Subject: A Daughter's Inheritance (MF, FF, incest)
Author: Sandra MCvIE <smcvie@hotmail.com>
Posted by: Kelly <pghkelly@yahoo.com>
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!!!WARNING!!!!
This file is a work of fiction containing sexually explicit material which may
include depictions of underage, nonconsensual and unprotected sex as well as
incest and adultery. It is not intended to implicate any person or action by
them or me, nor advocate such practices. If you can't separate fantasy from
reality, get professional help - FAST!
The material is distributed as "For Adults Only" and possession by a minor is
strictly forbidden. If you are not legally empowered to be in possession of
this material, do not read it and delete it immediately.
This work is copyrighted to the author ©2011. It may be posted to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites so long as no changes
are made AND the author information is retained.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - A Daughter's Inheritance
Chapter 2 - Two Weeks Later
Chapter 3 - My Thoughts About Sexual Maturity
Chapter 1 - A Daughter's Inheritance
====================================
Hi Kelly,
This is going to sound weird, but I hope you'll bear with me!
I seem to have been living a parallel life to yours - found my sexuality early,
had a (sort of) sexual relationship with a relative, and worked in escorting.
For years I'd thought badly of myself for most of this stuff, but having found
your pages, diary and stories, I now feel slightly more normal. I want to thank
you for helping me come to terms with it - not that it ever "bothered" me, I
just felt so strange to have these thoughts, these experiences. And now I
realise I'm not alone, not by a very long way.
And I've been moved to write a true account of my own life. It's not as good as
yours, but I'd be delighted if you'd read it. I attached it - I hope you don't
think it's spam!
I hope you'll be prepared to read it. You can publish it if you think it's any
good, or keep it to yourself, or anything you like: I needed to write it, but I
don't feel any great need to have anybody read it, except maybe you - you seem
to understand what this is all about, better than anybody I've found (and
believe me, I've looked for incest-related stories a LOT). I'm not looking for
fame, money or validation, just a little understanding; and maybe some feedback
from somebody I instinctively feel might "get" me.
I'm not a fantasist, I'm just a pretty normal 24 year old girl from the UK. Not
a porn star, not a model (not even all that attractive to be honest); and
certainly not a writer! But I hope you'll read my story.
I should emphasize that this is therapeutic for me, it's not just a way for me
to get off... although I have had a lot of fun reading your adventures,
especially when they mirror my own in some ways! But my main reason for writing
my story is to exorcise my ghosts.
Anyway, I'm blathering now (I don't even know if Americans use the word
"blathering"). So I'll stop - I hope to hear from you!
Sandi
*******************
This is a true story. It takes place over the course of a few years, which is
genuinely what happened. Stop reading if you’re offended by underage sex, drugs
or (mild) incest. These things happened: I don’t condone them, but they did
happen to me, and I see no reason to be ashamed.
Obviously I can’t remember exact conversations that happened 10 years ago, so
most of the dialogue is made-up (although based closely on my recollection). In
actual fact, many of the conversations reported in this story are massively
compressed – they actually took place as a series of individual sentences over a
series of weeks and months. Real life is filled with embarrassment, especially
when you’re a teenager and discovering sex. But rather than drag this out over
pages and pages of subtle looks, hints and nudges (almost none of which I have
the literary power to express) I’ve turned it into dialogue.
To make it easier to follow I’ve turned two different boyfriends into one, who
I’ve named Darius. Every other name in this story is made-up, to protect the
real people involved.
It’s my first attempt at writing my sexual history, and it’s by far the most
interesting and exciting part of my sexual history too! It probably won’t have a
clean ending, because life carried on – it didn’t just stop when the story ends:
and life rarely has a clean ending.
But it’s all true....
I was 11 when my parents separated.
I had no idea why they did it, or what it meant – it was a confusing and
stressful time, and I remember clearly that I missed my dad desperately.
Prior to the separation, my home life had seemed normal (whatever “normal”
means). It’s true that my mum and dad fought, never coming to blows, but often
bellowing at each other behind closed doors; or worse, silently seething over
dinner in our small family kitchen.
I’d been raised in Fort William, one of the Scottish Highlands’ largest towns,
but really just a tiny hamlet under the looming shadow of Ben Nevis. Much of the
town was picturesque, even though it was almost always wet, windy, and
overwhelmed by tourists. But in the back streets, away from the souvenir shops
and tea rooms, Fort William consisted of nasty, crowded council housing. It was
here that I was brought up.
My dad had been a fisherman when they married, spending every other night away
at sea. Mum was a teacher in the local primary school. But the fishing industry
shrank, and his work became erratic. More and more, he relied on mum to earn,
while he spent his afternoons drinking away his unhappiness.
Mum, of course, was equally unhappy with him. And the rows got worse and worse.
Fort Williams’ charms faded for my mum. When I was 11 she was only 25. I was
illegitimate, although my parents had married as soon as mum reached 16, and I
later realized she’d wasted her youth on an arrogant, lazy drunken Scot. Mum was
from Manchester originally, and after the arguments had reached a crescendo,
that’s where we went: back to Manchester, to a small, but really very nice
apartment close to the city centre.
I missed my dad, even though I had already started to realize how unhappy he’d
made my mum, and all of his failings. It’s natural to miss a parent after a
divorce, even if it’s a parent you don’t actually want any more.
I managed to fit in OK at my new school, and by the time I was 12 my Scots
accent had almost vanished. I had made friends with a few kids from the local
schools, and mum seemed happier too. She worked as a dinner lady in a local
school for a while, and then changed jobs to work nights, so she could be home
when I arrived back from school. I would eat, do my homework (like a good girl),
and then sit with mum until about 9:30, when she’d change and go out. She’d
often be out until about 2:00 and then come home, tired but happy, with plenty
of money for the nice flat, a reasonable car, and a holiday twice a year.
Life was fine.
At 14, I’d started to bloom. I’d been an ugly, gawky child, with simply awful
teeth and thick glasses. As skinny as a rake, with permanently grazed knees and
an accent that fluctuated between my mum’s cultured Cheshire, my Dad’s rough
Scots, and the grating Mancunian I copied from the kids in school. But at 14, it
had started to change. My teeth seemed to straighten, and I became acutely aware
that people reacted when I smiled – they grinned back.
My body had improved too. This is a true story, so I’m not going to pretend I
grew into a supermodel. But I was pretty, and really very perky. My legs assumed
a nice shape, and my ass seemed to lift itself up and stick out, wiggling at
passers-by without any conscious effort from me. I was never going to have huge
tits, but they were nice, high on my chest, unaffected by gravity, and tipped
with thick, long nipples.
My hair was naturally mousy, but at 14 Mum let me highlight it, and we went
through a year of experimentation – sometimes brunette, sometimes red, sometimes
blonde, and for my 14th birthday I went temporarily pink, which raised eyebrows
at my school!
I looked nothing like Jennifer Aniston, and I want to make that very clear! But
I did share her perkiness, the way she moves. I’m quite proud of that, it’s my
best asset!
Of course, when I started to bloom I also became interesting to boys. And they
became equally interesting to me! I can’t claim to have had a massive crush on
anybody, but I do remember the sudden realization that I’d spent about 15
minutes looking at the school football practice, and hadn’t looked at anything
except legs, bums and crotches.
And I started learning how to pleasure my own body. Like many girls, it began in
the shower, and at 14 that was still the only place I managed to cum.
Mum and I had a very close relationship, mainly because for 4 years we’d known
very few other people. Of course, I had friends at school, and I assumed mum had
friends at work. But suddenly one day it occurred to me that she never had a
boyfriend. I hadn’t either, but I knew I wanted one, and the sudden realization
that Mum never had one simply amazed me: how could she manage? If I was single
and attractive, I’d definitely have a bloke!
Mums are rarely as dim as we think they are when we’re young. My Mum knew what
was happening to me. She knew why it took me an hour to have a shower, and I
insisted on one as soon as I got home from school too. She knew I was becoming a
woman, and that I was intensely curious about boys.
And she knew how to help.
I don’t remember the date. I wish I did, because it is probably the most
important thing that’s ever happened to me. Not the event itself, but what it
led to. In fact at the time, it didn’t seem important, simply embarrassing,
arousing and confusing.
I came home from school as I usually do, and I remember saying hello to Mum. She
was in the kitchen, reading a magazine and smoking. I did all the usual things I
always did – took off my school bag, kicked off my shoes, and made a big song
and dance about how much I needed a shower. I guess if I’d been more subtle
about it, none of this would have happened.
I wandered to my room near the back of the flat, changed out of my school
clothes and into a dressing gown, grabbed a towel, and headed for the shower.
And there it was, in the shower: a long, fat, black vibrator.
I was horrified. Did Mum know it was there? Did she put it there by accident?
She had her own en suite shower, so there wasn’t any reason for it to be there –
she must have done it on purpose. Which meant – oh my God – that she knew what I
did with the shower head.
