Monday, August 02, 2004

Hot Amateur Porn Sex story

The Third 2/? {Redman} {sf MF rom}
( c ) October 2000

<!ADULTSONLY>

Authors Note: This story is very much a work in
progress. As such, please read it "as is" with the
understanding that I will be revising/reviewing. I
would be interested in any comments or corrections
that readers might care to share with me. I can be
reached at redmanseductive.

If you're a minor don't read it.


The Third 2/?


The second day (which happened to fall on a Thursday
for us), Maggie and I had our first facetoface with
Elizabeth Rose Lancaster. Maggie was knotted about the
whole deal, straightening up everything and ordering
new environs. The lighting was just right, but
Maggie's wicked sense threw a little bitter into the
aromas. I'm not sure if that was for her own mood or
for me, since this wouldn't be a full sensor meet and
Lancaster for sure wouldn't smell it.

Maggie had even gotten a new, uncomfortable sectional
to project a more professional image than our old,
cozy one. When I suggested that we soften the whole
look with some flowers, Maggie almost orbited and
snippily reminded me that we weren't setting up a date
here. I must have looked a little hurt, 'cause even
Maggie knew she had stepped too far. We cuddled after
that and I told her that no matter what I was her
Johnny and reminded her how much she did it for me
with a nice grind.

That seemed to brighten her a bit, so while she
straightened up, I cleared the wall and set up to
receive and broadcast in ten. Maggie came back in five
and she even looked a dish in her 'caster threads that
she had chose to wear. Maggie always had an eye to
what threads wear where. I guess that comes with being
a 'caster.

She had picked out my gray flannel, which was about
the least studly threads I own. It could have been
worse I guess. Knowing Lancaster was a double h, she
might have asked me to wear something fem. Whether she
just didn't think it or whether she just knows that
dressing fem doesn't do it for me, I'm not sure. Our
wall notified us it was syncing with Lancaster's and
Maggie primped us both before she flashed, as big as
life facetoface.

Lancaster looked just like her public sig, of course,
only 180. She had chosen to 'cast sitting behind an
old fashion writing desk. It was a tasteful look,
though cluttered at first glance. However, all around
Lancaster, subtly presented, were the icons of a
scriber. There was the feather pen on the desk, old
fashion linen stationary in a stack before her, even
an old QWERTY keyboard in a frame on the wall. It
seems even Lancaster had an eye for the pose and
wanted to make sure we knew she was a scriber.

I don't know why she bothered. If I knew my Maggie she
had already paid a digger to find out everything about
Lancaster that she was willing to admit to the world
and then some. Because she was a 'caster, Maggie knew
some righteous diggers, too. As a talent herself,
Maggie couldn't dig any better than I did. But no
doubt, she already had someone on the case and would
have had at least a prelim already.

There was a protocol on facetoface's in our credit
bracket of course, so as the originator Lancaster had
the first crack.

"Greetings! Thank you for receiving me into your home.
My name is Elizabeth Rose Lancaster. Acquaintances
call me Elizabeth, but my friends call me Rosie."

Lancaster had a nice voice, a little deep and throaty,
but definitely fem. Her greeting was a nice touch,
being friendly right off the bat. I doubted whether
she'd get the same from Maggie.

"I greet you Ms. Lancaster. My name is Margaret Alicia
Juarez. I invite you to call me Ms. Juarez for now."

A bit less cordial for sure, but professionally
delivered, as one would expect. Lancaster didn't seem
twisted by Maggie's cool response though, immediately
directing a friendly gaze at me.

I realized I had to step lightly here. I certainly
didn't want to twist Maggie any more than she was
already. After all, I have to live with her. But, I
didn't want Lancaster to think that we were both
twisted out of shape either.

"I greet you Ms. Lancaster. My name is Robert Allman
LaCroix. Acquaintances call me Robert; friends call me
Bobby. I invite you to call me Mr. LaCroix." I hoped
that Lancaster could tell that I wanted very much to
add "for now," but even what I had said already
twisted Maggie a notch or two. I could tell by the
tension in her gorgeous thigh that was touching my own
possessively.

"Ms. Juarez, Mr. LaCroix, I realize that it is not
common practice that Third options are offered by
complete strangers. I would like to do everything I
can to allay any reservations that either of you might
have and to do whatever I may to begin our
relationship on a positive note."

Even Maggie would have had a hard time delivering a
better line and she had scripters to help her. Whoever
Lancaster was, she was obviously a sharp cookie and a
fair scriber to boot.

"Ms. Lancaster," Maggie began in a professional, if
icy, tone, "since our legals are still working on the
contract, I'm not certain that we would have a
relationship at this time that we might have
reservations about."

"Ms. Juarez, as I'm sure your legals have advised you,
I'm not asking for anything but the standard Third
contract that has been well tested by law for some
years now. Assuming there are no serious preconditions
that you are requesting, I see no reason why the
contract cannot be finalized within the next day or
so. Would you feel more comfortable if I were to call
again at that time?"

"No, Ms. Lancaster, that won't be necessary. It is
good to at least see the woman who might be living
with us for the next year."

"I had been led to believe that your current
accommodations were sufficient for me to exercise the
residence options. I assure you that I will take up
far less room that I am legally entitled to. But, if
that is a problem, I will of course agree to
underwrite any reasonable relocation expense that you
might incur."

Maggie was just being a snit. All that Lancaster had
said was a given. She was legally entitled to a third
of our space, but we had plenty anyway. We even had a
larger flat than the law required of married two's.
"No, I don't want to move. Our lives are going to be
disrupted enough with this this arrangement. We will
make do here." Maggie may have been more twisted than
even I realized.

"Ms. Juarez, I can empathize that this situation might
not be what you would most prefer. I will do whatever
I can reasonable do to accommodate your feelings. I
realize that we will not be a family, that I will
always be a Third in what is YOUR home, but I hope
that in the end we can be friends."

Maggie was obviously twisted, out and in, but
Lancaster had been a standup lady about it all. I
felt like something else needed to be said and even
though it might not have been my place to say it,
well, there ya go.

"Ms. Lancaster," I began feeling a little tentative.
"Elizabeth, thank you for expressing that attitude. I
hope that you will bear with us. Maggie and I have
been together for a long time and we have never had a
Third before. It's all a bit new to us."

I said it all looking at Maggie, hoping she would feel
that I wasn't dogging her. It seemed to help a little.
Maggie does it for me more than any Jane I ever met,
so even if Lancaster got a little twisted, Maggie was
my main concern.

"I hope that both of you know that I can respect
that," Lancaster said more subdued, more gently than
even before. "It's obvious that you both care about
each other deeply. I don't want to do anything that
would intrude on your relationship."

