touch her defiled body, hurt. And this question is for herself – why her husband did not suspect anything and why he sincerely experienced pleasure in sex with an unfaithful wife.

Yes, this night has changed her. She remembers her morning awakening. She remembers that a short morning sleep did not bring relief and she woke up under the weight of bad premonitions. But then what happened? Again, these passionate kisses of her husband, coffee brought for her, and again his desire to have sex with her … Her husband was never strong in bed, but for several hours he owned her twice. And this … this happened after she acted as a whore for the other two men, one of whom was black …

Perhaps this frank paradox of completely opposite events played a decisive role in changing her consciousness. The frank connection between her sexual crime and the delight of her own husband after these events united all that had happened, and her husband’s ideal attitude towards her in the following days completely destroyed all her torment. The next and all nights after she slept a sweet dream, and inside her settled a hearth of a quivering flame, which affectionately but inevitably destroyed the shadows of doubt in her and at the same time protected the shoots of completely new sensations. With doubt, virtue passed away, new sprouts attracted fornication. She frankly admitted this to herself, but did not resist the inevitability that attracted her with an exciting aroma.

It was several days before a completely different woman inside Mary became stronger. This woman in her thoughts was returning to the dark room where the Farmer was sitting in an armchair. The smell of a tired but experienced phallus, which came from the corners of memories, was lost in the sensations of this phallus between her lips. The tart taste of semen on the tongue and this sizzling sip of a thick liquid flowing down throat. A trembling of tender palms accompanied these memories, and thin female fingers furtively squeezed the nipples that had grown stronger under the bra.

A hot bath came malatya escort to replace the quick shower, where Mary’s new girlfriend enjoyed a mirage. In this mirage, the owner of a huge black phallus spread her hips and she clearly felt the rude guest, who was the first in her life who confidently and shamelessly found her mature uterus. And when her uterus responded with her own memory, white fingers with a graceful manicure demandingly extended their labia under a bush of red hair on the pubis and after a minute Mary choked in a soundless moan of pleasure from an orgasm piercing her body. Each time, only the teeth on the lower lip reminded how hard it was to hold back a scream. But in the dark bedroom her husband did not see this trace. And when he once showed activity, she readily accepted it, experiencing a completely new and perverse pleasure of intercourse.

* * *

She was lying in a deck chair, and her gaze smoothly glided over the inhabitants of the water park. Suddenly, ten yards to the left, she saw a young black courier who was constantly delivering mail to the office. It was obvious that the guy came to the water park with his parents. A tall man, about 45 years old, and a fat woman drank cool cocktails, and their son sneakily threw enthusiastic glances at Mary. The red-haired woman was entertained by this attention. She had long noticed that the boy was not indifferent to her, but now to demonstrate his awareness was not part of her plans. On the contrary, in this situation, she wanted to fool around with him – naturally, she defiantly “did not see” him. Having seized the moment when the people around were preoccupied with their own concerns and her husband was dozing, Mary got up from the deck chair and defiantly began to straighten the beach sheet. This procedure took several seconds. But this time was quite enough for the woman to bend low over things and demonstrate to the young fan all the charms of her luxurious ass. And it remains to be hoped that for involuntary witnesses, her breasts that fell out of a bra were an accident. Making sure that her trick was not in vain, Mary returned to the deck chair.

Under the protection of dark glasses, she continued to inspect the water park and sometimes her eyes settled on some visitors. Do not be surprised that, as a rule, her attention was focused on black naked bodies. Much later, she will understand why not only men were among them. But this understanding will come much later in a different situation.

Among other visitors, she saw a fat black man who clumsily climbed out of the water. He sat on the side of the pool, completely unaware that his swimming trunks did not fulfill the main function. But it was this negligence that caught the attention of the red-haired woman opposite. Heavy eggs could hardly fit in a sagging black scrotum and thin tissue could not hold the rich gift of nature. Almost a minute passed before the fat man discovered this problem, and this time was enough for Mary’s lips to dry out, and under the weight of her pubis abundant juices rushed to the exit.