I was faint. My ears buzzed and my heart pounded and my skin leaped. I simply
gazed at it, sitting there on the shelf in the shower. Time stopped and I stood
frozen, like a rabbit caught in headlights, utterly unable to make a decision
about what to do.
I have no idea how long I’d been there before I heard Mum’s voice, asking if I
was OK. I mumbled some answer, still immobile, staring at the dildo. And then I
realized her voice had been knowing, giggling. She was allowing me to do this,
and she was having fun.
I took a deep breath, and decided to have fun too. I reached out, and wrapped my
hand around the shaft – and immediately withdrew it. I stood again, staring.
Then tried to think about what to do, made a quick decision, and slipped out of
my gown before grabbing the vibrator again.
I remember so many things about it: its size, it’s surprising thickness, the
wonderful color, deep black and (as I later realized) realistic. It was about 10
inches long, by no means a small vibrator – although I didn’t know that at the
time. I spent an inordinate amount of time working out how it turned on, and
then nearly dropped the damn thing when it started to buzz.
And then I touched it against my pussy… and came immediately. I’d had no idea
how excited I’d become, verging on orgasm before I even touched the vibrator. So
I touched my clit again, and within 20 seconds came. I was still standing,
gasping, my legs open and one hand hanging onto the towel rail to keep my
balance.
Another orgasm, then another. I was panting loudly, and didn’t hear Mum approach
the door. Her voice was startlingly loud outside as she asked if I was OK.
I paused, gather myself, made an effort to sound natural. “Yes, I’m fine”, I
said. Total giveaway, my voice was thick, cracked, embarrassed.
Mum giggled and told me to take my time, then come and see her afterwards.
I was frozen again, part of me listening to see if she’d gone away, another part
wondering if I should stop and try to act innocent. But the largest part was
wondering how many times I could cum before my “shower hour” was over.
As it turned out, it was quite a lot of times.
I was sweaty, my hair plastered to my head, and I’d cum so often my pussy ached.
I hadn’t put the vibrator inside myself, just pressed it against my clit over
and over, cumming harder than the shower had ever made me. I lost count of my
orgasms, but eventually the pain was greater than the lust, and I showered
myself off and left the bathroom to change into my normal clothes.
Mum was waiting in the lounge. She seemed so relaxed, so comfortable. It was as
though nothing had happened. She was still reading the same magazine, chewing a
pen and considering the crossword.
I snuck in, tried to act cool as I found a seat where I didn’t have to look at
her; I hoped the moment would pass, and Mum wouldn’t say a thing. And for a
long, stretched moment, it seemed I was right. And then:
“Did you have a nice shower?”, she asked, nonchalantly.
I made a noncommittal noise, scrabbling for my own magazine to hide my blushes.
A long pause.
”Did you like your present?” Mum asked. I was mortified – was she really going
to discuss this? I couldn’t escape, and suddenly my lust was gone forever, and
the nice, large apartment had turned into an agonizing torture room, too small
to hide me.
I was too silent for too long, trying to work out what (if anything) I could
say. Mum looked at me knowingly, and then left the room. I breathed again, but
in a moment she was back. And in her hand she held the dildo.
I looked huge in her hand – she was hardly any bigger than me, although she did
have a curvier figure. She came and sat next to me and started talking.
“Claire”, she said, “first of all I want you to know that you’ve done nothing
wrong”.
“I know!” I said, defensively, even though I didn’t feel it.
“The reason toys like this are sold” (waving the dildo an inch from my startled
face) “is that women like sex. We all do. You’re not the only person to
experiment, and I thought it was time you had a bit more fun than a low-powered
shower head can provide!”
I sat silent, longing for this to be over.
“I was hoping to arrange even more fun for you, but this will do for the time
being” she said. I had no idea what she meant, and had no intention of finding
out. When you get older, it’s impossible to remember how cripplingly embarrassed
you are at the age of 14!
Mum continued, still holding the dildo: “Of course, I got one I’d like, I have
no idea if this is your taste. I was worried it wouldn’t fit, but it seems you
managed”
“Fit?”
“Yes”, said Mum. “Fit. You know: fit. Inside.”
My blushes must have been visible from the surface of the moon by now, and Mum
laughed: “You did try it inside, didn’t you?”
My silence spoke volumes, and she recommended that next time I have a shower I
should take the dildo in with me and try it inside myself. She explained that it
might be tight, even a little sore, but that this was a good thing. The pain
would go away. And if I needed to, I could use some of her lubricant – she’d
leave it in the shower room for me.
And then, as if nothing had happened, she left the room to prepare for work, and
I slumped as though I’d just finished a marathon. I could not imagine ever
having a sexual thought again.
The next evening I arrived home from school determined to resist the shower. I
was determined to stop Mum’s inappropriate actions. I was determined never to
touch the vibrator again.
My determination lasted less than a minute. I took off my uniform, slipped on a
gown, and locked the bathroom door behind me.
Inside was the vibrator, looking longer, thicker and blacker than it had the
night before. I reached out and stroked it – I didn’t know at the time, but I’d
slowly wanked it. I turned on the shower, and planned what I was going to do.
On the window-ledge, Mum had left a tube of “tingling lube”, which I squeezed
into my hand and slathered all over the dildo. It glistened in my hand, the
round, fat head of it shining and twinkling at me.
The shower was hot enough, so I slipped out of the gown and stepped inside. I
allowed the water to run over me, and then opened my legs and slowly pushed the
dildo against my pussy lips. They were soaked, but it was still an effort. Mum
was right, it was sore… but I felt more natural with it pushing inside me than I
ever had before. The round, black head of it pressed against me, then opened my
lips and eased inside until, with a rush, it was past my lips and inside me. I
gasped, my left hand, acting with a mind of its own, grabbed my breast and
squeezed as inch after inch moved inside me. I reach down and turned on the
vibrator.
The sky exploded. My eyes rolled, and flashed of light burst inside my head. My
stomach tightened, and my legs quivered, and I tensed harder and harder, as wave
after wave of orgasm swept over me. This was a thousand times more intense and
satisfying that the orgasms I’d had yesterday.
Time passed, and the orgasms kept coming. At one stage I turned off the shower
and lay on the bathroom floor, my shaky legs unable to hold me any more. And I
came and came and came.
The sky turned back to Manchester grey. The bells stopped ringing in my ears. My
heart returned to a steady beat, and I slid the glorious cock from my pussy,
luxuriously rubbing my lips as they closed behind it.
I dreamed my way back to my room, drifted into my clothes, and sailed
effortlessly into the lounge where my Mum sat gazing at me. She knew.
Well. It was pretty obvious she knew. For one thing, she’d provided the toy and
the lube. And for another, I’d be screaming so loud the whole neighborhood knew.
And so it went on, for weeks and weeks. I’d get home, get changed, and spend an
hour learning how to give myself orgasms. Within a couple of weeks I didn’t need
the lube any more: my body was used to the 10 inch dildo, accepting it
willingly.
After a few weeks, Mum managed to shock me even more. I was sitting in a semi-
cataleptic state, recovering from the hour-long orgasm I’d just had, when Mum
asked if I ever fucked myself with it. Just like that: “Do you ever fuck
yourself with it?”
I must have looked something between astonished and terrified, because she left
the room and came back 10 seconds later with her own dildo. It was also black
and realistic, and looked bigger than my own. She smiled, trying to put me at
ease, and explained.
“Baby, there’s not much better than one of these, except perhaps the real thing.
And one day we’ll get to that. But for the time being, you’ve got a lot to
learn! If it goes inside fairly easily, try fucking yourself with it”.
And then, fully clothed, she showed me. She lay back on the sofa, her legs wide,
and she placed her dildo on her lower belly. She looked at me and said, “Next
time you’re having fun, try doing this” - and she slid the cock up and down her
belly, as though it was fucking inside her – “but do it inside you. It’s
amazing. Try”.
She sat up again and beckoned me. I sat next to her on the sofa as she handed me
the dildo. It was so heavy in my hands, I had to hold it with both hands to
control it. She gestured to me, inviting me to lie back, and I rested the cock
on my belly, the root of it in my hands between my legs.
“Try”, she said.
I looked away from her and slid the cock up and down, just once, in an ungainly
effort to make Mum stop embarrassing me.
“No” she said. “Try like this”. She reached between my legs and turned on the
dildo. It was resting against my pussy through my clothes, and it instantly made
me quiver. It was much more powerful than the one she’d given me, and I felt it
hard to move it from its wonderful position on my pussy.
“Now move it”, she said.
And I did. Slow, then faster, pushing it down against myself. I was looking away
from Mum, but she moved to sit facing me, and I locked my eyes on her as I used
the dildo on my stomach and pussy. I was flushing. I knew, and so did Mum, that
my orgasm was close. I held my breathe, my body tensed, my nipples and pussy
seemed to reach out to each other inside me, and even before they joined up and
washed an orgasm over me, Mum was saying “Yeah” in a deep, horny, satisfied
voice.
