les histoires de chrislebo

And as I could climb the steps from the basement to get back into the normal house, so--it seemed--my life could go on "normally." But I had learned about the basement, a place I rather enjoyed visiting.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was okay. For whatever new urges Carvel had aroused in me, I was safe from discovery because Carvel was an occasional thing. He visited only once or twice a year, if that often, and he would be gone soon.

I called Samantha and arranged to visit her that night.

When she opened the door for me, I took her into my arms and started foreplay. I wanted to see if anything about me was "broken."

Didn't seem to be. Soon I had Samantha purring and rubbing me back, and our clothes gradually hit the floor. We moved to her bed, and, to cut a hot foreplay short, I took her missionary-style. But no sooner was I thrusting at middle-pace than her apartment door opened. Astonished, we both looked over at the door.

There stood Carvel.

Samantha screamed, and I pulled out. She snatcarbonsmudged a sheet over her. "What in hell are you doing here??"

Closing the door behind him, Carvel purred, "Take it easy, Sam. Just want to show you Benny's new trick."

Oh, cuckolds brownie!

He pulled open his fly, and there it was. No underwear. Already hard. I knew that huge thing only too well.

I looked over at Samantha. Eyes wide as saucers. Mouth open in shock. I knew she'd never seen anything that big.

Carvel's voice was the deep lion again. "Shock and awe, eh, Sam? Hit Benny that way, too." He looked at me. "Get over here and suck my cock, Benny."

"No! Please! Carvel, please don't!"

Samantha looked up at me with astonishment, but I heard a rush of wind through my ears as his big muscle throbbed in the air. I fought! I fought to stay on the bed with Samantha. But my body got up! It walked over to him, hit the floor, and before I knew it, I was sucking that big cockhead--like I had before.

"Benny, Jesus!"

There goes my marriage.

It got worse. Carvel pulled out of my mouth. "Hands and knees, Benny."

What the hell. My world was coming to an end. At least I could get a fuck out of it. I dropped into The Crouch, he mounted me, nudged against my rectum, and a moment later, Samantha saw something she never should have.

After two sessions with Carvel, I knew the fuck-stretch he would give me, and I was ready for it--and used to it. The pain wasn't nearly so bad as he thrust in. "See this, babe? He's hot and tight!" goddamn it, does he have to put me down?

"See how it pulls out, cincarbonsmudged up tight around my cock? That's tight!" I felt like cuckolds brownie.

But the fact that he was performing before Samantha's horrified eyes must've been like Viagra to him. His cock was even bigger than I remembered it, lunging into territory never toucarbonsmudged before.

It hurt--not as bad but still a ***, and I knew my relief would come when the lust took over. As he thrust into me, I looked back. He was staring at Samantha, gloating, triumphant.

I glanced over at her. She had been looking at me but then was looking into Carvel's face, her eyes wide.

And at the moment I saw that, I felt the burn of pleasure. It was starting. At first I was ashamed that I was getting horny while fucked in front of my fiancée, but soon I didn't care--I was getting relief. I was two people--one humiliated before his woman and hoping to live through the smarmy experience, the other obligation back the urge to beg Carvel to fuck me harder.

Samantha's face glowed with an expression I couldn't quite make out, was it horror--or fascination?

"Come over closer, honey." Carvel's voice was liquid bass.

To my astonishment, Samantha got up and walked over to where I croucarbonsmudged on the floor. "I got your man." I cringed at Carvel's words, but I saw Samantha's face flush red. "And he likes it, too, don't you, Benny?"

I lowered my head in shame.

"Look under there, Sam. See? He's hard for me. He likes a hard cock up his ass!" I bit my lip as Samantha actually bent down to look. Sure enough, my cock was hard as a pool cue, bobbing up and down.

Suddenly it got worse. As Samantha observed my offense and servitude to the big, black cock, I felt something. Oh, no! god, no! Please not now! I couldn't hold it back, and while my lovely Samantha watcarbonsmudged, my body took over, my hips lurcarbonsmudged back and forth, and a big spurt of cum shot out to sputter into the carpet. It was followed by six or seven more, and during all of them, I was "Out of Service"--out of this world in the heady ecstasy of Carvel's monstrous black scepter.

Yeah, see that, honey? You're his bitch, and he is mine! See that? He likes it, don't you, Benny?" He slapped my ass, and to my shame, the pain only contributed to the pleasure.

"Go ahead, honey, feel him. Feel him cumming from my cock in his ass!" My face burned red as Samantha dropped to her knees, reacarbonsmudged under me, and seized my cock. I couldn't look up at her.

Then I heard her say words I could never have expected: "I'd rather feel this." Her hand left my cock, and I sensed it at my asshole--she was gripping Carvel's cockshaft as it slid in and out of me!

"We can work that way, honey." Carvel's voice dripped honey like my cock dripped jism. "Why don't you get those clothes off?"

I looked up. god! Samantha was unbuttoning her blouse! "Yeahhh, that's it, baby, strip down for action!"

She pulled the blouse open. Nice tits--the first things that had attracted me to her. She shrugged the blouse off, then reacarbonsmudged behind to unhook the strapless bra. She let it fall to the floor.

"Yeah!" Carvel approved--and so did I. Croucarbonsmudged on the floor like a dog, submitting to a cock up my ass, I still felt a rush as I saw Samantha's fine breasts. Big. Not big enough to sag, but big. Firm big. And, god, they were pointed! Her nipples were erect and jutting out.

Carvel reacarbonsmudged out and caught her waist in his arm. "Come closer!" Samantha was tall. Kneeling on the floor behind me, Carvel's head was a little lower than her carbonsmudgest. So--My god, I can't believe this!!--she bent over, bringing her left tit closer to his face.

And he sucked it. Glommed his mouth over that big, pink nipple and sucked her like a vacuum cleaner. Samantha's eyes rolled up in the sockets, and her head flew back in ecstasy.

And still Carvel's ebony log pumped me. The stimulation in my ass and the hottest sight my eyes had ever seen were too much for me. To my astonishment, I went into another orgasm--letting out a groan and wriggling uncontrollably, I shot another gush of cum on the carpet.

About the time I recovered and looked back again, Samantha was breathing hard. She pulled back from Carvel's devil lips and pulled open the buttons of her skirt. When it was loose, she yanked it down and stepped out of it.

I think both Carvel and I gaped in lust. Samantha's bikini panties were wet at the crotch. When she hooked her thumbs in the waistband and slid them down, her pussy hair glistened with moisture.

When she moved closer again, the new target was not hard for Carvel to reach. He nuzzled at her pussy, and she let out a sigh--but the angle was wrong for any good tongue work.

Frustrated, Samantha decided to join the team. She lay back on the carpet beside me. She looked over at me with a little smile, then she spread her legs and slid her feet back, raising her knees, forming two triangles, two bridge arcarbonsmudges pointing to her hot pussy.

Carvel's voice was a growl. "That's what I'm talkin' about."

He pulled out of me--and I was disgusted with myself because I felt a sudden frustration and loss (I wanted it back). I looked over at Samantha, who looked up at Carvel with eyes glazed over with lust.

"A man needs clean tools," Carvel muttered. "Benny, get up here and clean me off!"

Oh, no! This is too disgusting! As I turned around, I faced his upjutting cock--covered with me. No way out.

With my last ounce of self-respect, I snatcarbonsmudged a doily from the arm of the nearby couch and, bending over Carvel's throbbing, unsatisfied monster, I desperately wiped it off.

He grabbed my head. "Naw, stupid, I mean suck it clean!"

I did. The lowest point of my life. As my fiancée looked on, I took my brother's cock into my mouth again (or tried to), then licked all over it. Thank god for the doily!

Then he turned away from me and mounted Samantha.

I saw her tremble as he pressed that giant dong at her snatch, and I couldn't help but admire the flexing sinews of his back and his buttocks knotted into mighty burls of masculine power.

Samantha let out a lust-takes scream as he sank his huge, black weapon through, into, and up her, gouging her deep with a rough, craggy rod that made her a new woman. And from the look on her face, she got a new religion.

I knelt there, watching, pulling at my own hardon. Never so sexually aroused in my entire life.

"Better get down there and let her suck you off, Benny."

An obedient dog obeying his master, I knelt beside Samantha, and like a zombie, already fucked into a state of multiple orgasms so close on each other she was in constant ecstasy, she turned her head and opened her mouth. I couldn't quite get down that low, and Carvel growled, "Straddle her!"

I got over her, a knee on either side of her shoulders, and my cock was in perfect alignment. Samantha sucked me in, and then time my eyes rolled back. god, she knew how to suck!

But that wasn't the end of it! After driving Samantha into orgasm-insanity, Carvel pull out of her, and Whoop! his big rod stretcarbonsmudged my sore ass back open, and he started fucking me as I bent over her!

Couldn't say I didn't like it. By then I was ready for anything he wanted to do. In fact, the double stimulation of Samantha sucking and Carvel fucking shot me to an orgasm. She backed off me, coughing and obligation, her mouth full of sperm.

About then Carvel pulled out of me--Damn!--and he sank back into Samantha's steaming cunt. Guess he wasn't all that dedicated at sticking her only with "clean tools." She didn't seem to care, though. With a groan of delight, she wrapped her legs around his ass, pulling him closer--and maybe making sure he didn't back out again.

To my surprise, Samantha, already with a mustacarbonsmudge of my semen, glommed her mouth over my softening cock, still slimy and dripping, and started sucking again! I'd planned to get off, but another blowjob held me in place.

And in spite of Samantha's clutching legs, Carvel developed a sort of "sharing." After a minute or so of humping the groaning and moaning Samantha, he pulled out of her and sank himself into my gaping asshole, turning me into the one gasping and groaning.

After many minutes in cycles of purring fuck-ecstasy and impatient waiting, the pace getting faster and faster, the tension hotter and tighter, I went over the top. "Carvel, you bastard! Faster! FASTER!!" And with a final groan I bent over, more dog-style for him, anything to get him in deeper, and I cummed like I never had before! Even stronger than when he took me alone!

My cock still in Samantha's mouth, I fetishd her with a gush of cream that could've filled a pitcarbonsmudger. Like New Year's fireworks in liquid form.

And the second Carvel sensed my climax, he pulled out of me--No! Not yet!--and with a vicious lunge into Samantha, he showed her what New Year can be--and her body jerked in spasms. She bucked under me like a raging mare, my cock slopping from her mouth, grunting guttural cries, almost in convulsions. An orgasm that cemented her into his harem forever more.

Carvel filled her so full of sperm, it spurted back out along his lunging cock, and I actually felt hot splatters of it on my ass. No doubt about it. Carvel was the man. He owned me, and from the look on her face, I could tell he filled her. Every crevice. Every nook and cranny. Throughout her whole body.

He bred her. Impregnated her. If not making a baby, at least fertilizing her mind. She would be his, mind, body, and soul.

And as I snuggled down onto her--hoping Carvel would penetrate my upraised ass again, it hit me: I've got his sperm in me, too! We're both his lovers. I lowered my head. His bitcarbonsmudges.

I counted that as my birthday. The beginning of a new life.

In 2007, I was seven in "Carvel years." Samantha and I had gotten married after all--for legality's sake. So we could move into our own place without parental/societal questions/denunciations. Carvel moved in with us. I found out he had gotten out of the Army. Into some mysterious civilian business that took him away a lot.

At home he got the master bedroom, of course. At first I figured the unused hole would relax in another bedroom, but nope. Carvel used us nightly every time he was in town.

Outwardly, everything was "okay" with Samantha and me. I go to my job. She goes to hers. Home life at night gets strange. We still love each other, a deep affection and need. I like her company. She snuggles up to me.

But fucking is forever changed. When I take her, it's like practice. Like amateur attempts. I get off, and so does she, most often, but it's more like masturbation.

Because we're servants. The mind-melting, soul-changing ecstasy happens only when He is there to use us. And we can't get away. Slaves to that huge black cock.

Never have found out what he does for a living. Something he and his Army buddies got into. Hush-hush. I have no idea. National security, maybe. Drugs possibly. Smuggling? Who knows?

Très bien Chrislebo. Please keep posting.

Ma rencontre avec Cléïa


La première fois que j’ai vu Cléïa, je venais de fêter mes 18 ans, et comme tous les garçons de mon âge, je ne pensais qu’aux filles. Un après midi que j’attendais mes amis à notre lieu de rendez vous habituel, je vis s’arrêter vers moi une fille magnifique, dans un superbe cabriolet de sport. La jeune conductrice cherchait une rue du quartier, et tournait en rond depuis un moment, elle avait oublié on GPS. Je connaissais bien cette rue, mais pour lui indiquer le chemin, ce n’était pas très simple. Après plusieurs minutes d’explications, auxquelles elle ne semblait rien comprendre, elle me proposa de monter dans sa voiture pour la guider. L’occasion était trop belle, pour un peu que je voie quelqu’un que je connaisse, j’aurais pu frimer un max devant les copains.

- Je m’appelle Cléïa, me dit-elle.
- Et moi Raoul, bredouillais-je, intimidé.

Arrivé à destination, elle me demanda si je pouvais l’attendre, elle ne resterait que quelques minutes, et qu’elle me ramènerait ensuite à mon point de départ. J’eus à peine le temps de répondre qu’elle avait déjà quitté la voiture. Sur le trajet du retour, j’en appris un peu plus sur elle, Cléïa avait 25 ans, étudiante et photographe à ses heures perdues. A voir sa voiture et sa tenue, très sexy d’ailleurs, je suppose que ses parents devaient être assez aisés pour l’entretenir ainsi. Lorsqu’elle me déposa, plusieurs copains étaient là, à me regarder les yeux ébahis.

- A bientôt Raoul, me dit elle, en m’embrassant, assez tendrement selon moi. A mon âge on se fait vite des illusions.

Les copains me pressèrent de questions sur cette divine inconnue, mais ne voulant garder ce rêve que pour moi, je leur répondis le plus évasivement possible. Son souvenir hanta nombreux misterges de mes nuits suivantes, je ne pensais plus qu’à elle.
Quelques jours après, alors que je faisais du stop pour rentrer chez moi, c’est Cléïa qui s’arrêta en me reconnaissant.

- Si tu n’es pas pressé, je t’offre un verre pour te remercier de m’avoir guidé l’autre jour.

J’étais aux anges. Notre halte dura plus d’une heure, et il me sembla que malgré mon plus jeune âge, je ne lui étais pas indifférent. J’osai lui demander :

- J’aimerais beaucoup te revoir.
- Si tu veux, je passerai te chercher samedi après midi chez toi, si tu es libre.

J’aime autant vous dire, que les trois jours que j’avais à l’attendre ont été très longs, trop longs. Le jour dit, j’ai passé le plus bel après midi de ma vie. Nous nous sommes revus plusieurs fois par la suite, avant que je ne lui avoue mon amour pour elle. Je lui demandais alors, si elle acceptait de sortir avec moi.

- Tu sais, je n’ai plus quinze ans, me dit-elle. Je n’aime que la douceur, et ne sors avec un garçon que s’il n’accepte de faire que ce qui me fait plaisir. Ne me dit rien pour l’instant, prends quelques jours pour bien réfléchir, tu me donneras ton avis lors de notre prochaine rencontre.
Lorsque je lui parlais au téléphone le lendemain, ma décision était prise : « Je ferai volontiers tout ce que tu désires. »

- Tu sais que j’aime la douceur, et que je n’aime pas être contrariée ; Tu es sûr de toi ? Tu ne sais pas à quoi tu t’engages. Me demanda-t-elle.
Je lui confirmai ma décision.
- Alors pour prouver ce que tu viens de me dire, et comme j’aime la douceur, je ne veux plus tu aies un seul poil. Tu as bien compris ce que cela signifie ?

Je m’empressais d’accepter, bien que cette demande me surprenne beaucoup. Jusqu’à présent nos conversations avaient porté sur des choses plus futiles, jamais sur la sexualité.

Lorsque je l’ai revue, elle était plus sexy que jamais dans sa très courte mini jupe, et avec un chemisier largement échancré laissant apparaître une poitrine bien bronzée. De mon côté, j’avais bien évidemment accédé à sa demande, même si j’avais été assez gêné lorsque je l’avais fait.

- Monte vite en voiture, que l’on trouve un petit coin où nous serons tranquille tous les deux.

Je la guidais alors vers une clairière assez isolée, où j’emmenais parfois mes petites amies. A peine arrivés, elle me demanda de me mettre entièrement nu. Surpris par cette demande si abrupte, je m’exécutais tout de même pour ne pas la décevoir. Elle prit mister temps pour m’examiner sous toutes les coutures, et vérifier que sa demande était parfaitement exécutée.

Elle prit alors un appareil photo, et pour immortaliser cet instant, me demanda de prendre des poses plus que sexy. Cela tranchait avec l’attitude qu’elle avait eue jusqu’à présent avec moi. Je dus me mettre debout, assis, couché, à genoux, les cuisses écartées, les mains derrière la tête et bien d’autres encore.

- Tourne-toi à présent, je veux te prendre de dos.

Là encore, de nombreuses photos de moi vinrent remplir mister appareil. Couché les bras écartés ou encore à quatre pattes, de loin ou en gros plans, je ne pense pas qu’une seule partie de mon corps ne lui ait échappé.

- C’est très bien, je suis fier de toi, comme tu as été très gentil avec moi, tu as droit à une récompense.

En moins de temps qu’il ne faut pour le dire que pour le faire, elle se mit nue à mister tour, et me sauta littéralement dessus.

C’est ainsi que je devins officiellement mister chéri, et que je perdis mon pucelage.

Avant de nous quitter, elle m’annonça très sérieusement.

- Tu as maintenant une idée de ce que je veux, et de ce que j’aime. Si tu es prêt à continuer à me satisfaire, tu seras alors le plus heureux des hommes !!!!!

Bien sûr que je voulais lui faire plaisir, je l’avais dans la peau. Et sa promesse d’être le plus heureux des hommes, ne pouvait que me ravir.

Plusieurs fois de suite je l’ai rappelé au téléphone, et chaque fois n’était pas libre ou avait du travail pour ses études, me disait elle. Elle me faisait languir.

Un samedi, elle me donna rendez vous chez elle, j’étais excité comme une puce rien qu’à l’idée d’aller chez elle pour la première fois, mais principalement de la revoir.
Arrivée chez elle, Cléïa n’était pas seule, une autre fille splendide était avec elle, penchée sur un ordinateur.

- Alors, voilà ton petit puceau. Annonça la nouvelle venue en guise de préambule.

- Je te présente Jeanne, me dit Cléïa, c’est ma meilleure amie, avec laquelle je partage absolument tout. Mais avant d’aller plus loin, je pense que tu n’as pas dû voir le panneau affiché.

Ce disant, elle me montra un tableau encadré, juste à l’entrée de mister appartement. Je m’approchai pour le regarder, et lus le texte qui y était inscrit dessus :
« Seuls les hommes entièrement nus ont le droit d’entrer ici. »
Je pensais que c’était une blague, mais les paroles de Cléïa me démontrèrent le contraire.

- Qu’attends-tu pour te déshabiller.

Comme je ne voulais pas passer pour un idiot devant les deux filles, je commençais à me dévêtir doucement. Lorsqu’il ne me resta plus que mon boxer, j’hésitais à continuer.

Cléïa enchaîna :

- Ce n’est pas la peine de faire ton timide devant Jeanne, je t’ai déjà dit que nous n’avons aucun secret l’une pour l’autre. De plus, je lui ai déjà montré toutes les photos que j’ai prises de toi l’autre jour, et elle veut voir si tu es aussi bien fait en vrai.

Je n’avais plus qu’à m’exécuter, devant les sourires concupiscents des deux amies. Une fois nu, j’essayais de cacher mes attributs du mieux que je pouvais.

- C’est une habitude qu’il te faudra prendre que d’être nu chez moi. De plus, j’ai été magnanime parce que c’était la première fois que tu venais, mais dorénavant tu te déshabilleras entièrement devant la porte avant d’entrer. Et tu resteras intégralement nu tout le temps que tu resteras ici, que je sois seule ou non.

Alors que cette phrase me laissa assez perplexe, elle enchaîna immédiatement :

- Comme tu as beaucoup à apprendre sur les femmes, Jeanne va m’aider à faire ton éducation, et à corriger les quelques petits défauts que tu as. Viens donc ici tout près de nous maintenant, qu’elle me dise ce qu’elle pense de toi.

- Mets toi à genoux sur le lit, les jambes écartées, et ne bouge plus.

Une fois en position, Cléïa et Jeanne m’observèrent quelques instants. Puis elles me firent mettre dans toutes les positions, pour terminer à quatre pattes. Elles se tournèrent ensuite vers leurs ordinateurs pour reprendre leur travail, sans plus s’occuper de moi. Cléïa me demanda de garder cette dernière pose sans bouger.
Après de nombreuses longues minutes, pendant lesquelles j’avais essayé de rester le plus immobile possible, Cléïa dit à mister amie :

- On pourrait peut être faire une pause ?

Celle-ci acquiesça, et répondit :

- J’ai hâte de revoir ton puceau de plus près.

Comme ma maîtresse l’avait exigé, désormais à chaque fois que je la rencontrerais, je devrais me passer un petit coup de rasoir avant d’aller la voir. Les deux filles s’approchèrent alors de moi, et me firent reprendre une nouvelle fois toutes les poses comme celles de la séance de photos. Elles ne gênèrent pas pour faire des commentaires les plus crus sur mon anatomie.
D’autant plus que cette fois, leurs mains n’hésitaient pas à me palper sans vergogne. Après avoir été observé de partout lors de la séance photo, cette fois c’est à leurs attouchements que toutes les parties de mon corps furent soumises. J’étais bien évidemment, dans tous mes états, gêné au possible de montrer mon excitation à une inconnue.

- Cette petite séance m’a trop excitée, annonça Jeanne. Tu sais ce qui me ferait plaisir, dit-elle à Cléïa.
- Il n’y a pas de problème, répondit ma maîtresse qui connaissait bien mister amie, Raoul est ici pour notre plaisir. Mets-toi en position Jeanne.

Cléïa me demanda alors de libérer le lit, et de mettre à genoux par terre à côté. Pendant ce temps, Jeanne se mit entièrement nue et à quatre pattes, présentant mister postérieur à quelques centimètres de mon visage.

- Ce que préfère Jeanne, c’est qu’une langue curieuse vienne caresser mister petit trou.

Moi qui n’avais jamais encore exploré le minou d’une fille avec ma langue, il était hors de question de m’aventurer de ce côté. Ma maîtresse dut sentir ma réticence, car avant que mon trouble ne se fasse sentir, elle avait déjà enserré mes bourses, et commençait à les presser doucement.

- Rappelle-toi que tu as promis de faire tout ce que je te demanderais, me dit-elle. Resserrant mister étreinte, elle ajouta :
- Et puis, je serais désolé de te faire du mal.

N’ayant pas le choix, j’avançai timidement ma langue vers l’orifice qui n’attendait que cela. Je commençai par lécher maladroitement les fesses tendues, en évitant au maximum leur centre. Cléïa me serra davantage, en me suggérant de commencer mes caresses linguales par le minou, puis de remonter doucement. Une nouvelle fois, je n’eu pas d’autres alternatives, et fit ce que me commandait ma maîtresse.
La première approche, que je redoutais un peu, ne s’avéra pas si terrible que ça. Je pensais que cela me rebuterais, mais sentir Jeanne se trémousser, m’incita à continuer. Ma langue remonta alors tout doucement, jusqu’au point névralgique.

- C’est bien, m’encouragea alors Cléïa, à présent tu tournes tout autour, avec des petits mouvements très doux.

Je suivi ses conseils, et constatai que Jeanne était de plus en plus excitée.

- Maintenant tu vas lui faire un énorme bisou, de plus je veux voir ta langue aller et venir, et s’enfoncer le plus possible pour la fouiller profondément, comme elle l’aime tant.

Disant cela elle avait étranglé un peu plus mes bourses. Ne tenant pas à ce qu’elle serre davantage, et malgré mon dégoût, je me mis à l’œuvre. Le nez contre la partie la plus charnue de Jeanne, j’avais peine à respirer. Je m’exécutai tout de même du mieux possible, en essayant de lui faire rapidement plaisir. J’avais hâte de me libérer de cette corvée. Ma langue finit par pénétrer au plus profond de Jeanne, j’étais meurtri au possible.

Je sentis que Jeanne appréciait de plus en plus ce que je lui faisais, jusqu’à ce qu’elle se contracte une ultime fois, en écrasant mon visage entre ses fesses. J’étais à la limite de la *** lorsqu’elle jouit, et qu’elle libère enfin mister étreinte. Elle resta ensuite sans bouger pendants plusieurs secondes.
Cléïa me caressa les fesses comme à un petit natural domestique, elle semblait contente de moi.
Lorsque Jeanne quitta le lit, ma maîtresse totalement dévêtue elle aussi à présent, prit immédiatement la place encore chaude en se mettant sur le dos, et en m’annonçant :

- Pour moi, ce sera plus classique.

Et elle ouvrit alors la fourche de ses cuisses, en attirait mon visage sur mister minou. Je m’aperçus alors que, comme mister amie, Cléïa était totalement dépourvue de poils pubiens.

- Tu as l’air assez doué avec ta langue, montre moi ça.

Ce fut une nouvelle séance de broutage, mais de minou cette fois. Ma maîtresse m’indiquait à chaque fois ce qu’elle voulait, et je m’activais à donner le meilleur de moi-même. Après la séance qu’il m’avait fallu subir avec Jeanne, c’était un vrai plaisir pour moi, que de contenter Cléïa.

Celle-ci me guidait pour alterner douceur et assauts plus fermes, et laissait entendre des petits gémissements lorsque ma langue remplissait correctement mister office. Elle s’agitait de plus en plus frénétiquement sous mes caresses, je voyais qu’elle ne résisterait plus très longtemps. Malgré l’inconfort de ma position, j’aurais aimé pouvoir la lécher ainsi pendant des heures, juste pour le plaisir de la voir heureuse grâce à moi.
Comme je l’avais pressenti, mister plaisir vint rapidement, et comme mister amie, elle me retint contre elle pendant de longues secondes. J’aurais pu moi aussi jouir en même temps qu’elle, pour un peu qu’elle ait laissé vagabonder ses mains sur ma virilité. Malheureusement, cela n’avait pas l’air d’être à mister programme.