The situation could get out of hand. Therefore, Mary took the hand of a husband sitting next to her and they both found themselves in the water. Wet swimsuit kept her secret.

* * *

On Monday, Mary woke up very early. After breakfast, she drove the children to school and arrived at work four hours earlier than usual. After a pleasant weekend, she slept well that night and her mood was as beautiful as today’s sunny morning.

Almost ten days passed before she succumbed to the black forces in the Farmer’s house. These were different days and a cascade of emotions – fear, calm, excitement, shame of desires … There is only one thing left – shame. But it was a shame to admit to herself that she again wanted to see Joseph and be alone with him. She did not admit to herself: – “Why? Why does she want to be with him?” The answer to this question was too frank. The response poured the weight of the lower abdomen and this obvious answer provoked an abundance of juice at the exit of her womb. She did not call the Farmer — she was embarrassed to do so. She wanted to meet him with their eyes, and she was ashamed of their shared secret.

A few minutes later, office life returned to its usual daily routine. Customers, phone calls, boss requirements, printer buzz – everything is as usual. Mary noticed the young black courier too late. Only when he stopped near the next table did she raise her eyes from the bundle of receipts and saw the uniform she knew. But there was time enough for her to make a surprise for her young admirer. What was impossible to do yesterday, she easily did today. Why? – Today it was another woman who was freed from laws and rules, and who was floating on the waves of instincts. And among these waves, the highest was a wave of sexual dissatisfaction, which takes a woman to the middle of a stream of emotions and throws her into a maelstrom of desperate actions and rash decisions. No one in the çanakkale escort room noticed a change in her face or in her behavior. And only the eyes of an experienced observer could hjave captured those two seconds that changed the plot of this ordinary play.

When the courier approached her desk, he suddenly froze in confusion. A seated red-haired woman leaned over a flyer. Standing behind her, he saw his favorite fiery locks of hair, a round white shoulder and a bra strap on it, which peered carelessly from under a light blouse. He remembered the colors of all her bras by heart, and each time he visited the office, he hoped to once again see this intimate detail of her underwear. But today … He stood behind and before his eyes the magnificent breasts of his white queen shamelessly lay in the cups of lace sconces. Dazzlingly white and with dots of bright freckles, these breasts openly showed the triumph of large nipples, whose bases bloomed in depth under an open blouse. The pink and brown nipples shamelessly pulled transparent silk and did not look like the earthy-black nipples of his black girlfriends. Blue strings of veins shone through delicate skin, and barely noticeable grooves of stretch marks on these chic breasts pushed to the desire to feel the taste of mother’s milk of a white woman.

He was an obedient son and a conscientious worker. He never talked with bad companies and was a diligent student at school. But only he knew how much effort was required to restrain his secret emotions. It was a wild desire to be admitted to the white bodies of respectable ladies, and it was a passionate excitement at the sight of their buttocks under tight skirts or their mother’s breasts clenched by ruthless bras.

The day before he saw her at the water park. He was sure that she had no idea about his presence. He could not sleep later. Her white breast, accidentally dropped from a swimsuit, became his mirage. He recalled her bare buttocks when she accidentally bent over. A thin bikini hid between her buttocks and the weight of these white balls haunted him all night. Again and again, he quietly went out to masturbate in the bathroom, and each time he reached a peak of pleasure. And today – today, he again saw this white body. He believed and he wanted to believe that this would ever happen. And in his dreams and in his fantasies grew the expectation of that moment when he would overturn this lady on her back. He will tear her panties and bra (they must be expensive), he will spread these white legs and he will pour out the heavy load of young black sperm into her juicy pussy … The courier swallowed the accumulated saliva and spoke in a stronger voice to the red-haired lady – “Mom. Get the letters!”