I stopped moving when I’d cum. The dildo lay lifeless on top of me, and Mum
simply reached over, lifted it off me, and left the room.
I breathed slowly for a full minute before I heard the orgasmic gasp from her
locked room.
In most erotica, things happen at an incredible pace. It leaps from slight
flirtation to anal sex with a pack of dogs in about 10 minutes. But this is a
true story, and reality doesn’t work like that. In reality, progress is often
painfully slow, and filled with embarrassment.
It was no different for Mum and me. Yes, I carried on using her present; I even
moved it from the shower to my bedroom. I practiced fitting it inside myself,
fucking myself as she’d suggested – but apart from the first couple of inches it
seemed painfully large. So after a couple of weeks of impatient trying, I gave
up and returned to using it on my clit, totally ignoring my vagina.
Mum and I didn’t discuss sex at all. Frankly, we avoided each other for a week
or more, barely speaking, trying to stay out of each others’ way. I didn’t make
eye contact with her for weeks, and I don’t think she looked at me either. We
both felt we’d overstepped some line, and it was making everything at home
pretty tricky.
I carried on at school, and Mum carried on going to work late in the evenings.
She had rarely worked on Friday nights before, but one evening in the late
summer of my 14th year she did so, leaving at 8:00 and returning home the next
morning. I, of course, spent the time with my dildo, naked on my bed, thrashing
and screaming with nobody to stop me.
The following morning Mum came home. She seemed odd – busy, chatty, slightly
frantic, and flirtier than she had been since the incident when she watched me
cum.
She tore around the flat, tidying up and making the place look pretty good – as
good as she could on a single wage anyway! And when she’d finished cleaning my
room, she came into the kitchen to find me drinking juice: she had my dildo in
her hand.
“You should clean this after you use it, you know”, she said.
I blushed deep scarlet and nodded into my juice. She looked at me for a long
time, holding the dildo in one hand and stroking its shaft gentle with her
fingertips. She seemed to be considering something, and part of my dreaded it…
although another part loved the idea, and my pussy creamed up fast.
“You have been using it?” she said, cautiously.
I nodded, avoiding looking directly at her. Another long, thoughtful pause: the
longest silence since her giddy return from work.
“Inside?” she asked.
Of course I had tried, but I didn’t want to admit it. And part of me didn’t want
to stop Mum, because each time we’d had a discussion like this she’d introduced
me to something wonderful – admittedly it was often against my will, and in the
face of appalling humiliation, but it was still wonderful.
So I didn’t move when she asked if I’d had it inside. I gave nothing away. She
stood watching me, and then, after a seemingly endless silence, she said, “You
have to use it inside, Sandi. You have to fuck yourself. You’re missing out if
you don’t”.
I cleared my throat, shuffled on my seat, and tried hard to think of anything to
say.
She said: “If it’s sore, I can help to get you past that. I have something to
make you feel even nicer. Wait here” and she ran to fetch her bag, and I
thought… something even nicer? I wanted to know!
When she came back she took my hand and half led, half dragged me into the
living room. She pushed me onto the sofa, both of her hands on my shoulders,
pushing me back. I was scared and horny – it turned me on to have Mum taking
control like this, and I wasn’t in the mood to fight her, even though I was so
nervous my muscles were tensing up!
She handed me the dildo in a totally matter-of-fact way, and reached into her
bag. She pulled out a small plastic bag, tied with a twist, and containing white
powder. She opened it, dipped in a finger, and wiped it on her nose – I knew
what it was when she did that: Cocaine. And it made me even wetter. I have no
idea why: I’d never touched drugs, other than sneaking cigarettes (which I
assumed Mum knew nothing about). And now I was confronted with my own Mum using
coke in front of me.
She took the dildo from me and looked deep into my eyes. I froze, staring at
her, and she slowly, seductively pushed the end of the dildo into her mouth,
spreading her full lips around the head, and sucking and licking it. The whole
time she kept her eyes fixed on me. She was twitchy, her long legs moving on
their own as she pushed the dildo deeper and deeper. I wasn’t thinking about it
much, but it suddenly occurred to me that she’d defeated physics – there was no
way she could fit that entire dildo in her mouth, it simply wasn’t possible. Of
course, I knew nothing about how she could do that – I’d never even seen a real
cock!
She pulled the dildo from her mouth with a contented purr and a gasp of breath.
And then she opened the bag of cocaine and dipped the wet head of the black
dildo into it, then handed it to me. I took hold of the base of the dildo
looking at the coke… and I was utterly at a loss! I had no idea what I was
expected to do. Sniff it? Suck it? Clean it? I had no idea!!
Then she pulled open my legs as she sat opposite me, and in a hoarse whisper she
said, “Try it inside now”.
I gazed at her in amazement. We’d got close to this before, of course, but Mum
seemed to want me to masturbate in front of her. I was soaked, exceptionally
horny, and my nipples were so hard I could feel them pushing painfully against
my bra. I wanted to be naked, wanted to cum; but more than anything, I wanted my
Mum to leave me alone so I could do it!
My legs were pushed open, and under my skirt I knew she could see my knickers,
see how wet they were, probably even see the slippery tops of my thighs. But she
wasn’t looking; she just stared into my eyes. I think she knew I wasn’t ready
for this.
She gave me an understanding smile, suddenly changing from a sexual predator to
my Mum, and much of the sexual tension was released. She said: “It’s OK baby,
I’ll make it easy” – and the sexuality of the situation came back more than
before as she reached into the bag of coke and scooped up a fingertip. She
leaned across to me, her left hand wrapping around my neck and her fingertip
combing into my dark hair. Her right hand brought the coke to my nose, and held
it there.
And I did it. I sniffed. I had no idea how to, certainly made the mistake of
doing a “shallow” sniff rather than a deep snort: it tickled and hurt my
sinuses. I looked at the finger and most of the coke was gone. She pushed the
remainder against my other nostril and I snorted deeper, feeling it blast
against the back of my nose, burning in my throat.
And then it hit me. I felt a sudden rush of warmth and confidence and sexuality
wash across my whole body. Every part of me that had previously felt sexual – my
nipples, my pussy, my clit – felt ten times more intense. Even parts of me I’d
never considered felt good – my ass, my legs, my feet, my throat.
The thick hard dildo in my hand felt natural there, and I wanted to use it. Mum
had briefly gone from my mind, but as soon as she moved I was pulled back into
the present, an intense, bright present, where all I wanted to do was tell the
world how I felt, and make closer and closer connections with everyone. Mum
seemed wonderfully real and tactile, her hand behind my head feeling natural and
longed-for.
There was a final sprinkling of coke on her finger, and she pushed it into my
mouth. I sucked deeply, wet around her finger, and she started moving it around
my tongue, in and out. Her hand left the back of my head now she realized she
didn’t need to hold me there to use me – and I do believe she was using me, not
that I minded!
She reached down, placed her hand over mine on the dildo, and directed it where
I wanted it to go – straight between my thighs. I realized I was wearing
knickers, and we parted momentarily while I struggled out of them, all
embarrassment gone.
She said “I put coke on the end, so it’ll just feel good this time” – and she
was right! The coke on the dildo tingled around my lips, and suddenly I felt
more alive than I ever have. The long thick cock pushed into me, seemingly with
no effort, and I slid it in until my body stopped it. I held it there, looking
at Mum. She was sitting forward on the chair facing the sofa, her hand between
her legs and her knees pressed tight together. She looked so intense as she
watched me. I couldn’t decide if she was actually masturbating, or simply
pressing her hand against her pussy – which was doubtless as puffy and sensitive
as my own!
And as she watched, I moved the dildo in and out of myself, wanking deeply,
almost oblivious of her. Normally when I masturbated I felt the orgasm coming
from a long way away, rising like a mountain inside me, and then reaching a
plateau where I could, with effort, ride my orgasm for minutes at a time. But
this time it just happened, almost without warning. I came hard, and rather than
a plateau it was a limitless peak, an Everest. I was bending myself almost in
two as I tensed, the dildo almost all the way inside me, my mouth open,
speechless, gaping at the pleasure of it.
I lay back, gasping, and started to pull the dildo from myself, when Mum
suddenly leaned over with more coke for me. I snorted it and she took the end of
the dildo in her hand and slowly eased it back inside me, then placed my hand on
it again.
This time I watched her watching me. She did coke from the bag and then pressed
her hand against herself through her knickers as I came. I couldn’t really tell
if she came, but she certainly looked incredibly horny.
Eventually I finished, unable to cum any more, my coke-numbed pussy starting to
feel sore. I slid the dildo from my body and lay, exhausted and high, legs wide
on the sofa. Mum watched me intently, and then, as if the day hadn’t been weird
enough she said: “You should shave your cunt” (she actually said cunt, I
couldn’t believe it!) “it feels even better smooth”.