"Does that mean you'll withdraw your option?" Maggie
questioned a little too eagerly, a little too
fiercely.

Lancaster took a moment, drawing an obvious breath
before coming to a conclusion. "Ms. Juarez, mine is a
serious offer. I didn't make it frivolously. I'm not a
frivolous woman. However, if after taking a bit to
know me, if you have objections to me personally I
will withdraw my option. Surely you understand that
even if you reject my option, you will soon be forced
by law to accept another. You could do much worse than
me as your Third, Ms. Juarez. But, I don't want to
exercise my legal rights and then live in a situation
that none of us would find bearable. And, of course, I
would feel the same about you, Mr. LaCroix. If there
is any reason you might find me unacceptable, I would
understand as well."

There was no reason that I could see why we shouldn't
accept Lancaster's option. This wasn't like Maggie to
be so upset. We've known about the Third laws since we
were kids. We knew about it when we decided to get
married. It's not like every married couple in the
world didn't have to do the same thing. In some
cultures it was much worse.

Maggie was still too twisted so I spoke nice and told
Lancaster we would be in touch. Then I signed out.

I just held Maggie for a long time because she wanted
to be reassured. It wasn't cuddling really, at least
not at first.

But holding Maggie and wiping her tears, it's hard for
me not to get rocky for her. I guess the same was true
for her because soon she wanted to be cuddled nice and
all. We've been together for so long that it's not
like a seventh night grope with us. We both knew where
to go to get each other steamy even when we're sad.

I led Maggie into our bedroom and we slowly pulled
each other's threads off. Maggie wasn't in any hurry
and neither was I. More than anything she just wanted
to know that I loved her and that nothing would ever
change about that. After we were skinned, I let her
lay me back. She wanted to work on me in a bad way, so
I lay back as she took the lead.

Maggie always takes my breath away, but even more so
when she's skinned. Her luxurious, black hair falls
down her back like a mane and it's the first part of
her wild, sultry look that grabs the eye. Her hair is
wicked, but it's her eyes and her lips that get me so
rocky. She has these wide, almondshaped eyes that
make me feel like I'm floating when she turns them on
me. And her lips! She has these thick, sexy lips that
make me wanna blow just thinking about them.

That's just the part that I can always see! When she's
skinned, it's like someone put me in a pressure tank
and vented the air. First she's got this all over
tanned complexion thing from her mother's side that
gives her this smooth burnt copper goddess look 360.
She's always had a tight bod, but as she's gotten
higher on the 'cast's food chain, she's had her ass
and tits aug'ed. They're not synth'ed so it's all
her but she's had them shaped and who knows what
else.

Anyways, Maggie laid me out and took my hard meat
between those silky lips, running her hot tongue all
the way around the head. Seeing her looking at me with
those big eyes while that tongue worked on me was
stone rocky. She nibbled her way down the outside of
the shaft and switched to pumping the head with her
soft hand as she chewed the root softly, just at the
base where it rises out of my sack.

As much as I love it when Maggie gnaws on me, I can't
look at her enough when she's doin' it. So, I pulled
her up, encouraging her to either mount for a ride or
let me feast. I guess she thought I looked hungry
'cause she kept coming up until that lovely, lovely
beav was right before me, waiting to be devoured.

Maggie had a permanent shave years ago so all that was
left of her curly's was just enough to tickle my nose
as I lapped her. Maggie has always been a juicer, so
it was easy to slide my fingers deep as she stood
before me on her knees. She was leaning with her hands
high on the wall above our bed and I could look up and
see those wonderful tits rising and falling with her
hot breath. I would have loved to grope them, but my
other hand was busy stroking her firm ass and it was a
lot closer.

Maggie's button was swollen and erect as I licked it.
She clamped down on my fingers inside her and what
juices I couldn't lap began to run down my forearm.
They were so hot and thick, as they flowed in little
rivulets down my palm and over my wrist they snaked in
a slow, sensuous way that felt great. Her moans
harmonized with each squishy finger thrust to produce
a lovely music, firing me up even more.

My left hand was feeling her tightly muscled tail
flexing more and more convulsively, so I knew when
Maggie was just about to pop. Right before she did, I
sucked up her button and buried my fingers deep and it
was a good thing I was holding tight. Maggie let out a
wicked scream that let the whole block know she had
got her nut and her puss was squeezing my fingers
wicked. It was one of the best pop's she's had with me
in a long time. I was so glad she could get it just
when she was worried most about all this Third option
biz.

But Maggie didn't leave me hanging like some Jane's
can do. She looked at me all lovely as she settled
back on my meat and we had a long, gentle ride
together. Since Maggie had just pop'ed so wicked, she
was able to take her time before she built up to
another. I think she just wanted to look into my eyes
and rock me slow and gentle 'cause that's what she
did.

I told Maggie how much she did it for me. I told her
that she had been my first and she would always be my
First no matter how many Thirds we had. I know your
not suppose to say that, that legally there's no such
thing as First, but it felt like something that she
needed to hear.

At first I thought maybe I had upset her, cause she
started crying right off. But then Maggie started
rockin' so righteous I knew it must have been right.
We had such a lovely, loving toss that I was sure that
no matter what happened with Lancaster or any other
Third we would ever have, Maggie and I would love each
other for the rest of our lives. That was the way it
had always been. That's the way I wanted it to be
forever.

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Saturday, July 31, 2004

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Thursday, July 29, 2004

Hot Amateur Porn Sex story

Original Post 15 May 2002

Disclaimer

This is piece of fiction. Any imagined resemblance to
people living or deceased is either the result of dementia
on the reader's part or that the reader is, in fact, a
character of this story. It is assumed that readers of
this story have the permission of the state, mom, dad, and
pastor and are able to tell the difference between real and
makebelieve. Furthermore, the writer is fully aware that
he is bound for hell, but welcomes both praise or/and well
thought out, humourous insults on his writing skill. Note:
he already knows he cannot spell 'warth shet'.

The events and descriptions of this story are the sole
property of Kenny N Gamera and should not be recorded,
reposted, or profited from in anyway without express
written permission of the person hiding behind that pen
name. Reposting and free archiving will be tolerated given
the writer's name and address remains attached. Archiving
by Deja.Com and / is assumed and encouraged.

Thank You and Good Day,
Kenny N Gamera
turtlemeat69

Authors/Gamera
Authors/Gamera/BeggarsCan'tBe

Beggars Can't Be... Part 12
Couldn't Think of Anything Clever
by
Kenny N Gamera

I woke the next morning alone. It didn't surprise me until
later when I noticed that the bathroom was not a mess. It
was damp, but clean. Only then did it dawn on me like
Archrimedes discovering specific gravity that I had a
houseguest, who was at that point absent.