Mary imitated the surprise and surprise of his appearance. But it was a bad imitation that her young fan did not notice. Her game and a specially unbuttoned blouse played a cruel joke with a woman. She only wanted to tease this young fan. But when he stood behind her and examined her breasts, she saw from under her arm the lower part of his body. And in this mise-en-scene she saw how the heavy knot under his shorts swelled with weight and power. She understood what was happening, but she could not interrupt this game – a mature woman saw the outlines of his young phallus appear and she enjoyed this picture.

When the courier left the office, Mary calmed down only with a cup of coffee, and when there was a pause in work, the woman went to the parking lot. In her car, she found a piece of paper with a phone number and five minutes later Joseph’s voice answered her.

“Do you want to wash the car?” His playful question took her by surprise. But she no longer had the strength to pretend.

“Joseph, can we meet?” Her voice sounded unusually hoarse.

“Of course, my dear. Tomorrow will be a hot day. Do you mind if I book a room in a motel where we will be cool?” – He waited a long time for her answer.

A whirlpool of emotions spun in Mary’s soul. This black bastard very openly let her know what he expected from her. But the bridges behind her were burned. And she whispered softly, “OK. Tomorrow after lunch I’ll ask the boss to let me go.” She answered and with quick steps returned to the office. Heartbeats loudly responded in her temples.

A young courier stood behind a column in the parking lot and looked at the retiring red-haired lady. Today he violated the travel schedule. The guy knew that the boss would be very unhappy, but these concerns moved to the second row. Leaving Mary’s office, he visited the relaxation room, where in a cramped booth he masturbated with his own fantasies. White breasts, the edges of the pink nipples of a true white lady did not leave his thoughts. And now he looked after her. Her easy walk, long legs in high-heeled shoes, gorgeous red hair behind her back and these buttocks – these heavy pears of white buttocks covered in a narrow skirt. Yes, she is at least 45 years old and she is much older than his mother. But it was her breasts that did not give him rest, and it was her buttocks that caused a desperate desire to catch up with her in this dark parking. A crazy fantasy painted a picture of how she pushes him away, how she lies on a dirty concrete floor and how easily the seams of this white skirt are torn. And then, her buttocks – exactly her buttocks that he sees now can be naked.

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How I Met the Love of My Life

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Babes

My name is Brian Stevens, and this is the true story of how I met the love of my life. At the time of this story I was eighteen, with brown hair and eyes, 6’1” and 160 lbs. Some names and locations have been changed, but other than that it’s absolutely true. It’s going to start out with a little gay sex and spread to some cross dressing and eventually HRT. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Stress

I was really starting to stress out. It was senior year in high school, and even though the coach had pretty much told my teachers to take it easy I was still trying on my chemistry work. I hated that. My teacher’s all seemed to think that cause I could hit a ball with a bat I should just be pushed on. Who cares if he understood his work, just give him a A! What a croc. And, for the most part, I didn’t need help. I did great in English, was naturally good with numbers, and I could pass art class with a C at least. But Science was hard. I struggled all the time, and every time I asked for a tutor Mr. Andrews just smiled and said I really didn’t need one. All cause I could hit a ball pretty far. It drove me insane.

So as I walked to the library after practice I contemplated what I could do. I knew there wasn’t much. I needed yalova escort that scholarship baseball would give me, and if I jacked that up I was screwed. My Coach and my Dad were determined I was going pro, but I knew I wasn’t good enough for that. Minors maybe, but I knew that I didn’t have the drive for it. You had to want that to make it, and I just didn’t.

I got to the library and signed up for a private room. I took the one that was farthest from the main hall. I liked that room. It had a great view of the forest, and while it wouldn’t really help me study it was a pretty calming place. I sat down and prepared to spend the next three hours trying to make sense of the periodic table.

