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Subject: The Seduction of Brenda (Mf, cons, young teen)
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Date: Mon, 16 Aug 2004 20:51:10 +0000
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The Seduction of Brenda (Mf, cons, young teen)
By Phil Phantom
I had been a faithful wife and mother of three for sixteen years
and then blew it in a sick affair that only lasted a few weeks.
The aftermath, however, will change my family's lives forever.
It all started when I responded to the come-ons from one of my
husband's coworkers, a crude but ruggedly handsome man. Whether
it was middle age insecurity, or the long hours that Frank had to
work and the resulting neglect, is hard to say. I was feeling
neglected. I was horny, and though I keep fit and trim and my
figure turns heads, I was looking at the downhill side of my
thirties and beginning to feel old.
For whatever reason, I met Tom Drake at the motel he suggested,
cheated till the wee hours, and did it again and again for almost
three weeks. I somehow managed to pull back from the abyss at
the very last moment. One day, I stopped cold turkey and tried
to re-dedicated myself as a loving wife and mother to my three
kids.
I did some incredibly stupid things while with Tom. Not only did
I let him have me in every sick way his twisted mind could
imagine. I posed for pictures. At the time, he was my lover,
and I would do anything to please him. I not only had sex with a
dozen of his friends, including women. I had sex with dogs.
After screwing a German shepard and sucking off a great dane at a
party, I quit. Tom was livid. I begged him to leave me alone,
then began hanging up when he called.
Unfortunately, I did not quit before my kids discovered my
infidelity. With my going out almost every night and returning
in the early hours of morning, looking like a whore put through a
wringer, my discovery was inevitable. We talked. I begged their
indulgence and swore them to secrecy. They were shocked but
understanding and accepting.
When I quit, I never told them that I had stopped cheating. I
wasn't sure I could, so if I failed, at least I wouldn't look
like a failure and a weak person. Their dad returned from an
assignment about that time, so the break in my activities and my
return to normal looked appropriate.
Two weeks passed with no calls. I sweated on pins and needles.
The day my husband returned to the field for another thirty-day
stint, a packet came by UPS. I opened the envelope with
trembling fingers. A dozen eight by twelves spilled onto my
dining table and took my breath away. Three were of me fucking
two big black studs. Three were girl/girl sex scenes. The rest
were with various dogs. The last was a closeup of my smiling
lips around a great dane's cock. In the background you could
plainly see a German shepard humping my ass. I was on all fours
with my big breasts dangling. They had smeared my nipples with
peanut butter and a litter of pups fought to suck my tits.
Because of the oblique angle of the shot, my face, the great
dane's cock, the shepard, and the pups were in the shot. I held
in my trembling fingers a most remarkable photograph.
Once the shock and revulsion wore off, I looked at the photos
again. Vivid memories came rushing back. I could feel the hot,
silky-smooth texture of that great dane's penis and taste his
animal lust. My clit twitched at the memory of the shepard's
long cock and the knot that swelled to fill all space within my
vaginal cavity. My vagina responded to the memory and swelled as
though in expectation of another encounter, as though the dog
would come bounding through the door at any minute. My moral
values had taken a severe beating and had not been re-
established.
One reason for this was that I never got a strong moral
foundation in the first place. My values were imposed on me by
me. Consequently, they were a bit muddled and fluid. I was
raised in a decadent home. My parents are perverts, Mom
especially. Like most teens, I tried to be the opposite of my
parents. I assumed high moral values while being forced to live
under highly immoral ones. I passed my moral values to my
children. I was especially strict with Brenda, my fifteen-year-
old daughter. She is my joy, a dear, sweet, innocent girl and
growing more beautiful with each day. She took the news of my
wild side and infidelity the hardest. After my confession, we
had difficulty being comfortable with each other.
Like most adults, I could see myself becoming my parents. I
could also see my children rebelling against my high moral
values. This phenomina was most evident in Jason, but Brenda
showed signs as well. She reads some pretty racy material and
her walls are plastered with near-naked male models. Her
interest in boys began before puberty. My hope was that her
modesty, a modesty I fostered, would prevent her from becoming
the school slut.
My two sons, Jason 14, and Terry, 12, seemed to take my lewd
behavior in stride. At first, they were as shocked as Brenda.
The shock wore off quickly, especially for Jason. He immediately
accepted me in my slut mode. The boys are both well-behaved
little gentlemen. They help around the house. All three get
along great and keep their rooms spotless. None have ever given
me one iota of problem. I could tell I'd fallen a few notches in
their eyes. If they only knew the extent to which I'd fallen,
they'd die. Well, maybe not Jason. Terry might survive. Brenda
would die.