I glanced in the mirror and decided that the stubble
could survive an extra few minutes without causing much
harm to the greater universe. This left me free to search
for Jenny. I didn't travel far in my quest; she was in the
kitchen, stooped over the twin system of Charlie and kitty
bowl. She soft stroked the cat who merrily munched his
morning meal.

"He'll be okay," I overheard her say to him, "Just wait
and see. It'll be alright."

"What'll be alright," I asked as I made my way to the
coffee maker.

Jenny looked up at me and said, "Everything. Charlie is
a little worried about you, you know."

"No," I replied, pouring myself a cup as I did so, "I
didn't."

"Humph!"

"Wha?"

"Well!"

"Wha?"

"Kenny," she stood up, "how could you not notice that he
worries about you? I could see it all day yesterday."

"Uh!"

"You are so clueless!" Shaking her head, she walked over
and gave me a kiss on my cheek. "I can't decide whether
it's annoying or cute."

"Uh!"

"Watch it buster, you're inching into annoying. Now , I
fed your cat, so you need to make my breakfast." Jenny
swatted my bare butt in punctuation.

"Yes'em."

I made her oatmeal.

Don't look at the screen like that! It was only fair.
Besides, I did cook it with some raisins for a little added
iron and vitamins and etc. And Gosh Darn it, it were my
Gol' Darn kitchen and a man can cook whatever he wants;
it's in the Magna Carta.

And if Jenny tells you otherwise... well you shouldn't
believe anyone who thinks that "Thppt!" is a point winning
argument. Nor should you believe anyone who thinks that
finger flicks to bruises settle anything either. I mean,
her armtwisting couldn't convince me of anything (mostly
because I couldn't think through the pain) so why should
the rest of it.

She let my arm go eventually and ate her oatmeal. I had
to zap it in the microwave first to bring it back to an
edible temperature because of the delay. I ate mine cold,
seeing as how I couldn't afford the time it would take and
still get cleaned up for work.

Jenny joined me as I shaved my whiskers. I watched her
in the mirror as she watched me in the mirror. I resisted
the temptation to set aside my razor and kiss her. I
merely imagined the foamy aftermath on her face as I
continued to perform for her enjoyment. Her eyes gleamed
as I pulled my razor through the white foam of the shaving
cream.

Out of the corner of my eye, I looked as she sat on the
toilet. She watched each of my movements just as the other
day she had watched Charlie at the food bowl. Her eyes
traveled with my hand down to the sink and water to rinse
off the discarded hair and shaving cream. Without the
slightest head movement, she followed it back to my face to
make another pass through my beard.

By the time I had washed the last bit of the shaving
cream from my face and dried myself, I was grinning as
broadly as she was, which was very broadly indeed. I
walked over to her and she stood up. In a flash, she
wrapped her arms around me and gave me a quick kiss.

"Let's shower."

"Jenny, I really need to get ready for work."

"No you don't. I called in for you."

"Uh..."

"I had no problem with either work or school. Your
boss, Bruce, seemed nice. But that Humpty..."

"Stumpy."

"...Stumpy...thanks...Stumpy is such a dork."

"Dork?"

"I hang out with junior high school kids, sue me..."

"They still call each other dorks?"

"Last I check."

"Oh."

"Now, let me finish my story, silly man."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, any way...ah?"

"Stumpy. Dork," I suggested.

"Oh, yes. Anyway," she began again. "That Stumpy is
such a dork. He got all up in arms when I told him that
you weren't coming in again today."

"Sounds like the little stump."

"So he wants to know who I am and why I'm calling in for
you." She developed an evile grin. "So I told him that I
was the girl who's lesbian girlfriend beat you up."

"Erp!"

"That's what he said, but not as cute. Anyway, he gave
the phone to Bruce."

"What," I asked cautiously, "did you tell him."

"That I was your new girlfriend and you fell down the
steps changing a light bulb for me." I let loose a sigh
and she continued, "That should explain the bruises when
you go back to work tomorrow."

She gave me another kiss, "Let's shower."

She beamed a guileless smile in my general direction
that flatly told me that she expected her request to me
granted not as if it were a casual suggestion, but as if it
were part of the natural order of events. Inside, I
shrugged. It was, I realized, now part of the natural
order. I took a few steps forward and past Jenny and
reached into the shower stall.

With a twist, I started the water with the preciseness
of long habit: first the hot, followed by the cold. I
stuck my hand into the water flow. The hot water slowly
cleared the pipe between the shower and water heater
downstairs. The water hitting my hand began to warm.
Eventually, it began to burn; I adjusted the cold water.

The shower had reached my favourite temperature by the
time my hand had returned from the knob. I reached back to
the knob twice until I felt the flow had reached the
temperature that I remembered from my earlier shower at
Jenny's.

I reached my hand out to Jenny, and she took it. I
pulled her to me. We embraced each other tightly. I
covered her mouth with mine, starting a kiss that out
lasted my sense of time.

Jenny pushed me away. "Kenny, let's shower."

"Uh."

"Now, Kenny. Before the water turns cold."

She pushed me into the shower and followed me inside.
The water against my face woke me from the trance. I
picked my shampoo up from the floor. With a generous
handful of the soap, I began to wash Jenny's hair. She
began to wash my chest.

I looked down at her. She looked up at me. I think
that I may have kissed her again, but I may be sinking into
clich writing again. Let's just all pretend that this
paragraph didn't happen, okay?

The shower was short. It ended as Jenny began to stroke
my penis and when the water turned from tepid to ice cold.
In no hurry, we each began to dry the other. We got
tangled in our efforts to run towels over each other.
Still, by the time we were dry and covered the distance to
bedroom and bed, I had lost most of my erection.

Jenny grabbed it again and reached up to kiss me in one
motion. With both hands, she stroked me as her tongue
explored my mouth. I reached around and held her against
me. My renewed erection became trapped against her
stomach. She wiggled just a tad, which caused me to moan
into her mouth.

Dragging my feet, I began to inch our locked bodies
forward. She resisted when the back of her legs touched
the side of the bed. She pushed back against me.
Wordlessly, I stepped away, one of her armlengths from
her. She went to her knees and took hold of my penis
again.

She swallowed it slowly but finally completely. She
left only a couple of finger lengths exposed between the
puff of my pubic bush and her lips. I lowered my, pausing
to stroke her hair as they dropped. At her shoulders, I
rested my hands lightly without placing any weight on her.

She placed her hands on my thighs and used them as
leverage as she pushed her upper body away from my lower
body. My penis slid along her lips. With just the glans
in her mouth, she stopped moving back. Her grip on my body
tightened. With a sudden jerk, she threw body forward.
She began to hump me with her mouth, using her whole body
to do it.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of my penis
and her mouth and throat, a series of slurps and gags.
Each time my penis entered her throat, I shuttered. Her
tongue dragged against the bottom of my penis as she pulled
away and pushed back against me. I reopened my eyes and
looked down to her. Her eyes were closed and a long string
of drool ran from her lower lip to her leg.