I got probably a hour or so in when Alex Connors stomped in. Alex was our class valedictorian, and hated me for some reason. I tried to be polite to everyone, so I honestly had no clue why he started hating me in sixth grade. He was 5’10”, with a slight build, shoulder length black hair, light freckles, and these great green eyes. I’d had a small crush on him for as long as I could remember, maybe because he didn’t suck up to me. But right now my head was killing me and I just knew edirne escort he was gonna throw some crap my way. Surprise surprise, he looked pissed.

“What are you doing in here”, Alex demanded. “This is MY spot.”

I just stared at him trying to find the words, and managed a thin response of, “Nobody was signed up for here.”

He glared at me and spat acid, “I’m always here. This is where I study!”

“Look man, I’m just trying to…” I started to say but he just cut me off.

“You need to leave right FUCKING now.” Alex snarled.

And then I lost it… all the frustration over the science, the crazy expectations of my Dad and my Coach, and the sheer lack of time I had due to practices… and if I had to be entirely honest looking back on it, the strain of my bisexuality hiding in my closet. “Shut the fuck up Alex.” I growled, low menace in my tone. “I have no idea what the hell I ever did to you, and right now I don’t fucking care. You want this room fine. You can have it.” And then I stood up, dropped my pants, and pulled out my dick. “But you can blow me, asshole, cause I’m sick of the constant shit you throw my way.”

I had no clue erzurum escort what would happen. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I could’ve gotten in major trouble for pulling this stunt. But no one was more surprised than me when Alex walked forward quietly and dropped to his knees. I think I said stop, but I didn’t exactly fight as he took my head into his mouth. I moaned as he licked up the slit, and practically fell against the wall when he began to play with my balls. He moaned around my cock and I felt a finger press against my hole… I shuddered but then it was in and it felt really fucking good. I didn’t last long after he was fucking me with his finger and taking me down his throat. I exploded in his mouth and he swallowed as much as he could. The rest ran down the sides, and it was the sexiest thing my high school self had ever seen.

Alex wiped his mouth off and leaned back. He looked up at me, and I gazed down at him. Then he uttered just two words, “get out.” I was stunned and confused. But I gathered up my stuff quietly and left. I didn’t understand what the hell had just happened, but I was calmer than I’d probably been in a year. I had the hottest dreams of my life up to that point that night, all of them involving Alex. In some he was a cute boi, in others he was a hot girl, but he was the central focus of all of them. I slept better than I had in a while, and woke up with a raging hard boner. I masturbated quickly and rushed to chemistry. I ended up getting a b on the test and I felt great. Life was getting better it seemed.

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Fall From Grace BWWM Pt. 02

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Anal

Through text while I was eating breakfast I arranged to meet with him again Tuesday night at my house unless I had to work late, in my line of business one never knows. Though Sylvie and I were usually at the precinct before the rest of the team arrived, I was still surprised to see her sitting on the corner of my desk with a coffee for me in hand and a smirk on her face.

She spoke in a voice soft enough only she and I could hear. “Girl, I don’t even have to ask, it’s clear as day he rode you hard and put you up wet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you walk bowlegged and there’s no way any woman could miss the *I’ve been thoroughly fucked* look all over your face. Was it really that good?”

“Sylvie I’m so swollen and sore it hurts to sit much less walk, dear God I hope we don’t get called out today. He’s a quick learner Sylv, only has to be shown once and from there on it’s all about getting you off before he dumps his load, speaking of loads I’m still dripping, I had to rummage through my towel closet to find a light days pad.”

“Shit Laura, are you gonna be able to keep up with him? How many times did you say you came? More than ten over the weekend. Holy shit LT, he’ll screw you to death.”

Her comment made me laugh, ironically, I’d had the same thought only an hour ago. Knowing I couldn’t possibly keep this boy satisfied on my own it was time to implement Plan B, I figured that if I could handle him a few times a week Sylvie being only forty-seven could probably do the same. Between the two of us we might meet his needs until his hormones settled a bit, after all, you can’t fuck like that every day even if you are eighteen, it was time to prime the pump and see if there was any water.