Erotica is unreal. It sometimes feels quite real, but it’s often just
nonsensical fantasy. This, however, is a true story, and I’d be lying if I said
Mum and I did this every day. In fact, we didn’t do anything sexual within sight
of each other for months. Mum would place a small amount of coke in my room each
week, some of which went into my nose, but much of which I used on my pussy make
the big vibrator feel even nicer, and sometimes on my nipples just because I
liked to feel them buzzing.
I often heard Mum in her room, cumming hard without any embarrassment. She
wasn’t blatant about it, she didn’t leave her door open, or any of the other
things you often read about in fantasy erotica.
But that’s where we stayed, right though the late summer of my 14th year. School
remained the same, and home returned to something like normal. Mum and I weren’t
barefaced about our hobby, but neither of us pretended it wasn’t happening.
It remained like that until Mum’s birthday, in September of my 14th year. She
was turning 30, and told me she wanted to celebrate in style. She had decided to
invite a friend: “not a boyfriend, not really, just a guy I know. You’ll like
him!”
I don’t know why it had never occurred to me before, but suddenly I wanted to
know how come Mum was pregnant with me so young. We were sitting in the living
room, watching TV, smoking and doing occasional lines of coke. This sounds
crazy, I know that: but the truth is, we’d both been doing coke to help with our
masturbation, and it had just become normal. We often spent an evening simply
doing drugs together, and it had become ordinary to us. She had realized I was
smoking, and after doing cocaine it seemed pointless to tell me off for a little
legal tobacco! So I was smoking 1-0 or 15 a day, and clearing out £20 to £40 of
coke every evening. I never questioned how we could afford these drugs. It
simply never occurred to me at the time.
So as soon as we were both high, I asked how come she was pregnant with me so
young. I can’t remember her exact words – it was 10 years ago, and I was high! –
but this is the outline of her story:
Mum was a slut. It’s that simple. At 13 she was hanging around with a “bad”
crowd, smoking, doing weed, and getting off with ever boy in the group – and
some girls too! It was mainly innocent kissing and breast squeezing, but she
wanted more. She took to squeezing the guys’ cocks as they were kissing, and the
guys did nothing to stop her.
As time went on she started being known as a hand-job expert, and the guys
actually called a hand-job a “Reynond” (her maiden name). She practiced giving
blowjobs, and even got an older friend to buy her some sex toys. When she was
14, her family moved to Scotland, and she met my Dad. He fascinated her, not
because he was a nice guy (he isn’t!), and not because he was handsome (although
he isn’t terrible). It was his cock that amazed her. Feeling it through his
pants in the tiny Ft William cinema, she’d realized she’d met her dream. She
told me he was enormous, around 11 inches long and really thick. She loved
wanking him as they watched crappy movies, and afterwards she’d suck him dry in
his car.
And, after a while, she fell pregnant. She couldn’t resist fucking his cock, she
told me, and once she was pregnant he did “the honorable thing” – he proposed
marriage. On a whim, she accepted, even though they had to wait unto Mum reached
16. But it was a mistake, she didn’t love him, she just loved his cock “and the
girl he helped to make” (she said with a smile and a loving touch of my face).
Mum’s birthday fell on a school night, so we had a nice meal in the flat and
drank a little too much wine in the evening. The proper party was deferred until
Friday night.
Mum started early. We tidied the place in the morning, and at lunch she did
several lines of coke. She was pretty high in the afternoon, and kept trying to
get me to join in – I didn’t really feel like coke so early in the day, but by
3:00 she’d worn me down and I was doing it too.
By 5:00 we were pretty far gone, and Mum had lined up a tray of cocaine on the
living room table, which we returned to every half hour or so. She brought my
dildo into the lounge too, and then placed her own, even larger one next to
that. She brought in a small tube of lubricant in a bottle shaped like a 1950
space rocket (the only way I can describe it!), and a little later she
disappeared to her room, returning dressed in a tight black top, tiny black
skirt, and high boots with stiletto heels – she looked like a total tart! We did
more coke, smoking and talking rubbish to each other, and just after 7:00
something incredible happened. As I was leaning in to do a line, Mum felt my
arse, then ran her hands across my breasts. I was too far gone to stop her, and
as I came up from snorting the drug I simply turned my body to face hers and let
her squeeze and pull on my tits. And then we kissed, deeply, long, her tongue
inside my mouth and then around it, on my lips, licking my mouth.
She stood up after she’d kissed me and walked into the kitchen to prepare food,
as though nothing had happened, but my whole body was on fire, and I desperately
needed to cum. I was just reaching for the dildo when the doorbell rang.
Mum answered it, and showed in her “not boyfriend”. His name was Darius, and he
was a big handsome black guy, about 6’ 3” tall, strong, with wide shoulders and
thick, attractive arms. Mum seemed totally unembarrassed about introducing me to
him while I was doing coke, and she was dressed like a posher-than-average
hooker.
He shook my hand and with a knowing look at the tray of coke he said “is it time
to start the party?” – without waiting for an answer he scooped up some and
snorted it. Mum was leaning against him, her body pressed against his and her
arm around his back. I was sure she was feeling his ass, and I felt jealous and
frustrated – I was just about to wank using my dildo, and now I’d have to sit
around being awkwardly sociable all evening!!
We ate dinner, Mum clearly touching his leg the whole time, and me trying to
make small talk. He was kinda cool, with a deep low voice and an extremely
confident manner. Our chat steered dangerously close to outright flirtation, and
it was only the presence of Mum that stopped me from coming onto him even more.
And then Mum changed the whole evening in a single sentence. She said, “Darius,
don’t you think Sandi would look better wearing her present?”
Present?
Darius smiled at me and said “Yeah” in an incredibly cool and relaxed way. I, of
course, had no idea what they were on about. But Mum took my hand and led me to
her room. On the bed was a bag, and in the bag was an outfit almost identical to
the one she was wearing – tight, short skirt and black thigh length boots, a
black top. No underwear.
Mum told me to change, and join them in the lounge for more coke when I was
ready.
In the lounge Mum was sitting on the sofa, pressed up against the body of Darius
next to her, and she was blatantly stroking his cock through his pants. I walked
in, struggling slightly on the high heels, and they both looked up and made
cooing noises. I was embarrassed, but by now I knew how to cure that, and went
straight for the coke. As I snorted, Darius said “Wow Helen” (Mum’s name) “she
really is just like you – loves her powder!”
I smiled up at him, and Mum went back to rubbing his cock. I could see how hard
he was through his clothes, and I was fascinated – but I didn’t know if I was
meant to be there! It seemed to me that I should grab some Charlie, grab my toy,
and sneak off to leave them alone.
And them Mum unzipped him, right in front of me. Her hand vanished inside his
pants, and I stared at his crotch as she moved her hand around in there. I
realized I was staring, and pulled my eyes away to find both of them looking at
me with something like satisfaction. Mum and Darius clearly had no problem with
me being there.
Darius pulled Mum’s hand out of his pants so he could lean forward and do
another line. Mum followed suit, and then so did I – as I looked up Mum had
fished out his cock and had her hand wrapped around its root.
This was the first time I’d ever seen a cock. I had no idea what to expect, but
it looked more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen. At the time I had no frame
of reference except my toy, but it looked at least as big, slightly thicker, and
– and this is the important thing – alive. My dildo was wonderful, but it wasn’t
alive, and Darius’s large black penis seemed more alive than anything I’d ever
seen.
Mum was squeezing the thick root of his cock, slowly wanking it, just up and
down the base, a couple of inches. At least 8 inches of cock stuck out above her
hand, and Darius leaned back to watch Mum’s handiwork (excuse the pun).
I needed to leave. This was too much, it was too intimate, too sexual… and
frankly, too weird! My relationship with Mum had certainly crossed several very
strange boundaries, but this was enough. I picked up my toy, and a small bag of
the coke that was on the tray, and I left the room, heading for my bedroom for a
much-deserved play. As I left the room I glanced back to see Mum’s mouth
wrapping around the large, gorgeous black cock.
Of course, the whole of that evening I masturbated, coked-up, and totally turned
on by the sound of Mum and Darius in the lounge – they didn’t even bother going
into her bedroom. I think they were hoping I’d return.
The next morning he’d left, and Mum drifted around the flat in a daze. She made
a few comments about how much fun it was, and at one point asked why I’d left
her party? I was speechless – now I’d sobered up I wanted nothing to do with her
sex life, and the whole idea of Mum blowing a guy while I watched was horrifying
to me.
But it’s easy to say no to moving forward, it’s much harder to put your life
into reverse. Although there was a tense atmosphere at home, Mum and I soon fell
back into our “normal” lives, doing coke and vanishing into our respective rooms
with a dildo for some private fun. I’d be lying if I told you Darius’ cock
didn’t appear in my fantasies. Truthfully, I don’t think Mum was part of my
sexual imagination at all. Maybe she was a little, on the very edge of my
kinkier thoughts, but mainly it was me sucking that lovely cock. Mum wasn’t even
present.