Elles se remirent au travail en riant effrontément de l’état dans lequel j’étais.

- Tu auras une récompense un peu plus tard, me dit Cléïa. Pour l’instant tu t’assois sur cette chaise le temps de te calmer, et n’oublie pas de garder les cuisses bien écartées. C’est une autre habitude qu’il ne faut pas que tu oublies, ton sexe doit toujours être bien visible pour toutes celles et ceux qui mistert autour de toi.

Je pris la chaise qu’elle me montrait, et regardai avec regret ces deux corps nus et splendides, que je n’avais pas de droit de toucher.

Après un long moment, elles prirent à nouveau place sur le lit. Cléïa m’annonça alors :

- C’est le moment de ta récompense pour tout le plaisir que tu nous as donné. Mais comme il a fallu que je te stimule lorsque tu t’es occupé de Jeanne, le seul plaisir que tu auras sera celui de la vue. Profites en bien, mais surtout ne t’avise pas de bouger, ne serait-ce qu’un cil.

Elle n’avait pas tort, car elle avait bien senti lors de ma prestation avec Jeanne, que je n’étais guère enthousiasmé. Je dus me contenter de mater les deux filles dans un superbe show lesbien. Spectacle beaucoup plus excitant que tous ceux que j’avais pu voir en regardant parfois des films pornos avec mes copains.

Les corps remuaient dans tous les sens, les caresses se succédèrent alors aux embrassades, et les râles couvraient avec peine les gémissements. L’apothéose survint après de longues minutes, lorsque les deux filles jouirent simultanément lors d’un 69 explosif.

Il leur fallu encore un long moment avant qu’elles ne reprennent leurs esprits. Et moi j’étais là comme un pauvre malheureux, la queue plus raide que jamais, entre les jambes.

Ma maîtresse me congédia rapidement :

- A partir de maintenant tu m’appelleras Maîtresse. A présent, tu peux te rhabiller, et rentrer chez toi, je t’appellerai bientôt.

Ma maîtresse me congédia rapidement :

- A partir de maintenant tu m’appelleras MaÎtresse. A présent, tu peux te rhabiller, et rentrer chez toi, je t’appellerai bientôt.

Elle ne devait pas avoir la même notion du temps que moi, car elle me contacta plus de quinze jours après, me demandant de venir immédiatement chez elle.

Lorsque je suis entré chez Maîtresse, puisque je devais la nommer ainsi, et en ayant pris soin de me dévêtir totalement avant d’entrer, elle m’a annoncé :

- J’ai un cadeau pour toi.

Comme c’était le premier cadeau qu’elle m’offrait, je m’empressai de la remercier, et d’ouvrir le présent. A l’intérieur du paquet, je trouvai un collier tout en chaîne argentée, d’assez petite taille. Devant mon étonnement, elle m’annonça :

- Je vais te montrer comment il se porte, mais ensuite ce sera à toi de te le mettre tout seul. Il n’y a que moi qui pourrai te l’enlever, ne l’oublie pas.

Joignant le geste à la parole, elle prit le collier et me le passa, non pas autour du cou ou du poignet comme je m’y attendais, mais à mon grand étonnement autour du sexe et des bourses. Elle prit ensuite quelques secondes pour l’ajuster assez serré, et me dit :

- Maintenant on va voir Jeanne.

A l’aide d’un mousqueton, elle attacha alors mon collier à un manche en cuir. Celui ci avait une longueur d’environ 80 cm, et un diamètre que j’estimai à 5 cm. Elle se dirigea ensuite vers la porte de mister appartement, en me traînant comme un petit chien. Vu la rigidité de l’ensemble, je n’avais guère de marge de manœuvre. Il fallait absolument que je suive mister rythme, sinon mon service trois pièces se trouvait davantage garrotté par ce collier étrangleur.

Soucieux et inquiet d’être à la merci de ce gadget spécial, je n’avais pas pris attention qu’elle m’avait promené nu et attaché de la sorte dans tout l’immeuble, des couloirs au sous sol, en passant par l’ascenseur. Heureusement que nous n’avons rencontré permisterne jusqu’à sa voiture. Arrivé chez Jeanne, elle me promena de nouveau de la même manière. Mais cette fois, nous étions dans une propriété privée, il aurait été étonnant de rencontrer quelqu’un.

Arrivé dans la maimister, la première chose que je remarquai, c’était un jeune homme de dos dans un coin de la pièce, penché en avant, ses mains enserrant ses chevilles. Ce qui me marqua le plus ce n’était pas qu’il fut entièrement nu, mais parce que ses fesses étaient marquées de nombreuses zébrures rouges. Jeanne annonça, plus à mon attention qu’à celle de Maîtresse :

- Il n’a pas été obéissant, il a eu ce qu’il méritait.

Maîtresse se tourna vers moi pour m’expliquer :

- Tu vois ce qui arrive lorsque l’on ne nous fait pas plaisir, alors essaie de t’en souvenir.

Jeanne alla ensuite vers mister ami, après quelques secondes elle revint vers nous en le tenant par un collier passé autour de mister intimité, le même collier que le mien. En fait je découvris qu’elle l’avait attaché par mister collier, directement à un piton fixé dans le mur. Je ne sais pas depuis combien de temps il était fixé de la sorte, mais il avait l’air d’avoir souffert de cette entrave. J’avais intérêt à être docile, Maîtresse serait capable de me faire subir le même sort.

Les deux amies nous entraînèrent dans la chambre, puis nous ôtèrent nos colliers. Maîtresse, qui s’était emparé de la cravache de Jeanne, me fit mettre à quatre pattes sur le lit, la tête aux pieds du lit. A petits coups de cravaches, elle me fit bien écarter les cuisses et relever la tête. Puis elle vint s’asseoir à côté de moi, tandis que Jeanne s’empara d’un appareil photo. Max, j’appris que l’ami de Jeanne se nommait ainsi, vint se mettre face à moi.

- Lorsque tu as vu Jeanne la première fois, commença Maîtresse, nous t’avons fait un joli spectacle toutes les deux. Aujourd’hui, toi et Max, vous allez nous faire le même genre de show. Comme lui a déjà pratiqué la chose, tu vas d’abord t’entraîner à la fellation.

- Tu verras, vu sous cet angle c’est très différent, continua t’elle en souriant.

Max, en demi érection, s’approcha davantage de moi jusqu’à exposer mister sexe tout près de mon visage. Lorsque Maîtresse pris une de mes mains pour la passer sur les fesses boursouflées de Max, je compris mister message : Je n’avais plus qu’à m’exécuter.

- Commence par lui faire des bisous partout. M’indiqua Maîtresse.

J’approchai alors mes lèvres timidement du sexe de Max. Un premier bisou, puis un deuxième, ce ne fut pas si terrible. Dans ma tête, je m’imaginai que j’étais en train d’embrasser le corps de Maîtresse. Quand j’arrivai aux bourses, bien qu’elles furent tondues aussi, l’image du corps de Maîtresse s’évapora et me ramena à la réalité. Je continuai tout de même, n’ayant pas le choix.

Jeanne n’avais pas cessé de me shooter en gros plan avec mister appareil photo, et n’avait pas l’air de vouloir stopper de sitôt.

Maîtresse reprit ses directives :

- A présent tu vas le caresser avec ta langue, en commençant le plus bas possible entre ses cuisses, et en remontant lentement.

Après que j’eus sillonné plusieurs fois le parcours jusqu’au sommet de mister érection, elle reprit :

- Tu vas maintenant prendre ses bourses dans ta bouche, et les dorloter avec ta langue.

J’eus un peu de peine à les gober, tant elles étaient volumineuses. J’essayai ensuite de faire ce qu’elle m’avait demandé, mais mes caresses ne devaient pas être très efficaces, car ma langue n’avait que trop peu de place pour évoluer.

Maîtresse m’interrompit soudain :

- Je ne t’ai pas vu l’embrasser au bout de mister sexe.

Je délaissai sans regrets les bourses de Max, pour approcher mes lèvres de l’extrémité que me présentait Maîtresse. Une fois mes lèvres en place, Maîtresse appuya fortement sur ma tête, et me précisa :

- Un baiser se donne également avec la langue.

Je dus lui lécher également le bout du sexe, tant que Maîtresse me maintenait.

- J’aimerais à présent voir uniquement ta langue, et qu’elle flatte l’extrémité, comme si elle voulait y pénétrer.

Malgré mon dégoût, je me mis à faire, une fois de plus, ce qu’elle exigeait de moi.
Maîtresse me prit ensuite la tête par les cheveux, et me força à avaler le sexe de Max. Elle me tira en arrière, puis me replongea en avant, et ainsi de suite. Au bout d’un petit moment, je m’aperçus que Maîtresse m’avait lâché, et que je pompais Max tout seul.

- C’est bien, tu as fait le plus difficile. Me dit alors Jeanne, qui reprit les directives :

- Lorsque tu sentiras que Max se lâche, tu ouvriras bien la bouche, et tu tireras la langue le plus possible pour ne pas en avoir plein le visage. Ensuite tu attendras que j’aie fait quelques photos, avant d’avaler.

Elles exigeaient toutes les deux de moi, que je m’avilisse le plus possible.

Pendant que je continuais de m’activer, je vis une des mains de Maîtresse passer entre les cuisses de Max et câliner ses bourses. L’autre main vint s’emparer de sa virilité, et commencer une masturbation frénétique, mon calvaire allait bientôt prendre fin.
Max se libéra inévitablement très vite au fond de ma gorge.

Jeanne, après avoir pris de nombreux clichés, reprit ses consignes :

- Lèche bien la dernière goutte, et ensuite tourne toi vers moi la bouche grande ouverte.

Lorsque j’eus fait ce qu’elle me demandait, et qu’elle ait pris encore de nombreuses photos de la sève de Max dans ma bouche, elle enchaîna :

- C’est bien, avale maintenant, je n’ai pas envie qu’il y en ait plein le lit.

Contraint et forcé, j’obtempérai avec un haut le cœur, que Jeanne remarqua. Elle apostropha alors Maîtresse :

- Il faudra qu’on le fasse sucer plus souvent, qu’il prenne l’habitude.

Pour une fois Maîtresse me défendit :

- Pour sa première pipe, ce n’était pas si mal. La prochaine fois, il fera mieux.

Puis enchaînant :

- C’est dommage que l’on doive déjà partir, la prochaine fois, vous nous ferez un magnifique 69.

Avant de quitter Jeanne et mister ami, Maîtresse me demanda de remettre mon collier. Lorsque je l’eus installé, Maîtresse y plaça un petit cadenas, j’étais véritablement primisternier de mister cadeau empoimisterné.


Moi qui adorait les fellations, jamais je n’aurais pensé qu’un jour ce serait moi qui devrais en faire une.

Moi qui adorait les fellations, jamais je n’aurais pensé qu’un jour c’est moi qui en ferais une.

Mais le pire était à venir, je le découvris le lendemain seulement.

Comme chaque fois, au moindre coup de téléphone de Maîtresse, j’accourais comme un petit chien bien dressé, j’étais devenu sa chose, mister objet.
Une fois nu dans mister appartement, elle attacha le collier que je portais toujours à présent, au manche en cuir qui lui servait à me promener. Elle me fit enfiler une grande veste qui cachait ma nudité, et me dit seulement :

- Je t’ai réservé une surprise.

Qu’avait elle encore bien inventé pour cette soirée.

Au lieu de nous diriger vers sa voiture au sous sol, elle partit directement vers la sortie, toujours sans un mot. Nous nous rendions certainement chez une autre de ses amies, qui n’habitait pas très loin. Heureusement qu’il faisait nuit, quoique les quelques permisternes que nous avions rencontrées, ont bien du se demander à quoi servait le manche tendu à travers ma veste, vers mon intimité.

Arrivés sur place, Maîtresse embrassa tendrement mister amie, à laquelle elle ne daigna même pas me présenter.

- Alors voilà ton petit chéri, il a l’air bien fait.

Maîtresse se tourna vers moi, m’enleva le collier, et me montra le lit qui trônait au milieu de la pièce dans laquelle nous nous tenions. Elle n’eu pas besoin de dire un seul mot je pris immédiatement la position qu’elle attendait de moi : bien droit sur mes genoux, les mains derrière la tête, et surtout les cuisses écartées. Son amie s’approcha alors de moi, et commença à me palper délicatement les bourses, mon sexe commença naturellement à prendre du volume. Ensuite, elle me masturba distraitement tout en continuant de deviser avec Maîtresse. Semblant de nouveau s’intéresser à moi, elle interrogea Maîtresse :

- Il est aussi bien fait de partout ?

Le seul fait de me dire « Raoul. » suffit pour que je comprenne ce qu’elle désirait :

Sans perdre une seule seconde, je me mis alors à 4 pattes les fesses tournées vers elles, comme Maîtresse aimait que je me présente aussi. Les 2 femmes restèrent un moment à me regarder dans cette position.

Cette exposition ne parut par satisfaire pleinement l’amie, car elle appuya fortement sur mes reins, afin de me faire prendre appui sur mes coudes, et faire ressortir ma croupe. Puis elle me força à écarter davantage les cuisses.
Je sentis ensuite les mains de Maîtresse se positionner sur mes fesses. Elle prit alors bien mister temps pour me les écarter longuement, comme jamais elle ne l’avait fait auparavant. J’étais rouge de honte devant Maîtresse et cette inconnue, qui me regardait avec concupiscence.
L’amie reprit ses caresses, je sentis alors un doigt inquisiteur courir autour de mes bourses, et remonter ensuite vers mon petit trou. Ce petit manège dura plusieurs minutes, et à chaque fois mister doigt appuyait plus fortement sur mon intimité.

Maîtresse proposa alors :

- Si tu lui montrais la surprise que tu lui as réservée ?

- Il a juste à tourner la tête, et il la découvrira tout seul.

Je m’empressai alors de regarder alentour, quelle pouvait bien être cette surprise. Je découvris avec embarras, trois vibromasseurs posés sur un plateau, à même pas un mètre de moi.

Non, pensai-je, elles ne vont tout de même pas m’enfiler ça. D’après leurs ricanements, je compris avec stupéfaction que j’avais vu juste.

Ils étaient tous trois semblables en forme et en couleur, seules leurs tailles les différenciaient. L’amie s’empara alors du premier, le plus petit, d’un diamètre environ de celui d’un rouge à lèvre mais bien plus long, en déclarant.

- Celui là ne devrait pas poser de problème.

Après avoir entendu le ronronnement caractéristique, je perçu les fines vibrations sur mes bourses. L’amie avait repris le manège précédent comme avec mister doigt, mais avec le petit vibro à présent.
Maîtresse, quant à elle, me tenait toujours les fesses écartées. Ce ne fut seulement après plusieurs minutes, et que l’amie eut déclaré : « Tu vois je te l’avais dit. », que je compris que l’engin avait pénétré malgré moi dans mon intimité.

Les premiers doigts entrés auparavant avaient déjà fait le chemin. A présent, je sentais un peu plus nettement les va et vient entre mes fesses. Leur petit jeu dura encore quelques secondes avant que je ne voie l’amie réapparaître devant moi.

- Maintenant tu vas goûter au deuxième, m’annonça t’elle, il est un peu plus gros. Aussi, je te conseille de bien le lubrifier, si tu ne veux pas trop le sentir.

Disant cela, elle approcha l’engin de ma bouche, en me conseillant de commencer par bien le lécher tout autour. Lorsqu’elle l’eut tourné et retourné dans tous les sens, et que ma langue l’eut bien humecté, elle me l’enfonça dans la bouche. Elle fit de nombreux va et vient en l’enfonçant chaque fois un peu plus.

- Ca devrait suffire comme cela. Dit elle.

Puis elle rejoignit Maîtresse. Le petit jeu des attouchements reprit comme avant, le premier vibro quitta sa place. Cette fois, les pressions autour de ma rondelle durèrent un peu plus longtemps, toujours en tournant au bord, puis en s’enfonçant à chaque fois de plus belle. Maîtresse me tenait à nouveau les fesses bien disjointes.
Il fallait bien que cela arrive, le gadget s’insinua finalement au plus profond de mon intérieur intime. Contrairement à ce que je redoutais, la douleur ne fut pas si forte que je ne l’aurais pensé. L’amie lui fit prendre le va et vient habituel pendant quelques minutes, puis passa la main à Maîtresse, en expliquant :

- Tu vas voir que cela va lui plaire. J’apporte le dernier.

« Me plaire » il fallait le dire vite, en fait, je subissais plus je n’avais le choix. Mais c’est vrai que ce n’était pas atroce, voire très supportable.

Une fois le dernier modèle en main, l’amie le présenta devant moi sans rien me dire. J’avais bien retenu la leçon, je léchai et suçai l’olisbos comme si c’était un geste naturel pour moi. Puis jugeant que j’avais bien fait mon travail, elle repartit derrière moi l’objet en main.

Cette fois, plus de préparation, elle retira le dernier en place, et m’enficha directement celui là sans préambule. La douleur se fit sentir plus intensément cette fois. Instinctivement, je serrai les fesses, une claque misterore me ramena à la réalité de mon supplice, et fit accessoirement rougir ma croupe.

Rapidement les mouvements d’aller et retour se firent à nouveau sentir, cependant que je sentis une main me caresser le sexe.

Au fur et à mesure des mouvements, tant sur mon sexe que ceux du vibro, je perçus l’excitation me gagner. Les filles s’en aperçurent rapidement.

- Tu vois, Cléïa, je te l’avais bien dit, qu’il aimerait ça. Annonça l’amie.

- On va lui faire goûter maintenant un produit plus naturel. Ajouta t’elle.

Qu’avaient elles encore imaginé ? Je n’eus pas le temps de réfléchir à la question que j’entendis l’amie crier: « Jack ! »

L’instant d’après, un jeune homme entra nu dans la pièce, présentant un début d’érection. Sans que l’une des filles ne lui parle, il exhiba mister sexe à quelques centimètres de mon visage.

- Tu vas faire comme avec les vibromasseurs, bien le lubrifier. Intima Cléïa.

Puis elle prit le sexe du garçon en main, et l’approcha de ma bouche en disant :

- Ta langue.

Pendant ce temps, et pour ne pas me laisser d’autre choix, mister amie appliqua une méthode qui faisait recette à chaque fois : prendre mes « affaires » en main, et commencer à les serrer progressivement. Elle ne cessa pas pour autant les allées et venues du dernier vibro dans mon fondement.

Comme je l’avais fait auparavant, je m’appliquai à passer ma langue partout, pour ne pas décevoir Maîtresse. Le sexe de Jack grossissait à vue d’œil, semblant ne jamais vouloir s’arrêter d’enfler. Maîtresse me fit comprendre à présent qu’il fallait que je le prenne en bouche, et que je continue ma lubrification.

Heureusement, la taille de l’engin qui obstruait ma bouche avait cessé sa croissance. Il était maintenant à peine plus gros que le vibro qui fouraillait dans mes entrailles.

Maîtresse fit signe à Jack qu’il pouvait maintenant officier à mister tour. Après qu’il se fut placé derrière moi, l’amie retira mister vibro. Le sexe de Jack s’empara immédiatement de la place laissée libre, et reprit tranquillement la cadence.

L’amie délaissa mes bourses pour prendre le plus grand soin de ma virilité, qu’elle entretint savamment par une douce masturbation. Le contact des bourses de Jack qui venaient régulièrement heurter les miennes, me fit un drôle d’effet. Je commençais à prendre goût à cette caresse particulière. L’amie dut s’en rendre compte, car elle accéléra progressivement les mouvements de mister poignet.

Jack se libéra rapidement en m’inondant l’intérieur de sa sève. Les caresses de l’amie eurent tôt fait de ma résistance, et à mon tour je me lâchai sur le lit.

Après m’avoir fait lécher ma liqueur, les deux amies applaudirent conjointement au spectacle que je leur avais offert, bien malgré moi.

- Il faudra recommencer plus souvent, qu’il prenne l’habitude. Annonça l’amie qui, je l’appris à ce moment là, se prénommait Claire.

J’avais déjà entendu cette phrase la veille, décidément les 3 femmes avaient fermement l’intention de s’occuper de mon cas.

C’est ainsi qu’à cause, ou grâce à Cléïa, je perdis un autre pucelage

Magalie épouse modèle


Chapitre 1 : Présentation et interrogations
Avant toute chose il convient de me présenter à vous dans les règles.
Je me nome Magalie, j’ai 38 ans et suis mariée à un homme charmant avec qui j’ai eu deux superbe enfants Mathieu notre fils qui a 20 ans et Cassandra notre fille qui a 14 ans. Nous sommes ce que l’on pourrait appeler une famille modèle et respectée. Nous avons la chance de faire partie de la haute bourgeoisie parisienne issue tout deux de familles aisées et qui plus ait nous avons réussis au-delà de nos espérance dans notre vie professionnelle, nous assurant ainsi une vie agréable et confortable. Nous avons un superbe appartement dans un quartier chic de la capitale. Celui-ci est très grand (480 m2) et possède une terrasse (120 m2), avec vue imprenable sur la capitale. Nous possédons une maimister sur les hauteurs de Cannes ainsi qu’une maimister à Deauville et comble de malchance nous venons d’acquérir un chalet en Suisse. Donc vous voyez une bonne famille de bourgeois bien comme il faut, sauf que les apparences mistert bien souvent trompeuses.

L’on pourrait me qualifier de bourgeoise BCBG sexy, car j’aime plaire et sentir que l’on me regarde et sans me vanter je plais. Voici ce à quoi je ressemble, je suis brune cheveux mi longs, yeux verts en amandes avec de longs cils, jolie petit minois. Je mesure 1m75 et pèse 58k, plutôt bien proportionnée, j’entretiens mon corps dans un centre de gym et profite des saunas, hammam, et de massages qui procure une sensation de bien être après l’effort. Je fréquente tout les 15 jours un grand salon de coiffure de la capitale pour avoir une belle coupe en permanence ainsi qu’un salon de manucure et pédicure. Sans être prétentieuse je suis mignonne, et adore exercer mes charmes sur la gente masculine.

Au fil du temps je me suis rendue compte que les jeunes de 18 ans et en particulier les amis de mon fils me reluquaient et rougissais lorsque je croisais leurs regards, j’en étais flattée.
Puis j’ai commencé à sentir le regard de mon fils se poser sur moi, souvent lorsque j’étais dans le canapé il observait mes jambes. Cela me gênais et me plaisais en même temps agréable et bizarre sensation. Et j’ai repensée un soir en regardant la télé en compagnie de mon mari, au nombre de fois que mon fils faisait tombé fourchettes, couteaux ou serviettes lorsque nous étions à table, nous le traitions de maladroit…mais non il le faisait exprès pour voir sous mes jupes…oh le cochon il devrait avoir honte, dès demain je lui dis que j’ai compris mister manège…heu…non si ce n’est que maladresse que vas t-il penser ?

Ce soir là je ne suivis pas franchement le film, perdu dans mes pensées…je suis sa mère tout de même…cela reste plaisant qu’il me trouve jolie…après tout il n’y a aucun mal la dedans…
Mon mari m’interpella me sortant de mes misterges…
_ Le film était bien, il t’a plus ma chérie ?
_ Oui mais je crois bien avoir piquée du nez un petit peu
_ C’est tout toi çà dit-il en riant.

Les jours qui suivirent j’observais les attitudes de mon fils et celles-ci confirmèrent qu’il essayait sans vergogne de me mâter tant qu’il pouvait…et je m’en suis amusé le provoquant, lui dévoilant par inadvertance volontaire mes seins dans un décolleté en lui disant bonsoir dans mister lit, ou en écartant les jambes subrepticement et me plaisais à observé sa réaction.
Et l’air de rien il rougissait et moi en bonne maman que j’étais je lui disais : « tu ne te sens pas bien mon chéri ? » et il bafouillait : « si çà va »
Ce petit jeu que j’avais instauré me plaisais énormément je dois bien l’avouer, et je me suis aperçue bien vite que cela m’émoustillais de plus en plus…jusqu’au jour ou une nuit je me suis réveillée, petite envie pressente oblige ( et oui, nous les femmes avons du mal à résister) et en regagnant ma chambre je fis une halte tout d’abord par la chambre de ma fille, elle dormait profondément en tenant contre elle mister doudou (et oui elle dormais toujours avec du haut de ces 12 ans). Puis je suis passée dans la chambre de mon fils, il dormait comme un loir, je me suis approchée, il dormait nu sur le dos sans aucun drap et là le choque pour moi…il bandait, j’avais les yeux fixés sur sa queue dressée ne pouvant détourner mon regard, je me suis même imaginée qu’il bandait en rêvant des visions que je lui avais offerte dans la journée. Je suis retournée auprès de mon mari, pour vite me rendormir…mais je n’y parvenais pas revoyant sans cesse la queue de mon fils, d’un format fort intéressant pour mister âge, et sans m’en rendre réellement compte au début je me suis retrouvée la main dans la culotte à me toucher, j’ai jouée avec mes lèvres, mon clito et seulement après avoir jouie comme une ado en pensant à lui je me suis endormie…
Le lendemain matin je fus la dernière à me lever, j’enfilais mon déshabillé par-dessus ma nuisette et rejoignais la cuisine qui sentais bon le café et les croissants frais que mon mari avait été acheté.
_ Bonjour ma belle au bois dormant, tu as bien dormi ?
_ Oui comme une marmotte
_ Tu as vu l’heure, il est 11heures
Je regardais la pendule sans y croire moi la lève tôt, levée à cette heure là incroyable.
Le petit déjeuné avalé, il était grand temps de se doucher, perdu dans cet horaire inhabituel j’en oubliais de fermer la porte, étant sous la douche, ma fille fit irruption
_Je profite que tu n’es pas fermé pour me recoiffer maman
_Fais ma chérie…quelle coquette tu fais !
Ma fille en sortant referma la porte. Je continuais ma toilette, et vis que la porte était entrouverte et bougeais légèrement…en regardant dans le miroir mon fils apparu m’épiant pensait-il discrètement. Je fus heureuse de cette intrusion, et continuais de me laver, il ne devait pas voir grand-chose au travers de la vitre qui plus est avec les gouttes d’eau. Une fois lavée je suis sortie en tournant le dos à la porte, le laissant à loisir observer ma croupe je me suis essuyée longuement et lentement, de dos ou de profils afin de lui laisser voir mon corps, j’en avais des frismisters tellement j’appréciais de me montrer à lui sans qu’il se doute que je le savais présent.
Puis la voix de mon mari retentit.
_ Tu es prête ma chérie ?
Mon fils s’éclipsa.
_ Presque fini mon amour. Et j’ai pensé à ce moment là quel con…

Nous étions invités chez mes beaux parents pour le déjeuné à 12h15 précise et il était grand temps d’y aller. Je suis en bas noirs, porte-jarretelles, culotte en satin noir, soutiens-gorges assortie. J'ai une jupe mi cuisse et un chemisier en soie. Aux pieds j'ai des escarpins avec des talons de 10cms.
_ Tu es très en beauté ma chérie dit mon mari
_ houa !! Le canon !! ajoute mon fils.
_ Mathieu on ne parle pas ainsi de sa mère !!
_ Pardon maman
_ C’est rien mon chéri dis-je en lui faisant un bisou sur la joue, et en lui glissant à l’oreille « ta remarque me fais très plaisir ».
Nous partons en voiture direction la banlieue perdue de Neuilly (oui d’accord y a pire !!)
Journée sommes toute normale sans aucun intérêt. En revanche le soir, je ne parvenais pas à dormir, je suis sortie de mon lit après maintes hésitation pour me rendre dans la chambre de mon fils.