I gave her my serious look, “Do you recall what you said to me at Joe’s Friday before I left?”

Her face gave her away, with her head cocked to the side she said, “Remind me.”

“You told me that if he was any good you might want me to share him. Does that still stand?”

I could see the gears turning, “Is Albert still gone?” I nodded. “Let’s have supper together, let me think about this and we’ll talk then. I’m not saying no, I just need to process the idea and make sure it’s something I want to do.”

It was a relatively quiet day which meant we were able to get out of there at five, Alice and Min-Jun (the Korean guy) were on standby, neither Sylvie or I would be called in unless there were multiple murders which was rare. During and after the meal we talked in length about my weekend, not only in length but in detail as well, I told her every juicy little tidbit I could remember. Other than an occasional *oh my God*, or *No shit*, and twice *Fuck me* she basically said nothing. When I got to the end, I looked at her and said.

“Well?”

Downing the remainder of her second glass of wine she looked at me with the famous shit eating grin I’d come to know through the years.

“What the hell, why not? I’m clean, you’re clean, yours is the only pussy he’s been in so I know he’s clean, might be just what I need to get me through the funk I’ve lived in for the last three years. I got a new bed after Louis was killed, it’s not like I’d be banging him in our marriage bed, you say he can keep his mouth shut and I trust you, so let’s do this. I don’t have the same equipment you do but maybe he likes them skinny as well. What’s the next step?”

As we sat in her car talking I told her he was due to be at my house the next evening at which time I’d broach the subject slowly, I was pretty sure he’d go along with what we had in mind and with Albert coming home at weeks end I told her I’d bring him by her place Thursday night for a meet and greet. If they hit it off and things began to heat up, I’d simply excuse myself. She wondered if I might feel cheated.

“Heavens no, I’m not sure I’ll be able to take him again tomorrow night, I may have to give him a blow job if my cunt isn’t feeling better. Oooo, by the way, I measured him, he isn’t nine, he’s a solid eight and grows when he cums, not much but you can feel it get bigger. Eight is not unheard of but quite uncommon, research says less than one in a thousand have a dick eight inches, but I think it expands another quarter inch when he unloads, my God he makes a mess between my legs.”

She looked at me disapprovingly, “Cunt? Sometimes you have the dirtiest mouth.”

“Oh, that reminds me, he likes it when you talk to him as he screws, doesn’t have to be raunchy, he just likes to know he’s doing a good job.”

Sylvie smiled, “Well I can do that, geez Laura, I’m getting wet just talking about it. If he’s as good as you say I won’t mind a slick gooey mess between my legs as long as I can contribute.”

I quickly interjected, “Oh you will, I’ve taught him it’s all about getting you off before he does.”

She snickered and snorted as she said, “As horny as we both are at the moment it’s to bad we aren’t lezzies, then we could get each other off.”

“Nah, I don’t really care who another person shows their underwear to, but I’m partial denizli escort to a stiff dick.”

The challenge before me would be convincing Oliver it would be okay to service two women at the same time. I didn’t think he’d oppose it, his issue would be was he cheating on me, that would need to be dealt with boldly and delicately at the same time.

Following supper on Tuesday he was helping with the few dishes, standing behind me he slid his hands up my sides cupping my breasts, this kid liked my tits, and I liked that he liked them. Playing with them softly he whispered.

“I’d like to fuck you right here, right now, can we do that?”

“Ollie honey, you’ll need to go slow and easy, I’m still swollen and a little sore, you really beat my pussy up with that baseball bat you call a cock. Take my panties off and warm me up a little with your tongue.”

Pushing me forward until I was bent over the edge of the counter I grabbed the edge as he lifted my skirt and hooked his thumbs in my panties, they were nothing special, a pair of red boy shorts with lace around the edges that hugged my vulva nice and tight. (I love the feeling of tight panties against my pussy) I wiggled a little as he worked them down, on his knees he raised his face and began to lick me from behind, as he licked he did something I hadn’t expected but found arousing. He let the skirt fall down over his head as he licked, I had intended for him to only wake up my pussy and make me a little wetter than I was, he had other plans, in minutes my body was shaking and I was yelling *fuck me Ollie, fuck me* as my orgasmic fluids coated the labia and his tongue.