I lifted a hand to her long, brown hair. She paused for
a moment and swatted it away with a light push of her hand.
She shoved her head forward with the muscles of her lower
abdomen again and again. I thought for a moment to pull
her away and throw her on the bed. Something stopped me
from doing it; like Jenny's voice in my head asking me to
let her do this for me. Her body language seemed so
relaxed but eager and willing to let me finish this way.

I let my eyelids drop, again. The pleasure mounted in
the head of my penis. It started as a warm, insistent
tingle that preceded a pulse that traveled back to my
testicles. Each pulse would lessen the feeling slightly,
but not completely and less so each time. With another
touch, in just the right way, I'd let go. I ached for it,
but she did not touch me that way.

The pressure built up. I needed to have that orgasm,
but it would not come. It stayed away like a teasing girl
at a church dance. First here and then not just an arm
length away, giggling and waiting for just the right words.
I fought from grabbing her head and using her to gain that
release by forcing her into the exact rhythm that would
trigger the explosion I yearned for. I lifted my hands and
grabbed my elbows behind my back. I locked them there
tightly with my last coherent thought. I lost myself in the
hope that in only a moment that Jenny would hit the right
combination and I'd let go.

She yanked me forward. I felt her nose against my
stomach, and she held me there. My penis twitched once,
twice, and three times, begging for the last little bit of
stimulation that it needed. She answered by starting to
hum around me.

I started to pull away, my body rebelling in its need
and preparing to thrust forward. She grabbed the cheeks of
my buttock and held my hips motionless. The tingle built
up to a painful intensity, both reluctant and yearning. I
fought against her: my reward, a little back and forth
motion in her throat. It wasn't enough. All I felt was my
penis, the ache and the itch that started to dwell all
along and within it.

She swallowed. I felt the muscles of her throat moving
together in that instinctive, rhythmic spasm. That did the
last bit; I let go. I felt the pumps of my penile muscle
as the stream of my ejaculate travel along my penis.

My mind swirled. I felt nothing.

When I came back to reality or what passes for it around
these parts, I saw the wicked, evil grin of my ladylove
looking down at me.

"Sweet revenge." She stuck her hand out to help me back
to a standing position. "Now, let's get on the bed."

"Yes, dear," I droned with a grunt as I stood up.

"And don't start with that shit."

"Yes, dear."

"Ooooo!" She put her fists to the sides of her waist.
"Kenny, am I going to have to give you to Sherry for a
weekend."

"No, dear."

"That's it buster. You're going to..."

Before anything else could escape her lips. I wrapped
an arm around her and pulled her down with me as in dropped
on to the bed. I rolled as I fell to my back. Jenny
gracefully straddled my hips with her legs. She leaned
down so our noses touched. I sighed.

After a moment of silence, I added, "I love you, Jenny
Smith."

"I know, Kenny." She sighed and lifted her body up and
away from mine. "I know."

She used a lazy finger to trace designs on my chest.
She did this silently for a time. Her face seemed distant
as if she were lost in thought.

"Kenny, you are only my second man," she said after a
second sigh broke the silence.

"Jenny, I..."

"Just listen," she said with another of her smiles;
though this was a little weak. "This is something that I
have to say. Okay?"

I nodded.

"It was my third year at university, right at the
beginning. I was no stranger to sex, but it had always
been women, never men. He was big, he was strong, he was
dumb in a beer commercial sort of way, he was everything
that a woman is supposed to want. So, I thought what the
hell; I'll give it a shot."

I smiled inspite of myself.

"Damn, it turned out to be pretty good. Sure, he was a
jerk." She giggled. "I knew that going in, but I wasn't
after anything permanent. I had never had any such thing,
and wasn't interested in trying it. He was just a dildo
with a wallet, but then, I was a sex doll that could tell
him how great he was. Eventually, I wanted more. We broke
up and moved on.

"I wanted a real relationship, Kenny. And it wasn't
that he wasn't THE guy; it was that he was A guy. I let
him go looking for another girl to feed his ego and went
looking for a girl of my own to start a life with."

Another sigh signaled the start of a silent pause.
During which, she continued to move her finger gently
across my chest.

"Kenny, I'm a lesbian and I'm not going to change that
for you. I want you to understand that first. I also want
you to understand that Kimmy was the girl that I found
after my hetro fling. I still want to spend my life with
her.

"I love her like I love you, Kenny. I will be yours,
but remember that I am hers as well. You are my second
male lover, but you'll be my last and only man if you'll
have me as your woman and don't begrudge me mine."

She must've noticed the twitter at the corners of the
smile that I was forcing myself to keep. Otherwise, it may
have been that she noticed the way my heart pounded out and
made my temples pulse with its beat. Or maybe, she just
saw the tears starting to fill my eyes. She stroked the
side of my face with her hand.

"I love you, Kenny, but I love Kimmy just as much. I
have been faithful to her. Except for a few times that we
have shared Sherry. I'll be faithful to you as well, but I
will need to go back to her. And I can't see you again
until she is ready. She won't understand right now, and I
will not hurt her. If..." Jenny released a long sigh.
"She already felt I was going to abandon her for you. I
wasn't, but she can't understand that."

"I'm not sure that I understand."

Jenny slid off of me and moved to the edge of the bed.
She didn't look back at me, as she let her legs dangle over
the edge. I sat up and moved next to her. She spoke
again, not looking at me.

"You've already accepted Kimmy as a condition in my
life. She hasn't accepted you, though." She paused for a
deep, drawn out breath that she let go of as a protracted
sigh. "She's way into woman. Like me, she's always been
lesbian, but... She doesn't think of guys that way at all.
Except as rivals."

"Rivals," I asked.

She nodded her head. "Her mom broke up with her dad
just as Kimmy was hitting puberty. Kimmy was already
checking out other girls in the locker room." She grinned
a quick grin that evaporated like April snow. "Typical sex
story clich , I know, but... It could've been confusing for
her, but her mom moved them in with a...friend."

I was my turn with the grin. She giggled.

"They weren't terribly discreet about it either, so
Kimmy learned that her feelings were okay. She even
started her own affair with the woman's daughter. Her
lover was a few years older and would watch her when their
moms went out. The girl was heavy into bondage and
dominance. Kimmy became her slave.

"Then, her mom met a guy. They lived with him until
Kimmy started school. He was almost as bad as her dad.
You know, verbally abusive and the like. She told me that
he had destroyed the only normal family that she had been
in. Shortly after that, her lover got married to someone,
too. She feels that every one that she loves gets stolen by
a man."