My husband, Sam, is a hard working company man. He is a safety
engineer with a consulting firm. He travels extensively. He is
away more than home. I could have been unfaithful all along with
little fear of getting caught. When the pictures arrived, he had
just left the country on another thirty-day assignment.
I have the moral mind of a decent housewife, but the pussy of a
raging slut. I call it my beast. When it rears its hooded clit,
it must be fed. I have learned to control my drives by feeding
the beast as soon as it stirs. While looking at the pictures
spread out on my table, the hungry beast stirred mightily. I
soon found myself looking at the pictures with one hand busy in
my panties. It wasn't long before I studied the details while
furiously fucking myself with two fingers in a wide-legged
stance, remembering, wanting, needing.
And then, I saw the note. This stopped my finger play with a
self-made promise to resume. It said:
Greetings, my little dog-fucking slut, [my clitty gave a
lurch]
How do you like the pictures? How do you think Brenda,
Jason, and Terry will like them? How about Sam? How about
your mother and father at 467 Rosewood, Kansas City, Mo.
74569? How would Sam's parents like a copy sent to 34587
Gleen Cove Rd. Evansville, In. 84523? How would you like
to be a porno star for your whole family?
Rover
PS woof woof bark woof
PPS That's mutt talk for, "You are one fine bitch, Connie"
Had I read the note first, the beast might not have awakened. I
would have flung the pictures against a wall and been too upset,
mortified, frightened, and guilty to allow the nasty beast to
emerge. As it was, the beast was awake and jumping for joy. It
drowned out any feelings of shame, anxiety, and dread.
I was trapped. Tom had me but good. There was no way out. He
won. I was his to do with as he pleased. There would be more
animals to fuck and suck, more pussy to lick, more cocks to
service, and more pictures, parties, and sex, sex, sex. This is
what the beast in my pussy was telling me. My mind listened.
The beast told me that everyone makes mistakes. I made a big
one, but that was history. What's done is done. Now, I had a
moral obligation to set aside all other considerations and
protect the innocent--my family. My moral responsibility was to
keep Tom from mailing those pictures. My duty was to serve him
in any way he required, no matter how vile, disgusting, or
filthy. Whatever was required, I must do willingly. "If you are
truly a decent woman, you have no choice," said the beast.
Yes! For once, the beast was absolutely right. I had no choice.
Going along was the moral thing to do. I needn't feel guilty. I
had no choice. This time, I was truly a victim, I told myself.
My fingers rewarded the beast for its perceptive analysis with a
two-fingered fuck. I poured over the pictures once again, my
mind made up and resolved to follow the moral course. My job was
to give Tom what he wanted.
My mind threw up one final warning flag. One thing Tom wanted,
the thing I quit because of more than any other reason, he wanted
me to bring Brenda into the games. He wanted to fuck my little
darling, take pictures of her, and mate her with beasts,
including mine. My beast said, "Sometimes, you must sacrifice
the few to save the many. You must give us , I mean them,
Brenda!" The beast adores Tom and his magnificent nine-inch,
cervix-banging, pussy-pleasing fuck rod. The two were in league.
In my state of mind, with the beast in full control and nearing
orgasm, I accepted that premise. Yes, I must sacrifice Brenda.
There's no other way. I have no choice. Tom will insist. He
will have his way. Resistance is useless. He always wins. He
already won. The beast jumped in orgasmic joy.
After the orgasm, I removed my panties, knowing another round
would soon be required. My mind and my beast began
collaborating, working together, becoming one. The reservations
I should have been experiencing, and the post-orgasmic guilt, did
not materialize. I studied the pictures again, but this time, I
used my fertile imagination to project Brenda into the pictures.
It was Brenda's angelic face that wrapped her full smiling lips
around that great dane's cock. I saw my daughter sucking one
black cock while her pussy took another. The whores humped
Brenda's face and smeared their freshly-fucked cunts all over
pretty features. Brenda's loins arched in wanton reception of
the shepard's cock. Brenda's nipples fed the puppies. My
fingers were back in my soupy twat. Mind and beast were there to
receive them.
Yes, it was Brenda that fired my passions. Her young, petite,
youthful, hard body would be the perfect addition to our circle.
The men, especially, would love her pristine cunt with its fine
light-brown, downy covering of fine, silky hairs. Her tiny
squeeze box would melt their raging hardons and drain their
balls. And the dogs, yes, magnificent animals, clean, pure-bred
specimens raised on human pussy, each with a specialty.