Ollie stood, lifted my skirt, dropped his pant’s and slowly slid that firehose into me, it took three strokes before his groin met my butt, standing still we shivered while I moaned, and he grunted.

“Easy Ollie, I want it all but start slow, once I’m warmed up you can bang mama all you like. You’ll know when I’m ready.”

As he slowly gave me half-strokes my body began to relax and adjust for his entire length, I wanted it fast and furious if my body could handle it. I looked back and whispered, “A little deeper baby” as he picked up speed he grabbed my hips hard, my body wasn’t about to get away from him, or was it that he wanted to pull my ass back into him with every full stroke. Once I’d arched my back opening my pussy completely it took no time at all for him to be slamming his meat into my horny hole, he didn’t need to pull my hips into his body, I was pushing back as hard as possible with every thrust, I was fully impaled on his lovely cock and enjoying every second.

I could feel his cock begin to swell, “Cum for me baby, fill my pussy with cream, make mama cum.”

His cock continued to swell and then I felt it, stream after stream of semen hitting my cervix, coating the walls of my cunt marking me as his once more, claiming my pussy as his fuck toy. That was enough to send me into outer space as my hips undulated and my stomach muscles convulsed, I was panting like a marathon runner at the end. With his arms gently around my waist he held me tight to his body, his cock throbbing, my Kegel muscles holding onto his cock like a glove as my legs continued to shake. I felt weak enough to collapse, somehow this young man knew it and helped me stand straight, in doing so his dick plopped out with a stream of our mixed fluids dripping off the end. It was on my legs, his legs, and the floor, we both laughed at the mess we’d created.

After cleaning ourselves and the floor we adjourned to the family room sitting on the loveseat. We dozed off and on with me in his arms, both of us waking seconds apart.

“Did I hurt you Miss Laura. You said you were sore and I’m sorry if I hurt you, but something inside said I had to have you again.”

I laughed, “That wasn’t something inside you Oliver, that was your cock wanting to be inside me, nothing else. I’m flattered though, no one has desired me like that in years.”

“Should I wait to be with you again so you can feel better?”

How could I have asked for a better Segway, “Interesting you should bring that up Ollie, I want to run something by you and see what you think. Let me get through this before you answer. There’s a lady I work with who was widowed a little over three years ago, she’s forty-seven, a black lady like me, very discrete and wants a lover without strings who won’t tell others. I hope you won’t be upset with me, I told her about us, she’s wondering if you would make love with her like you do with me if you two hit off?”

“But I don’t want to be without you Laura, you haven’t taught me everything yet. Don’t you wanna teach me anymore?”

“No, no, no, I’m not talking about you and me not being together, I’m talking about adding one. Honey, I love the way you fuck and take care of my pussy, but baby I don’t think I can give you as much poontang as a soon to be nineteen year old needs. I’m not talking about a three-some, I’m talking about sharing diyarbakır escort you with Sylvie. If we can do something like that, I think between the two of us Sylvie and me can take care of those heavy balls of yours.”

He didn’t say anything at first, he didn’t look put off either, he was thinking before he spoke, another thing I liked about this kid. Holding me tight and kissing the top of my head he spoke very softly as though he were speaking to a child or someone in the hospital.

“Wouldn’t you think I was cheating on you? Is she gonna teach me like you do?’

I thought it was cute that he somehow felt he was mine, “Ollie you won’t be cheating on me, now that you’ve enjoyed some pussy and know how good it feels you won’t want to go without. I won’t be able screw you as much as you need at your age, Sylvie and I have known each other since the academy, we trust each other implicitly. I would be sharing you with her my young studmuffin, that’s all, she isn’t looking for love or a relationship, she simply wants to be laid by someone who cares and can keep their mouth shut. I instantly thought of you when she brought it up.”