"I got that impression the other night."

"She doesn't hate men..." I snorted a laugh "...well,
she doesn't really. She's just jealous of what she has and
thinks that all guys want to do is steal it all from her.
Kenny, I know that you could live with me having another
woman..."

"You do?"

She smiled knowingly. "I have my ways. You don't
realize it, yet. But you can and will. You have it in you
to share me with Kimmy like brother and sister. Kimmy
needs to learn to do this. If I leave her now, she never
will."

"You're leaving me, aren't you?" My voice was weak and
broke a little.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Soon. Sherry has her in a crashcounseling program
right now. I called last night while you were asleep and
again this morning before you woke up. I talked with
Kimmy, too. I think that she mostly understands what she
did."

I stared at my feet. I tried to remember when I last
cut my toenails. Wiggling my toes, I almost remembered the
spot I may have left the nail trimmers. Still, I wondered
to myself if they were still there or even if I really left
them there in the first place.

"Are you losing it again, Kenny?"

I looked up from my feet to Jenny's face. The concern
that she must have felt was in her eyes. Or maybe it was
only something similar but not the same. I don't know.

"I think so."

I looked back at my feet.

"What can I do?"

The carpet beyond my feet was a pale, yellowish brown
that was popular a long time ago.

"Don't go."

Closed loops of yarn meandered like a stream though
copselike stands of tall shag.

"I have to."

I looked up at the wet blur next to me; tears started to
overflow in the corner of my eyes and run down the side of
my nose. I tried not to and failed to hold back a big
sniff. Big boys don't cry, a voice told me from the dark
back corner of my mind, big boys don't go sniff like some
whiny little schoolgirl in a Sunday comic. I fought
against the tears until my body shook. They continued to
run past my nose in little blobby floods, like water down a
cartoon garden hose. I sniffed in again, but held back the
sobs.

"I'll be back, Kenny."

No! you won't, I thought. If you go, I've lost you.
You'll forget me, and you'll forget that you ever loved me.

"I will always love you."

If you love me, you wouldn't go.

"I'll be back."

The first sob broke loose from my throat. I threw
myself around her. She took me in embrace as well. I
cried through the rest of the day.


Beggars Can't Be... Part 13
There Is No Part Thirteen

;)

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Wednesday, July 28, 2004

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Sunday, July 25, 2004

Hot Amateur Porn Sex story

"If you are younger than eighteen years
Or sex is taboo for your neighborhood peers
If you are aghast at frank, sexual sleaze
Take your eyes elsewhere - immediately please."

Please ask permission before posting this story elsewhere.
2000 by Sara H


----

Musings of the Opened Mind

by Sara H

Categories: FF,FD,NC,Cons,Rom,Horror,MC

----

Dear Jen,

I know you've been worried about me, so I'm writing this to let
you know where I've been and what I've been up to. Pardon the
length, but I can't make it any shorter. By the time you get
through it all I think you'll understand.

So much has changed for me, and after all our years growing up
together, I simply had to share it with you, so here it is! If
it doesn't feel as personal, Jen, forgive me... I'm just trying
to explain where I am and why I'm staying. I know a lot of this
will initially shock you, but try to set it aside until the end,
okay?

This is the history of my enlightenment.

Don't worry if you don't know what that means.

I remember everything. I don't know if I'm supposed to or not.
It's not even valid to think about, considering the fact that I
remember whether I want to or not.

I was still called Lisa when I got to Paris. Names don't mean
much anymore. Not yours, Jen, and not mine. Names give a sense
of individuality, which is an illusion. I know you don't believe
me, but that matters as much as what you call yourself. We are
all just the same, underneath.

I believed the same things that you do now, four months ago:
that I knew who I was, that I was "the sum of my experiences" or
words to that affect. I ate hamburgers and fries. I experienced
hamburgers and fries. I am not hamburgers and fries. I am not
the carpet in my living room. I am not the dildo that I love to
plunge in and out of my burning cunt.

I am... here. I can't tell you who I am, or what I am, because
no matter how I try to do otherwise, I'm always the one looking
outward. I can only see myself through others, and if I only
recognize myself in others, then we are all the same, more or
less.

Oh, there are differences. But they are like the skin of an
apple... they are all on the surface, and amount to very little
of the whole, although they add a certain coloring. If the skin
is purple, it is still an apple.

Apples are apples. People are, more than anything else, people.
Fucking is fucking, and pleasure is pleasure. Well, sometimes
pain is pleasure... it depends on if I see it that way. I see it
that way if I see myself in someone else seeing it that way.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

I have gained and lost, loved and hated, and now, I am reborn.

----

I saw myself for the first time, recognized myself, in Erica.

As you know, this was my first trip abroad. I had just checked
in at ten in the morning, and I decided to go back out to the
Brasserie beside my hotel for an espresso. I saw her come
walking up, with her short crimson hair, green jacket and
backpack, jeans and hiking boots, just disheveled enough to be
disarming.

She eyed me as I took my petite cafe, sipping carefully to cool
it to less than a scalding temperature. "You're an American,
aren't you?" she asked boldly, smiling slightly... as if she
could tell without looking.

"Yes... I just got in," I answered, happy to be able to speak
easily with someone. I can't speak enough French to buy a train
ticket, and was already tired of having to rely on the good
graces of strangers for help.

"Well, I stay at this hotel every year," she bubbled.
Apparently I wasn't the only one glad to have the company of a
compatriot.

Spontaneously, we both sat down at a nearby table on the small
veranda. It was almost as if we had choreographed it in advance,
the soft upturn at the corner of her mouth, the answering look
downward from me, and the amused formality of coming to rest
across from a stranger who suddenly felt so familiar.

"My family used to come here when I was young," she continued.
"I grew up nearly as much in the streets of Paris as the streets
of Cambridge."

"It's my first time," I admitted. "My 'vacation' time was spent
harvesting potatoes on my uncle's farm in Illinois. My parents
thought it would build character." I tossed my hair back with a
flourish. "Obviously, it worked. I'm in Paris."

We laughed, and although I didn't recognize it at the time --
had no reason to recognize it -- we fell in love almost
immediately.

Jen, I know you. You're asking yourself among other things,
"Why wouldn't she recognize it?" Well, I was on my first real
adventure. It was hard to tell the difference between my natural
enthusiasm for France and the infatuated mists of falling in
love. Paris wasn't just old. It was a city that was greener,
more alive, more... let me put it this way. The "culture"
everyone talks about isn't something you see. It isn't
something you touch. It is something that flows through
everything around you and then it flows through you, too. It
flowed through me, at least.