They had a dalmatian, a boxer, a basset hound, and for comic
relief, a toy poodle. Their star performers were a German
shepard named Butch and a great dane named Colossus.
The great dane was too big to fuck, but great for sucking. His
monster, one-foot cock spewed forth doggie cum by the pint, and
he stood on hind legs to receive this service. All he needed was
a little help from an assistant holding a front paw for balance.
In a pinch, a wall or counter top would do.
The shepard was the best fuck. He could last for ten or fifteen
minutes and presented a fine visual performance by grasping his
bitch and hunching his loins in animalistic fervor. He took
pussy, he didn't accept pussy. When Butch felt like fucking, he
went to his bitch and nosed her crotch. If she did not
immediately assume a mating position, he growled menacingly. If
that didn't get her on all fours, he would literally attack her
clothes, shredding them. He would then nip and nose her into the
desired position. Butch had been trained to rape human females
who were uncooperative. Brenda's initiation into cross-species
mating would begin with bestial rape in a circle of horny
partiers.
The circle I refer to is comprised of eight men in their forties
and fifties. Tom is not the ring leader; he is their newest
member. Tom proved valuable as a supplier of meat, prime meat.
The circle likes to lure beautiful, straight, sexy women into a
vulnerable position to undergo the rape. Any female was game.
They have gone so far as to kidnap victims, stripping them, and
tossing them to the dog. No victim ever reported this rape.
Most turned docile afterwards and let themselves be used again
and again. The circle had many female followers who had been
victims at one time, but had to get an invitation in order to
attend a party.
The wives of male members were like associate members and
attended every party. Some of the party goers were close friends
of the inner circle. Former victims served them in various ways,
most often as sexual playthings at their private orgies. Some
lived with a member couple working as a live-in maid. At
parties, they served as waitresses in revealing costumes.
A typical party would be two to three dozen people in all. I
only attended one--as the victim. Tom told me about the others
he'd seen. They were much alike, and the results were the same.
All guests remained in full formal dress and served as a contrast
to enhance the humiliation of the victim. To be the only person
naked in a group of formally dressed, distinguished couples is a
feeling that must be experienced to be appreciated.
Orgies and parties are not the same thing. Orgies are small
informal gatherings, held at a circle member's residence, were
everyone gets naked and gets it on. Parties, are large
gatherings of orgy groups to witness a spectacle, usually a
staged rape, held in a remote location, such as an airplane
hanger or abandoned warehouse. Parties break up and orgy groups
go their separate ways to get it on. I was raped in a hanger.
Though I had attended several orgies prior to my party, and knew
many of the guests intimately, seeing them dressed while I was
nude; and, having just had sex with a dog, milling about with dog
cum running down my legs, is a deeply humbling experience. The
feeling is not like an orgy. The humiliation seeps into the
soul. At some point, the victim wallows in that sick feeling and
can't seem to get enough depraved humiliation. I couldn't, as
the pictures clearly showed. Observing this transformation was a
primary purpose of the party.
Parties were carefully staged events centered on the guest of
honor, the unwary victim. As the circle grew, and their pallets
grew numb to the rapes, they demanded only prime meat. Bringing
fresh meat to the table was the goal of every monthly party. I
was prime meat. Brenda was prime rib. Tom could make a big name
for himself with my help. My moral responsibility was to help
him secure Brenda as their next victim, so my mind went into
overdrive.
She'd need a special dress, something braless, thin straps, thin
material, a breakaway dress, one that would fall apart at the
first bite and tug. And panties, special panties that had weak
seams. She would need these to prevent those nasty nips that
sometimes bled when Butch tried rendering ordinary panties to
shreds on a squealing, kicking female. Brenda's clothing must
fall off completely.
I could fix them to do just that. For her rape, she must be
naked, stark fucking naked. The ranch would be packed to watch
my daughter. Friends of circle members would fly in. It would
be twice the three dozen who watched my rape.
Sixty, maybe seventy people, mostly well-dressed couples, would
watch her gradual transformation. They'd gather in a big circle
and cheer Butch on. They'd see her go from a frightened little
girl to a bitch in heat. The process went from stark terror, to
deep shame, to passive surrender, submissive acceptance, euphoric
indifference, to willing submission. If she was anything like me
and two other innocent women Tom seduced, to a bitch in heat,
offering her pussy up to the dog's deep, hard-driving thrusts.
She'd r
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