He lifted my chin with his finger looking into my eyes, “Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure, because if it means we lose whatever this is I don’t want it, I know we’re never gonna marry or stuff like that, but Miss Laura you’re special to me and I don’t wanna lose what we have.”

What a thoughtful loving boy, and a boy is what he still is with balls full of baby juice that needed somewhere to go, which would be Sylvie and me. I call him a boy and yet he is more man than many I know twice his age.

“We won’t lose anything Oliver, promise. In fact, I think it will help you, not every woman is satisfied the same way, it would be good for you to learn other things from Sylvie. You can be our closet lover, our secret stud if you will, someone who will love and treat us right without all the drama of a romance. What are you thinking Ollie, does it sound interesting or not?”

“It sounds interesting, very interesting, how would I meet her and when would we make love? Will you be there? I’m not sure I could do it with somebody watching.”

Plan B was working flawlessly so far. “I told Sylvie that if you were open to meeting we would go to her house Thursday for supper and then talk. If, and I say IF, you guys hit it off I’ll scoot out the door and let nature take its course, one more thing, she not very big, she’s tall like me but thin, will that be a problem?”

“If she’s as nice to me as you are it won’t be a problem. I need to ask again, are you absolutely sure? If I go with her Thursday night when will I see you again?”

“Albert is supposed to come home Friday, he’ll want to do something Saturday but then he’ll golf again on Sunday, we could meet at a hotel for an afternoon romp. Then you could be with Sylvie say Tuesday or Wednesday and me again in a few days, then her, then me. You get the gist.”

Oliver’s eyes twinkled, “Got a better idea, dad is out of town at some conference all next week, he’s scheduled to leave early Sunday morning, why don’t we spend Sunday together, we can give my bed a workout, do they call that christening the bed when it’s a first time?”

“Yes they do my sweet boy and I love your idea, there’s a craft fair in Auburndale this weekend, we could have breakfast together Sunday morning, go to the fair and then go to your house after lunch. I’m on call Saturday and off Sunday so that will work, are you okay with that?”

His smile beamed, “We can’t hold hands or nuthin like that though. Right?”

“Nope, we’re just friends at the fair but we’ll be with each other and we’ll know we’re going home to rip each other’s clothes off and screw all afternoon.”

I sent him home with a quickie pushed up against the wall next to the front door with him gently filling me from behind, it was gentle enough that it didn’t hurt, even as his cum trailed down my legs he was a kind young man wiping it away with his hankie. My phone rang just after four in the morning, *fuck*, I wasn’t even on call, it was Frank, he and I had been called out to a homicide, he’d pick me up in thirty. Crappy way to start my Wednesday but then these things come with the job and if you don’t want to deal with them there’s an easy solution … find a different job. It wasn’t a wet day but still blustery, fall would be here all too soon and it seemed as though summer had just begun. I asked where we were headed.

“On our way to the northside, Glenville area, double homicide, pretty ugly from what the dispatcher said.”

The address caught me off guard, “Glenville, what are we doing out there, that’s part of the fifth’s territory.”

“They’re overloaded as it is, downtown said we were to fill in for the time being. It aint my circus LT, I’m just one of the monkeys.”

“Aren’t we both.” I muttered.

Thankfully, Frank had gotten a cup of jo for me from an all-night diner, with a little caffeine antalya escort in my system I’d be okay. The northside was not an affluent area, neither was it a poor area, mostly sprawling subdivisions inhabited by upper middle-class people of every race, creed and color you could imagine. It had originally been a separate town, but when the city could no longer house everyone it became a bedroom community for city workers and was eventually swallowed up by the city as it moved outward. Pulling onto Elmwood Drive it was a mess, people trying to get to work, police cars cordoning off yards and parts of streets, nowhere to park, cars not being allowed to back from their driveways, as my drill sergeant would have said, it was cluster fuck.