That was probably why everything happened the way that it did.
There is no rational explanation.

As we sat and talked, there was obviously a bond... I caught
myself looking at the way her skin wrinkled at her thumb as she
lifted her espresso to her lips. And they were the lips I
secretly wished I possessed; not overly full, but they sat out
from her face, round and inviting, whether she smiled or made a
mock grimace. Her smile gave her the slightest trace of
dimples... and her nose was perfection... matched with her large
eyes, it was long and sharp... on any other face it would have
been a distraction... on her, it was the completion of natural
beauty.

Our conversation drifted to museums and places that she knew of
where no tourist would venture... streets and sights that only
were available from years of exploration and familiarity. I was
captivated by her stories, her remembrances, and finally by her
suggestion that she show me Paris as it was meant to be seen.

We ended up spending the entire afternoon and evening together,
shopping, sharing wine and dinner, laughing, joking and flirting
with passers by and each other. We had a contest to see who
could make more strangers smile. Can you imagine such a thing?
If you can, imagine not having to imagine. It was a day beyond
words.

When I finally went to my own room to sleep for the night, I
had a feeling that I had only experienced after the most torrid
moments with my short list of boyfriends. I was lonely. Not sad,
but aching with the desire to be cuddling up to someone, bodies
shared gently, almost casually, with only the intensity of
breathing and unending playfulness as evidence that something
much deeper and passionate was happening.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

These were my thoughts as I drifted off to sleep.

----

Jen, you know my dreams have always been strange things. And my
dreams that night were strange, even for me.

I was lying in my hotel room, my eyes closed, and it started
before I knew I was asleep. I could hear voices in the hall,
talking softly, intently. I heard my door open and feet pad to
my bed. My eyes popped open and I started to scream as a hand
fell over my mouth. I hesitated and looked at my intruder and
relaxed. It was Erica.

"Don't scream, Lisa," she whispered. "I'm sorry to scare you
like that, but I couldn't stop myself from coming in to see you.
I mean, I'm not like a dyke or anything, but..."

(But you're starting to question it,) I thought. I realized
that we were the same in another uncanny way. The scent of her
hands wafted into and then lingered in my nose, adding to the
ethereal sensation, and that's when I realized in the back of my
thoughts that I was dreaming, even though I was still too deep
to wake up.

I sat up slowly, my eyes feeling sluggish as they moved in
their sockets to look at wonderful, crimson-haired Erica. I saw
a dim reflection of myself in the mirror too, half-lit by the
unshaded window, blonde and waif-like, my nightgown sitting
loosely over my petite frame. The eyes in my roundish, chipmunky
face went wide with a start as I realized I was wet. Very, very
wet.

My sleepy adventure took a weirder turn. Erica took my hand and
said, "I got an oil change last night. You need one, too."

"What... what does that mean?" I asked, feeling my thoughts
circle around in confusion as the scent of her skin distracted
me so much that my words only possessed mild curiosity.

"I'll show you," she said leaning close. She kissed me fully,
passionately on the lips, and I couldn't help myself... I
responded. When I broke the kiss... I found that I couldn't --
it wasn't like her lips were stuck to mine... it was like we had
grown together, fused into locked pleasure and swirling
tongues. I surrendered to the enhanced feeling, even as the
dream-scene switched from odd to fearful.

Water, but thicker, sweeter, gushed out of her mouth and into
mine... flowing down my throat, drowning me directly my lungs,
entering my bloodstream there... I could feel it moving
through my veins and hitting my brain, my body convulsing and
revolting, drowning in this "almost-water" pouring from Erica.

At the same time, my body began to react, ignoring the terror
in my mind, squirming almost hungrily as pleasure began to
travel its curves and crevices, moving in a ballet with Erica as
she ground her body grinding against mine, guided by her motion.
I was a mirror image locked in a building dance of lust and
corruption... so far beyond the control of my increasingly
reeling mind that it was useless to do anything but follow her
into the throes of ecstasy, passion and release. My pussy was a
boiling cauldron, heated by the fire that was her, that was us,
together, one mind bent on more and more pleasure, until we
shook together in the ancient rite of explosive paradise.

Erica broke away. I lay perfectly still.

I remember thinking that this must be what dying is like. The
body stopped, the mind careening in confusion and then...
serenity. Pleasure. Bliss. None of it mattered. I wasn't
breathing, my heart wasn't pounding, there was nothing. Well,
except the smell of Erica's hands and the singing of her voice
in my ear.

Singing secret things that ended my nightmare.

I felt my legs move under the blanket and realized again that
it really had been a dream and that morning would come. Just
like that. That's how reality shows itself. It doesn't offer
excuses or apologies, and it doesn't knock. It just lets you
know when you're back in it.

I slowly opened my eyes. There was no sign of Erica.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

I don't dream anymore.

----

I slept a little late the next morning, but when I went down to
the little breakfast room, I managed to get croissants and
coffee served by someone who spoke about as much English as I
did French. She still smiled at me, I suppose because I was
rather embarrassed at not knowing her language, and didn't show
typical American snobbery. She seemed relieved that I smiled
back and gave her a look that showed the helplessness I felt.

I froze as Erica walked in and sat down across from me. My
dream from the night before was still very much present in my
thoughts, and I couldn't shake the sensation of her kiss. She
didn't seem to notice and started talking about where we would
go that day.

Finally, sensing my distraction, she looked at me in the eyes
and said, "Are you okay, Lisa? You seem a bit... elsewhere."

"I'm fine. I had a weird, weird dream last night. You were in
it."

"Oh?" she said, smiling. "I'm not that kind of girl, you know."
She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and laughed, breaking me out of
my pensive mood. I didn't mention that her antics suddenly made
my pussy start pulsing softly in yearning.

I should have been shocked, but I wasn't. While I didn't freeze
again, my mind began to whirl.

I wasn't a lesbian. I'd never even seriously considered it. I
found the idea of two women together nauseating. Yet I had found
Erica alluring from the first moment we had met. What is the
border between affection and lust? It had always been a black,
easily defined line, but now, it felt hazy, like a thick fog
that looks substantial until you are in the middle of it. By the
time you are, it's too late and too easy to get lost.

So easy.

I decided that it was because she was sort of my savior. She
was witty, intelligent, fun... and she was keeping me from being
totally lost and alone in a city that I was realizing was much
more overwhelming, even sinister, than my first impression. I
thanked whatever Goddess had sent her to me, to guide me through
the maze of this foreign land. It was incredibly good fortune on
a trip that would have otherwise been a terrible mistake.

"I dreamed, too." she said, looking at me with an odd sort of
open-mouthed distraction. "About you. 'And that's all I have to
say about that'," she concluded.

"Okay, Forrest," I laughed. "What's on the schedule today?"