Christmas in Manchester, and it was cold, wet, windy and wintry. Snow rarely
fell before late-January, and in the weeks leading up to Christmas the streets
glistened with freezing rain. Everyone wore every item of clothing they had
against the freezing damp, and like many other homes, ours was heated to boiling
point to warm our bones when we staggered in from the weather, pink-faced and
panting.
Christmas, and Mum wanted to have a party. It was some months since Darius had
made an appearance, and the most embarrassing aspects of that evening had faded
from my mind. All that was left were a series of fantasies in which I did to
Darius’ cock what I’d once watched my Mum do with a dildo: fit the whole length
of it into my mouth.
As soon as Mum hinted at a party, I started trying it out. I would hide in my
room, and suck the dildo, trying hard to fit more and more of it inside me. But
it never went more than 4 or 5 inches. I had no idea how Mum had managed to get
the rest inside her mouth. I tried getting heavily coked-up, in case that
helped, but it made no difference. I tried it sober, tried it horny, tried it
when I had no sexual feelings at all.
I was getting nowhere, and now my fantasy of sucking Darius’s lovely cock faded,
driven out by the frustrating realization that I would never be able to do what
I wanted. Even if I did get hold of his cock, I knew that I’d only really be
satisfied if I could match Mum’s abilities.
Back then I had no idea about deep-throating. I didn’t even know the term, but
that’s what I wanted to do. My sexual appetite dropped after weeks failing
miserably to swallow the cock, and I was feeling quite down.
One evening Mum and I were mildly high on weed (which she’d introduced me to),
and watching crap on TV. I’m sad to say that back then I ate a huge amount when
I was on weed, and my arse had spread quite wide. Mum encouraged me to do coke
to reduce my appetite, but I associated coke with sex. And thanks to my endless
failings at deep-throating, sex had simply become a frustration to me.
I tried to explain this, telling her I wanted to stay off coke because it made
me frustrated. I didn’t say anything about sucking cock, so she naturally made
her own assumptions. She said if I was frustrated I could try nipple clamps,
maybe even get them pierced, or maybe an anal plug. I was past getting
embarrassed by this sort of conversation, but I still had a lot to learn – I had
no idea about anal, or nipple piercing, or any of the other things she suggested
(which I promptly forgot, because they meant nothing to me).
I tried to explain without referring back to that evening with Darius, and
eventually reminded her of the first time we did coke. She nodded, thinking
back, trying to work out what I meant. So I said she’d wet the dildo before she
dipped it in the coke. Again, this didn’t seem to elicit the response I’d hoped
for. She seemed to have no idea what I was driving at.
I couldn’t find the words, so I said “wait here” and fetched my dildo. Her eyes
brightened when I brought it out, because she hadn’t seen it since her birthday
party 5 months before.
I picked up the dildo, put it down again, sighed, tried again – I wasn’t in the
right mood to do this, and I think Mum realized. She said, “Tell you what Sands,
how about some coke?”
So we both did a few lines, and eventually I showed her what I was trying to do
– I put the dildo in my mouth and pushed my head down as far as it would go.
And when I looked up, Mum’s eyes were shining with lust. She was frozen, staring
at me. She reached over and took the dildo in her hand, wiped my saliva around
its length and said, “Do that again”.
So I did. This time she kneeled on the floor next to me, and held my hands as I
held the dildo. She pulled it down so it lodged against my hip, sticking up as
though I’d grown a huge cock. She said, “Do you want to learn how to do this?”
and in an instant her head had lowered onto the dildo and pushed down until here
mouth was against my groin. She pulled up off it, trailing spittle, and then
pushed down again. Then she looked up into my eyes as she licked up the
underneath of the dildo, and eventually she sat back, satisfied and panting. Her
breasts, always bigger than my own, were raising and falling, and she was
clearly very, very turned on.
As was I.
So I admitted, yes, I wanted to learn to do that. And she said, “well you can’t
learn on plastic babe, you have to try something with a bit of give in it – real
skin”.
So Mum and I came to an unspoken agreement that I’d stuck Darius’s cock at the
Christmas party. I had no idea how I’d go about it – not just starting off going
down on him, but also fitting his mighty cock in my mouth. Mum, as always, had a
plan.
Two weeks before the party night, I arrived home from school on a Friday evening
to find Mum naked and high in the lounge. She’d cut coke onto a tray, and was
obviously several lines into the evening by the time I arrived. I’d never seen
her naked, and her body looked damn good – she was still only 30 after all. Her
tits were bigger than mine, and she was slightly curvier in all the right
places, but the main differences were her nipples and her tattoos.
Her nipples had bars through them – steel bars piercing them horizontally, which
looked amazing and made her nipples stand out like bullets. And her pussy,
shaven or waxed smooth, featured both a piercing through the clit hood, and a
tattoo of a heart where her pussy hair should be. I didn’t notice at the time,
but the heart had devils’ horns on it. She had another tattoo of a Celtic ring
around her navel, and a third tattoo across the bottom of her back – a real
tramp stamp! I had no idea Mum had this stuff done, and it was shocking to see
her naked, arousing to see her feeling so sexual; and it was weirdly like
meeting a stranger too, because there was so much about her body I didn’t know.
She didn’t seem like Mum any more, she seemed like a porn star or a stripper: a
being totally given over to sexual pleasure.
She had been shopping at Ann Summers, and she had a selection of toys on the
coffee table in front of her, including a short, slim dildo. It was clear
plastic, the first phallus I’d seen which wasn’t black. Oddly, this mattered,
and I felt strangely disappointed to see it.
I was still in my school uniform, feeling massively over-dressed (especially
considering Mum’s nudity) but she beckoned me to her side on the sofa and handed
me a straw. By now I’d been on coke for the best part of a year, and felt I
needed it as soon as I got home, so I didn’t need much persuading to do a couple
of lines.
I felt myself growing more confident and sexual as the coke hit my system. I did
a third line, and when I looked up Mum had the small clear dildo in her hand.
She handed it to me and told me to see if I could swallow it – I should start
small!
I leaned over the table, placed the foot of the dildo on the surface, and sucked
it, pushing down, down until it hit my throat – then back up with a choke. Mum
laughed and told me to try swallowing and relaxing as it reached my throat, so I
went down again. Looking back, I guess it was only 6 or 7 inches, but it seemed
far too much. I choked again, my eyes watering and leaving a trail of thick
drool from my mouth to the cock.
Mum told me to do some more coke and then I tried again. As it hit my throat I
felt Mum’s hand on my head, grabbing my hair in a tight fistful, and pushing me
down. She said “swallow, swallow” and I swallowed – the head of the dildo passed
into my throat and I slid an extra 3 inches down until my nose touched the
tabletop. Mum was still holding me there, then started bobbing my head on the
dildo. I could feel it opening my throat over and over, but it felt OK – not
brilliant, I have to be honest – but I realized I’d worked out the physical
mechanics of getting it down my throat.
I was deeply satisfied, and extremely wet. Oddly, Mum “forcing” me had turned me
on even more, and I realized I’d been led on this journey almost against my
will. Sure, I’d enjoyed it all, but I hadn’t asked for it – Mum had pushed me
along, turning me in to what she clearly was: a tart! And I mentally thanked her
for it as my pussy soaked my thighs and my throat took the head of the dildo
over and over.
Late that evening, past midnight, and Mum and I were simply giggling idiots.
She’d called in sick, we’d done line after line of coke, several joints, and Mum
had managed to get me to accept all 10 inches of the black dildo down my throat
while she held the end of it. I was incredibly horny, especially after she’d
sucked the dildo time after time. She even wiped the head on her own naked pussy
before doing it, claiming it always felt better if it tasted of a real person.
Any of you who have done coke will know that it can sometimes make you obsessed.
That evening I was obsessed with Mum’s nipple piercing. I couldn’t stop staring,
quite openly, and eventually she simply asked if I wanted to touch them. Mute,
dumbstruck, I reached out and pinched her nipple– I was quite rough,
unintentionally. I was blundering, too stoned to know what was going on. She
winced and pulled back, reminded me that pierced nipples were much more
sensitive, and asked me to be more gentle. I cupped her breast and she
encouraged me to lightly thumb her nipples.
Her legs were open, and as I played with her nipples the dildo went between her
thighs. I carried on playing with her until she came. Oddly, this didn’t seem
wrong, but it didn’t seem sexual either. I felt detached from the scene, as
though I were controlling it but not really participating. It was alien,
separate, other.
And then, when reality started to creep back into my addled mind, I picked up
the dildo and retired to my bedroom to fuck and fuck and fuck myself. It was
only the next morning that I realized I’d grabbed Mum’s 12 inch dildo, rather
than my own smaller, slimmer 10 inch. I’d struggled with it at first, not
realizing why, and had solved the problem with lubricant and coke.