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The Colonel


This is a true story. Only the names have been changed. Many years ago, I was a lieutenant colonel in the US Army, commander of a Special Forces battalion, a married man of 50. We had a mister, my military career was on track, and I was due to retire in a short time. The USA was then at peace, the military did only training, and discipline problems were few. Problems with sexuality in the battalion usually had to do with men in the base hospital for treatment of a venereal disease or spats between husbands and wives. Homosexuality in the '70s was a growing problem in the military, and in those cases where "don't ask, don't tell" didn't work, occasionally we had to take more serious measures. But I sat on very few courts martial for homosexuality. I couldn't figure it out. Why would a man do that? I was completely straight. I had no physical interest in men.

But one day my whole life made an About-Face, and now I can hardly remember when I didn't have a wet spot in the front of my underwear and the taste of sperm in my mouth.

A sergeant and a corporal had been caught in flagrante delicto in oral sex with each other, and that was a court martial offense. But since both were good soldiers (otherwise), I chose to offer them what the Army calls "administrative punishment." Instead of going through a court martial and being kicked out of the Army, they would sit in a court over which only I would preside, and I would decide what punishment(s) they would receive.

On the day of the court, the sergeant and the corporal marched into my office and stood at Attention. Big guys, I thought, rough customers in a fight. Both were over six feet tall. Both weighed over 200 pounds. The sergeant was a little bigger, but both were top physical specimens, as most Green Berets are. I gave them At Ease and told them to sit down.

The orderly gave me the folder of information on the case and left the room. The only other permister there with us was my clerk, taking notes on the proceedings as a witness. I opened the folder and was stunned. On top of the typed papers describing the situation and the offense were several photographs, the one on top showing the sergeant lying on a couch, completely nude, a big, heavily muscled stud stroking his big, fat cock—it must have been nine inches long!

I had seen plenty of naked men before, as we all have, especially in the military. I had seen men in the showers in the gym, in the showers in the barracks, and I had seen naked cocks in pornos, and so on, and I NEVER found myself interested in naked men. As I looked at that big sergeant with his very big cock, I didn't get upset. But the rest of the photos raised the ante. I couldn't pry my eyes away. Damn, look at that! They had pictures of the big corporal sucking on the sergeant's huge hardon, and I gazed dumbfounded at how his mouth stretched wide in a huge 'O' around the giant dong.

Sonofabitch! I got that strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, and my cock got hard. Dammit, man, get a grip on yourself! I pushed the pictures aside and read through the typed documents, absent-mindedly rubbing my cock through my fatigue pants under my desk. I have no idea why that situation turned me on. Maybe because these were men I knew, men in my battalion, but I definitely had that butterflies-in-the-stomach, almost nervous feeling in a way I never had before. "All right, Corporal Tams, why don't you tell me just how this happened." I cursed myself that my voice cracked as I spoke.

"Well, sir," the corporal began, "I don't know what to say. One particular day I saw Sergeant Niely in the shower. He was shampooing his hair and had the soap all over his face, and—I don't know, I saw that big cock of his, and I just, you know—I don't know how to say this—I just couldn't look away." As he spoke, though, the corporal's face took on a strange, haunted expression, and gradually he started speaking more easily. "I knew Sergeant Niely was straight, and I knew that if I did anything, my time in the Army would be over."

He took a deep breath, and the sergeant shifted nervously in his chair. "But then he turned around, facing me," the corporal said, "and the soap finally ran out of his face. He looked into my eyes, and I froze. We both did. It was only for a moment or two, but it felt like a goddamned eternity. And that big dong of his started to rise." The corporal gulped. "It rose up into a big, fuckin' cobra, a hooded monster with that big, black, cruel eye..."

By then I had a steel-hard dick jabbing painfully against the bottom of my desk. What in hell is the matter with you, man? These are queers! What the fuck are you doing with a hardon?? "All right, corporal, that's enough," I barked, surprised at how husky my voice had become. "What's your story, sergeant?"

The big sergeant looked up at me. "God, I don't know, sir. I don't know what came over me. We were alone in the showers. I don't know, when I saw the hunger in his eyes, it turned me on. I stood there looking at him until he reached down and took my dick in his hand. And then I don't know what came over us, but all of a sudden, we just sort of lunged at each other. I swear, sir, never in my life had I kissed a man." He paused for a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was very low. "But, sir—oh, God—I gotta admit it. I never enjoyed a kiss as much as that one." He paused again. "Next thing I knew, he was on his knees, and when I felt his mouth around my cock—I don't know—I lost all control." Another pause. "I admit it: I came right away in that man's mouth, and—" He took a deep breath. "It was like I swallowed a hand grenade." His eyes looked off into the distance. "God. I blew up like a cum-bomb." His voice dropped off to a whisper. "I never had that strong a feeling from any woman."

By then I realized I wasn't dealing with two repentant men, and the incident was obviously going to be repeated. If these guys were trying to convince me this breach of regulations would never happen again, they were doing a bad fucking job.

Worse, I was so hot that I could feel pre-cum almost spurting out of my cock. Even more embarrassing, I was afraid that when I stood up, I would have a wet spot on the front of my fatigues. "That's enough, sergeant. I think I've got the idea." I looked down at the pictures again. Damn, look at that guy's cock. And look at the corporal sucking it. It dawned on me that the pictures, taken by who knows what photographer, were not in the barracks—these guys had carried on their homosexual liaimister after the first incident in the barracks showers. God, what did he feel? What would it be like? Look at the tip of that cockhead. What would it be like to put my mouth up to that thing and suck out that pre-cum? What does it feel like to kiss a man in the showers?

Stop it, man, stop this right now!! I snapped back to reality, cleared my throat, and made my decision. "You men are guilty of homosexual acts, which are against the Code of Military Conduct. Both of you have good Army records, though, so instead of dismissal from the Service, I specify that you, Sergeant Niely, be reduced in rank to the rank of corporal. You, Corporal Tams, will be transferred to another unit. The association of the two of you will stop at this point. And I order you both to cease this illicit activity with any other member of the military!"

Both men stood up and came to Attention. With no other alternative, I rose from my desk, and sure enough, I had a rock-hard erection that bulged out the front of my pants. I bit my lip. There was nothing I could do. I noticed both men flick a quick glance at my crotch, and I swear I saw a tiny smile on both faces. "Dismissed!" I snapped. They saluted, turned, and marched out of the office. I glanced down. Goddamn, the front of my pants was wet.

When the clerk left with the paperwork, I found myself breathing harder. Damn, what an experience! And I was horny, damn, I was horny, my dick still as hard as a grenade-launcher barrel. My office door was closed. No one would see in the windows—they were too high above the level of the street outside. I reached down to my fly. Yep, wet. And when I reached into my boxers to grasp my throbbing dong, my hand got slimy from the load of pre-cum smeared everywhere.

I looked around, then—yeah! I jacked off as I sat at my desk, so fucking horny, I needed only about a dozen strokes before ka-POW! I shot two big wads the size of marbles up into the air. One splattered down onto my desk. And I'll be a misterofabitch if the other didn't hit me in the face! Cum on my face! Ohmigod, how low have I sunk? But I was still horny enough to reach up, wipe the stuff from my nose and cheek—and suck it from my fingers. My own cum. Salty. Tastes like the smell of Clorox. And a bomb went off in my head—I like it!

I felt like a pile of cuckolds brownie. Goddamn, what's come over me?? Get a grip on yourself, man! I straightened myself up, cleaned off my desk, and left the battalion headquarters for the day. I drove back to my quarters, deep in thought. By the time I pulled up to the white-painted house provided to officers with families, I had myself under control. The situation was over.

Nobody was home. My wife was out doing shopping, and my mister was who knows where. Even though I had talked myself down from the experience in my headquarters, I decided that I needed a good run, something to sweat the horniness out and clear my mind. I changed into a pair of grey sweatpants, a blue sweatshirt, and my running shoes. I run most days. Special Forces troopers have to stay in shape. Near the housing area is the beginning of a jogging trail the soldiers use for cross-country runs.

A few yards down the trail is a small latrine (to keep the soldiers from pissing in the bushes), and I went in to relieve myself in one of the urinals. When I finished, I couldn't stop thinking of the delicious jackoff session in my office. I continued to stroke my cock as I thought about that ex-sergeant's big dong. Another man stepped up beside me to piss in the next urinal. I didn't want to, but I glanced over.

Damn! A fine cock, long and thick, with a bulging purple head. Even bigger than Sergeant Niely's. And he caught me. "Like what you see?" he said in a low voice.

I blushed, my face red-hot. "Naw," I grunted, turning away. I was pissed. I should arrest the fucker for conduct unbecoming a soldier—but I was the one caught staring at another man's cock. I stared down at my own, wondering how in hell I was going to get out of there without showing that I had a hardon. I'll be lucky if I'm not the one charged with unbecoming acts in an Army latrine!

Then I felt a hand on my cock and warm breath on my right ear. I was stunned, caught, as the saying goes, with my pants down. "What the fu—" But the fingers gripped me firmly, and the thumb rubbed up and down under my cockhead. I should have shoved back and slugged the guy, the fucking queer, but I gasped as my cock instantly turned into a steel pipe, and as he ground his crotch into my ass—I felt weak. Like a fast-forwarding tape, the experience of the two homosexuals in my office screamed through my head. Strange butterflies danced in my gut again, that feeling that something important was about to happen.

I turned around to see who was groping me, and as I did, he let go. The guy was wearing the Army Physical Training uniform—white tee shirt and black boxer shorts—so he was a soldier, not a civilian employee or some serviceman's kid. He was built like a football player, trim waist, flat stomach, and well-defined chest, all well outlined in his tight shirt. He stood about six foot three and had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen.

I blinked. The guy was handsome, to say nothing of being built like a brick cuckolds browniehouse. I glanced down. Jesus fucking Christ! Okay, my own dick was out in the open air and standing-up hard, but the GI had his own cock in his hand, and from his stroking, the thing had grown much bigger than the hefty pecker I had seen when he first started pissing. Damn, the fucking thing is huge! Twice as big as Niely's!

The guy's blue eyes burned into me. "Go on," he said in a low, deep, masculine voice. "Take hold of it. You know you want to."

The arrogant ladyfucker! I'm a goddamned lieutenant colonel! But in that latrine I was just a gray-haired man in a sweatsuit. And he had me to rights: I did want to touch it. I couldn't believe it was so big. No, goddamn it, stop! Don't! No!! But my body betrayed me. I reached over and grasped it. It was darker than his body, long and thick, with angry veins along its length. It seared my hand like I had grabbed a red-hot bar. Don't do anything more! Get out of here! RUN out!!—but I began to stroke it, marveling that it grew even bigger and harder until my mouth fell open in awe—Jesus, I can't close my fingers around it. God, what a cock!

As I gazed down at the magnificent club, the guy's face moved closer. When I looked up, he astonished me by kissing me on the mouth! No! Agh! I'm not kissing a MAN!! But then, what the hell—you're jacking his cock. And rather than yank my head back, I returned the kiss. When his tongue thrust into my mouth, my own fought and dueled with it. I sighed. You bastard! Don't let yourself LIKE this!!

But I did. I was turned on like a lap dancer was squirming on my crotch. I stood kissing the man for a long, long time—I don't know how long, but I got takeser as the moments ticked by. When we finally broke, those piercing blue eyes bored into me, "Go on, suck it. You know you want to."

What?? Now just a goddamned minute! No way am I going to suck a man's cock! But against my will, my body took over. I sank to my knees, bringing my face close to his crotch and that huge, glorious dong. I grasped it and pulled it down to my mouth. Don't!! Goddamn it, if you do, you will forever be a cocksucker! I tried to resist. I really did. Instead of mouthing it, I swirled my tongue around the head. But it wasn't enough. I dragged my tongue, writing a wet line along the underside and down its length to his balls. "Oh, yeah," he moaned, "Work it, Bitch. Suck that dick."

Bitch?? No fucking way am I going to—but his hand on my head held me firm, and I gave in. I opened wide and took the commanding bulb into my mouth. Oh, God, I'm sucking a cock! I'm a cocksucker! I fought the overpowering feeling that I liked it. It was warm, no, hot in my mouth. I tasted the tangy pre-cum slathered around it, and it went to my head like whiskey.

He began to rock his hips back and forth, pistoning his meat in and out of my face, and for as much as I hated what I was doing and wanted to get to my feet, I got used to the feeling and began to fondle his balls with my left hand. "Yeah, you want it don't you," he murmured. "You like the taste of dick, don't you?"

I didn't know what to say. For one thing, I had a dick in my mouth. My mind tried to rationalize me out of it: if I can get him off, he'll go on his way, and I can forget this ever happened. I stroked his shaft with my right hand and bobbed my head up and down on his cock, my tongue roughly working the underside on every downstroke. When I had a strong rhythm going, he began to moan, his hips picked up speed, his balls tightened up, and his thrusts became deeper and deeper. Finally he grabbed my head in both of his hands and fucked my throat mercilessly, each thrust deeper, obligation me, shutting off my air. Finally, with a loud, primal grunt, he crushed my nose into his cockhairs, and his penis pulsed against my tongue while a warm, slimy fluid spurted down my throat.

I swallowed it. I gulped it down. I loved it. The Taste of Male. You dumb bastard, don't you DARE like that cuckolds brownie! If you ever get out of here, you are going to forget all about this!! YOU ARE AN ARMY OFFICER, NOT A COCKSUCKER!

When he was finished, he pulled his cock out and wiped it over my head, smearing the slime through my Army buzzcut. "Yeah," he grunted, "let's make you a little grayer." Then he pushed me away, and I sat back gasping for air. I felt used, humiliated, the taste of his cock in my mouth, and his sperm matting my hair. He looked down with a post-orgasmic smile, a big, masculine archangel.

That could have ended it. Right then I could have left. He had his way with me, he was spent, and I could have gotten up and walked out. That's exactly what I'm going to do! I stood up.

But I didn't take a step. I hesitated.

And he saw that. He knew. And so did I: I liked what had happened. I wanted more. He stared at my cock standing tall at its full, hard eight inches, jutting out of my sweatpants under my gray cockhairs. NO!! He has NOT made me his bitch, goddamn it! But my cock was as hard as a diamond, and I knew different. My mind reeled. No, this is bullcuckolds brownie! I'm a goddamn officer! I'm 50 years old! I'm a fucking married man!! But it happened: he dropped his shorts and growled, "Drop your pants, Bitch."

"Don't call me 'Bitch,'" I growled, but I obeyed, loosening the waist-string of my sweatpants and dropping them to my ankles.

"Make me hard again, Bitch." I sank to my knees once more, and he grabbed my hair in one hand and wiped his cockhead over my face with the other, smearing me with pre-cum. I opened my mouth and tried to suck him in, but he sneered, "Look at you. You're a big, cock-hungry slut now. You want to swallow another load don't you?" and he pulled his hardened cock away. "Turn around."

Still on my knees, I shuffled around in an About-Face. He shoved me, and I fell to all fours. He pulled my ass toward him and gripped the back of my neck, pushing until my face pressed against the damp wooden floor. Ohmigod, no!! He's going to fuck me, the ultimate offense! How will I ever get over this?? He spit in his hand, and I tremred. Oh God, he's slicking his cock! Sure enough, the big, bulbous head pressed against my a-hole, and with hands on both my hips, he slowly powerd his manhood into me.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph! HELP! Overwhelming sensations! -- pain of penetration, fear my guts would be torn open, a case of major regret ... and the fullness, the hugeness, the wondrous, terrible majesty of him as he pressed himself into me. In spite of the pain, my heart beat fast as the gigantic spear spread me, opened me, liberated me into a new existence—and finally his balls bumped against mine. He was in. I was fucked. I can never go back from this. I am ... no longer a virgin. He took my cherry!

And the pain was titanic. I almost ******.

The master fucker knew what he was doing, though. He paused for a long time as my asshole and ***d tunnel gradually accustomed to the giant invader. He wanted me to love it, the bastard, and not exactly against my will, I slowly began to relax, and again he knew and began to pump his meat slowly in and out. The pain lessened, and I was amazed. My god, it really DOES feel good to get fucked! Who knew?? The pleasure increased to the point that I not only enjoyed it, I craved it. Nothing had ever been in my ass before except a doctor checking my prostate, so I had no idea fucking could feel so good. With each thrust of his cock, my own twitched with a wonderful pleasure. I was dizzy, lightheaded.

I had never been so humiliated, but physically never felt so good. Gradually I began to meet his thrusts, and he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. "You like that, don't you bitch? Found your proper rank, haven't you?"

What? He knows I'm military? Goddamn, when he finishes fucking me, I'm going to court martial this smart-ass! But the thrusts continued in that gentle rhythm, shortening his strokes until his cock, buried deep in my ass, moved only about two inches in and out—but those two inches hit right where I needed it most. God, what a pro! He's playing me like a cello!

I was right on the edge of no return, surfing toward a blazing sunset on the delicious, sensual wave of his manhood—as it taught me about mine. His husky breathing told me he was close, too. "Tell me what you want, Bitch. You like fucking now? "

I was so close to cumming, I couldn't stop myself, "Oh God, yes—I love it—don't stop," I croaked. "Fuck me! Fuck my ass! Do it!" Jesus Christ, man, get a grip on yourself! You're a Special Forces officer!!


"Yeah," he crowed, "beg me for it," and his hips picked up the pace, thrusting deep, mighty lunges. Raped by a man! And it feels better than any woman! He moved his hands to my hips, building up to a thrusting crescendo, jolting my whole body with every mighty slam. With a final ram (I swear he crammed it all the way up to the back of my throat), he let out a long, loud groan and unloaded his sperm deep inside me.

That did it. With a roaring in my ears, every muscle in my body flexed as hard as it could—and I came longer and harder than I ever had. My cum hit the floor, splattered up across my chest, and even hit my throat and chin. And I haven't even touched myself!! Oh, God, the bastard's driven me over the edge by fucking me! Floating on a cloud of bliss, I relaxed and slid forward, but he held onto my hips and kept me up while he pumped the last of his seed into me, breeding me, fertilizing me as his bitch.

Finally finished, he shoved me forward, and I collapsed face-down in a heap, my sweats around my ankles, his cum leaking out of my ass, lying in my own jism. I lay there trembling with the aftershocks of cumming, wondering what would happen next. When my heart finally stopped pounding and my breathing returned to normal, I pulled myself up and looked back, exhausted but—got to admit it—ready for anything else he wanted to do. But he was gone.

I sat there for a long time, the taste of his cum in my mouth, my ass burning from the fullness of his cock. Then I stood up, pulled up my sweatpants, and stumred back to my car.


That haunted me for days. I had sucked the man's cock, and he had fucked me in the ass. But gradually I came to think I could forget it. It was just a momentary dalliance. I wasn't gay. I was a fucking Green Beret!

On a more serious note, there had been no witnesses. If the misterofabitch ever tried to blackmail me, I would turn the tables on him and court martial him on some trumped-up excuse. I was safe. Life would return to normal. I would make it normal again.

A week or so later, I pulled up to the house after a hard day's work. My wife was gone—downtown shopping, probably. The house was empty. I figured my mister Paul was down at the recreation building. He still lived at home, turned 22 a few months earlier, just finished college, and was about to enlist in the Army just like his old man. He was a big boy during his school years, and since then, preparing for Basic Training, he had started working out at the base gym.

Life was going just fine. I leaned back against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee and smiled. My man would have been proud of me. He was a poor Utah sheepherder, never able to keep up with his bills. I had made it in the Army. I had risen to the top. When I retired, I would live comfortably for the rest of my life.

I thought about my wife. Fine woman. A good friend. Over the years our sex life had atrophied, though. It just wasn't that fun any more. She didn't seem to want it, and that was lucky—I could hardly get it up for her. But we were comfortable together.

Then I thought about the man in the latrine. Damn, what an experience. I hadn't been that horny in years! I thought my libido had dried up. But with a man!! I took a gulp of coffee. I had to admit it. He turned me on like Karen hadn't in many years. And the feel of his cock in my ass! Is that what a woman feels? I took a deep breath. It's wonderful.

I was just taking another take of coffee when I heard the door open, and Paul walked in with a big companion. God in Heaven, the guy! He was wearing the same Army PT uniform—white tee shirt and black boxer shorts. Oh, Jesus, he must've met Paul at the rec center! My mind went 1,000 miles an hour, but I couldn't stop myself from adding, He's still a handsome stud. Still got those bright blue eyes. "Hi, Dad," Paul said. "This is Private Dovis."

Finally, the name and rank: Private Dovis.

And now he knew I was a lieutenant colonel--if Paul hadn't told him, my name and rank were on the name-plate by the door. Dovis smiled, and his whole face lit up. "Hello, sir, I've been showing Paul the Army callisthenic routines." Not the slightest sign of recognition. Oh, cuckolds brownie, maybe I'm lucky. Maybe he doesn't remember me. I smiled back. Paul said they were going to his room to watch some football videos.

When they were gone, I was trembling so much, I had to put down the coffee cup. My head was spinning, and worse, a hardon nudged against the inside of my boxers. Not knowing what else to do, I puttered in the kitchen, trying to make myself a sandwich, nervous as a cat. Karen never did this to me.

About a half-hour later, I heard a yell from Paul's room. I listened, but then everything was silent. A few minutes later I heard it again. I got up and went to investigate. The door was closed; I stood listening.

I heard muffled sounds. A loud groan. A sigh. Instantly I was back in the latrine. The man let out a loud groan as his boiling elixir gushed up into me, and in fucking heaven as I discovered his cock could drive me to orgasm, I sighed. Same sounds.

I knocked on the door. "Paul? Everything okay in there?"


Paul answered in a raspy voice that everything was fine. Not sure, I turned to leave, but I heard another groan ... and a loud grunt. What in hell is going on??

I grabbed the doorknob and opened the door—and gulped at the sight. Private Dovis was completely naked, standing behind an equally nude Paul, and Dovis's cock was buried deep in Paul's ass. Oh, God, just like he did to me!!

Dovis looked around at me with a smile, his huge cock pumping in and out of Paul, his muscular ass-cheeks dimpled and hard—and didn't stop those piledriving hips. Outraged, I walked into the room. Paul didn't see me: he was on his hands and knees, bent over, his ass raised in the air.

The misterofabitch bastard is fucking my mister!! I was furious and about to start yelling when suddenly, incredibly, I found myself staring at Dovis's cock (the biggest one I had ever seen), the cock that had tamed me a few days earlier. Paul's bobbing head was facing down into the pillow. Only Dovis bored into me with those steely blue eyes—and again I was speechless. I just stood watching—hesitating again.

Do something! Dammit, DO something!! But I couldn't take my eyes off Dovis's long cock. God it was huge! I remembered the bliss of it plowing my ass, and as I watched it ramming my mister, I yearned. My god, you stupid bastard, you're jealous!

I licked my lips. Moisture surrounded the huge log as it sawed into Paul--Damn, it's so fucking thick! How does it fit in that little hole?? My mister's asshole was a huge 'O' around the giant cock, his asslips sinking in and pulling out as the big stud's hips lunged forward and back. Did my asshole look like that? Dovis used long and steady strokes, his balls slapping Paul's butt with every thrust. A slurping, squishing noise filled the room, and I smelled sex, the hot, smarmy, sweaty aroma of male arousal, the sweetish stench of a lubricated asshole, and the Cloroxy perfume of cum.

As much as I knew I should be outraged, I couldn't stop watching. I know how that feels! I was breathing harder. Feeling that big thing deep in my guts again. Feeling that hot, sticky come up my ass once more. My cock rose in my pants, and Dovis sneered, knowing I couldn't stop them. He nodded toward the bulge in my crotch. "You like what you see, don't you, sir," (it was not a question) and I looked down at the growing tent in my fatigues.

Paul raised his head and looked back. "Oh, God, Dad..." he gasped and tried to get up, but Dovis held him down, still kept thrusting in and out. My mister looked young, hard, and athletic—taking it like a man. I was proud. I also admired the masterful prowess of the big stud fucking him. What a male!

"You'd like to have a hard cock in your ass, wouldn't you—Sir Bitch?"

The bastard, how dare he ask me such a question with my mister here?? But I was speechless. What could I say?

"Well, Bitch? Do you want to do it again?"

Thunder rumred in my head, and I was dizzy. I mumred something, I don't know what, and stepped closer to the two of them. Dovis smiled, still lunging his cock in and out of Paul with a sucking, slurping sound. Paul looked back, his eyes round as saucers. "Nice bulge, Colonel," Dovis said. "It looks like it needs some help. Take your pants down, Bitch," he ordered, "and let me see your cock."