This is the history of my enlightenment.

There is no turning back.

----

We spent the early part of the day wandering around the shops
near the Sorbonne, and wandering up and down the Seine. There's
something about wine and cafes and light conversation in Paris
that feels so... appropriate.

All morning long I let Erica lead me from place to place,
finding every suggestion more delightful than the last. It was
uncanny -- almost as if she were reading my mind about what
would be fun, except that it was hidden to me until she
mentioned it. After awhile I dismissed the oddity of it and just
accepted that I should let her guide me. After all, who was I to
question her knowledge? She was taking me further along on my
adventure, and she was the one who knew Paris. She was the one
who knew what we should do next.

Not thinking gave me that much more excuse to give in to my
growing obsession with her.

By early afternoon I had quite a giddy buzz, and as we took the
Metro to the Port D' Orleans station, I found that my earlier
easy balance on the subway was a bit more of a struggle.

As we ascended to the sunlit street, Erica suggested a little
sidewalk cafe she knew for a bit of lunch. She led me for blocks
and blocks through twisting streets followed by more twisting
streets. By the time we got to the small rustic cafe, I was more
than ready, and besides, it was an excuse to sit for while.
Erica ordered two Kirs while we waited. I'd never had one, but
coming from Erica, it sounded like a wonderful idea.

I went inside to use the bathroom, and smelled the definite
remnants of burned cannabis in the air. When I returned to the
table, I told Erica, and she looked at me in surprise and said,
"Oh, do you imbibe?"

"Well, not for a few years now, but I certainly had my time," I
said, blinking innocently.

She gave me a curious look, and when the waiter came to our
table, she began a flirtatious conversation in French that was
as beautiful as it was impossible for me to follow. He brought
us two more Kirs, and handed Erica an envelope. She stood up and
motioned for me to follow her and we walked through a small
passageway around to the back of the place.

She tore open the envelope, and pulled out, to my surprise, two
joints, one of which she pocketed, and the other which she put
between her lips. Her beautiful, beautiful lips. Pulling a small
vial from her pocket, the dabbed some drops of a yellowish
liquid along the lengths of the little cigarette.

The aroma of the liquid made it to my nose and I reeled,
realizing that it was the aroma of my dream. I had to stop and
think for a second. Then I figured it out. If the aroma was that
strong, and she carried it with her, then I probably had smelled
it yesterday, too. It had merely became part of my dream, like
all kinds of trivial happenings of the day.

Finally, she lit the joint. I watched her, fascinated with the
way her hands moved. I could tell I was getting very far away
from the girl who had arrived at Orly International the day
before. But this is why I came to Paris. Something new.
Something different. (Something wonderful,) whispered my mind.

Taking a huge hit, she passed it to me and choked out, "Special
blend."

Feeling quite wicked, I took a hit myself, and immediately felt
the buzz creep into my brain. Whatever she had done to the pot
was impressive, that was for sure, although the taste was the
same. This had an immediate affect, and my head was in that
otherworldly, slightly jerky-eyed place before I even released
my first toke.

Erica's eyes were already glassy as they stared into mine, and
I was reminded again of my dream from the night before.

Erica started talking but I was too busy in my own head to hear
the first of it. "...happens when you get an oil change," she
whispered.

"What?!?" I nearly screamed.

"This pot is powerful... I only added incense, so it must have
been zapped by a mold strain. I was only kidding," she said.

I laughed and nearly fell backwards but she caught me before I
keeled over.

"What were we talking about?" I giggled, my thoughts already
getting lost like they do when you're "under the influence".

"Take another hit," she said. "That's what you were thinking.
You need to take another hit."

"Why?" I was slightly confused.

"Because I said so," she said quietly, smiling.

I giggled again. "Silly me." I took a deep drag off of the
joint, letting it send more waves of distance through my body
and mind.

"Take another. Take a really, really deep one and hold it until
I tell you to let it out. It won't bother you at all, I
promise." She sounded very sincere. Almost demanding. The
authority in her voice combined with the high was definitely
teasing my libido. Hell with that... my body was screaming for
her.

"Yes, Ma'am!" I said, saluting and smiling. My voice sounded
like someone else talking, almost like a child. I giggled again
and pushed out all my breath. I pulled in a full breath of
nothing but the pungent smoke, and held it, sure I would be
coughing my lungs out in a few seconds.

It didn't happen. It didn't hurt. My eyes went wide as I
realized that I didn't feel any need to breathe. Nothing. I was
just holding it in, looking at her. She was saying something I
couldn't quite hear. I was in love with the movements of her
pink tongue. My vision started to get fuzzy at the edges,
turning to a nice black that was creeping in as everything
started to shimmer.

Just as I was about to pass out, I heard Erica's angelic voice
say, "Let it out now, love. Breathe normally." I felt the wind
pass from my lungs to the air and my vision go dark, barely
aware as my knees crumbled and I fell off the earth and into
infinity.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

There is no going home.

----

I lay for a long time listening to voices. I couldn't tell if
they were close or not, and the words kept fading in and out, as
did my consciousness.

"... she really is dear, Mistress. I was hoping that you could
allow me to..." That was Erica. I felt my lips begin to smile at
the sound of her voice.

"... assimilated yet. The vapors from the oil are slightly
hallucinogenic, but the reprogramming it allows is the key. It
won't take too long before she goes from a malleable state to
cementing of new realizations. You did give her all the
instructions, didn't you..."

"... commands given to her through her butt plug. The
subcutaneous circuitry has been implanted with a variable
voltage of plus or minus..."

"... been permanently grafted. She will worship anything she
knows is Yours. Her base personality remains, but is superseded
by her desire to obey Your perfect will..."

"... wake up, dear. It's time to begin teaching you. Wake up."
I realized the voice was talking to me. Erica. I opened my eyes.
I couldn't move them from staring straight ahead. I moaned.

"They've injected a chemical that paralyzes your optical
motion. It's necessary for mapping you." Why wasn't she letting
me see her?

I began to move my head in a vain attempt to move my eyes. I
was strapped down. "Stop struggling. This is for your own good.
Mistress says so."

I immediately stopped struggling. Mistress had said this was
for my own good. I knew Mistress spoke the truth. Was Erica
Mistress? But before I could follow that thought with another, I
realized that I was not worthy enough to be allowed curiosity. I
saw that it made more sense not to worry about it... in fact,
that it was more important than anything else in the world.

It had come from Mistress.

It wasn't as if I didn't know things had changed. I remembered
every moment up to passing out in front of Erica. I knew that I
would not have felt this way before. It didn't make any
difference. This was the right way to think. This was the only
way to think. I knew all the way to my core that I would never
think any other way ever again.

"What is your name?"