And my cocksucking fantasies returned that night, now I knew I could swallow any
dick – I dreamed of Darius’s hard shaft, the round glistening head of his cock,
and in my imagination Mum’s head was replaced by my own, sucking him down while
my mother watched and masturbated.
A week or so later, and it was party time. We’d organized it on a Friday, a
school day, and Mum wrote to my school to say I was ill – what a cool Mum! I’d
resisted masturbating for a few days prior to the party, wanting to keep myself
horny. And boy had it worked!! I was tense with sexual excitement all of the
time, and on the Friday I woke wet and got wetter as the day progressed.
Mum chopped out coke shortly after we’d eaten lunch, and then suggested I try E
as well – she took a pill from a folded tissue and popped it into my mouth while
the first line of the day was just taking hold. I felt no different for several
hours, but later in the day, as we were clearing space in the lounge and tidying
the flat, I realized I loved my Mum very deeply, and it occurred to me that this
was the ecstasy hitting my system.
At 5:00 Mum said Darius would be stopping by any moment, and she changed into
crop-top and tight pants that barely hugged her hips. Her body looked great, the
tattoos showing on her navel and lower back, and I could clearly see her
piercings through the top. She told me to change into something sexy too; and
not to wear a bra – she’d check!
In my room I found a wrapped Christmas present, with a label saying “open me
now”. I unwrapped it, and inside I found a slutty schoolgirl outfit, a butt
plug, and a book of tattoo designs. Mum was clearly trying to mould me in her
own image!
I put on the outfit – a tight white top, tying at the waist; a black pleated
skirt that barely hid my arse; white knee socks; a striped tie; and best of all,
patent leather platform shoes. And then I went the extra mile by putting my hair
in pleats. I applied eye makeup and lipstick (far more makeup than I’d usually
wear!).
I had little idea what to do with the butt plug. In all of our time, Mum had
never mentioned anal sex, and although I was aware of it, I didn’t think it
would be something I’d enjoy. I just left it in my room for further
investigation at a later date!
The door rang, and as Mum answered it I stepped from my room. I’m not goddess,
I’d be lying if I said I was, but I don’t think I’ve ever looked or felt sexier
than I did when Mum and Darius looked down the hallway to me. I’d lit a
cigarette, and smoked it in what I hoped was a seductive and sensual manner. I
could feel their eyes on me – I mean it quite literally: wherever their eyes met
my body, I would feel a physical thrill, sexual, sensual and deeply exciting.
We stepped into the lounge and Darius and Mum did some coke. I was quite happy
smoking, feeling relaxed, erotic and wanted. Mum and Darius were both leering
after me – it was almost comical, but as a typically paranoid schoolgirl I loved
it: most of the time I panicked about whether people liked me. Here was a
frankly gorgeous man who couldn’t hide his lust for me.
I mean that quite literally – his cock was shoved down one leg, and was bulging
out in a way that I now realize must have been painful to him. Mum wasn’t
helping – she was feeding him coke and stroking his dick. He reached his arm
around her and pushed his hand up the back of her skirt – the front lifted too
and I could see her bald pussy. His thick fingers were rolling around it, and
then he withdrew them and very obviously pushed them into her arse. My pussy
flooded with excitement as I watched Mum’s reaction – lust filled her whole
body, and she squirmed against him.
Mum’s hand went up the front of his shirt, and he peeled it off revealing a
pretty good, toned body. He was a gorgeous chocolate, and his right shoulder had
a large tiger tattoo nestling in the shadows of his wonderful skin.
And then his cock was free. I still can’t remember how it happened, but his
trousers slid down and he wasn’t wearing boxers – his cock sprang up and slapped
his flat stomach. He had wonderful tone down his lower belly, with deep curving
muscles leading from his tummy to his cock. It was as though everything in the
room was pointing at his penis, and I was on the point of orgasm just looking at
it.
Mum’s hand wrapped around it and they kissed. Then Mum said, “Sandi has a trick
she’s been practicing – would you like to see it Daz?”
She looked at me, and I slid to my knees in front of him. I was in a dream, it
seemed unreal, but Mum held my hair and guided his cock into my mouth.
I remember at the time being amazed at many things: its weight on my tongue; the
warmth of it; how soft, like a sponge wrapped around an iron bar; the taste of
skin, mingling with the totally unexpected saltiness of his precum. Nobody had
explained this to me, and I didn’t know if he was pissing or just tasted odd!
I slid him in and out of my mouth a few times, getting used to the warmth and
thickness, and then Mum grabbed my head hard and forced me down onto him – I
felt him hit my throat and swallowed hard, relaxing my throat to let him slide
down. A sudden thickness, a choking sensation, and then it was in me, and his
trimmed pubis was against my nose. Mum hammered my head against him and I could
hear her gasping. He fucked my mouth for a moment, then let me up to breathe –
but not for long. Mum’s mouth was on my own, kissing me deeply, her hand on my
breast, squeezing. I was incredibly wet and instinctively one hand grabbed
Darius’s cock and the other slid into Mum’s pussy.
We fell onto the sofa, Mum’s mouth licking mine then moving down my body.
Everyone’s hands tore at clothes, their own and each others’ and we were soon
naked except for my stockings and shoes. I had Darius’s mouth on my nipple and
Mum was finger-fucking me as we kissed. I felt the heavy warmth of that
fantastic black cock brushing my legs and stomach – he was moving himself so he
could enter me, and I spread my legs wide, waiting for it.
Mum pulled away from me, gripped Darius’s cock in her hand, and directed it to
my pussy. I’d shaved, as she’d recommended, and I could look down and see the
head pressing against me. I was so wet I hardly felt the first inch enter me;
but then he pushed, and I felt a wonderful thrust as he plunged deep into my
body. It hurt, but felt incredible at the same time, and I wouldn’t have asked
him to stop for all the money in the world.
He didn’t wait for me to get used to his size, he immediately started fucking me
with long hard strokes. This wasn’t lovemaking, it wasn’t gentle: this was
hardcore fucking and I loved it. Mum was kissing him, then kissing me: and then
his tongue was in my mouth, panting into my face, thick lips and tongue on my
own.
He said the strangest thing: “Christ, she’s 15, you shouldn’t be able to buy
this” and then pulled his cock from me. Mum sucked my juice off him, then
started finger-fucking me hard again as she watched him biting my nipples. I
looked at her hand and saw she had 3 fingers inside me, and her fingers and palm
looked soaked.
He sprinkled coke on his cock-head again and started moving my ass, lifting me.
Mum stopped him saying, “she’s not ready for that yet” and I realized he’d
wanted to fuck my arse. He looked disappointed so I went down on his cock to
make up for it, kneeling in front of him with my bum up and my legs wide. The
coke on his dick soaked into my mouth giving me an incredible high. I wasn’t
deep-throating now, I was wanking his shaft as I sucked and licked the head.
Behind me Mum was rubbing my clit, then I felt more coke on my arsehole and a
thick hard shape moving into my ass. I gasped and looked back – it was just her
finger but it felt so thick!
I carried on licking the lovely black dick and Mum worked two fingers in my
arse. It was starting to feel seriously good, probably the cocaine soaking into
my blood through the tender skin there. I was really starting to get into it,
when suddenly and without warning (well, not a warning I recognized as a first-
time-cocksucker) Darius pulled out of my mouth and shot rope after rope of thick
sperm all over my face. I gasped – it was totally unexpected, and I realized
when I opened my mouth his cum had splashed on my lips and tongue. I licked my
lips, a natural reaction, no more than I would do if I’d been eating a donut.
But something about me licking his cum up drove Darius wild, and his cock stood
bolt upright in front of me as he wanked the last cum from it onto my face.
Darius collapsed back on the sofa, shiny with sweat. Mum’s fingers were still
inside me, and I let her violent thrusts push me forward, my arms collapsing
under me and my arse staying high in the air. I still hadn’t cum, but I felt
incredibly close to it. If Mum had been frigging my pussy I would have cum a
long time ago, but anal was new to me and I still couldn’t decide if I liked it
or not – it felt odd, definitely sexual, but not as immediately horny as
something in my pussy.
Looking back, it’s odd that my thoughts were about whether anal sex felt
natural, rather than whether it was right for my naked mother to be finger-
fucking my arse. I guess it’s an indication of how far Mum had taken me that it
never occurred to me.
Darius was starting to get hard again. He told me to do coke, because he wanted
me to be a slutty whore – it was the very first time somebody had talked dirty
to me during sex, and I found I liked it. I took a straw and very carefully did
a line – carefully because my whole body was being jerked by my Mum’s fingers
inside me.
The cock in front of me was almost fully erect again, and I reached my hand
around it, holding it and placing my face next to it. I was starting to get
seriously into the fingers in my arse by now, and I rested my open mouth against
the thick black dick in my hands, and panted against it, giving myself entirely
to my Mum’s attentions.