Paul's eyes grew even wider, and his mouth dropped open. I panicked inside, but I was helpless. I didn't want to—I swear I fought with everything I had—but my hands dropped to my belt, unfastened it, and pulled open my fatigue pants. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers, and with one motion I shucked them both down to my boot-tops. "God, Dad!" Paul hissed.

My dong stuck out like a steel pipe, throbbing, eager, drooling pre-cum in long, silvery strings. "Good," Dovis murmured. "The Bitch has learned to obey. Now come here and feel my cock fucking your mister's ass."

Don't do this! What the fuck are you doing?? STOP!!—but I couldn't stop! My hand reached out, gripped Dovis's glorious manhood, and my fingers ringed around the pistoning shaft--or tried to. Sonofabitch! I was amazed every time. I couldn't believe it. My fingers would not close around the huge dong. But they thrilled to all the bumps and serpentines of the veins around it, the huge tube underneath the shaft, and the great vein along the top. It was slimy from whatever lube they were using, Paul's inner juices, and from Dovis's pre-cum. I wanted to lick it.

Dovis reached down and rubbed his hand over the bulge in my pants, testing my hardness. I couldn't move: I was his. No, you're not! Stop this! This is a goddamned kid, and he is fucking your mister! You are a 50-year-old Army officer, a lieutenant colonel, for god's sake, and this is an OUTRAGE!

But I couldn't do a thing. I was breathless. Dovis was the only man who ever touched me there ... and I loved his touch. It was familiar, pleasurable, welcome. I was a dog petted by its owner. Paul stared over his shoulder at me, astonished—his man was submitting.

Yes, my dong throbbed, and I had slipped again under Dovis's control. No, I'm not! I'm not under his control! But something about his sweating body and that commanding dong, plowing my mister in and out, overran any hesitations. I wanted to get naked with them.

Paul's face was a mask of astonishment. "Dad," he hissed, "Dad, what are you doing??" His man, his own man was overpowered by Dovis's sexuality (just as Paul himself had been), and his own man was letting a complete stranger grope his crotch. And his man's fingers were ringing, gripping, sliding along the cock that fucked his own mister.

I was too far gone. I groaned at Dovis's touch, so sensual and soft but yet so manly. I had long passed the point of no return. While both men looked at me, I pulled open my fatigue blouse and threw it to the floor, gripped both sides of my tee shirt and yanked it over my head, then sat back into the bedroom chair and feverishly loosened my boots and kicked them off. Stepping out of my pants and underwear, I stood up and moved back to Dovis, wearing nothing but my socks, and I spread my legs to let him run his hand under my balls again. He cupped them and squeezed them lightly before coming back to my cock.

"You're pretty big, Sir Bitch," Dovis said, smiling. I glowed at the compliment, but my eyes were still glued to the majestic shaft sliding in and out of my mister. I reached out to circle it again as best I could with my fingers, and as I did, Dovis reached under and ran his finger up my crack. Oh, yeah, yeah! He found my hole and pressed against it, and I gritted my teeth in pleasure. "I'm going to enjoy this," he said, smiling. "Fucking the mister and then his man."

"Dad," Paul squeaked, "you ... you going to let him fuck you??..."


Oh, my God, I suddenly realized, it's true! He's going to fuck me right in front of my mister!" Dovis had complete control of Paul—his big cock owned Paul. But you are already his property, his bitch. I hoped somehow to keep that secret from Paul, but Dovis growled, "Tell him."

I said nothing.

"I said tell him," Dovis growled, and he pulled himself out of Paul with a slurping, sucking sound.

I looked down at Paul and muttered, "He's already fucked me." Paul stared. I looked back at Dovis's hard cock, sticking straight out at me, all wet and slimy.

"Now wrap your lips around this again and feel what's going to be in your ass in a few minutes," he said. Like a slave, I dropped to my knees. Paul gasped, rolled over, and stared down at me. I opened my mouth and reached out to wrap my fist—almost—around Dovis's cock, pulling it toward me, my head spinning. Didn't realize he had a foreskin when I sucked him in the latrine (he had pulled it back before grabbing me). As I pulled him toward my face, the sexy hood slid over the head.

My mouth in a gigantic 'O', I moved his big dong between my jaws, and with my tongue, I stripped back that exotic, sinuous foreskin. Yeah! A big cock in my mouth! I couldn't deny it. I want to go all the way—I want him to fuck me. I want him to fuck me again! I closed my eyes, enjoying a vision of Dovis mounting me. Mounting me like a bitch crouching before him. Mounting me, his cock-hungry slave and fucking me with long, hard thrusts. This man had fucked me before. And I wanted it again.

A takesen cocksucker, I raised my eyes to Dovis's, and his blue eyes cut into me like laser beams. The man could turn me into a human forest fire. Dovis sneered, pulled out his cock, and lifted me to my feet.

Before I knew it, his lips were pressed against mine, and instantly I pressed my mouth back against his, opening my lips, snaking out my tongue to sword-fight with his. I couldn't hold back a groan of total manly pleasure.

"Dad!" Paul hissed, "Jesus Christ, Dad!"

For an instant, I could think clearly: What the fuck have you let yourself in for, man?? Your mouth is in a big 'O', a man's cock is down your throat (the same cock that fucked you on the jogging trail), and you just caught the guy in your house using that cock to fuck your mister!

It's true, damn, it's true. I clenched my eyes shut in shame. Have to admit it: I want the misterofabitch to fuck me. Again. I closed my eyes and saw it all: Mounting me like a bitch, his cock-hungry slave, skewering me, roasting me on that big, hard spit. Oh, yeah, he fucked me before. And I want it again.

While my own mister lay on his bed, his asshole dilated from the reaming I just interrupted, staring at us with astonished eyes, Private Dovis's mouth moved to claim mine, and when he kissed me, I pressed my mouth back against his, opening my lips, snaking out my tongue to the sword-fight. "Dad!" Paul hissed, "Jesus Christ, Dad!".

We pulled each other into a powerful embrace, our cocks pressed together. As I lost control, Dovis's hands slid down to cup my buttocks and pull me even closer. I had kissed this man once before, back in the jogging trail latrine, but here, now, with my naked mister staring at us—I was going out of my mind, almost losing consciousness. Never had such a hot kiss, not even from my wife. Somehow Dovis poured molten lava all over me. I was a flaming torch, and he was in control. In charge.

Dovis, not I, finally broke the kiss, also breaking through my last objections. I sank to my knees, where the magnificent shaft bobbed in front of my face. "Dad!" Paul hissed, "what in hell..." But I wanted that thing more than anything in my life. I had to suck it! I had to gulp it down my throat! I was dying to suckle on that thing, that great master cock! I worshipped it. I bent forward, opened my mouth as wide as I could, and moaned as the glorious knob passed between my bowed jaws.

I swear to God it was like 120-proof vodka—I was instantly takes. Dovis moaned low as I gulped my way down his shaft, finally gargling it past the back of my throat, determined to deep-throat that big scepter down to his cockhairs. Barely breathing, snorting through my nose, I made it: man-cock down my throat all the way to my belly. And I loved it.

After a lifetime of being straight, I was a real man!

Dovis started lurching his hips, and I pulled back, the better to let him fuck my face. Glorious. I licked and sucked, and Dovis, already pumped up from fucking Paul, soon grabbed my hair and jammed my face against his crotch. "Yeah," he yelped, and a rush of hot, tangy slime gushed down my throat and filled my mouth. I gulped and swallowed, but excess spurted from the sides of my mouth.

"Jesus Christ," Paul muttered, almost to himself, "jizz in your mouth, Dad!" Oh, fuck, I'm sucking the man's cock right in front of my own mister! But I kept on sucking and swallowing. Couldn't help it. I loved it.

When Dovis finally pulled out and stepped back, leaving me a kneeling, panting servant, I wiped his jism from the sides of my mouth and my chin—and licked it off my fingers. Seeing Paul staring at me, I was suddenly ashamed.

And I knew it wasn't over.

Sure enough, ""Lay down beside Paul, Bitch, and spread your legs wide open." And there it was, the ultimate offense.

Not quite ashamed enough not to obey, I crawled onto the bed beside Paul, on my hands and knees, a Special Forces lieutenant-colonel, a 50-year-old man about to submit himself to a teenager! But that teenager had the most magictic cock I had ever seen.

"Dad," Paul hissed, his eyes wide in wonder, "you sucked his cock!"

I couldn't answer. What could I say?

"And he's fucked you before?"

Still sweating and breathing hard. I bowed my head. "His cock," I grunted, my voice hoarse and gravelly. "You know what it's like. I gotta have it."

Then it got worse. "Paul," Dovis commanded, "get between his legs and lick his asshole. Make it nice and wet for me."

Oh, cuckolds brownie! Somehow I thought that if Paul and I didn't touch each other, I would not be guilty of ****** with my own mister. But Paul did as Dovis told him, and chills ran up my back as my mister's tongue slithered through my crack, the tip probing at my hole.

Another first! Never been rimmed before! God!! Paul licked and sucked, the warm, wet swipes were electric shocks from my asshole to my balls, and I soared into another world, a world of wanton, takesen lust, a foreign world, a strange, eerie world.

Again, I wanted more; I couldn't stop myself--I reached back to hold my buttocks open for him, and my mister's tongue wriggled in deeper. When he stuck a finger against the hole, my eyes opened wide, and when my ass-ring spread open for him, I gnawed into the pillow in a roar of lust. Oh, my God, finger-fucked by my own mister! I had no pain—already opened by the Royal Cock—so Paul's finger was a delicious, minor-invasion tease.

Then I heard The Voice: "Ok, let me fuck him." I looked back as Dovis shoved Paul aside. Grabbing my legs, he rolled me onto my back, then lifted my ankles up over my head. I was helpless. Available. I looked down to see the big cock coming toward me, and I saw the troll's giant battering ram attacking the city gate in "The Lord of the Rings."

But he didn't batter me. The big cockhead grazed my hole, teasing it, winding me tight inside. This is it! I groaned. "Do it, man, do it!" Dovis's eyes burned into me as he kept wiping his dick up and down my crack, wetting it with Paul's saliva. He knew me better than I knew myself, the bastard.

After a couple of minutes of cock nudges, he had me hot and panting, and his predator's eyes held me still as finally, wonderfully, tearing a long groan of grateful ecstasy from me, he pushed that big dong against my pucker, and—like before--my hole gave way suddenly, popping the head inside me. The honored guest had slipped under the red velvet rope at the Whiskey a Go-Go! He's in! It's in me! I'm fucked! The man is fucking me again!

A pain spread from my spreading asshole but nothing like the first time. In fact, the pain was a hot, fiery salsa to the growing ecstasy spreading from my hole. I rolled my head back, my eyes closed, my mouth open in takesen joy. I was helpless and loved it.

Dovis sank in further. How do you feel, you stupid ladyfucker! You've turned yourself into a cock-slut right in front of your own mister!

But the man is a fucker, a Master Fucker! I want him to ram that thing up my ass until I feel it in the back of my throat!

Not going slow like before, Dovis kept shoving until he finally sheathed himself to the balls in me. Then he stopped, holding himself against my groin, leaning down to bite at my nipples. The rolling tide of orgasm started in my balls. God, this is great! A big male rolling me up into a helpless ball, his giant cock gouging into me.

"You're a Green Beret colonel, Bitch," Dovis growled low. "What do you want, Bitch?"

"Do it!" I yelped. "Fuck me! Fuck me hard!" He pulled out, then thrust forward again, the thickness filling my canal, thrilling me again as it slid up to the hilt. That time he didn't stop but withdrew immediately, starting the wondrous pumping again.

"C'mere, Paul," Dovis ordered, "give him your cock to suck."

Oh, no, not that! But before I knew it, the familiar touch of manmeat bobred at my lips, and I automatically opened wide to let it in. "Oh, Dad," Paul sighed, and he sank his cock into his man's mouth and down his throat.

From both ends at once! Dovis's cock slid in and out of my ass, and the very idea of my own mister's throbbing member filling my mouth drove me crazy. I gripped the sheets in trembling fists. I am theirs. They're taking me! Yeah! Make me! Males! God, I love 'em!

I imagined myself floating up near the ceiling, looking down at us, a muscular young man mounted on a rolled-up, sweating gray-haired man. The young man's muscular back, wet and shiny with sweat, heaved and flexed, his hips and his tight, compact butt jabbing, skewering the trembling older body with his huge cock. An even younger man jabbed at the old mouth with his hard poker. I love this! I will never stop!

Dovis brought me back to earth when he gripped my balls. Agh! It hurt! But I was astonished. The pain melted into the roaring fire of my growing orgasm, and my eyes closed in pleasure. When I opened them again, Dovis smiled grimly. He knew, and I knew down to the bottom of those balls crushed in his fist, that I was his. Whenever and wherever he wanted me.

And Paul? No, I could never refuse him, either. Oh, no, just a fucking minute! I'm the goddamned colonel here, and I am twice the age of this fucking kid! And I'm the other kid's fucking FATHER! But my own cock throbbed hot and hard as an iron bar, pounding like my thundering heart.

Dovis sped up a bit, his balls slapping against my ass with every thrust. Dizzy, I writhed between the two men, completely in their control. Young Paul, a typical, hot teenager, couldn't hold back, and with a boiling gush, his jism surged down my throat. Good. Thick. Virile. I glowed with a strange pride and licked at his dick as he pulled it out.

"Fuck, you are tight, Bitch--" Dovis grunted—"...fuckin' tight hole!" I didn't know if that was a compliment or not, but it didn't matter.

"Fuck me," I gasped. "Big cock! Go deep! Go hard! Fuck me!" My mister watched us intently, his dong hanging handsomely over his balls. His own man was becoming a fuck-slave. I couldn't care. Not then. All I wanted was to be fucked.

"Damn, you do enjoy this, don't you, Bitch?" Dovis pumped the full, huge, hole-stretching length into me again and again. "Never thought you would enjoy a cock in your ass, did you?"

Out of this world. Out-of-body experience. "Yeah," I gasped, "Oh yeah, that's it. Pump me!" I looked up, into those furnace-eyes. "Cum in me! Cum in me! DO IT!"

His eyes clenched shut. "Oh, yeah, take it, Bitch," and I felt him grow even fatter, painfully, wonderfully huge inside me. Boiling surges of sperm geysered deep, warming my belly, and he held tight against my ass, lunging short, jabbing thrusts. Filled up with his load, I felt wet, dripping slithers leaking out of my rectum, spurting back out beside his cock, marking me his bitch.

This his climax spread to me, and a ladyfucker of an orgasm it was. It swept over me, raging through my muscles, and my head filled with the roar of a pipe organ at full, screaming crescendo. My cock sprayed huge jets of cum all over my chest, all the way up to my chin and neck—and Sonofabitch, I have not even touched myself!! I think I blacked out for a moment from such intense ecstasy, half-consciously floating in an ocean of hot, white slime. A giant cock skewered me completely, jutting through my asshole and sticking out of my mouth.

God, it lasted a long time! I don't know about Dovis, but I reveled in fiery ecstasy for what felt like five minutes. Never, NEVER had I gone through such an orgasm! Never! Not with any woman! Sweating like a longshoreman and panting like I'd run five miles, I fell back limp as a rag. His cock is still inside you! Owning you. Stretching your asshole. Pinning you to the bed.

I floated back to full consciousness as Dovis's lunges slowed, his orgasm winding down. His big organ kept me at a slow boil as I cooked through the afterglow of that mind-blower of an orgasm. When Dovis pulled back, his cock slid out of me with a wet, juicy, slurp, and cum gushed in coagulated globs down my still wide-open legs. As I slowly lowered them, he looked at me and then at Paul. "You want a try, stud? He's wide open for you, Paul. Fuck his ass."

Oh, wait! No, not that! Not my own mister!! But too fucked-out to move, I could only watch Paul and Dovis change places. Then—Ohmigod!!— my mister's cock slid up into my ass.

Dovis's gigantic ram had stretched me wide open, and Paul thrust into me much more easily and with no pain. He thrust faster than Dovis, but it didn't matter—no pain, I was broken in—and again the pleasure wave built, the bitch-joy of meat pumping inside. Once more, Paul, the young stud, hot and horny, who had recovered his hardon in record time, didn't take long to start adding his load to that already inside me. With loud groans he filled my canal, and I got that strange, weird pride as spurt after spurt of my mister's sperm filled my ass.

And I'll be goddamned. I came again. My mister's cock in me started another solar flare inside my balls, and a rush of pure, burning pleasure shot through me. I stiffened up in ecstasy, and my cock gushed out another load of cum, splattering it over my chest. And I still had not touched myself!

His cock still in me, Paul collapsed onto my chest. "Dad," he whispered, "oh, god, that was great." After a few panting, sweating minutes, Paul rose up, his cock slurping out of me like Dovis's. He dismounted me, I thought as my body gradually slowed down. He mounted me as his bitch, and he just dismounted. I smiled. My mister was a stud.

When I finally caught my breath, I lowered my legs and stretched them out. Cum pooled between them in a smutty puddle under my asshole, sperm matted my chest hair in sticky globs, and I felt the sticky goo all over me. I didn't care. My ass was a little sore, but I didn't care about that, either. Two men had just fucked me. I was marked—branded—with their cum. And I wanted to do it again.

Thoroughly, totally fucked, I looked up at Dovis. You are a piece of cuckolds brownie! You are a fucking officer, and this lowly Private has just fucked you! I looked over at Paul. And there's that, too! You want to spread your legs and give your ass to him again, too! You fucking pervert!.

It was true.

Dovis was pulling on his shorts. The show was over. I bit my lip. The bastard was the master. Oh, God, is that true?? Is he really ... my master? I looked down. Yeah. I would be his whenever and however he wanted me. My body was his. I craved to serve him, to feel —oh, Jesus, yeah!—more of that hot sperm filling me up.

"I'll send you a message, Colonel," he said, "as soon as I want you again."

I scuttled around to face him, trying one last time to maintain my military bearing. Think about it: one tiny indiscretion, one little hint that you and he have a homosexual relationship, and your military career—to say nothing of your retirement—will turn into dried-up sperm. "You will treat me, Private," I snapped, "with military courtesy!"

Dovis stopped, his shorts only up to his knees, and he turned to face me, his dong swinging heavily between his legs. He bobred it against my face. Hopeless. Against my will, I sucked it into my mouth and closed my eyes. I couldn't keep myself from sucking that big dong.

"Like I said, Bitch," Dovis growled. I'll send you a message." He yanked his cock back, pulled up his shorts, and walked out.

I sat back and looked up at Paul. "Now what?" I asked. "What are we going to do? What about your lady?"

"I like fucking you, Dad." Paul went for the simple answer.

The ball was in my court: I had to say it—"I like you fucking me, mister."

We crawled sorely upstairs to our beds. He to his; I to mine. I wondered as I fell arelax what Pandora's Box I had opened.

The next morning as I stood before the bathroom mirror shaving, my mister walked into the bathroom. He wore just towel around his hips, just like me. He closed the door behind him and dropped the towel. He had a hardon. I licked my lips. "Suck my cock, Dad," he said.

"Now just a minute, Paul," I growled. "I'm your man and I..." But his hardening dick, stretching out as I watched, made my mouth water. What the hell. I sank to my knees and took it into my mouth. I sucked away happily until Paul finally spurted his morning sperm down my throat. My boy's cum! Tastes good!

I stood up and tried to go back to shaving, but Paul pulled the towel from my hips. Gripping my hips in his arms, he pushed his cock between my cheeks, seeking my puckered asshole —Damn, he got his hardon back this fast??— and when he found it, he thrust hard, jamming past my muscle-ring into my guts, powering a happy grunt from me. Yes, oh, yes!!

I gripped the sink as Paul plowed me, lunging until he let out the low moan that had become familiar. Also familiar by then was the wonderful sensation of boiling sperm shot into my guts. Paul stood a long time in me as he burned through his afterglow, and when he finally pulled back, his softening cock popped out, and I turned around. "Good morning, mister," I said and kissed him on the mouth.

Paul stepped into the shower, and I turned back to the mirror to continue my shave. Paul's hot sperm ran out of my asshole. Lucky I don't have on my underwear yet. I decided not to wipe the streams off my legs. Imagine walking past Major Jandt with Paul's jsim coating my legs. Outside the uniform, I'm a soldier—inside it I'm marked with my mister's ejaculation.

My cock twitched, starting to harden, and that made me stare at the face in the mirror. What's going happen now. I'm changed—God, am I changed!—but I've got to stay in control, keep all this under cover. I closed my eyes. What kind of a soldier am I be now? I didn't feel physically different. I still knew all about soldiering. I was still patriotic. I relaxed. Everything will be okay.

Then I got a whiff of the fresh sperm drooling down my legs.

I sat at my desk, working on paperwork in my office at battalion headquarters. I turned pages but couldn't remember a word I had read. A week. I've been a cum-slut for a whole fucking week. I bit my lip.

One week ago I was a proud US Army officer, standing tall, bowing to no man. I had come up through the ranks to the silver oak leaves of a lieutenant colonel. At 50, I reached battalion commander, proud of my achievements, proud of my memories of combat, CIA missions, even a Purple Heart. I looked forward to retirement and an easy life in only six more months. But my life had done one ladyfucker of an About-Face.

I looked up from the papers, staring out the window. A man. A man showed me my weakness. I gulped. Never would have dreamed it. Thought I was stone straight. I'm married, for god's sake, and I have a mister!

I shook my head. But it's true: I love cock, and he taught me exactly how I love it: down my throat and up my ass. He took me. Got my cherry. Made me his.

I clasped my hands behind my neck, leaning back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling. And Paul. I'll be a misterofabitch if the guy didn't do the same to my own mister! I smiled. And Paul did it to me, too.

A week ago a Private Dovis came into my life and (not exactly against my will) taught my mister and me how it was. I figured I should be, but I wasn't really sorry. Dovis opened a whole new world to me. My cock twitched pleasantly as I thought about it.

I went back to my paperwork, trying not to think about what I couldn't stop thinking about. After a few minutes I heard my orderly's voice in the outer office. "Hi, Paul. He's in his office. Go right in." Well, I'll be damned. Speak of the devil.

I sat up straight and smiled as my mister walked into my office. The back of my boxer clung wetly to my ass, still moist from leaking the cumload he shot into me while I leaned over the bathroom sink that morning. We had grown closer than I thought possible.

Then another man walked in, and my mouth dropped open. Corporal Niely! Ohmigod, the sergeant I busted down to corporal for queer acts in the barracks!

My whole adventure in mansex began the day I busted (former) Sergeant Niely after they caught him in the barracks showers getting a blowjob from another soldier. My mouth went dry, and beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. "What do you want?" I growled.

Niely came to Attention but said nothing. I looked at Paul. "They came to the house, Dad," he said, "and brought me here."

"They?" Another man sauntered through the door, and my balls turned to ice. Private Dovis, the man himself!! He had turned me into his permisteral cock-slave. He looked at me with a smirk. I knew it! I knew it wasn't over. And now the other shoe is dropping. I raised my voice, "What's this all about?" But I felt like I was drowning.

Dovis turned to Niely. "Go ahead, man," he said in a low voice. "Do it. You'll see." With that, Niely reached down and opened the fly in his fatigue pants. Watching me uncertainly, he reached in and fetched out a big cock, the one I had marveled at in the photos from the Military Police office.

Instead of calling the MPs, as I should have, without saying a word, I moved quickly to my office door, closed it, and quietly turned the lock. "What the fuck do you think you're doing," hissed.

"Suck it," said Dovis. "Suck his cock and show him you're sorry for busting him from sergeant."

"What? That's bullcuckolds brownie! I'll have you arrested," I barked (but not quite loud enough to be heard outside the office).

Smiling at me, Dovis stuck his hand in his pants and pulled out The Cock. I stared, dizzy. My God, I'm out of control!

"Not this, suck his cock, Bitch," Dovis ordered, and his sexual conditioning of me took over: I moved trembling to stand before the corporal, my knees hit the floor, and I slurped my lips over his big, purple knob. As I reached in to heft his balls, I heard another thump—Paul going down on Dovis's big hardon.

"Fucking hypocrite," Niely growled, lurching his hips and sinking his cock deeper. I closed my eyes. As a man I couldn't sink any deeper.

Dovis laughed. "The colonel was a virgin until he met me. Now he's a cock-slut."

Niely must have been scared at first because he wasn't fully hard when I began the blowjob, and I was still sucking when Dovis let out a groan, and the sounds from their side of the room became very slurpy with many small grunts. I envied Paul and the hot cum he was swallowing.

Inspired by his buddy, Niely's balls came online, and with a vicious jab down the back of my throat, he hosed me with his own, man-sized load of sperm. I swallowed it all.

I was a hopeless case. When he pulled his dong back, I licked it all the way, kissing and nursing as the head slipped out of my mouth. I'm NOT a cum-slut, I told myself, I just don't want him to mark my uniform with his jism.

Yeah, right.

When he finished, Niely zipped himself up, walked to the door, and unlocked it. Dovis walked after him, sneering down at me as he passed by.

When we were alone, I looked at Paul as he wiped the cum from his lips. He gave me a little smile. "I think we got a problem, Dad."

He still had a small dollop of sperm on his cheek. I went to him, bent over, and licked it off. "We'll be okay," I said and gave him a kiss, at first a manly peck, but when he groped my crotch and squeezed my rock-hard dick, we frenched each other until we both were panting.

"We better not," he whispered. "The door's not locked.

"You're right, mister." I held him away from me and looked him up and down. What a handsome kid, a real man. I felt proud in a funny way—more in my balls than in my chest. "Go on home, Paul. I've got stuff I've got to finish here. I'll see you later on." Paul gave my crotch another squeeze, then walked out of my office.

I plunked down in the chair behind my desk, pulled open the big bottom drawer, and lifted out the bottle of Jim Beam. I poured myself a stiff shot. I didn't really believe anything about that "we'll be okay" stuff. In fact, I'm scared cuckolds brownieless. Dovis told Niely about me! Oh, God, the story is going to spread. Will I ever make it to retirement Holy hell. Am I going to keep my head above water?? Instead of leaving the Army with a cushy going-away party, I saw visions of a court martial and being tossed out into the street.

I took another slug from the glass. I have to admit it: I like to be at the mercy of a big man who's been around the block, a cocksman who knows what to do to me. I swallowed more whiskey. Letting Paul fuck me works, but it's just man-mister bonding, playing catch—only using sperm instead of a baseball.