"Lisa," I croaked.

"No, that was your name. What is your name now?" Obviously
I had answered incorrectly. I wanted to be correct, of course.

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Listen. Listen with new ears."

I listened.

"I said to listen with new ears," coaxed the disembodied
voice of my teacher, my Erica. "It will not be a sound."

I felt something travel from my asshole, through my clit,
winding its way through my breasts, around my nipples, into my
armpits, across my shoulders and into my neck. I was suddenly
covered in pleasure-induced goosebumps.

My mouth opened to speak, despite my lack of intention to say
anything. "girl," said my mouth and lips and tongue.

"Very good."

"But I didn't say it," I began to protest.

"Oh? Then who did?"

"I don't know." Why was she being so cold and clinical with me?

"Mistress says it was you who said it."

I flinched and thought again. Yes. I had said it. Of course.
Stupid girl. "I said it."

"Mistress says that any words or thoughts that come to you from
the Oracle of your asshole are yours. They are absolute. You
think them. You say them. They belong to no one else. They are
Law. They are Perfect Truth."

Finally, Erica came over to where I could see her. She kissed
me deeply, passionately, and then backed away a bit and said,
"Now, we will be joined in our destinies forever. My body is
your body. Your body is my body. My mind is your mind. Your mind
is my mind. One body. One mind. One thought. One pleasure.
Obedient only to Mistress. Our purpose is whatever Mistress says
it is. Even though you can see and remember your past, the
thoughts and opinions that lead you back to who you were before
are as irrelevant as your old name. They are illogical.
Nonsense. Malarkey. They are like trying to understand a fish
talking. It makes no sense to even try. I'm sure you can see
that, now."

"Malarkey," I whispered.

She kissed me again, more tenderly, and again, even as I ached
for her, she pulled away. I heard her fumble with something, and
then tensed as a now familiar aroma entered my nose, altering my
perceptions further into rubbery abandon.

"Listen and accept," said Erica. There was no room for a
question.

My body shook as my mind was redirected to the Truth. Taught.
Corrupted. Corrected. It was absolutely delicious.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

Ignorance dies with knowledge. Knowledge only grows.

----

Eventually, I was released from the table and led to an
adjoining room. From there, I was taken to a bath and washed and
cleaned by other women. All of them were naked and aroused. We
were all the same.

Finally, I was clean enough to be presented. I was taken to yet
another large room, and told to wait. My Oracle gave me Truth. I
kneeled.

I heard footsteps enter but did not look up. When the Oracle
told me to lift my eyes, I did. "You have learned well, girl. On
the other hand, you didn't really have any choice.

"Do you know Me?"

"You are Mistress Black," answered my Oracle. I also answered.
I could no longer tell any difference. There was no difference.

"Yes. You love My Feet, don't you."

My heart swelled with love as I had never before felt. My
Oracle was keening in my head as my heart began to pound.

"Oh, yes, Mistress! I love Your Feet more than life itself!" I
sputtered, overcome with the disorienting Truth that burned in
my soul.

"Then you will worship Them now with your tongue. It is, for
now, the highest honor and greatest pleasure you can attain when
in My presence."

I crawled at the bidding of my Oracle and tasted the Feet of an
Angel. Black nail polish consumed my vision, followed by the
curves of her toes and delectable arches. Pleasure snaked from
my tongue into the furthest reaches of my brain. I began to pant
as I licked and savored Mistress' Feet. My nipples became stiff
and I felt as if my pussy were being serviced by a hundred deft
and irresistible tongues, tongues that knew every secret
pleasure.

Her Feet became my existence, my entire focus, my breath, my
purpose. I suckled on each perfect Toe as if each were an
entirely new lover. Mistress' moans were my reward, causing the
blood in my veins to become rivers of depravity, delivering Her
Essence to every cell in my body.

I knew that I would have been shocked in my former life. I knew
that I would have been disgusted. I also know that I no longer
had the ability to care. My Oracle began to teach me... about
Mistress' body, from Her Head to Her Feet. I knew that with a
word I would worship Her Asshole and beg to taste it. I would
suck Her long Dildo and beg for Her to fuck me. If she told me
that the pain she inflicted was overwhelming pleasure, it would
be True. I would do anything, even die, to please Her most
minute Whim.

With no warning, orgasm washed over me, and still my tongue
licked and worshipped Her Holy Feet. Writhing on the floor like
the complete slave and slut I had so easily become, I felt the
elation and humiliation of total surrender. The pleasure of it
nearly dragged me into unconsciousness... and only my Oracle,
commanding me to cum and worship and cum and worship and cum and
worship and cum and worship and cum and worship kept me from
falling into the darkness.

I licked even as I recovered, panting deeply.

"Just wait until you meet Mistress White, Mistress Red, and
Mistress Lavender," laughed Mistress Black. "And this is just
the beginning. You will be Taught for four months before you are
ready to be called anything but 'girl', and take your place
among the enlightened.

"Tell Me who lives in the world, girl."

"Your slaves, Mistress," I said, the Oracle prompting me with
Perfect Truth.

"And what is the difference between you and others?"

"None that matter. There are only those who already know, and
those who have yet to be enlightened."

"Very good, girl. You may proceed to My ankles."

This time, even the Oracle could not keep me from fainting.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

Enlightenment is inevitable.

----

That's pretty much it, Jen. By now, you are deeply aroused,
after a feeling of initial shock. There is an ethereal quality
to everything around you. The vapors of the oil which I applied
to this letter are temperature activated, and there is no way of
escaping. You don't really want to, do you. You can hear my
voice, like that of an angel. It is almost as if I'm singing in
your ear. You are thinking about my tongue lapping endlessly at
your pussy, driving you insane, making your mind surrender. It
is a surrender that longs for Mistress.

Inside the package that came with this letter is a vial of
Truth Oil. Open it and breathe deeply.

Yes. That's it. Good girl. Also in the package is a one-way
ticket to Paris and a U.S. passport in your name. Reservations
have already been made at the hotel listed on this letter's
return address.

When you are done with this letter, burn it, but save the
envelope. Then masturbate yourself to sleep, obsessing about how
much you want to fuck me. Dream only of the bliss of surrender
to Mistress.

When you awaken tomorrow, you will remember none of this,
except that you have been planning on your trip to Paris for
longer than you can remember. You have thirty days to plan
without raising suspicion.

Lastly, there are eight more packages and letters for you to
give out to our mutual friends. Deliver them all as soon as
possible, starting tomorrow.

I am waiting to take you into pleasure such as you have never
known.

Love always,

girl

P.S. The girl I used to call Erica lifted her tongue from my
clit long enough to say she can't wait to meet you at the
Brasserie just outside the hotel.

Paris 15/10/2000







----

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