Darius said to my Mum, “Helen, do I get her ass?”, and Mum said, “You’ll need to
tip her”. I was confused, and then saw Darius reaching into the pile of clothes
he’d hastily dumped on the floor. He bought out a clip of notes – not a wallet,
I remember that clearly – and he peeled off £60 and placed it on the table next
to the coke.
Mum asked me, “Is that enough?” but I was too busy loving her fingers to answer,
so she told Darius I needed another £40 – after all, I was cherry!
As I came a confusion of thoughts flew across my mind. Was I going to get fucked
in the arse? Was it going to hurt – after all, Darius had a very large cock and
I’d never done anything anal before today! Was Mum really asking for money for
my body? Did that make me a prostitute?
A hundred pounds landed on the table in front of me, and Mum told me to pick it
up if I wanted this – all the time her fingers were working hard inside my ass,
edging me closer and closer to orgasm. By this time everything that was
happening was sexual – I think I would have said yes to just about everything.
So I picked up the money and went back to sucking the lovely long cock. But
that’s not what Darius wanted now – he let me get him to full hardness then
pulled away. My Mum and him swapped ends, and Mum spat – actually spat – into my
open mouth before pushing her fingers into it. I was sucking fingers that had
just been in my arse, and now I felt cocaine being rubbed into my arse as well.
I felt the head of his cock pressing my ass, then slipping on the lubricant Mum
had used, entering my pussy for a moment, then missing my asshole again, sliding
around. Mum held my face in her hands and looked at me. She said, “You won’t
like this, not at first, but it’ll get easier. Just think about the money”. And
then she pushed more coke under my nose at the exact moment my ass gave way to
Darius’s cock.
It’s a fact that people don’t remember pain. I certainly don’t remember exactly
how it felt. I do know I screamed, and Mum slapped my face and then kissed me
hard – I was shocked and turned on by this, it had never occurred to me that
slapping or spitting was part of sex, but it felt curiously nice.
I know I felt no pleasure at all in my ass, just a constant full pain, like a
seriously blocked bowel. The cocaine certainly helped, as did Mum pulling and
playing with my nipples.
But it wasn’t until she pushed her pussy into my face that I felt the first
return of sexual pleasure. It wasn’t my ass that was feeling good, rather than
my pussy was reacting to licking Mum, and that feeling of pleasure overtook the
pain of being ass fucked.
And then, in an amazingly short time, it was over. Darius grunted and the
thrusting stopped. There was a nasty moment when I genuinely thought I was
shitting on the carpet, but it was just his cock sliding out of me, getting
softer. I felt warm liquid sliding out of me, down my legs, and I knew he’d just
cum inside me. I didn’t even consider safe sex until later – at the time I was
just lost in the amazing sensations that overtook me. The pain in my ass had
gone, and all that was left was a succession of feelings of love – love for my
Mum, love for the coke, love for the sex. And, I have to admit it, love for the
money! It had just occurred to me that I’d made literally 3 months pocket money
in 20 minutes, and had orgasmed half a dozed times in the process!
I was 15 years old, and over the course of a year I’d voluntarily turned myself
into a prostitute, drug addict, and incestuous lover of my hooker Mum.
I warned you that this didn’t end neatly, and now we’ve reached the end.
I will write more soon, because there are further adventures I could report. But
these often happened months or years later, and it’s hard to pack them all into
one artificially shortened account.
What I will tell you is this: I’m now 24, and still have fun with my Mum and her
friends. Mum and I aren’t exactly lovers, although when we’re horny and have
company we’re not afraid of “lezzing it up” (as they say). We still do drugs,
although have both cut back drastically. I have both nipples, my tongue and my
navel pierced – I was going to do my clit-hood as well, but have heard it can
damage your ability to have an orgasm, so don’t want to risk it. I have several
tattoos, on my inner wrists, round my ankles, and on my lower stomach. And, as
you may have guessed, Mum has revealed that her evening work was as an escort –
Darius was a client, and had paid Mum £500 for the pair of us for an hour, plus
the “tip” for my arse. He’d paid for us both the first time too, but was kind
enough to accept just Mum’s company after I ran away.
I have done escort work since – not much, but sometimes its fun and sometimes I
need the money. I’ll write about some (or all) of these things in future
episodes.
Chapter 2 - Two Weeks Later
===========================
For more than a year my relationship with my mother had become increasingly
strange, yet at the same time increasingly satisfying.
From the first stirrings of my sexual maturity she had supported my voyage of
discovery, then encouraged a drift into sexual voracity, then led me into a
strange world of drugs, incest and (it appeared) prostitution.
Of course, for me it wasn’t a considered career choice: I hadn’t made up my mind
to sell myself, it had just happened in the heat of the moment, while I was high
on cocaine and very, very horny. My mum was feeding me lines of coke, kissing
me, and fingering my ass while I sucked off the man I assumed was her boyfriend
– and suddenly he offered me £100 to let him fuck my ass. I took it, mindlessly,
obeying my sex drive rather than thinking about the implications; just as I had
on many occasions leading up to this.
But now it had ended. I had finally lost my virginity, and lay exhausted in a
pile of bodies until Darius, mum’s client, had used up all his time, and left
us.
Until the moment he stood up and prepared to leave, I hadn’t been consciously
aware of my nakedness, or of anybody else’s. I was lay in a post-orgasmic haze,
but now that ended. Mum stood up and showed Darius to the door, and when she was
out of the room I leaped up and gathered my clothes, embarrassed at the prospect
of being naked and alone with the mother who had just watched me lose my
virginity.
I needn’t have worried. Mum was far to confident to be thrown by what had
happened, and she was also still very high, having taken more coke than even I
had!
She came back into the room as I was pulling on the knickers and top from my
schoolgirl outfit, and she simply hugged me – she was still completely naked,
and I could feel her legs against mine. She kissed me, her mouth opened and her
tongue entered my mouth… and I kissed back.
She pulled away and said, “Wanna count the takings?” with a wicked gleam in her
eye. She took the hundred pounds Darius had handed to me as an “extra” for anal
sex, and added it to a further £500 she’d already been paid. And then she split
it 50-50, telling me I really deserved more because I’d done most of the work,
but that she always spit 50-50 when she worked with another girl.
I was kinda dumbstruck by this. In spite of being paid for anal sex, it still
hadn’t entirely hit me that mum was a prostitute – or that I was too, now! I
looked down at the £300, and the awful reality of escorting flitted away from my
mind: all I could think about was the (comparatively) huge amount of money I
had, the shoes I could buy, and the fact that I hadn’t REALLY worked for it at
all. I’d simply done something I wanted to do, and thoroughly enjoyed.
Mum had left the room, and came back in with a tub of cream. She said, “Sandi,
let me take a look at your bum, I just want to make sure it’s OK”.
It felt OK, just a little unusual and perhaps oddly shaped (if that makes any
sense), but I did as she asked – I turned around and let her peek. She told me
she couldn’t see, and made me kneel on the sofa with my ass up. And then she
pulled open my legs to give herself an even better view – I was basically
kneeling in the doggy position.
Mum gently stroked around my ass, and then I felt a cold dollop of cream land on
me, and she started moisturising all around my anus. It felt good, and I
realised I was rolling my hips to make it feel better. I think mum picked up on
this, because she got more of the cream and started working it inside me with
two fingers. All pretence at medical treatment stopped, and she was simply
sliding her fingers easily in and out of my arsehole (which had stretched to
become quite loose as a result of my recent bout of anal sex).
Mum passed me the tray of coke and I took another snort as she worked her
fingers in. She licked my buttock, then pulled out her fingers and left me for a
second with a gesture to say “stay there”.
A moment later she was back, holding a couple of toys. The first, a butt plug,
she smothered in the cream and pushed firmly and steadily into my ass. It felt
strange – erotic at first, then quite intense, then genuinely painful until the
widest part was inside me – and then the feeling of eroticism returned. Mum’s
wet hand came to my mouth as I looked over my shoulder to watch her, and I
licked and sucked at the fingers she’d had inside me.
And then she put on her strapon and held my hair as she eased it inside me, and
fucked me long and hard on the sofa. I’d never had an orgasm while being fucked
before, but I did this time, with mum’s long thick latex dick brushing against
my gspot.
**********************
Weeks went by, and mum and I had no further sexual encounters. We still did
quite a lot of coke together in the evenings, and sometimes I heard her noisily
cumming in her room – I sure she heard me too, as we’d both become utterly
relaxed about masturbating. I had no concerns about Mum hearing me, and I’m sure
she felt the same.
On the evening I’d fucked Darius with her, she’d bought me a schoolgirl outfit,
a butt plug and a tattoo and piercings book. I’d used the butt plug on the night
mum fucked me with a strapon, and had used it while masturbating twice since.