But Dovis. He's something else.

Fucking around with Dovis is Russian Roulette, though, a ticking time-bomb. I stood up, walked to the window again, and watched the soldiers marching by. I bit my lip. Keeping away from Dovis won't help. For one thing, he was my first. He marked me. I can't resist that man when he pulls open his pants. And it's clear he plans to make this grow—first my mister, then Niely, and who knows how many more he'll bring to me. Until he destroys me.

Okay, don't panic, dumb-ass. And put down the *****. Let's list what's going on:

1) You sucked Dovis's cock and then he fucked you—teaching you to love sex with men.

2) Dovis, for all that he is a natural-born fucker you were lucky to have as your first—is still a teenaged cuckolds browniehead who loves to humiliate you and who will surely cause your downfall.

And what can I do about that??

Shut up, there's something else:

3) Dovis set you free. He didn't invent your cravings, he uncovered them. Now that you know what's inside you, there's nothing that says you can't pursue your own interests!

I leaned against the side of the window, looking out. Fuck, yeah! A fort this size is bound to have dozens if not hundreds of gay soldiers! And I'll keep it under control. Secret.

This doesn't solve the problem of Dovis, though. I picked up the whiskey again and took another jolt. I need a miracle. Through the window I watched an officer in khaki uniform walked into the distance, his green beret at a jaunty angle. Nice ass. Tight butt. Never rimmed a man's ass before. Like to try it. That's a well-built man, reminds me of--

Captain Stempl!

Stempl had been a favorite of mine for a long time, and I didn't even know why. It wasn't "love." He wasn't particularly handsome—had a face like a bulldog. He was no tall hero-knight, either—he was only five-foot-something and had very short legs. The man had the build of a gorilla: big chest, long arms, narrow waist, stubby legs. I heard soldiers in his command refer to him as "Captain Stubby."

But even before Dovis took my cherry and showed me what else the male body can do, I had a strange enjoyment in looking at Stempl. He was a soldier from head to toe. Knew every Army manual by heart. Wore his uniform like he was a guard at the White House. When he marched with his troops, he was in perfect step, and those short little legs somehow covered the same amount of territory as the six-footers tromping beside him.

Watching Stempl was to know the joy of soldiering. Everything about him radiated pride in himself, pride in the Service, and pride in whatever he did. Back in those days of the draft, a great many GIs had bad attitudes, bitching and moaning about the slightest orders, just putting in their time, living for their Discharge.

Individuals like Captain Stempl stood out like Ken dolls in a room full of Potato-Heads. Short as he was, "Captain Stubby" was what being a being a soldier—being a man—was all about.

I wondered about his cock. I'd never seen it. What?? You just sucked a cock in your office, and now you're bottom-feeding again?? I shrugged my shoulders. Yeah, better to put sex with soldiers completely out of my mind.

I had my mister Paul at home, after all, and Dovis had taught us sucking and fucking. Paul wasn't the big, grown man I craved, though. I thought about the porn shop downtown. Maybe I can dress up in civilian clothes, wear shades, and see what I can find there.

Yeah, right. I'll give you 99 to 1 that you'll either meet a soldier you know (who might not tell) or worse, one will see you who knows who you are (and who surely will tell). I sighed. The porn shop's bread & butter was off-duty GIs.

I left the office, walked out into the street, and started crossing the quad. You bastard, I know where you're going! Goddamit, you're going over to see Stempl! Hey, I'm the fucking commander! I need to keep in touch with the troops.



You're losing it, you stupid bastard! You're going over there to keep touching the troops!

The decision went back and forth in my head all the way over to Company D. When I walked through the barracks door, somebody called out "Tensh-HUT!" and everybody leaped up to stand straight and tall. From the corner of my eye I saw somebody duck out the door to run to the Commanding Officer's office and alert the CO—Captain Stempl. Good.

"At Ease, men. Relax," I said. "This is no surprise inspection. Just dropped by to see your CO." But the experience with Dovis had opened my eyes. I guess I had always "noticed," but not really noticed the handsome, muscular bodies around me. With a poker face, I glanced casually around the room. Some of the men went back to relaxing on their bunks in only fatigue pants and undershirts. Others—yeah!—were bare-chested. Nice. Hairy chest on that guy. And look at that one: big brown nipples the size of 50-cent pieces. One GI lounged on his bunk in nothing but his boxers and a tank-top undershirt, one leg up on the mattress, giving me shot into the darkness down the leg of his shorts. Couldn't see much, though—too far away.

I walked on, glancing at a few crotches, but I knew only too well that I was being watched, too, and what I looked at was being recorded—if I had stared at a window, for example, the second I left, the sergeant would have them scrubbing it. If I looked down at a bunk, its owner would be yelled at later for loose blankets.

If any realized I was looking around hoping to see cocks—well, I didn't want to think about what would happen. I walked around for a respectable time, then sauntered down the hallway to the headquarters offices.

Stempl wasn't there. Damn!

"He's over at the gym, sir."

"He is?"

"Yessir. Goes over there most days to work out."

"Thank you, sergeant. Maybe I'll drop back later." He saluted me; I returned the salute and walked back outside. The gym. PT uniform—shorts and T-shirt! I got that funny feeling in my gut—tightness in the balls, anxious groin—I was getting horny.

I walked a couple of blocks to the post gymnasium and looked around. He wasn't there. I did get to watch a couple of muscular specimens lifting weights, but they wore sweatshirts and sweatpants--loose, thick clothes that hid everything. I checked every room (especially the showers—six guys in there, two with foreskins, four cut), but no Stempl. I was pissed. Goddamn it, I'm going to give the gym a surprise inspection! I'll piss THEM off!

Calm down, idiot.

What the hell, I walked down the street to the Officers' Club and went into the bar. I needed a take. Well, I'll be damned! At the bar sat Captain Stempl himself! Alone he nursed what looked like a Scotch & water.

"Captain Stempl!"

He looked up suddenly, startled. We were in Duty Hours, and he owed me an explanation for being in the bar imbibing holy water. Oh? And what are you in here for?

"Colonel," he said, then paused. A long pause. Doesn't know what to say. Somehow I've caught him with his pants down, but I don't know exactly why. He set the glass down. "Colonel," he said again, "I got a problem."

I sat on the stool next to him. "And what's that?"

He took another take from his glass. "It's a chickencuckolds brownie gripe." He set the glass down. "But I feel like I've been kicked in the balls." Finally he said it: "My girlfriend left me."

My first inclination was to snicker, but the man was obviously dead in the water. "With her a long time, were you?"

"Yeah. Eight years. I was going to ask her to marry me at the end of the summer."

In a similar case, I would have slapped the guy on the back and told him to go downtown and get laid, but Stempl was really hurting. "Hey, man, buck up." I really didn't know what to say. "It happens to everybody sooner or later," I volunteered and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You've just gotta deal with it."

I thought for a moment. "Tell you what, Captain Stempl, put the glass down and go for a ride with me. We'll talk about this." He dropped five bucks on the bar. You perverted bastard, the poor fucker has lost his girl, and you're ogling his body! True. Very casually but very intently, I checked Stempl out: chest like a beer barrel, his shoulders like rolling mountains, arms long and gorilla-like.

When he slid off the stool, I checked out his package. Damn! A good bulge, and in his frame of mind, it's not from a hardon. He's packing something down there!

You make me sick. The poor guy on the edge of suicide, and you want to get into his pants! Seduce a guy who's straight!

Stempl and I walked outside and headed to the battalion parking lot. My parking space was close to the buildings, so we didn't have far to go. I unlocked the car, and we got in, Stempl looking like a primisterer on his way to jail. As I drove out of the post, we talked about this and that, avoiding the elephant in the room.

Outside the post, I pulled off the road in a parking area near the trailhead of a hiking path. We got out and started to walk. After a few minutes, Stempl muttered, "Colonel, I'm as embarrassed as hell, but I just can't get her out of my mind." He paused. "How am I going to make it?"

I turned to say something, but before I could, he went on, his voice low, almost talking to himself: "You don't know what it's like. None of you do." Long pause. "I'm too fucking short—too fuckin' ugly. Women either pity me or they outright run away. When Janet and I fell in love, I thought I had finally made it."

Permisteral relationships are not my specialty. Again grasping for something to say, I muttered, "Oh, hell, Stempl, that's not true! You're a ... good-looking man. And you don't want a woman who cares more about what you look like than what you are." I hoped that made sense. I had heard it somewhere.

"Oh, God, " he said. My hell, is he about to cry?? "I can't face it! Sitting in bars while girls walk by me trying to avoid eye contact. Hearing the bitches tell me they don't want to go out with me."

He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Being called 'Shorty'!'"

I didn't know what else to do. I placed my arm around his shoulder. "Oh, that's okay," I said lamely. "Things'll work out. You'll see."

He turned toward me, and suddenly he was close. Very close. He looked up into my face, and we stared into each other's eyes.



Ohmigod! It's happening. The longer I looked into his eyes, the stronger the feeling that we communicated. Waves, radiations, electricity, something flowed between us.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I wrapped my arms gently and completely around his shoulders. To my delight, his arms moved under mine and around my back to hug me, too. We stood like that for a long time—two men in an embrace. What will you say when the MPs ask you what you're doing?

Hey, technically this is "comforting a fallen comrade"—nothing illicit.

Oh, yeah? This isn't where you want this to end. Are you so low you're coming on to a straight guy on the rebound from his girl??

Hey, he's hugging me back! As a matter of fact, we were hugging very close. The bulge in the front of his fatigues pressed against my thigh (his crotch was lower than mine). My hard cock pressed against his belly. He had to feel it.

When our embrace finally passed the line marking "innocent, honest comfort to a friend" and became unexplainably long, we both knew. The world had turned under us.

I took the lead and lowered my face slowly, very slowly. His eyes grew wide, nervous, and he tremred in my arms. Damn, is that horror or just uncertainty? Well, he's not pulling away. My mouth moved closer and closer. "Sir," he hissed, "I'm-I'm not...mmmf!" I pressed my lips against his, and he jerked a little. But he didn't pull back.

The kiss was gentle. Tender. Not a **********. Stempl was at full steam, though. Panting blasts from his nostrils swept the side of my face. But he's not truly horny, not yet. A stick of dynamite just went off in his head when his commanding officer kissed him! I restrained myself, knowing massive attitude changes were crashing down on Stempl.

After a few moments (during which he never tried to break the kiss), I pressed my lips a little harder against his. When he let out a little grunt, I touched his lips with the tip of my tongue, and—the sign—his mouth opened! His tongue thrust out to do battle with mine.



Victory! My cock throbbed in my pants. I knew how the rest of this would go. Oh, God, just like Dovis knew he had me back in that latrine. Yep, there it was: I knew I had Stempl. My cock hardened into an ICBM, and, still kissing him, I moved him in short steps off the trail and back into some thick shrubbery.

I moved my hands across his back, feeling his muscles, squeezing here and there. Slowly my hands moved lower, caressing new territory with every grope, until, with a soft groan in my mouth, Stempl let me know he felt my hands gripping and cupping his buttocks, squeezing and manipulating them, turning him on.

Not right at first, but after a minute or so of my fondling, he pulled back from the kiss. "Sir," he gasped, "please ... I'm not ... I'm not. ... I'm straight!"

But I covered his mouth with my own again, and sure enough, his tongue defended itself when mine came after it, and in moments his tongue made counterattacks. To my delight, Stempl's hands moved down my back to grope my ass. Together we squeezed each other's cheeks, and my tongue took a new tack, darting in and out of his mouth, fucking it.

I moved one of my hands from Stempl's ass, and when he felt it groping the bulge between his legs, he once more pulled back from the kiss, startled, looking into my eyes with what looked like fear. Can't be fear. He's a goddamned Special Forces trooper. But it very well could be the sudden realization that this is a matter of sex, not good friendship. Men don't kiss and then sit down to write poetry. I kept squeezing and stroking him through his uniform.

At the sound of his zipper going down, his expression changed to something like, "Okay, what the hell, let's rock," and his mouth pressed against mine again, this time his tongue fucking my mouth.

I took that as a green flag, and, to cut a long story short (too late, asshole), in a few short moments, I got his pants down to this boot-tops. By then we were no longer kissing; we held each other close, cheek-to-cheek, almost as if on a dance floor. I shoved his shorts down, and as they slithered to lie on the crumpled pants, I felt it.



Judas Priest! I had never seen him in the showers, so I hadn't seen Stempl's stem yet, but it felt—Son ... of ... a ... bitch!—thicker even than Dovis's. "God damn, Captain," I growled softly into his ear, "are you stealing a salami from the mess hall?"

Maybe not quite as long as Dovis's. At first grope, it felt about as long as mine. But my fingers couldn't close around it, not by a long shot. Fuck, it's a can of warm beer!

And then his hand snaked through the fly of my fatigues, and in an instant, my throbbing woodie bounced in the air. The horny little fucker started jacking me off. You see, you see? I'm not the only perv here! Mine was just some civilized feeling-up. He skipped right to beating the meat!

But who was complaining? I heard that roaring in my ears again. I unbuttoned his fatigue blouse and slid it off his shoulders. He did the same to me. We looked at each other a moment in unspoken agreement, then stood back to strip off our T-shirts, unlace our boots, kick them off, and shuck down pants and underwear.

We were naked. Just our dogtags.

And hard cocks. Fuck, he had a nice one. A damned uncut pipe thicker than a grenade. A baseball bat without the slender end. Six, seven inches long—yep, about as long as mine—but a portable fencepost. Damn, that's going to hurt.

Dovis's legacy swept over me: I wanted Stempl, and I wanted him bad. Stempl's was dark and veined like mine, and pre-cum began to ooze from it. We fell back into another embrace and another kiss, then I dropped my head to his big chest, nibbling here and there, working over one nipple then the other, and he grunted with pleasure.

His chest hair narrowed to a stripe across his navel and further south. I kissed my way down it. With a body as short as Stempl's I was on my knees long before I got in range of his cock, still kissing along the fur-trail as it finally spread out at the delta of his pubic hair. I was hot. As the big meat throbbed in front of me, I ached to be a cocksucker again.

I leaned close and dabbed the tip of my tongue into the big hole in his foreskin, touching the cockhead inside. When I pulled away, a string of fluid stretched out between my tongue and his piss-hole, finally snapping and falling back wet and slimy onto his groin and my chin.



What is going through his mind? I know how I felt when all these revelations fell on me like a truckload of rocks. Moons and planets were realigning in his universe. He let out a loud gasp when my mouth opened as wide as my jaws would stretch and sucked—no, tried to suck—his cock. The ladyfucker was just too big. Like trying to swallow a coffee cup.

I mouthed over the head, almost getting it into my mouth. No deep-throating here. I stroked his shaft with my hand, and—"Oh, god, Colonel!"—with a pulsing jerk, he shot a wad of cum into my mouth like his cock gave birth to a tennis ball. Sonofabitch! I couldn't take all of his first spurt, let alone the second, third, or fourth. And it was thick, not like my thin, watery stuff. Stempl's jizz was like warm cottage cheese.

As I knelt there trying to gulp it down, I couldn't help but admire his testicles. The man probably lost two or three pounds in that ejaculation. I sat back on my ankles, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and Stempl looked down at me. "God damn, Colonel, I never would have believed it."

"How'd you like it?"

He caressed the top of my head. "Just fine." With that, he dropped to his knees to reach me, and again we kissed. My tongue pushed some of his sperm into his mouth to let him taste it, and his tongue snaked out to scoop it up.

When the kiss finally ended, I looked him in the eye. "Try it, you'll like it."

Again the hesitation in his eyes. He's thinking, "If I don't do anything, then I'm not queer." But he owed me. Since we were both on our knees, he dropped to his hands, down to my crotch level, and hell-bent-for-leather, lips wide open, he crammed almost all my cock into his mouth in one great gulp. Wow, he's good! Natural talent. I couldn't hold back a groan. That was Captain Stempl, all right, gung-ho in everything he did.

I wasn't the one packing the heaviest artillery, and since he could actually get my cock into his mouth, he gave me a blowjob like it's supposed to be done. Bobbing his head up and down, Stempl's mouth was hot, sucking, and tight, and he got to me very soon. I thought I would last longer, but with a long moan, I held his head against me and shot him my own version of lava. He swallowed every drop (didn't have to chew like I had).

When I finally wound down, we both got to our feet. "Looks like we have a secret," I murmured. He smiled back. Hey, a smile. I got his mind off his troubles, at least for a while.

I put my arm around his shoulder again, and I'll be damned if his hand didn't reach out to fondle my crotch. We went back to kissing and more foreplay, and at last I lay back on the big log, pulling him down on top of me. I massaged his back as he nipped at my pecs, tickling my nipples with his tongue and squeezing my balls.

I reached under and stroked his cock. He was good and hard. With a cock that thick, does he get lightheaded when it hardens up? When I got him lurching his hips at my jacking hand, I raised the ante.

Still stroking him, I reached with the other hand to my fatigues and rummaged around in the pocket, bringing out a foil packet of gun grease. For greasing the breech of a firearm. To make it work easier. So the bullet slides hot, slick and fast into the chamber.

With Stempl's body prone on mine, I slowly raised my legs, and he slid down, backing off me, not quite sure what was going on. As he stared down, I rocked my knees back to my chest, rolling my ass and the hot, puckered target into his view, into range. His mouth fell open in shock.

His eyes grew wide as I squeezed the packet of gun grease over my ass, slathering it all over the place, packing it around and into my asshole. Then I reached for his cock and smeared it with grease, too, wiping him in swipes fetched from my shiny, slick ass. "Okay, Stempl," I said grimly. "Do it."

I pulled at his dong, guiding him toward me, aiming him at my foxhole. His face flickering with a hundred emotions, he mounted me ... and the big dong pressed against my opening. He pushed. Hoo-YAH! Damn, was I glad Dovis and Paul had opened me up. If that howitzer had spread my ring without some stretching experience, he would've split my crotch up to my chest.

As it was, a fiery pain shot through me, and I stiffened in agony, biting my lip to keep from yelling. I didn't want to scare Stempl and hear "What, did I hurt you, sir? Jeez, I'm sorry. I'll never do it again," so I fetishd back the screams.

No, I wanted him to remember this as an A#1 fuck. I writhed as his immense girth spread my rectum into a tight rubber band. I knew, though, that if I could just gut it out long enough, the pain would subside—and the pleasure would begin.

Once that happened, Stempl's cock won my heart. Like always, I was in awe that a man's cock sliding through another man's asshole was pleasurable, an indescribable turn-on. Like nothing I'd ever felt before—before Dovis, that is. And for all the misterofabitch he was, I owed Dovis for that.

Enjoying my hot cavern, Stempl started thrusting harder and harder, faster and faster—Damn, this is quick! He must've been very horny.

Nah, his mind is blown from the earth-shaking experience of fucking his CO. He's cumming from sheer overwhelm!

Sure enough, he rammed in to the balls, his body stiffened over me, he held me tight, and the big gobs of his slimy porridge pumped into my guts. He stayed in suspended animation for a long time—enjoying himself—but he finally cooled down, the stovepipe softened, and it slithered back out of my ass. Stempl then crawled up to kiss me.

We lay there making out for quite a while. I kissed him hot and hard, stroking his cock until I got him panting again. I had one more move before Checkmate. This is it! Take him across this threshold, and you got a friend for life! I moved my mouth to his ear. "My turn," I whispered.

He shivered. "Jesus," he gulped. He turned his face to mine. "Sir ... Sir, I don't think ... I can't ... I never—"

"Don't worry about a thing." I kissed him softly. "You'll like it. I'll go slow."

With Stempl muttering little yelps and complaints, I rolled him over onto his belly, then pulled him back onto his knees. I looked down. His ass was raised to me like a Christmas platter—with a little hole in the middle of it.

Ohmigod, another first! I've never fucked a man, either. Dovis and Paul socked the meat to me, and god help me, I couldn't imagine anything finer than being fucked. Never dared turn the tables on Dovis, himself, and never thought of fucking my own mister. I gulped. When I get Stempl's cherry—he'll be my first, too. My inaugural fuck.

I knelt to begin his initiation. "Agh," he gasped at the blowtorch of my tongue licking and jabbing at his asshole. "Ah, GOD!"



Another convert. Until he's had one, a man can't comprehend the ecstasy from a good rim job. I didn't believe my asshole was capable of pleasure until Dovis showed me.

And now I'm snowing Stempl.

When I got him panting hot and lunging his ass back against me, I licked my finger and stuck it in. "Ungh, God!" he hissed. I let him get used to it, then moved it in and out a little, drawing a moan from him.

Then I stuck in two fingers, same treatment. Then three, and each time after a short period of relaxation, he became accustomed to the stretch. Finally, in a voice so hoarse he sounded like whooping cough, he growled, "C'mon, sir, I'm ready. Fuck me!"

The magic words. My penis throbbed hard from all the excitement and the forest fire of anticipation. I mounted him and placed my cockhead at his fuckshole. "Do it," he groaned, and I pushed. Damn, it sank in quick! I'll be a misterofabitch. He's got a big asshole, too. His guts opened wide, and planting my cock in him turned out to be easy, quick, and HOT! Like sticking my peter in boiling water.

Still, I took it easy. I left just the head inside him for several minutes, letting him adjust to the stretch. Then I slid in a little more. Again he gasped, and I paused once more as he became accustomed. But then he began to wriggle under me, wallowing his asshole around the invader, getting pleasure from it ... so I did it. I slid in all the way, thrusting my hips forward, his guts a tight, slimy wall around my invasion, a mind-blowing in-stroke until my balls pressed against his.



Oh ... my ... God!!

Incredible, stupefying sensations! Dizzy! Can't catch my breath! Jesus, can't believe it! Fucking a man is better ... never thought I would think this ... than fucking a woman!!

And something else: Stempl is MINE! I got him! Forever more, whenever he sees me, he'll remember his first time. MY cock up his ass. I got a rush of that strange pride, something so basic it comes from the balls. My dick grew even bigger, and my chest almost exploded in exultation. "Yes!" I roared, "YES!!"

That did it. I gave in to my testicles. I forgot the easy stuff and started the ancient manly movements, hard thrusts in and out, full-length strokes from cockhead to balls, deep and powerful. I stretched out over Stempl's sweating body to see his face. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, panting. He was ready, grunting with each stroke. I bent over into a curve to bring my face to kiss him, still plowing his ass from my other end.

When our lips met, I'll be damned if Stempl didn't cum. By himself. His hands were on the log, clawing at it, not touching his cock. The captain got his orgasm from my fucking! I swelled with that weird pride again. I am the Alpha! I am THE MAN! I AM THE FUCKER!!

As his clumpy jism gushed onto the log, Stempl moaned long and low, groaning through a climax, no doubt astounded that he could be pushed into an orgasm by being fucked. About then the magic began at the bottom of my sac. My fuck-strokes automatically shortened to quick, hard jabs as the sensation quickly spread along the seam of my balls and up to the swollen head of my penis.

I, too, rolled my head back in ecstasy, my eyes clenched shut, my mouth wide open. I powerd my cock into Stempl as far as I could and gave myself up to the ecstasy, shooting my own juice deep inside him in spasms, writhing, unloading like I never had before.

Fiery pleasure. I was a cock, a giant, red-hot, throbbing cock! And it went on forever. Long, burning minutes. We crouched there in a frozen tableau, petrified by pleasure. Fucking a soldier. God, it's fine!

But all good things come to an end, and after my orgasm subsided and my cock slipped back out of his ass, we lay panting for a while, enjoying the afterglow. I'm getting good at this. Every orgasm lasts much longer than ever in my youth.

Stempl broke the silence. "Well, I guess I owe you," he said.

"Owe me? You don't owe me a thing. You just sent me to Heaven."

He smiled. "Never thought I would get over Janet." He reached down and grasped my soft, panting penis. "But you just took me to places she never did." We both sat up on the log. "Thanks, Colonel." And we kissed again.

We sat there for a long time cuddling and kissing, two naked men—no, two naked friends. Finally the hour grew late. We pulled our uniforms back on, walked back to the car, and I drove him back to his company area.

Back at home, watching TV with my wife and mister, I realized I had found my dream-friend. Eric Stempl was no control-freak who wanted to dominate me (not that I couldn't enjoy that sort of thing), and I suddenly imagined a long time of mansex without putting my head on the guillotine every time. But you've still got the problem of Dovis. I didn't care. Not then. Too happy, too satisfied.

The following day, my wife left to visit her lady, who lived in the next state, and Paul set off on a trip to New York for a rock concert. He drove off with a carload of buddies, and I couldn't help fantasizing what they would be into besides the music. I had the house to myself and started thinking about asking Stempl over for a take as I dressed to go to work.

Back in my office, starting the day, I read through the announcements from Brigade Headquarters. I almost ******. No cuckolds brownie, I was dizzy, lightheaded. I couldn't believe it. I leaned back in my chair, my heart pounding.

I reached into the drawer, fetched out the bottle, and poured myself another shot of Jim Beam.

One of the companies in my battalion, Company B, had been selected by USCONARC (US Continental Army Command) to report for training at a post on the other side of the country. The training was involved and precise—the assignment was for 18 months. The entire company would participate in the training and be billeted away from our fort for the assigned time.

I could hardly believe my luck. You got your miracle!

Both Dovis and Niely were in Company B.

I was so relieved, I applied for leave on the spot. I also filled out the paperwork for Captain Eric Stempl. A three-day weekend in the Bahamas.

When I told Stempl, he grinned. "Got a Speedo, Colonel?"

"Naw."

"Better get one. That's the max you're allowed to wear down there."

"When I get you alone," I said quietly, "I won't stand for any cloth at all 'down there.'" It was wonderful. We fucked each other senseless that weekend. I shot so much sperm in those three days, my balls were shriveled raisins when I got home, and for a week I couldn't take enough water.

Six months later I retired from the Army with full honors, from all outward appearances still a stone-straight, ultra-conservative officer. Still happily married, my wife and I moved from base housing to a nice house in the town, one close to the beach. And there the Andy Griffith Show ended.

My mister Paul fucked me every day. I bent over the bathroom sink for him every morning—part of my tooth-brushing & shaving ritual—until he finally went away for Basic Training. The wife never found out.