Frank gave a *whoop* on the siren, uniforms made way for us to reach the property and park, forensics was right behind our arrival, thankfully the discovering officers had secured the home and crime scene, the possibility of contamination should be minimal. I told the duty officer to get the mess on the street cleared up so people could get to work, we didn’t need the entire neighborhood cordoned off, just the crime scene. As we went in I observed that things seemed normal for a home setting, no discarded beer bottles or cans, no drugs in sight, clean and lived in, the only thing out of order that I could tell was the couple had disrobed in the living room. His clothes were in a pile, hers were strewn about as if she’d done a strip tease for him, skirt and blouse tossed on the couch, panties and bra flung in different directions, I’d seen that before, hell, I’d done that before.

The scene in the bedroom was nasty enough it damned near made my stomach turn and I’d seen dozens of murders through the years, the couple was still in bed with him on top doggy, a shot to her head, two shots in the guy , one in the side of the head the other in his groin from behind. He had no scrotum to speak of and we were relatively sure the bullet went into her body as well, once forensics could begin their process we’d know for sure. As I looked at the woman, I thought to myself I know her, with blood and hair on her face I couldn’t remember why though.

What brought the initial call was that loud noises like gun shots were heard in the neighborhood sometime after three although no one was sure when after three, the cops were called and began going door to door, with the front door of the murder victims house being unlocked and no one answering their calls the officers went inside discovering the bodies. Frank and I looked at all we could before we reached the point that we were in the way, it was obvious what happened, now we needed to determine the why. We decided we would do some door to door canvassing while we waited to go back in, Frank went one way me the other. Everyone’s story was about the same until I walked up to a front yard with a cute buxom blonde housewife in a robe and flip-flops looking as though she’d just gotten out of the shower, standing with arms folded.

I approached her, “Good morning ma’am, I’m Lieutenant Grinnel, mind if I ask a few questions?”

Before I was finished she reached her hand toward me open palmed with a piece of paper, “Here’s as much of the registration number as I could get, he left in a big hurry, now I know why. I couldn’t sleep and was doing my early morning jog while it was still cool, when I rounded the corner onto our street a truck not from our neighborhood went whizzing by, the last four digits of the plate was all I could see in the dark. It was an old truck though, you know, kind of boxy looking, not like the new ones.”

Daylight was beginning to overtake the darkness and as it did, I couldn’t stop looking at this woman, I knew her from somewhere long ago, I just couldn’t place when or where. She stared at me in the same way, she smiled, put her hand against her forehead and said.

“Laura Brice, is that you?”

I knew immediately who it was, “Brandi Hughes, I haven’t seen you since graduation. Is this where you live?”

“Yup, suburbanites. Last name is Davis now.”

I was astonished, “Davis, you mean like Brent Davis the star quarterback that every girl in school wanted to date?”

“One and the same, I’m known now as whatever kid you’re talking abouts mom, I don’t think anyone at school actually knows my first name. I’m just my kid’s mom.”

“How many?” I asked.

“Five, Brent wanted one more I told him if that was the case then he could have it. End of conversation, had my tubes tied after the last one. And you?”

“Two, oldest one is a registered nurse, she lives in Dallas, our boy is an officer in the Air Force, an engineer who was just assigned to a Civil Engineering Squadron in Korea, a second Louie, his first tour of duty, been there almost five months now. By the way, how did you manage to land Brent and keep him, he was the most popular boy in school, girls were constantly chasing after him.”

She grinned, put her head down then looked at me smiling, “On my back and a baby in my belly. Once he knew he was gonna be a daddy he settled right down, I took my grandma’s advice by keeping his balls empty and his belly full, he’s never strayed once, I keep him too tired to wander. We own three McDonalds franchises which tend to occupy a lot of his time as well. And you, a Lieutenant in the homicide division, nothing to wave a stick at.”

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