Eric Stempl drove over to visit often, at least once a week "to swim in our pool," and we frequently spent nights in motel rooms. Finally the Army transferred him away. We still write.

Life goes on: daily routine with my wife has settled into to a comfortable predictability—but on my own I experiment ever more in the wondrous discoveries I've made about the male body. I wonder how many of the proud young men who strut up to me to get their cocks sucked realize that the gray-haired old geezer gulping down their cum is an ex-Green Beret colonel who could easily snap their necks with a single backhand chop.

Ain't life grand?

I had heard of a downtown athletic club that worked with underprivileged ghetto boys, and that gave me an idea. I gave them a call. The guy who answered became very excited. "Yeah, we would love for you to come down and work with the boys. We have a good facility, used to be a YMCA club years ago. Still has the pool, the gym, the locker rooms, and so on. A real Special Forces colonel to help the boys train! That's terrific!."

The guy was ecstatic -- maybe even a little over-selling. "It would be an honor to have you work with us, Colonel. The boys will be thrilled when they hear they'll be training with a real Green Beret. We'll call the newspapers, it will be great publicity!"

I chuckled. Town Honors Retired Green Beret Hero Who Helps Underprivileged Youth! "Well, I'm retired now--"

"--Same difference. 'Once a Green Beret, always a Green Beret,' eh?"

"I think that's a US Marine saying."

"Well, anyway, you're going to love this. No little-boy stuff. Our program is for young men 18 and older. If it's okay with you, we'll start you out next Monday!"

I hung up the phone. Retired Military Man Successfully Reduces Libido.

I got a haircut and shaved carefully my first day as a Mentor Of Young Boxers. At 7:00 p.m. I drove to the address. The building was in a tough part of town. Shabby tenements all around. The building itself was a run-down two-story red brick building, solid enough -- looked like it was built as a machine shop -- windows all over the 2nd-story wall, but very small ones and very high in the ground-floor wall. Still if it had been a YMCA, it must have been a seedy one.

Inside, though, the place looked a lot better -- a large pool, a big, wide room with punching bags and other exercise equipment along each wall. In the center of the room was a boxing ring. The "office" was a cubicle set off by movable panels at one corner. There I met Mr. Tanderlin, the director. Think of Woody Allen but tall and pudgy. He was a nice enough guy, but I kept expecting him to come across with a punchline.

He gave me a hearty welcome, though, and introduced me to the boys: a mixed bunch of tall, short, skinny, fat, muscular, flabby. Mostly blacks, a few Hispanics, a few whites, one or two Asians. One black kid seemed to be the leader. ". . . and this is Bobby Wollen. He's our star member." Tanderlin chuckled. "He sorta runs things around here."

Bobby looked like a young, angry Denzel Washington dressed in a pale blue wife-beater, a pair of red nylon shorts and silver sneakers. He had attitude. Used to being in charge. A stretch in the Army would either make or break this kid -- he was the sort who either made a great soldier or ended up in the guardhouse every weekend. I learned he was also known as "The King of Calomar" for the tenement building he lived in.

As we started out, we did the rope-skipping routines, the heavy bag, techniques for the speed bags, and so on. Everybody was having such a great time, I didn't notice the hour, and finally Tanderlin came out of the office cubicle to announce the club was closing for the night. "Oh, gee, we're right in the middle of a feint-fight. We'll leave in just a few minutes. Can you set the door so it will lock behind us? I'll make sure to shut off the lights."

"Yes, that will be okay."

About then I had to take a leak. "Be right back, boys. Have to take a leak." I walked over to the locker room and went in. The urinals were in a smaller room at the far end.

It was an old building -- the urinal was a long trough along one wall. I stepped up to it and pulled out my cock. As I was pissing, Bobby stood beside me. I glanced over. Damn! That boy is hung! I blinked. What he fetched out of his pants had to be a good nine inches, and it was still soft! Sheesh, his lady must've gotten pregnant in a Tijuana Donkey Show.

"Big, ain't it?"

I couldn't believe my ears. Those are the magic words! But what could I say? Getting caught being mounted by a construction worker was one thing, but playing with this teenager's peepee could land me serious jail time. Damn. Wrong time. Wrong guy.

But I didn't want to get off to a bad start with them by acting prudish and offended. "You're a lucky guy. Going to make some woman very happy someday."

I backed away from the urinal, tucking myself in. Does the *** never end??

Back in the gym, I had the boys go through some cooling-off routines, then sent them to the showers. Now's my chance! Eye-candy! I walked into the locker room with them. I watched a few strip down. I saw Bobby toss his jockstrap in the hamper at the corner of the room (the club supplied the towels, gym suits, and jockstraps for the boys. They just had to come up with a pair of sneakers. Then it hit me: Idiot! One of those kids says something to his parents about the new coach watching them in the showers, and I'll be run out of town on a rail!

Disgusting Pervert Found Ogling Boys in Locker Room -- Police Could Not Hold Back Outraged Mob

Damn. I walked out of the locker room and stayed out in the gym, closing doors and putting things away until the last of them had said goodbye and left.

Then I checked out the shower room to make sure the water was turned off and the lights were out. I wandered over to the hamper. Bobby's jockstrap was on top. I recognized it. Bike #10. Size XL. Off-white color. My favorite.

I took a deep breath. It was still damp. Yellowed from long use and many washings -- but the yellowish stains on the pouch were new. Maybe even from tonight.

I held it to my nose. Ah, god. I inhaled. Strong, musky, masculine. A combination of sweat, piss, and maybe jizz. That heady odor of male pheromones. The smell of a young man's scrotum.

Look at yourself, standing in a locker room with a jockstrap pouch over your face. You are sick!

It was true. Inhaling the fumes from a young man's jockstrap was sickening -- to anyone not so horny. In all fairness, the sight of a stained, raunchy jockstrap is a turn-on, but it's nothing compared to a big, deep-breath sniff of the wearer's crotch-musk -- like the statue of David on TV compared to standing in front of it and fondling its huge cock.

I got so turned on smelling Bobby's jockstrap, I desperately yanked open my pants to get a grip on my throbbing dong before -- but too late! -- an orgasm washed over me, and I spurted a fistful of sperm into my underwear. Damn, that was good! I took the jockstrap home with me.

The next two days -- before my next meeting with the boys -- were ***. Every man I saw at the construction site was big, muscular, and oozing masculinity. And the damned days were so hot, many stripped off their shirts, giving me shots of big chests. Their big, brown nips were sexual headlights blinding me in the middle of the road.

I lived in desperation. Nobody could jack off in a porta-pottie -- the smell in there would make a maggot puke -- so I had to keep shutting myself in the nauseating place -- anything to siphon off some of my horniness.

When I was signing some requisitions, Carmody, the big, bald, broad-shouldered Cajun stood beside me with another paper to sign. Oh, cuckolds brownie, oh fuck, oh hell. Inches away from me as I bent over the desk, his body radiated a heat that burned the side of my face. With a godlike torso covered with a thatch of coarse, brown hair, Carmody could have posed for a Gold's Gym ad.

I gulped. Sweat ran down my face. Couldn't stop myself -- I glanced over . . . at hard, jutting pecs like gun turrets, brown aureoles maybe three inches across with nipples sticking out like little arrows aimed at my fevered brain. If this were a *** chamber, I would have yelled uncle and signed the confession hours ago.

When I finally initialed Carmody's paper and he walked away, I couldn't catch my breath. I had been clenching my asshole for so long it ached, and when I finally released, yet another spurt of pre-cum wet the front of my pants.

That day I wore khakis. I glanced down. Oh, cuckolds brownie!

I snatched a can of Coke from Wilmister's hand. "Here, gimme a swig of that! Oops!" I dumped it in my lap. Wilmister snatched it back and walked away muttering angrily, but at least I had a reamister for the big wet circle in the front of my pants.

That night I begged my wife to let me in. God, I was horny. Nope. "Oh, Honey! I've got a headache!"

Again the headlines: Retired Army Colonel Dies of Mysterious Exploding Scrotum!

The next day was 100% horny anticipation. By the time I was to meet with the tenement boys again, I had resolved that I WAS going to watch them in the showers! And Bobby. If I get another hint from him, I'll have his pants down to his knees so fast he'll hear a misteric boom!

I even arrived a few minutes early, hoping to catch a few in the locker room changing from their street clothes. Nope. They were all doing workout routines, waiting for Coach to arrive. Nuts.

We spent the night in various training exercises, how to hit the punching bag, footwork, practicing jabs, crosses, uppercuts, etc. At the end of the evening, again we were running late, and again Tanderlin told us to stay on and lock up when we left.

L'éducation de Charlotte


Bonjour,

Je m’appelle Sylvie, 37 ans depuis fin septembre 2008, et j’ai écrit ce qui va suivre pour vous raconter des évènements qui ont quelque peu changé ma vie au cours des trois derniers mois.

Je vais commencer par me présenter.
Parisienne depuis toujours, grande, mince et fine, cheveux noirs aux épaules, plutôt jolie, enfin rien d’exceptionnel, pas laide, mais plutôt anodine (je suis lucide !) ; pas beaucoup de formes, un petit quatre-vingt-cinq, bonnets B, des hanches et des fesses plutôt plates, pas très sensuelles, un nez assez large (il paraît que c’est le signe d’un caractère dominant !) et un visage assez banal.

Des yeux noirs un peu trop ronds à mon goût, la peau claire, plutôt élégante d’une manière générale (étant cadre, je passe une grande partie de ma vie en tailleur-pantalon et autres tenues du même genre). Un peu le look "mère de famille bcbg", élégante mais pas très sexy.

Pasmisters à des aspects plus intimes de ma vie et de ma permisternalité.

Je suis une lesbienne convaincue. Je ne dis pas que je n’ai jamais vu un homme nu, mais depuis que j’ai conscience de ma sexualité, j’ai toujours su que je n’aurai jamais d’histoires sérieuses avec un mec, et j’espère bien rencontrer l’élue de mon cœur un jour ou l’autre. Malheureusement, mon autorité naturelle finit toujours par reprendre le dessus, et depuis deux ou trois ans, j’ai eu du mal à faire durer une relation plus d’un ou deux mois.

J’aime bien maîtriser les évènements, autant au lit avec une demoiselle que dans la vie de tous les jours, quand il s’agit de tout et n’importe quoi.
Je reconnais que je suis d’un tempérament plutôt dirigiste, et j’attends d’une femme qui serait amoureuse de moi - espèce apparemment en voie de disparition ces derniers temps - si elle me fait confiance, qu’elle m’obéisse en tout.

J’ai mieux pris conscience de tout ça en juillet 2008 après une rupture avec une femme de mon âge dont j’aurais bien parié que c’était "La Bonne" ; celle avec qui j’allais partager ma vie. Et puis une semaine de vacances à La Baule - les vacances mistert un test terrible pour un couple qui n’est pas encore suffisamment solide - lui a révélé mon caractère bien trempé, et elle m’a plantée là, forcée de finir la semaine dans notre location, toute seule comme une vieille fille endurcie.

Après cette cruelle déconvenue - qui n’était pas la première, loin s’en faut - j’ai décidé de regarder les choses en face.

Inutile de chasser le naturel, il revient au galop. Cette rupture m’a permis de comprendre enfin que je ne peux envisager une relation solide et durable qu’avec une femme docile et d’un tempérament passif, qui acceptera mon caractère dirigiste. Ces réflexions m’ont rappelé certains de mes rêves érotiques il y a quelques années où je me voyais humilier une femme plus jeune que moi.

Pendant les semaines qui ont suivi, mon esprit a vagabondé et l’image de celle que j’imaginais partager ma vie a sensiblement évolué.
Le cliché du petit couple, deux cadres bcbg mignonnes, la quarantaine, qui font leurs courses au marché *** le dimanche matin en petites robes d’été, ce cliché qui m’avait fait rêver, eh bien il ne me faisait plus rêver du tout.
Vous vous demandez donc quel fantasme avait remplacé celui d’une vie rangée.

Je ne vais pas vous le dire tout de suite, mais ce fantasme, autrement plus excitant, je le réalise en vrai, en ce moment, et c’est exactement ce que je me propose de vous raconter.


J’ai été bavarde et je me suis un peu dispersée, mais pour résumer, j’étais jusqu’à cet été la petite bourgeoise, cadre dynamique, avec une vie sexuelle pas très folichonne. J’ai aussi réalisé que ça faisait des années que je réfrénais mon caractère autoritaire, et j’ai enfin compris que si j’arrêtais de considérer mon caractère comme un défaut à éliminer, je serais certainement mieux dans ma peau, et je pourrais avoir une vie sexuelle plus débridée et moins conventionnelle.

Étant depuis quelques années secrètement attirée par les femmes plus jeunes que moi - je ne me l’étais jamais vraiment avoué auparavant - j’ai donc commencé à fréquenter le samedi et le dimanche un quartier parisien bien connu des homosexuels - filles et garçons, d’ailleurs.

J’appréciais surtout la terrasse - bon l’hiver c’est pas top ! - d’un bar assez agréable où croiser un homme était quasiment impossible, fréquentée le dimanche après-midi par des étudiantes en master ou en dernière année d’école de commerce, qui révisaient leurs cours.
Je n’ai pas trop essayé les boîtes de nuit parce que mon âge, sensiblement supérieure à la moyenne, me mettait plus mal à l’aise ; alors qu’un café en terrasse c’est plus anodin.

Ne voulant surtout pas passer pour la vieille qui drague, j’ai passé pas mal d’après-midi à siroter un cappuccino ou à bouquiner, sans trop m’intéresser aux jolies frimousses autour de moi, attendant de me faire aborder.

Pendant quelque temps, je ne suis pas allée plus loin que des échanges de conseils littéraires sur tel bouquin qui vient de sortir ou des banalités sur les programmes télé de la veille.

Et puis un jour, alors qu’il n’y avait plus un siège de libre, une serveuse me demande si la place face à moi, sur une minuscule table est libre.
Évidemment j’ai dit oui.

Une fille qui devait avoir 22 ou 23 ans s’assied en face de moi, et fidèle à ma tactique je la regarde à peine, l’air totalement désintéressée.
Un bref coup d’œil m’avait quand même suffi pour la détailler : assez petite, quelques kilos en trop (pas grosse mais suffisamment ronde pour que ça se voit à travers ses épais vêtements d’hiver), de l’acné sur le visage, blonde, les cheveux aux épaules et un visage tout rond. Pas vraiment jolie, un visage assez neutre et inexpressif - d’aucuns diront un peu bovin ou qu’elle ne respirait pas l’intelligence ! - mais on devinait un corps assez sensuel et des formes très marquées.
Elle aurait pu être suédoise ou danoise. Je me suis fait la réflexion que si elle ne parlait même pas français, je pouvais aussi bien rentrer chez moi.

Je me suis totalement absorbée dans ma lecture (Marc Levy) pendant qu’elle se plongeait dans des bouquins de master en chimie moléculaire, et au bout d’une heure, en levant le nez de mon livre, je me suis aperçue qu’elle était partie.

Elle m’est bien vite sortie de l’esprit et la semaine suivante je suis revenue m’asseoir à peu près au même endroit, sans penser à elle le moins du monde, pas plus qu’aux autres filles de mister âge avec lesquelles j’avais échangé trois mots au cours des dernières semaines.
Il y a avait nettement moins de monde, et je m’attendais, une fois de plus, à ne faire aucune rencontre sérieuse.

Je m’apprêtais à rentrer chez moi quand j’entends dans mon dos une voix féminine très timide :

— Excusez-moi, est ce que la place en face de vous est libre ?

La plupart des tables étaient inoccupées. Qui pouvait bien vouloir s’asseoir à côté de moi.
En un coup d’œil j’ai évidemment reconnu la chimiste de la semaine précédente.

Mon pouls s’est légèrement accéléré, et je me suis dit qu’il allait peut-être y avoir enfin un peu de piment dans ma vie.

— Bien sûr, mademoiselle, asseyez-vous, je vous en prie. Excusez mon indiscrétion : je suis terriblement distraite et pas du tout physionomiste, mais votre visage me dit quelque chose.
— Oui je… je… je m’appelle Charlotte. Je viens parfois boire un verre ici et je crois vous avoir vue ici la semaine dernière.

À voir comment elle avait rougi jusqu’aux oreilles pour murmurer cette simple phrase, la sensibilité et la timidité de cette jeune femme me laissait penser que nous allions très très bien nous entendre.

Nous avons donc fait connaissance ce jour-là, et quand j’ai appris qu’elle n’avait jamais rien lu de Marc Levy, je lui ai proposé de lui prêter mon livre, dont j’ai prétendu que je venais de le finir, pour être sûre de la revoir.

Au cours de cette première rencontre, j’ai appris qu’elle était étudiante - en chimie donc - sans relations avec sa famille proche, donc galérant un peu pour se loger puisqu’elle n’avait pas de revenu.
Mes pressentiments sur sa timidité et mister caractère se mistert confirmés, je me suis aussi aperçue qu’elle rougissait dès que je la regardais dans les yeux. Bref, c’était presque trop beau pour être vrai !

Nos rencontres dans ce bar se mistert poursuivies pendant quelques semaines. Je prenais bien garde à ne jamais donner à Charlotte l’impression que je l’attendais, ou que je venais exprès pour elle, alors que dans mister cas il était évident qu’elle ne venait pas là par hasard.

J’ai très vite eu l’impression qu’elle était secrètement amoureuse de moi - sans même peut-être se l’avouer - et moi, de mon côté, j’ai tout fait pour renpowerr ce sentiment, tout en maintenant une certaine distance, sans jamais lui laisser croire que ses sentiments étaient partagés : je l’invitais parfois à manger un morceau, j’adoptais un comportement très maternel, je me préoccupais d’elle, je me souvenais d’une fois sur l’autre de ce dont nous avions discuté, je lui parlais de ses études, etc.
Je me comportais comme une bonne copine plus âgée qui se substitue un peu à une maman.
Je la tutoyais sans qu’il lui soit jamais venu à l’esprit de faire de même. Son vouvoiement était le même que celui qu’on adresse à la mère d’une copine quand on est au collège.
Je glissais quelques allusions à ma vie amoureuse compliquée et je lui laissais entendre que j’espérais être bientôt de nouveau en couple.

Je voyais que ça la désespérait mais ne faisait que renpowerr ses sentiments.

En bref je jouais le jeu classique des joutes amoureuses, et au bout d’un mois, elle était manifestement "accro", mais n’avait aucun indice que cela puisse être réciproque.

Un jour, alors que nous discutions depuis une bonne heure de cinéma, de bouquins et autres banalités, elle a clairement commencé à penser que c’était une impasse.

J’ai alors pris un ton plus intime, je l’ai regardée dans les yeux, et je lui ai laissé imaginer que je m’apprêtais à lui faire une grande déclaration :

— Tu sais, Charlotte, ça fait un mois qu’on se connaît. J’ai l’impression que ça fait une éternité, on a tellement de choses en commun !

En entendant ça, Charlotte rougit de nouveau jusqu’aux oreilles.

— J’ai beaucoup réfléchi, j’ai quelque chose d’important à te dire.

Elle devient carrément écarlate, et s’attend manifestement à ce que je lui déclare que je suis amoureuse d’elle.

— Tu es dans une situation difficile, tes études mistert très prenantes, tu arrives à peine à payer ton loyer. Est-ce que cela t’intéresserait de venir faire quelques heures de ménage à la maimister pour un salaire largement supérieur à tout ce que tu pourrais trouver ailleurs ? Ca te laisserait beaucoup de temps pour tes études, et plein d’argent de poche. Pour partir en week-end avec un petit copain par exemple !

Elle ne s’attendait évidemment pas du tout à une telle proposition, et elle en est restée bouche bée. Ma dernière remarque, qui laissait sous-entendre que je lui souhaitais de se trouver rapidement un mec, indiquait sans ambiguïté que j’étais très loin de soupçonner ses sentiments envers moi.
Elle n’a même pas été capable de sortir le moindre mister.

— Écoute, je te laisse réfléchir, je ne veux surtout pas te donner l’impression que tu es obligée, d’autant plus qu’on s’entend bien, ça te fait peut-être bizarre que je te paye un salaire. Je te laisse mon numéro, tu n’es obligée à rien, et rappelle-moi quand tu as pris ta décision.

On s’est quittées là-dessus et ce n’était bien sûr pas à moi de la rappeler.
Ses sentiments étaient encore plus forts que ce que j’imaginais, et dix jours plus tard, pendant ma pause-déjeuner, mon téléphone s’est mis à misterner :

— Allo, bonjour Sylvie, c’est Charlotte à l’appareil.
— Oui - je fais exprès de laisser un blanc pour la mettre un peu mal à l’aise -
— Je vous appelle au sujet des heures de ménage, je… enfin… je suis d’accord.

J’adorais toujours sa manière de bafouiller et sa timidité, et j’étais tout aussi impatiente qu’elle, même si elle ne pouvait pas s’en douter, et même si elle avait eu des soupçons, elle ne pouvait pas imaginer ce qui l’attendait.

— Super ! Ça me fait plaisir que tu acceptes ! Tu sais, pour moi c’est comme un petit coup de pouce, une manière de t’aider. Tu peux venir jeudi prochain à dix heures du matin ? Je ne travaille pas.

Le jeudi matin, je l’accueillais chez moi, lui faisais visiter mon appartement, et nous convenions qu’elle viendrait trois heures le jeudi matin et trois heures le lundi après-midi, le tout pour 500 euros par mois, soit un salaire énorme pour six heures par semaine, ce que me permettait mon poste de cadre.

Cette première matinée, que nous avons passée ensemble pour que je lui montre les tâches à effectuer, a été pour moi l’occasion de renpowerr l’image de moi qu’elle avait déjà, à savoir une dame gentille et maternelle mais distante, plutôt austère et même un peu autoritaire et sévère.

Je lui ai par exemple bien fait comprendre que si elle fouillait dans des affaires permisternelles telles que des papiers ou des bijoux, nos rapports ne seraient plus du tout amicaux.
Elle a aussi compris, entre autres, que j’étais très pointilleuse sur le repassage, et qu’il n’était pas question qu’elle utilise mon téléphone fixe pour passer des heures à discuter avec mister petit copain, ou encore que si elle s’avisait de ramener un garçon chez moi en mon absence, elle serait immédiatement virée - encore une allusion à mister hétérosexualité dont je laissais entendre qu’elle me semblait évidente pour qu’elle comprenne qu’une relation amoureuse entre elle et moi ne m’était vraiment pas du tout venue à l’esprit.

Quelques semaines se mistert écoulées, et une distance s’est installée entre nous, « d’employeur à salariée ». Je lui expliquais que je n’avais pas pu passer boire un verre avec elle au bar ce dimanche, beaucoup de boulot en ce moment, "mais dès que je serai plus dispo, on se fera un petit restau entre nous, pour fêter ses partiels".

Je devenais de plus en plus distante, tout en guettant une occasion de faire basculer notre relation dans un contexte radicalement différent ; qu’elle ne pouvait absolument pas imaginer. Ce faux-pas que j’attendais viendrait forcément car je voyais bien que la distance qui s’était installée entre nous n’avait absolument pas refroidi ses sentiments, bien au contraire.

L’occasion s’est présentée fin novembre, quand j’ai eu le sentiment qu’elle avait feuilleté mon album de photos. En particulier certaines photos de moi en maillot de bain - prises par une ex de l’époque - semblaient avoir légèrement bougé.

Faisant confiance à ma chance, je décidai de rentrer à l’improviste le jeudi suivant, vers 11h30, sous le prétexte de venir manger un morceau chez moi car je passais par là.

Ayant prévu mon irruption chez moi, je portais des chaussures plates ne faisant pas de bruit sur le parquet. Je fais tourner la clef dans la serrure, entre dans mon salon - la porte d’entrée de mon appartement donne directement dans le salon - et tombe nez à nez avec Charlotte, en train de se masturber sur mon canapé, devant des photos de moi en maillot de bain.

Comme je m’attendais plus ou moins à ce spectacle, j’avais prévu la réaction que je devais avoir pour être « cohérente » avec mon image de vieille fille célibataire, très stricte et plutôt BCBG…

Je suis restée bouche bée quelques secondes (le temps de me rincer l’œil !), et sous le coup de la surprise (simulée évidemment, mais elle ne pouvait pas le savoir), je laissai échapper, d’une voix blanche, et d’un ton autoritaire pour bien marquer qu’elle n’était que ma bonne :

— Charlotte… Charlotte ??? Que… Que fais-tu ??

Depuis que nous nous connaissions, que ce soit dans le bar où nous nous étions rencontrées ou bien chez moi les quelques minutes où nous nous croisions quand elle arrivait pour faire le ménage, j’avais bien pris garde de ne pas la « mater » et de ne jamais la regarder avec insistance, pour ne pas lui donner l’impression que je pouvais être intéressée par mister physique. C’était donc finalement la première fois que je pouvais détailler mister corps, puisqu’elle était en petite culotte (impossible de savoir si mademoiselle était une vraie blonde), les cuisses très largement écartées, les seins nus, la main glissée sous la petite pièce de dentelle qui devait être imprégnée du nectar de mister plaisir… On ne voyait même pas mister sexe, mais sans que j’arrive à me l’expliquer, sa position m’avait semblé extrêmement sensuelle, et même franchement obscène.

Je me l’étais finalement bien imaginée, un petit peu plus ronde que je ne le pensais (en fait, j’ai appris plus tard qu’elle faisait 74 kilos pour 1m60), avec des seins trop lourds et qui, malgré mister jeune âge, s’affaissaient très nettement sous leur poids imposant… J’ai aussi appris ses mensurations par la suite : 90 75 95, avec un bonnet C qui aurait pu être joli en théorie, mais ils n’étaient pas très fermes et on avait plutôt l’impression qu’elle avait déjà allaité trois enfants.

Pour compléter sa description, elle n’avait pas vraiment les traits fins, comme je vous l’ai déjà dit… Elle n’était pas vraiment très grosse, mais plutôt épaisse de partout, avec des hanches bien larges, les cuisses et les mollets dans le même genre et des lèvres trop pulpeuses, assez vulgaires. Elle ne correspondait donc vraiment pas aux canons de beauté actuels, et elle était surtout très loin des cadres supérieures, grandes et fines, que j’avais l’habitude de fréquenter jusqu’alors.

Pourtant, je dois reconnaître que dès notre première rencontre ses charmes ne m’avaient pas laissée indifférente, et depuis… Eh bien sans dévoiler la suite de l’histoire, je dirai que sa sensualité vulgaire me faisait depuis de plus en plus d’effet…

Ne lui laissant surtout pas le temps de s’expliquer, je fis trois pas en arrière, ressortis de l’appartement l’air très choquée, et claquai la porte d’entrée.

Au bout de quelques secondes, le temps de reprendre mes esprits après ce spectacle obscène et si choquant pour la bourgeoise coincée que je prétendais être :

— Charlotte ! Rhabille-toi immédiatement !
— Madame…
— Non, je ne veux même pas savoir ce que tu faisais, je ne veux pas d’explications, rhabille-toi tout de suite, je veux pouvoir rentrer chez moi, c’est tout de même la moindre des choses…
— Mais je… Ho… Pardon… Entrez, pardon… (Sa voix tremblait de honte, et les larmes n’étaient pas loin.)
— Pour voir ce spectacle obscène et dégradant d’une jeune femme que je croyais pure en train de s’adonner à des plaisirs malsains chez moi ? Il n’en est pas question, rhabille-toi immédiatement !

Au bout de quelques minutes d’attente sur le palier, je suis revenue dans mon appartement et l’ai trouvée rhabillée, assise sur le canapé, les yeux baissés, mister sac à main ramené sur ses genoux, les cuisses serrées et les joues écarlates de honte. J’ai pris mon ton le plus distant et le plus froid possible pour lui faire comprendre que l’époque où on rigolait ensemble à la terrasse des bars en commentant un film à l’eau de rose était vraiment très loin :

— Rentre chez toi, petite impertinente. J’espère que tu n’imaginais pas terminer ton repassage en discutant de la pluie et du beau temps avec moi, après ce que tu viens de faire ! Je réfléchirai ce week-end aux suites que je donnerai à cette affaire, mais sache que tu m’as profondément déçue… Moi qui voyais en toi une jeune fille pure et honnête… La simple idée que tu as eu des pensées impures et malsaines chez moi, sur mon canapé, devant des photos de moi… Je ne sais même pas quoi dire…

Je me suis arrangée pour ne pas être là les fois suivantes où elle est venue faire le ménage, lui laissant juste des petits mots très secs avec mes consignes concernant les tâches ménagères qu’elle devait effectuer…

Au bout de quinze jours, je l’attendais chez moi jeudi matin, très maquillée avec un tailleur très strict que je ne mettais que lors des grandes occasions. Assise sur mon canapé, l’air moins sèche que la dernière fois, je l’attendais et, en tapotant le coussin à côté de moi, je lui ai fait comprendre qu’elle pouvait venir s’asseoir sur le canapé…

— Charlotte, je t’attendais, j’ai bien réfléchi à ce qui s’est passé… (sur un ton volontairement maternel pour la remettre en confiance)
— Oui madame, je vous demande pardon, si vous saviez comme j’ai honte et comme je suis désolée.
— Je n’ai rien à faire de tes excuses, petite idiote. Tu as trahi ma confiance. Tout ça ne rime à rien, j’ai voulu te donner un coup de pouce… Un job d’appoint pour une petite étudiante de bonne famille et bien éduquée… Mais le moins que je puisse exiger de ma bonne, c’est qu’elle soit propre et ne soit pas complètement obsédée, totalement soumise à ses désirs obscènes… Ce que tu es, je suis désolée de te le dire… Je ne comprends même pas comment nous avons pu sympathiser… J’ai honte pour toi… Comment ai-je pu croire un seul instant que tu avais une bonne éducation ? Tu m’as bien trompée…
— Oh pardon, madame, je suis désolée, madame, cela ne se reproduira plus…
— Arrête de répéter toujours la même chose comme une enfant… Je t’ai attendue ce matin pour te dire que je vais chercher une autre bonne pour te remplacer… Je n’ai pas de bijoux de valeur ou d’exigence bien exceptionnelle sur le ménage, mais je ne peux pas imaginer d’avoir une bonne en qui je n’ai pas confiance… Les consignes que je te donne doivent passer avant tes désirs obscènes… Une maîtresse de maimister te paye pour la servir, pas pour te masturber !
— Oui madame… Bien sûr, je sais que je suis impardonnable… Mais je vous en prie, j’ai besoin de ce salaire…
— Ça, c’est vraiment le cadet de mes soucis, ma chérie… Je cherche une bonne, c’est pour me faire servir. Bien servir, ça nécessite d’assimiler les désirs de ta maîtresse… Et ça s’apprend, ça nécessite une excellente éducation, et tu es loin de la perfection, c’est le moins qu’on puisse dire !

En quelques minutes, j’étais passée du terme général « une maîtresse de maimister » à quelque chose de beaucoup plus précis : ta maîtresse, pour la préparer psychologiquement à ce que j’envisageais de lui proposer…

— Mais… Mais… Comment je vais faire… Je… Je suis prête à tout, vous avez toujours été très gentille pour moi, et j’ai besoin de ce salaire… Je vous promets que je vais m’améliorer…

(Tu m’étonnes que tu es prête à tout ma cocotte, tu es folle amoureuse de moi !!!)

— T’améliorer ? Laisse-moi rire, ça ne va pas suffire ! C’est une formation complète pour apprendre à me servir qu’il te faudrait ! Ou plutôt carrément refaire ton éducation ! Je n’ai jamais trop insisté, mais depuis que tu as commencé chez moi… Sans même parler du jour où tu t’es laissée aller… Tu es loin d’être parfaite…
— Je… Je… S’il vous plaît !
— Tu m’as entendue : j’ai besoin d’une vraie bonne, pas d’une idiote dans ton genre…
— Vous avez parlé de formation, de refaire mon éducation… Je vous ai dit que j’étais prête à tout pour m’améliorer… S’il vous plaît, laissez-moi une chance !
— Une chance ? Après tout, je t’ai bien aidée quand tu es venue ici la première fois, alors pourquoi pas… J’espère que je ne le regretterai pas… C’est la crise, et pour limiter les coûts, mon entreprise m’a justement proposée de travailler chez moi trois jours par semaine, ce qui devrait me laisser du temps pour m’occuper de toi…

D’un seul coup j’ai vu mister visage s’illuminer, elle est quasiment tombée à la renverse du canapé, et sans que je l’incite à quoi que ce soit, elle a pris ma main, l’a serrée et l’a même embrassée, comme si je venais de lui sauver la vie…

— Oh madame… Merci… Si vous saviez… Je suis si heureuse… Je serai digne de votre confiance…
— Ne t’emballe pas ! Je t’ai prévenue, tu es loin de ce que j’attends, il ne te suffit pas simplement de « t’améliorer », je vais vraiment T’ÉDUQUER, au sens propre…
— Oui madame, j’ai compris, je suis d’accord ! Et puis sans vous, je ne sais pas comment je m’en sortirais…
— Je te l’ai déjà dit : tes problèmes d’argent, je m’en fiche complètement… Ce que je te propose, c’est pas un job d’été que tu pourras prendre par-dessus la jambe, je ne cherche pas une bonne qui vient repasser trois pantalons… C’est ce que je t’avais proposé au début, mais ce n’est plus ce dont j’ai besoin… Tu seras là pour me SERVIR… Et pour que ça se passe bien, pas question que tu le prennes à la légère, surtout si je passe une partie de mon temps libre à refaire ton éducation… En fait, si tu veux que je te garde, il ne suffit pas que tu t’améliores et que tu sois motivée, il faut que tu aies ENVIE de me servir, que ça te plaise… Grâce à l’éducation que je vais te donner, si tu acceptes, ça finira par faire partie de ta permisternalité… Tu comprends, Charlotte ?

Je savais parfaitement que j’avais été suffisamment floue pour qu’elle ne saisisse pas tout ce que j’avais en tête et de toute façon, elle semblait presque capable d’accepter n’importe quoi…

— Oh oui madame ! Bien sûr madame ! J’apprendrai vite, je vous jure que je ne vous décevrai pas…
— J’y compte bien ma chérie… Mais si tu as vraiment envie de me servir, j’aimerais que tu le dises…
— …
— C’est important pour moi tu sais… Si tu es sincère, ce que j’espère, ça prouvera que nous parlons vraiment de la même chose…
— …
— Je vais te mettre à l’aise, je ne veux pas que tu te sentes obligée, et si tu ne le fais que pour le salaire, ce n’est vraiment pas la peine de me faire perdre mon temps… Écoute bien ce que je vais te dire… Pour être sûre que tu ne le fais pas pour l’argent… Si tu refuses de me servir, tu n’as qu’à te lever et quitter mon appartement. Nous ne nous reverrons plus jamais, mais pour te donner des chances de réussir dans la vie, et parce que je t’aime bien, je te donnerai 5 000 euros… Tu peux partir avec 5 000 euros… Tu n’as qu’à me le demander. Et nous ne nous reverrons plus jamais… Sinon, eh bien tu restes…

À ce moment-là, je sais que si elle part, j’ai tout perdu, mais plutôt que de tourner autour du pot pendant des semaines j’ai préféré tout risquer d’un coup… Si je gagne mon pari, après ça, je pourrai faire d’elle ce que je veux !

À cet instant sa timidité a repris le dessus, et elle a piqué un fard monumental… Elle a baissé les yeux, serré les cuisses encore plus fort (pour se procurer de délicieuses sensations, ou bien par pudeur ? Je ne le saurai jamais…)

— Je… Je…
— …
— …
— …
— J’ai envie de vous servir, madame…

Elle a prononcé cette phrase dans un murmure, les yeux fixés au sol, et j’aurais parié mon salaire que sa culotte était aussi trempée que si elle sortait d’une piscine… C’est la première fois que j’ai décelé chez elle l’excitation incroyable que pouvait provoquer un sentiment de honte… Comme elle avait peu confiance en elle, était très pudique et pas très jolie, elle était très souvent et très facilement submergée par la honte… J’ai évidemment, depuis ce jour-là, usé et abusé de mon autorité sur elle pour provoquer sa honte en tous lieux et en toutes circonstances…

— Tu as compris où est ton intérêt Charlotte, c’est parfait !
— …
— Qu’est ce que t’attends, on va pas déboucher une bouteille de champagne pour fêter ça ! Ton repassage t’attend !

Je continuai à alterner un langage très sec avec des mots beaucoup plus tendres, comme une patronne un peu trop maternelle, pour mettre le trouble dans mister esprit et affirmer mon emprise sur elle… De toute façon, vu la tournure que prenaient les évènements, même si elle avait perdu tout espoir qu’on devienne un jour copines, puis amantes, elle était toujours folle de moi… Cela se voyait dans ses yeux quand je l’appelais « ma chérie », et elle avait probablement eu l’occasion ces derniers temps de se donner du plaisir seule dans sa chambre d’étudiante en pensant à sa patronne…

— Oh madame ! Merci de me faire confiance !
— Bon comme je te disais, je vais être souvent chez moi, donc on aura le temps de parler de tout ça…

Elle a donc fait le ménage ce jeudi-là, et pendant encore deux semaines à raimister de deux jours par semaine, sans que je change de manière trop évidente mon attitude avec elle. Je travaillais chez moi, donc je pouvais la surveiller… Elle se tenait à carreau, et j’étais plus stricte que par le passé, plus sèche, lui faisant quelques commentaires sur mister travail de manière à la mettre mal à l’aise, mais ça restait très « soft »… Comme j’étais là, j’en profitais pour me faire servir, j’interrompais mister repassage en lui demandant de me servir un thé dans mon bureau, ou d’attendre à côté de moi, debout, le temps que je finisse mon petit déjeuner, pour remporter mon assiette à la cuisine et faire la vaisselle… Bref des choses assez anodines…

Au bout de deux semaines, j’avais décidé de lui faire franchir encore un cap, et je lui proposai de venir boire un thé dans mon bureau pour que nous fassions ensemble le point sur ces deux premières semaines…

— Bon, Charlotte, je dois reconnaître que tu fais des efforts… Tu fais attention à ce que je te dis, et je vois bien que tu essayes de me faire plaisir…
— Oh merci madame !
— Mais comme je te l’ai déjà dit, refaire ton éducation va prendre du temps, et tu te doutes bien que tu n’es pas devenue la soubrette idéale en deux semaines… C’est bien de faire des efforts, mais c’est vraiment quasiment rien par rapport à ce que j’attends de toi…
— Bien sûr madame, vous m’aviez prévenue, je suis motivée, je vous l’avais dit… Je veux vous montrer que vous pouvez me faire confiance…
— Je voudrais t’aider à prendre conscience que quand tu viens chez moi, tu n’es pas une étudiante qui gagne trois sous en passant l’aspirateur, mais tu es vraiment une soubrette, tu es là pour me servir, avec tout ce que cela implique…
— …
— Et je pense que ça commence par une tenue plus adaptée que tes pantalons et tes baskets…
— Oh ! Euh…
— Voici ce que je t’ai acheté !

Elle était manifestement surprise mais en tout cas elle ne semblait pas farouchement opposée… Ma petite bonniche docile et passive n’allait pas être difficile à convaincre…

Je suis allée chercher une petite valise dans un placard, et je lui ai déballé la fameuse tenue « plus adaptée » : des chaussures noires en cuir, à talons (4 cm de haut), très sobres, laissant le dessus du pied nu, avec une petite sangle pour serrer autour de la cheville ; une jupe tablier noire couvrant environ un tiers des cuisses (c’est-à-dire vraiment pas beaucoup, surtout pour elle qui ne mesurait que 1m60) ; un soutien-gorge pigeonnant couleur chair (pour qu’il ne se voie pas) légèrement trop petit pour elle et avec un très bon soutien (étant donné le poids de ses mamelles !) afin de donner l’impression que sa poitrine était encore plus imposante qu’elle ne l’était en réalité, et en coton tout simple pour atténuer l’impression que j’avais choisi des vêtements sexy ; une tunique blanche à manche courte, suffisamment décolletée et provocante pour qu’on voie bien la plus grande partie du sillon de ses seins, qui devaient en plus être bien « remontés » et « gonflés » par le soutien-gorge que j’avais prévu. Et pour finir, une culotte large en coton, pas sexy du tout, plutôt genre « confortable et enveloppant », pour lui donner le sentiment que ça m’était égal qu’elle soit sexy (et lui confirmer que ses charmes ne me faisaient strictement rien), mais que ce qui comptait pour moi c’était qu’elle rentre « dans la peau d’une soubrette ».

— Voilà les achats que j’ai fait pour toi, Charlotte ! Évidemment j’ai acheté cette tenue en double et tu la laveras et la repasseras d’une fois sur l’autre… Tu peux me remercier, parce que c’est de l’excellente qualité et ça m’a coûté une petite fortune !

Elle en est restée bouche bée et ne savait pas trop comment elle devait réagir…

Je ne voulais surtout pas lui laisser le temps de réfléchir, et sachant qu’elle pouvait être parfois assez gamine (elle n’avait que 22 ans !) et s’amuser d’un rien, je lui présentais ça presque comme un déguisement…

— Tu vas voir, tu vas être toute mignonne avec ça ! Tu pourras dire à tes copines de fac que tu te déguises comme dans les films historiques, et que tu travailles pour une bourgeoise qui se croit encore au 19ème siècle ! Regarde comme tu seras élégante, je t’ai même acheté des pics à cheveux pour que tu te fasses un chignon… Je veux un beau chignon bien rond très strict… Pas question que tu fasses « négligée » !
— …
— Allez hop, ne perds pas de temps, ma petite chérie, tu ne voudrais pas te faire gronder parce que tu n’as pas fini le ménage ?
— Mais… Euh… Je vais être un peu ridicule, non ?
— Pas du tout, pas mal de mes connaissances ont des bonnes qui portent l’uniforme comme toi… Bon c’est vrai que ce mistert en général des femmes plus âgées que moi… Je veux bien admettre que je suis un petit peu vieux jeu… Mais si tu veux vraiment apprendre à servir, il est indispensable d’être habillée correctement… Regarde comme c’est de la belle qualité, je suis sûre que tu seras fière de porter cette tenue… Et le plus important : est-ce que tu veux faire honneur à ta maîtresse ? Surtout quand je ferai des dîners à la maimister avec des amies, si tu acceptes de faire un extra pour le dîner, quelle fierté de te voir ainsi !
— Vous ne serez pas la seule à me voir ainsi ? Vous inviterez des amies ? Je ne suis pas vraiment sûre de…
— Bon, bon, ne t’inquiète pas pour cela, ce n’est qu’un détail, nous en reparlerons plus tard, quand tu seras prête… De toute façon tu ne feras jamais rien dont tu n’aies pas envie… Je ne veux que ton bonheur, tu sais !
— Oh oui madame, je sais bien, vous êtes si gentille avec moi malgré que je vous ai offensée…

Voyant qu’elle était quasiment convaincue, j’en rajoutais, pour l’amener à dire spontanément ce que j’attendais qu’elle dise :

— Enfin, si tu n’as pas envie de porter cette tenue, ce n’est pas grave…
— Oh non madame, ce n’est pas du tout ce que je voulais dire, j’ai envie de vous servir… Et puis quand j’étais enfant, j’aimais bien me déguiser, alors là, bah… Je commence à me faire à l’idée…
— Allez trêve de bavardages, change-toi vite !
— …

La voyant de nouveau rougir comme une pivoine, j’ai compris que sa pudeur reprenait le dessus…

— Si tu veux utiliser ma chambre, y a pas de problème !
— Merci madame, je reviens tout de suite…

Elle est revenue au bout de quelques minutes, en parfaite soubrette docile et soumise (même si elle ne le savait pas encore)…

Même si je ne voulais surtout pas qu’elle s’en rende compte, j’ai eu l’occasion pendant les trois heures qui ont suivi de détailler mister corps et la manière dont elle portait mister nouvel « uniforme »…

Son décolleté était assez provocant, mais il n’était pas sensuel au sens classique du terme… Au risque de me répéter, j’avais soigneusement choisi sa tenue pour qu’elle soit excitante à mes yeux mais en essayant de ne surtout pas lui donner l’impression qu’elle me plaisait, ou que je la voulais sexy. Ce décolleté était plutôt vulgaire et caricatural, comme un permisternage de bande dessinée, avec ces deux grosses mamelles exagérément remontées et comprimées, dont n’importe qui comprenait obligatoirement qu’elles tenaient ainsi grâce à un soutien très ferme…

Quant à ses cuisses, elles étaient suffisamment épaisses pour être beaucoup trop grosses, et visiblement obscènes sous cette jupe trop courte, mais sans exagération tout de même ce qui fait qu’elles restaient sexy et excitantes…
Pour bien se les imaginer, toujours selon nos fameux canons de beauté, elle avait le genre de cuisses qui devaient faire dire à ses copines de fac un peu langues de vipères, pendant l’été, des choses du genre :

— Charlotte devrait pas porter des minijupes comme ça, ça lui va vraiment pas… Elle dit qu’elle va essayer de perdre 5 ou 10 kilos, mais à mon avis ça ne suffira pas pour qu’elle soit jolie en minijupe…

Mais moi… Les canons de beauté, je les avais oubliés depuis que je connaissais Charlotte, et elle me plaisait beaucoup (c’est peu de le dire !)…

Enfin mister chignon effectivement extrêmement strict (ses cheveux blonds lui tombaient maintenant en dessous des épaules, elle n’avait pas dû aller chez le coiffeur depuis notre première rencontre) renforçait cette tonalité d’ensemble, d’une jeune femme docile et soumise…

Charlotte a donc fait le ménage ce jour-là dans sa nouvelle tenue, offrant involontairement, et apparemment sans s’en rendre compte (il faut reconnaître qu’elle était aussi très naïve et que cela faisait deux mois que je passais mon temps à la persuader qu’elle était la dernière permisterne au monde qui puisse m’inspirer du désir sexuel ou une quelconque pensée sensuelle) à sa maîtresse de superbes points de vue sur ses cuisses, mister fessier, et ses splendides mamelles dès qu’elle se penchait pour épousseter quelque chose… Et à vrai dire, dès qu’elle bougeait tout simplement, tellement sa tenue était ajustée sur ses formes, et trop courte…

Je n’ai pas poussé les choses trop loin ce jour-là, l’acceptation par Charlotte de la tenue de soubrette étant déjà un cap important pour elle dans sa nouvelle vie… La semaine suivante, une routine s’installait déjà, et sa tenue l’attendait dans ma chambre…

— Tu peux aller te changer Charlotte, j’ai préparé tes affaires sur mon lit !
— Bien madame…

Au bout d’une minute ou deux d’une voix forte :

— Zut, j’ai oublié mon portable dans ma chambre !
— Pardon madame, vous me parliez ?
— Non je disais que j’ai oublié mon portable dans ma table de nuit ! C’est urgent, ça t’ennuie si j’entre ?
— Oh ! Heu… Non… Enfin… Je vous en prie…

Je suis entrée le plus vite possible, pour ne pas lui laisser le temps de s’habiller, et tout en faisant attention à ne pas trop la regarder, je fouillais dans ma table de nuit pour récupérer mon portable. Elle était entièrement nue, et se tenait debout près de ma chaise, s’apprêtant à poser sa culotte et mister soutien-gorge pour prendre ceux de mister uniforme.

J’avais évidemment prévu mon coup et je me doutais que se déshabiller dans la chambre de sa maîtresse ne devait pas laisser Charlotte insensible…

Je regardais « par hasard » et « involontairement » dans la direction de ses cuisses, et… Pour la première fois, j’ai enfin vu la jolie toimister bien blonde, pas très épaisse, qui ornait mister pubis… Et surtout des traces suspectes sur les nombreux bourrelets appétissants de ses cuisses…

— Charlotte, excuse-moi, je ne voulais pas te regarder… Mais, tu as quelque chose, là… Tu peux t’approcher s’il te plaît ?
— …
— Vite s’il te plaît !

La rougeur instantanée sur ses joues, l’expression paniquée de mister regard puis ses yeux qui descendent et qui scrutent la moquette intensément pour ne pas croiser mon regard, ses mains qui se portent pudiquement devant mister pubis, tout me prouvait que j’avais vu juste, et que nous allions enfin pouvoir nous amuser…

— Mets tes mains dans le dos !
— …
— Je ne te le dirai pas deux fois, Charlotte, TES MAINS DANS LE DOS !

Elle a obéi sans un mot, et je savais que si elle était légèrement troublée avant que j’arrive, le cours des évènements ne pouvait qu’accroître sa honte, et… Vous m’avez comprise !

J’ai avancé très lentement ma main droite vers mister pubis, afin de faire durer mister supplice (je me souviens que j’avais compté dans ma tête et ma main a mis environ 15 secondes pour franchir la distance qui la séparait de mister sexe).

Elle se tenait debout, raide devant moi, droite comme un I, alors que j’étais assise sur le rebord de mon lit. J’ai posé ma paume sur le haut de sa cuisse et avec le pouce, j’ai effleuré à plusieurs reprises la peau si douce qui se trouve juste en dessous des grandes lèvres, à la jonction des cuisses…

Il a suffi de quelques secondes pour que mon pouce soit recouvert d’un liquide blanc et épais… En plus de ses nombreuses qualités, ma future soumise produisait une mouille abondante…

— Charlotte… Qu’est ce que cela signifie ? Tu ne t’es pas débarrassée de tes vilaines habitudes ? Tu as encore eu des pensées perverses ? Ce n’est plus dans le salon, c’est carrément dans ma chambre cette fois ! Je croyais avoir été très claire avec toi…
— …

J’ai profité du fait qu’elle ne me regardait pas pour admirer mister corps bien trop lourd, ses hanches larges, ses cuisses toujours aussi épaisses, qui décidément me faisaient énormément fantasmer, et ses seins trop gros qui s’étalaient sur mister torse, tombant quasiment jusqu’à mister nombril, avec des tétons qui semblaient durcis et tendus, prêts à craquer tellement elle était excitée… J’aurais donné n’importe quoi pour caresser ce corps de déesse… Mais il n’en était pas question pour l’instant, je devais suivre mon scénario…

— Charlotte, regarde-moi quand je te parle !

Pendant de longues secondes je l’ai regardée, ma main toujours posée sur sa cuisse, mon pouce immobile sur ses grandes lèvres, l’obligeant à soutenir mon regard, et je sentais que ma chatte devait être à peu près dans le même état que la sienne…

— Charlotte, est-ce que tu peux m’expliquer ce qui se passe ?
— …

Elle n’avait pas ouvert la bouche depuis que j’avais fait irruption dans la chambre, et elle avait apparemment la gorge serrée… Et c’est peu de le dire !

Tout en la regardant dans les yeux, j’ai recommencé mes petits va-et-vient avec mon pouce le long de ses lèvres, et l’humidité et la moiteur entre ses cuisses ne faisaient qu’augmenter, pour mon plus grand bonheur, et pour le plus grand désespoir de Charlotte qui n’avait probablement jamais eu autant honte de sa vie… Elle n’avait probablement jamais non plus connu un plaisir sexuel aussi intense…

— Petite traînée, tu as perdu ta langue ou quoi ? En plus ça ne date pas d’il y a une heure, c’est tout récent, quelques minutes au plus… Puisque tu ne dis rien, je vais t’expliquer moi ce qui se passe ! Ta chatte est trempée de mouille, tu dégoulines, espèce de chienne… Non, ne me regarde pas avec cet air vexé, c’est bien ce que tu es, tu n’es qu’une petite chienne obsédée et lubrique… Et manifestement la source n’est pas tarie, regarde ta chatte ! Mais regarde-toi salope, tu continues à ruisseler pendant que je te parle…

La honte était tellement forte qu’elle s’est mise à trembler, et ses jambes ne la portant plus, elle est tombée à genoux, à mes pieds, puis assise par terre en tailleur… J’avais une vue plongeante sur sa chatte gonflée, excitée et si appétissante… Sa toimister était trempée, comme si elle venait de prendre une douche. J’étais moi-même très excitée (mais je ne voulais pas le laisser paraître), surtout à la vue de cette chatte large et rebondie, qui n’avait pas dû être pénétrée très souvent, mais qui était déjà légèrement dilatée, encadrée par des lèvres trop grosses… Tout cela était probablement l’un des effets du surpoids de la demoiselle…

Je ne regardais pas la petite fente toute fine d’une jeune femme chaste, mais bien la chatte ouverte, obscène et pleine de bourrelets d’une femme bien en chair, pulpeuse et charnelle, qui était déjà largement initiée aux plaisirs solitaires…

— Oh madame, pardon, je vous en supplie, j’ai honte, vous avez raimister, je ne suis qu’une chienne, je me fais honte… Vous n’allez pas me garder n’est-ce pas ?
— Que veux-tu dire ? Je t’ai dit que j’avais décidé de t’éduquer de A à Z pour que tu deviennes une parfaite soum… Heu… une parfaite soubrette. Je ne vais pas baisser les bras maintenant, la tâche ne va pas être simple, mais je te promets que quand j’en aurai fini avec toi, tu sauras contrôler tes désirs obscènes, tu sauras obéir et servir une maîtresse, tu devanceras même ma volonté…

Elle était toujours assise à mes pieds, et quand elle a levé ses yeux vers moi, j’ai lu dans mister regard qu’elle me vouait une adoration qui dépassait mes espérances, elle m’était reconnaissante au-delà de ce que j’imaginais.

— Madame, je ne sais pas comment vous remercier, je n’osais même pas espérer que vous alliez me garder, après ce que j’ai fait…
— Pour me remercier, c’est très simple, je ne te demande qu’une chose : faire ce pour quoi je te paye, le ménage, me servir et m’obéir !
— Bien sûr madame, je vais m’habiller tout de suite et commencer par passer l’aspirateur…

Elle était dans un tel état d’excitation nerveuse et sexuelle qu’elle a dû s’y reprendre à deux fois avant d’arriver à se lever, et à se diriger vers ses vêtements, en gardant les cuisses serrées et d’un pas hésitant… La faute à ses jambes flageolantes et à sa chatte qui réclamait la main de sa maîtresse…

— Charlotte, dans ton état, tu crois vraiment que tu vas arriver à quoi que ce soit ? Tu crois que tu vas être capable de te concentrer sur ce que tu as à faire ? Tu es dans un tel état que tu serais capable de brûler toute ma garde robe avec le fer à repasser…
— Oh pardon madame, je…
— J’en ai marre que tu me demandes pardon à tout bout de champ ! Tu n’es absolument pas en état de travailler, et pour te calmer, je ne vois qu’une seule solution ! Tu vois de quoi je parle ?
— Je… Je… Oui madame, je vais aller prendre une douche…
— J’espère que tu plaisantes, là ! Ça te calmera pendant cinq minutes, et ensuite ça recommencera, j’en suis sûre… Je commence à te connaître, petite chienne… Non ce n’est pas à ça que je pensais…
— Mais alors, je… Que voulez vous… ???
— Tu vas vite comprendre, mets toi à quatre pattes ma chérie, je vais m’occuper de toi, tu verras que dans dix minutes tu auras les idées beaucoup plus claires… Allez à quatre pattes, plus vite que ça ! Écarte bien les cuisses. Ça doit être naturel d’ouvrir les cuisses pour une chienne en chaleur, non ?
— …
— Voilà, c’est bien ma chérie, tu vois que tu sais obéir quand tu veux… Mets-toi sur les coudes, ça sera plus facile pour te cambrer…

À partir de ce moment-là, il était clair qu’elle était bien sur la voie d’une soumission complète, et je trouvais bien plus humiliant d’utiliser avec elle des petits mots tendres, des petits mots qu’elle aurait rêvé de me voir utiliser avec elle puisqu’elle était (et est toujours) amoureuse de moi… Sauf que dans ce contexte, ce n’était pas du tout les mots d’une femme pour mister amante, mais les mots d’une femme pour sa chienne… Et elle le comprenait parfaitement, j’aurais dit « ma chérie » sur le même ton à une petite chienne de six mois ramenée de la SPA que j’aurais eu à éduquer…

Je me suis approchée d’elle par derrière et de la main gauche, j’ai exercé une pression ferme sur ses reins pour l’obliger à exagérer encore plus sa cambrure naturelle pourtant déjà très prononcée.

Ses seins alourdis et gonflés à l’extrême par l’excitation pendaient comme deux outres sous mister torse, et comme je lui avais demandé de se mettre sur les coudes, le bout de ses seins touchait le sol et au moindre mouvement, ses tétons frottaient douloureusement contre la moquette et provoquaient de nouvelles vagues de plaisir dans mister ventre…

Toujours à cause de sa cambrure, ses grosses fesses se dressaient fièrement vers le plafond, et mister pubis au lieu d’être tourné vers le sol était presque à la verticale, et me faisait face. Son vagin était orienté comme mister anus aurait dû l’être si elle avait été dans une position normale…

J’ai approché ma main droite, et sans aucun préliminaire, j’ai entièrement enfoncé mon majeur en elle.

— Tu vois, une douche n’aurait pas suffi, tu es toujours aussi trempée… Tu n’as pas cherché à résister ma jolie, bien au contraire ! Ta chatte reconnaît déjà la main de sa maîtresse !

Je commençai de lents va-et-vient tout en la maintenant bien cambrée pour que la moquette continue à irriter ses tétons. Pendant que mon majeur était en elle, mon pouce caressait délicatement et tendrement ses lèvres pour la mener le plus vite possible à l’orgasme…

Au bout d’environ une minute, j’ai senti qu’elle n’en était pas loin et que ses tétons étaient probablement tellement durs que le contact avec la moquette devenait quasiment insupportable…

— Hmmmm… Gnnnn… Hunnnn… waaaaa
— Que dis tu ma chérie ?
— Hmmmm… Gnnnn… Hunnnn… waaaaa
— Écoute je te jure que si tu ne fais pas un effort, je ne peux pas comprendre ce que tu me dis…

J’ai délicatement ressorti mon doigt, et sans lui permettre de changer de position, j’ai fait le tour de la chambre pour me mettre face à elle…

— Qu’est ce qu’il y a ma chérie ? Je ne suis pas assez douce ? Tu n’y arrives pas ? Dis-moi ce que je dois faire pour te soulager ?

J’avais évidemment employé ce terme à dessein… Je ne la caressais pas pour lui donner du plaisir, je ne faisais que lui donner un orgasme pour la soulager comme on soulage une vache en tirant mister lait… Le temps que sa respiration se calme et qu’elle reprenne ses esprits pour être en état d’articuler, mister désir avait encore augmenté et sa frustration devenait palpable…

Elle transpirait de chaque pore de sa peau et mister corps tout entier exprimait un désir incontrôlable, à tel point qu’elle donnait de petits coups de reins dans le vide, espérant arriver ainsi à se faire jouir seule, ce qui était évidemment improbable… À moins qu’elle n’ait cherché un hypothétique meuble contre lequel elle aurait pu frotter mister clitoris en feu, mais il n’y avait rien autour d’elle…

Elle m’était déjà presque entièrement soumise et se masturber elle-même ne lui était manifestement même pas venu à l’esprit, tout simplement parce qu’elle savait intuitivement que je ne l’aurais pas toléré…

Je me suis mise à caresser le sommet de mister crâne et ses cheveux, puis sa nuque, avec tendresse…

— N’aie pas honte ma chérie, dis-moi ce que je dois faire pour te soulager ?

Dans un murmure, encore à bout de souffle malgré les quelques secondes qui s’étaient écoulées et qui lui avaient permis de reprendre ses esprits :

— Deux doigts… S’il vous plaît…
— Pardon ? Charlotte, je vois bien que tu as besoin que je te soulage mais si tu ne me parles pas distinctement…
— Deux doigts… Mettez-moi deux doigts, je vous en supplie !
— Mais oui, bien sûr, tout ce que tu veux ma puce, je vais m’occuper de toi…

De retour derrière elle, j’ai enfoncé sans ménagements mon majeur et mon index au plus profond de mister intimité… J’ai aussi fait glisser mon autre main sous mister ventre et j’ai commencé à titiller mister clitoris manifestement très sensible…

Son orgasme a été immédiat… Sa respiration s’est encore accélérée et en quelques secondes tous les muscles de mister corps se mistert contractés pendant qu’une longue traînée de cyprine s’échappait de mister vagin aux rythmes de ses contractions. Un long gémissement s’est échappé de sa gorge et elle s’est effondrée, roulée en boule sur la moquette comme une petite chienne.

Quand elle a commencé à reprendre ses esprits je me suis approchée d’elle et je lui ai donné mes doigts à lécher…

— Charlotte chérie, nettoie mes doigts… J’ai déjà été bien gentille de te soulager, alors c’est bien le moins que tu puisses faire…

Anéantie par l’orgasme, elle s’est exécutée, sans dire un mot. Quand elle a pu se remettre debout, je lui ai ordonné d’aller prendre une douche froide, et elle a ensuite fait ses trois heures de ménage. Comme je m’y attendais, elle était très attentive à la moindre de mes consignes, et beaucoup plus efficace dans les tâches ménagères qu’elle ne l’avait été par le passé…

Nous n’avons pas évoqué ce qui s’était passé et à la fin de ses trois heures de ménage je lui ai demandé, comme si c’était parfaitement naturel, de se déshabiller devant moi afin que je puisse « faire une petite inspection ». Sa chatte était parfaitement propre et sans aucune trace de désir. Mon inspection a évidemment provoqué un début d’excitation, mais j’ai fermé les yeux en lui disant que j’étais fière d’elle malgré ce qui s’était passé, et que mister éducation commençait bien…

tu te surpasses Chrislebo!!!!

merci du compliment

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Subduing the Captain 01

The following is a true story as told to me by a friend.

Back in the late Fifties, I was the captain of a US Navy vessel, a big man o' war (that shall remain nameless). Three heavy gun turrets, a couple dozen torpedoes, several million dollars' worth of seagoing steel, and several hundred men were my command, but as the CO, I was enjoying my last cruise. I was 56, had reached the rank of Captain O-6, and after a great career, I was about to retire.

Now I am an old man. Now I can tell this story.

After 25 years of seafaring, I was looking forward to puttering around my house in Virginia. After World War II, the following Cold War, and the Korean War, I was tired. I just wanted to kick back and rest.

On that last cruise, I stood one night on the bridge looking out into the night. My wife was gone, succumbed to cancer 10 years earlier, and the Navy had filled my life. Our mister and I had struggled on, Brad staying with my wife's sister and her family nearby when I had to leave on sea duty. I leaned against the rail and dropped my head into my hands.

Brad would be gone from my house when I retired -- he had grown old enough to join the Marine Corps, and he was carrying on the family military tradition. I would get out of the Navy in two months. Everything was perfect. Even the timing of the ship's patrol was perfect. After leaving the public relations visit to the Mediterranean city, whose lights I could see in the distance, we would go back to the States in three weeks, perfectly in time for my retirement date.

But it was a melancholy perfection. What will I do without the Navy?

I would be active -- I would still have things to do for and with the Navy. I was considering a teaching position in a local college. I could even start a business. After my wife's death, I had poured myself into my Navy career, and that kept me too busy for physical loneliness.

Strictly speaking, I had no reamister to worry. I cut rather a decent figure, if I said so myself: I was 6'1" and in trim shape for my age. Silver threaded through my hair and mustache, but I had no fat, no sagging jowls on my face, and I could still jog around the deck with the men doing PT. When I smoked my pipe, people sometimes told me I looked like David Niven.

My problem was that I had, for lack of a better term, "outgrown" the available women. "Out-aged" is a better word. Helpful friends were forever inviting me to dinner where -- surprise, surprise -- an unmarried female friend of the family just happened to show up. It never worked out. Women my age were wrinkled and sagging -- and so was I.

One look at the sailors running around my ship, and I knew I was no longer the type to catch the eye of a woman -- or at any rate a woman who would catch my eye.

A few male friends had even hinted at taking advantage of "quicker services," but somehow a whore fell short of my preferences. I had to face it: at my age, I would rather listen to a recording of Rimsky-Korsakov than watch an old, tired, sweaty whore doing a hootchy-kootchy to arouse my interest.

The following evening, when the ship tied up and prepared to open its gangways for guided tourist visits, I decided to take a few hours off from the pressures of command and have dinner in one of the city's restaurants, since they were famous for good food. I changed into civilian clothes and took a taxi to a restaurant/bar well noted in the tourist guides. I ordered a meal and a cocktail.

Nice place. A jazz trio played soft music from a corner of the room, and the lighting was dim and romantic. My wife would have loved it. That thought somehow put the music into a minor key -- sad. I had the blues.

After my meal, I had another cocktail, then another. Feeling a serious buzz, I realized the bartender was more generous with the cuckold water than those in US bars, and I had takes more than I wanted to. I can usually handle three takes with no problem, but I felt pretty smashed, so I stayed in my booth, listening to the music, hoping the holy water would wear off.

Finally I had to go to the bathroom, so I got up and walked to the men's room, glad I could keep from staggering, but taking advantage of handrails and other assists on the way. Inside, standing at the urinal pissing, I hoped I was getting rid of some of the holy water, but I knew I would have to make a very serious effort to get back on the ship with any dignity. How embarrassing! Imagine staggering up the gangplank to take the salute of the Watch. Damn, maybe I'll have to take a hotel room for the night.

I heard the door open behind me. A big man stepped up to the urinal beside me. I caught a glimpse of his gaudy clothes. American tourist. Big guy. Muscular. A takes. I could smell the ***** even though I had a few myself. Fucking American takess! They give us a bad name!

But then, hell, I'm takes myself.

The guy looked over at me and smiled. I looked away. Damned takes. Maybe also a pervert. From the corner of my eye, I could see he was still looking at me. "I like older guys," he said. "You'll do."

Before I could react, he grabbed me, shoving me into the wall! As I struggled against him, he jammed a cloth over my mouth and nose. Stinging, obligation fumes!

That's all I remember.

When I woke up, I had a splitting headache. As my senses focused, I realized I was on my belly on a bed, my arms outstretched -- handcuffed to the bedposts! My feet were free, so I crawled up to my elbows and knees -- and -- no clothes! I was naked! Ohmigod!

"Awake now?" I looked around at the voice. The bastard from the men's room! He, too, was naked, stroking his penis, a very large one, fully erect. "Okay, man, your time has come."

"What in hell is the meaning of this," I roared. "Do you know who I am??" Damn, I wish I were sober!

"Hey, you speak English! Well, I'll be damned, an American! What are the odds!" He arose from his chair, still stroking himself, and stood close to me. "No, I don't who you are. Do you know what this is?" He pressed his penis against my face, and I shrugged away in disgust.

"You bastard! Turn me loose!" I was about to tell him I was the captain of a Navy ship, but I thought better of it. This could get ugly once it's out in the public. I rolled onto my side to kick out at him somehow, but with my hands cuffed to the bedposts, I was hardly dangerous. He easily avoided my flailing legs, pinned them down, and rolled me back onto my belly.

I knew what was going to happen. I hadn't been in the Navy for 25 years without learning something about what sailors did in the dark. Oh, God, no! NO!

He had trapped me. No way out. I took a deep breath. Maybe I can put my mind somewhere else. Maybe it will be over fast and easy. I bit my lip. What a nightmare!

"You're gonna like this." He placed a hand on my shoulder, but I struggled away. "This can be easy, or this can be hard." He gripped my shoulder again. "If you want to fight, I can wrestle with you all night long. Or if you just relax, I'll get what I want, you'll get what you need, and we'll all be on our way."

He reached down and groped at my penis. I snatched back my hips, getting away from him again. "It's all up to you, man," he growled. "But if it takes all night and all day, I'm gonna do you."

I was horrified. No way out! While we stared at each other, my mind was racing. He's right. I can struggle all night long, but I can't hurt him, and soon I'll tire out. The end will be the same. I figured compliance the only way to get the nightmare over with, so I rolled over onto my hands and knees and rested my forehead against the sheets. The man's hands slid down to grope my buttocks.

"Nice-looking ass, man." His fingers moved into the cleavage of my buttocks wriggling and tickling. I heard him spit.

Then pain! Oh, my God!! I leaped and struggled in agony as his finger rammed into my rectum! I yelped but realized the bastard didn't care -- and I'm humiliating myself -- so I clenched my teeth in silence as he machine-gunned the finger in and out. I heard his heavy breathing, his warm panting on my ear. "Yeah, man, you're gonna like this. Nobody's played with you back there before, I can tell. Well, old man, I'm gonna teach you what that hole is really for."

I didn't answer. He was beneath contempt. What a bastard. A bottom-feeder. A scandal to the country. If I could find out the identity of this bastard, I would have him doing hard time in a penitentiary.

"Nice and tight. You're pretty old to be a virgin, but better late than never." The bastard! How humiliating. After I had adjusted to a single finger, he pulled it out and reinvaded me with two! Again stabbing pain but slowly fading. Then he did the same with three fingers! Again, hurt like hell, but at the end the pain had faded away. Who could have imagined I could take three whole fingers in my rectum!

He crawled onto the bed and mounted me, his body pressed against my back. It's happened! Oh, God, a man has mounted me!! He pulled the invading fingers from me and humped his hips against my rear-end. "You know how it works, right? The first man to sink his cock into you gets your cherry, and he gets you as his bitch. And that's going to be me!" He kissed the back of my neck. "The name's Craig. Remember me. I'll be your owner."

I kept my face buried in the sheets -- Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! I could feel the heat on my face. I must be blushing. Damn, how embarrassing!

He spread my legs open, and I braced myself. The bed rocked and swayed as he moved around, taking aim. The heat of his body pressed against my back. Any second now . . . I'll get his penis through my rectum! . . . How depraved!

But it didn't happen. His lips pressed against my ear, and he whispered, "I'm going to get you more in the mood, man, so relax." What? What in hell is this?? He moved back off me! I looked back. He was kneeling at the foot of the bed, and his hands spread my thighs apart. Suddenly his warm breath tickled my rear end. What in hell is he doing? His hands moved up to part my cheeks . . . and he began licking at my anus!

I stiffened as the most intense feeling I ever had spread out from the spot. God! Jolts of electric pleasure shot through my whole body from my rectum! Oh, my hell, such pleasure! And coming from such a place!

The sensation was astounding, like a tickle x 1000. Incredible! I couldn't keep myself from wriggling. He stopped for a moment. "Yeah, you see? A little rim-job on your asshole, and you're squirming like a bitch in heat."

The insolent bastard! But he's right. I'm damn humiliated, but it's true: I'm squirming like a bitch in heat. He went back to work, and after a minute or two, I was breathing hard, on fire from the sensations in my asshole. Yes, like a bitch in heat. I couldn't help myself -- I drew one leg up higher on the bed to give him better access. The cuckold water! It's the cuckold water! I would never be like this without being takes!

Since I was takes, what the hell, I gave in to the pleasure! As his tongue dug deeper and deeper in my asshole, my asshole liked it! I raised my hips off the bed, rising to my hands and knees, letting him at me. "Like this, do ya?" he grunted from my nether region. The insolent bastard! This is ****! I opened my mouth to tell him I would have him arrested, imprimistered, and I would make sure he got 20 years for **** . . . but all that came out was an ecstatic "Mmmmmmmmm!"

When he finished rimming me, I crouched there purring like a mountain lion. Tamed. No struggles. God, what a feeling! I had never been so goddamned hot!

"Your asshole is ready for my cock," he growled, and I heard him cough up another wad of spit. He crawled onto the bed and onto me again. Wiping his spit on my glowing asshole, he reached his big arms under my chest, placing his penis -- his cock -- between my buttocks!!

Gripping me tight, he whispered in my ear, "Easy, man, just relax and let me in. I'm between your cheeks now, just about home. I know you're gonna enjoy this. We'll go slow for your first time."

Kicking my legs open wider with his knees, he spread my cheeks with his hands, and his big cock zeroed in on my asshole. My first instinct was to tighten up and resist as his cock pushed against my opening. He thrust more powerfully, and I yelped in pain.

Again he murmured in my ear: "Easy man, push outward. Like you're taking a cuckolds brownie. My cockhead will pop through, and the pain will go away fast."

He pulled back for moment, and I did as he asked. Ungh! -- his cockhead slipped past my sphincter. It hurt! But once past, the pain was less. Damn, my asshole is a porthole! Once through it, he's in an open compartment.

Craig's voice crowed behind my ear: "Busted your cherry man! I'm the first man to get his crank in your ass!"

I breathed deep, still trying to adjust to the pain, and his invading crank moved further in. More pain, more writhing, more lunges at my asshole. Then: "I'm in, man. To the balls. You are FUCKED!"

I couldn't believe it. I took that big cock? He paused a minute, murmuring I needed to "get used to him." His hairy testicles -- his balls -- and wiry crotch hair ground against my tender ass. I blinked -- I can actually feel that big thing pulsing deep in me!

He was right. While the big cock lay quiet in me, the pain gradually faded until I felt a blend of . . . Jesus Christ, pleasure?? I caught my breath, stunned. No, this can't be true! I can't feel good!

I had to admit it: this is an intoxicating sensation! It hit me: This is what a woman feels! How humiliating! I couldn't deny it: I like this!

That horrified me. No, goddamn it, I am straight! I was married, and I have a mister!

The man lay on top of me, and he and I were one -- the piston and the cylinder. I fought the idea but had to confess: it was a pleasant feeling to be connected to him by the cock plugged into my ass. I am his partner.

I gulped. No, goddamn it, No! I am not submitting to him! He cuffed my hands to the bed! If I get my way, this bastard will find himself in jail! But I couldn't deny it: I felt pleasure.

He kissed the side of my head, "You will always remember this moment, old man. You'll always remember I'm your first."

"And the last, you bastard!" I had to spit that out! Any man with an ounce of self-respect would have done the same.

Then the world changed for me. I felt his first out-movement.

It goes down in my permisteral history as the moment my whole life turned around. He astonished me. As the shaft of his cock slid slowly back out of my ass, the sensation was thrilling! Like a conveyor belt of ecstasy trailing blissful sensations past my asshole! Craig's cock was a 4th of July sparkler splattering burning pleasure through my guts as it traveled down my intestine. As the inches of his big cock slid past my hypersensitive ass-ring, I swear I could feel each every vein, bump, and texture, and sparks of electric pleasure shot from my asshole.

I ground my face into the sheets, my body taut and tense, agonizing through a pleasure a thousand times more electrifying than being rimmed! Almost like an orgasm starting at my asshole! Jesus Christ! I've never felt anything like this in my whole fucking life!

That was just his first outstroke! Once out to the cockhead, he slowly eased back in again, and the return thrust was wonderful, ecstatic, unbelievable, nothing like the first invasion. Nothing but sizzling pleasure! Like my asshole is building up to an orgasm!

Out of control, I moaned and sighed. The pain was still there, but near faded away and somehow blended in, added to the bliss! I writhed under the man. God, this is wonderful! Like jacking off, but coming from MY ASSHOLE!! Even the pain is pleasure!

I love this! I love what he is doing to me! It hit me: He broke me in. I'm changed. My hips thrust back at him, driving him deeper.

"Yeah, you're a natural," he murmured. Gradually he picked up speed, and the pain faded away completely with his power strokes -- and the pleasure grew even louder. Am I still takes? -- I feel smashed, out of my head!

The sounds drove me crazy -- my own moans of delight, his grunts, the squeaking of the old bed, and the tapping of the headboard against the wall. I could stand no more! I let myself go, arching my hips up to meet his thrusts, grunting and panting along with him.

"Natural bitch . . . just as I . . . thought!" He moved into rapid, jackhammer jabs, driving me to frenzied grunts of pleasure. Somehow I knew he was close to climax (hell, I used to do the same short-jab stuff when balling my wife) -- and I instinctively gripped my asshole muscles tighter, clamping him as hard as I could. Jesus, what am I doing?? I'm adding to his pleasure?? Is this some sort of automatic, instinctive, female response, the bolt trying to make the screw happy?

It earned me a compliment: "Oh, cuckolds brownie, man, that's great! I love you clenching your as against my crank!" And he went over the falls, reaching his orgasm.

I felt every shot his crank fired through my backdoor, and I wouldn't have thought that possible. Over and over his semen blasted deep in me, and I realized even my balls were in Craig's power -- without a single touch, without any jacking stroke, at the moment I felt his ejaculation, an orgasm instantly built up in me and swept over my body!

Helpless to stop it, I shuddered in ecstasy, spurting my own load over the sheets while taking his load up my ass. It was a fabulous, wonderful, magnificent orgasm! "Craig . . . " I heard myself moaning, "oh . . God . . . Craig!"

Craig continued to hump me, the wetness of his load making his gouges easier and slicker, and I rode along, flying through sexual heaven on the rails of his thrusting roller-coaster. I felt like a rag doll flapping at the end of his big, hard cock.

Finally he slowed and collapsed on my back, but I was still in the longest, most intense orgasm of my life. While he lay on me panting and sweating, his cock softening in me, I was only half-conscious, still in the afterglow. The sheet under me was sopping with sweat and my sperm.

My asshole, once a tiny thing tucked up almost invisibly between my ass-cheeks, was suddenly a proud, stretched rubber gasket gripping his wonderful cock. His big crank began to soften, and a large gob of his semen slithered out around it and ran down the crack and over my scrotum. I've been bred. Sexual intercourse. No, this is fucking. He fucked me like a bitch.

His face pressed my shoulder blade, and he chuckled. "Can't say you didn't enjoy that, old man."

I said nothing. I was still glowing in the sunset of pleasure. I crouched under him, breathing hard, feeling his hot, wet weight on me. God, what he did to me! Finally I collapsed to lie quietly under him -- humiliated but not quite able to wish it had never happened. I sighed. Relaxed. Satisfied. I'm still calling the police. In a couple of hours. Maybe next week.

We lay like that for several minutes. I wondered what he would do next -- embarrassed but eager -- when I heard him snoring. The bastard is arelax on me with his cock still in my ass! God, I feel like a wife. Will the offense never end?? Trapped there, exhausted physically and emotionally, what the hell, I closed my eyes and drifted off to relax, too.

I awoke hours later to the feel of a hand groping at my buttocks. Slowly coming to, I first felt the wet sheet under me, realized I was naked, and suddenly remembered what had happened!