I’d even worn it in school one day, just for the excitement of doing something
so dirty and so secret – although it had become uncomfortable towards mid
afternoon, and I’d had to ease it out in the girl’s bathroom and carry it around
in my bag for the remainder of the day, half praying it wouldn’t be discovered,
and half longing that it would be!
As for the book – Mum’s nipples were pierced, and she had a nice array of
elegant and sexy tattoos. Each of these had made me think of mum as a totally
sexual being, and that’s how I had started to feel about myself. So it came as
no surprise to her when I told her I wanted to spend some of my £300 to get a
nice tattoo, and possibly my nipples pierced too. I asked her how they felt, and
she assured me the (especially at first) they made every sexual act hugely more
intense. As time went on it became normal, and she now thought about having the
bars replaced with rings, which would pull against her clothes and bring back
the original intensity again.
We looked through the tattoo book together, trying to choose a design that would
look good on me. I liked Mum’s, but wanted something she didn’t have: I’d made
up my mind to have a discreet and organic tattoo on the inside of my left wrist,
where I could cover it with a wristband for school. And I wanted a tattoo that
only lovers would see, so I’d picked out a spot on my right hip, just at the
edge of where my pussy hair would be if I hadn’t shaved it all off.
Between us we agreed the designs I’d have, and Mum encouraged me to spend a
little extra on a proper wax, which she told me was better than shaving (no
rash!).
We made an appointment at a tattoo parlour, and a few weekends later we both got
high on coke (to numb the pain, we agreed, although it was probably getting to
be a bit of an addiction by now) and headed into town to have the work done.
When I arrived and discussed the designs with the tattoo artist, I had a shock.
I’d wanted the tattoos to be high quality – after all, they’re for life! – but I
hadn’t realised how expensive “quality” can be. I’d spent more than £150 of my
money on a variety of bags, shoes, CDs and cheap junk food. Now I found I could
barely afford one of my tattoos. I was bitterly disappointed. We went home, and
I simply figured I’d have to wait until I’d got a job, and then save up for the
body art I had set my heart on.
When we were home, mum consoled me for a short while, and then said, “You know,
there is a way to afford the tattoos”.
“OK”, I ventured, tentatively: “what is it?”
She cleared her throat, and then went to her room and returned with a small
black diary. She opened it at a random page and handed it to me. Inside were a
series of small discreet entries – each one showed an name or initial (or a
series of names), a time, a price, and the name of a hotel, together with a note
about what was expected.
Andy, 8.00, £250, Malmaison, nurse unif.
John and Molly, 9:00, £400 Hilton, roast, strap
Gary, 8:00, £250, Grangemoor, dghtr roleplay.
Clearly these were the preferences and requests of the clients she’d been
meeting as an escort. She said, “You see, some of these are much easier than
Darius was, and you can get £250 in an hour. Of course you have to pay a driver
and the agency, but you’ll still be left with £175 for an hour”.
I sat silent – this wasn’t an instant, horny decision to take some money, as it
had been with Darius; this was a considered act that would turn me into a
prostitute! Mum clearly saw my unease, and went on persuasively.
“You’re 15 too, so there’s a lot of men – older men usually – who would pay a
really big price for you.”
Long pause as I stared at the sums mounting up in mum’s diary.
“For instance”, she said, reaching over and turning the page to an entry for
Gary, “this guy pays me extra to act as his daughter – with you it would be less
of an act, and he’d pay a bloody fortune. He’s loaded”.
I weighed up the options – I was skint and really wanted those tattoos. But more
than that, I realised that even if I could afford the tattoos I’d still spend
all the money I currently had. I wanted the tattoos, but wanted to have money in
my pocket too. And there was only one way to make that happen – to earn a
living. Right now, as a schoolgirl, the only way I could see to earn that kind
of money was to do what Mum suggested.
But I was scared.
It was one thing to woozily fuck a guy with mum, in a cloud of drugs, in the
safety of my home, and with no opportunity to think about it in advance. But a
planned, sober act of sex in a strange place with a strange man… that was
another thing entirely!
Mum, of course, had the answer. And as always, it came in powder form.
**********************
Three weeks later, and on a chilly evening in early February I sat on the cold
leather seats of a Land Rover, being driven to the Malmaison hotel, Manchester.
The driver, a middle-aged man with bad skin and hair like a wire brush,
studiously ignored me snorting coke from my mum’s finger as she sat next to me.
We were both dressed identically, wearing long coats to hide our outfits from
the hotel staff. Mum had a large overnight bag with her, which she’d packed
somewhat mysteriously in the locked bathroom. My legs were cold because I was
naked underneath the coat. So was mum. We both wore thin black silk bands around
our necks, and I could smell the scent of my pussy (and mum’s) from where I was
sitting.
An hour before the driver had arrived to collect us, Mum had lubed up my ass and
pushed in the butt plug to prepare it for the evening. She’d lay me on a towel
on her bed, and lathered and shaved my pussy until it was utterly smooth. She
soothed it with a coconut butter oil, and then went down on me, bringing me to
the edge of orgasm and holding me there with an utterly expert tongue. Her hands
stroked my body and she moved and slowly turned the plug in my ass, intensifying
the incredible feeling.
By the time the car arrived we were both so horny that I genuinely wanted to do
this. More coke in the car, and then a final snort before we went into the hotel
and up to his room.
Three people were in the lift when we entered it, but as soon as they got out
mum opened her coat, grabbed my head, and pushed my mouth onto her nipple which
I sucked and licked with relish.
The feeling of sexuality was reaching dangerous heights as Gary, the punter,
opened his door. Mum took the lead, walking in and kissing him deeply with her
arms wrapped around his neck. As the door closed behind us she slipped out of
her coat and let it fall to the floor. I followed suit, standing awkward and
naked behind mum, still unable to see what Gary looked like. Mum’s hand reached
behind her and I held it, letting her draw me to her. I pressed against her back
and she pushed my hand down between her ass cheeks… I felt underneath, feeling
how slippy she was, and then dragged my fingertips back to her anus and eased
inside her.
She looked over her shoulder with a naughty and approving smile, and then said
to the punter, “Gary baby, this is my daughter Sandi. She’s 15 years old, she’s
a fucking slut, and she has two fingers in my fucking asshole”.
I realised then that bad language wasn’t going to be punished!
Gary looked at me and I looked back defiantly, trying not to look nervous. He
was about 45, slightly portly as though he’d once been strong and fit, but had
let himself go. Not bad looking really, although not a man I would choose for
myself. He said to mum, “She’s gorgeous” (I blushed) “but can my daughter handle
a cock?”
Mum looked back over her shoulder to me, and I took the hint – my fingers
slipped from mum’s ass, and I kneeled down, reaching between mum’s legs to
fumble with Gary’s zip. A seconds awkwardness and it was open; I reached inside,
feeling his cock swelling and beating with blood and arousal. It was smaller
than Darius’, but still a reasonable size, probably 7 or 8 inches.
I pulled at it, it sprung free from his trousers; in a sweet schoolgirl voice
(specifically requested by Gary) I said, “Hmm, daddy, your cock is the nicest
I’ve ever seen”, and then with a deep breath I slid the length of it along my
tongue and deep into my mouth. I could feel mum moving above me, stepping out of
the way so Gary could see me sucking his cock. My pussy was so wet it was
literally trickling on my thigh, and I could feel the lips opening.
Mum was behind me, stroking my back and holding my hair. She kneeled next to me
and whispered, “Eye contact”, and I remember to look up into Gary’s horny eyes.
He pulled the cock from my mouth and I assumed he wanted to fuck me, but instead
he slapped it on my face. I opened my mouth and he slapped my tongue with it,
and once again I found how exciting it is to be thoroughly used by somebody
sexually. I stared deep into his eyes as he slapped my face with his wet cock,
then he jammed it deep in my throat and fucked my mouth hard – mum held my head
and reached behind him, fingerfucking his arsehole.
He stopped, pulled away from me and told mum to eat him – she instantly scurried
behind him and pushed her face into his arse cheeks. I reached to his cock and
wanked him and, feeling self-conscious, I said to him, “Daddy, your cock feels
so hot in my hand”. He smiled, so I went on, “I wonder how hot it’ll feel inside
me?”
With a grunt he lifted me up, flipped me over, and landed me on the bed. I
crawled to the centre and lifted my naked ass, spreading my legs just as I had
when mum fucked me. He was behind me and I looked over my shoulder to see mum
putting a condom on him – she rolled the tip over his head, then slid her mouth
down his cock, unrolling the condom as she sucked him off.
And then he was inside me, thrusting, his cock feeling tight and wonderful. Mum
kissed him as he fucked me – I was watching the whole thing over my shoulder -
then she wet her fingers in her own pussy and pushed two of them deep into my
ass.
She turned to Gary and in a deep, seductive voice she said, “Do you like her?”
“Yes”, he gasped, fucking me hard (I liked him too!)
“You like your daughter’s cunt?”
“Yes”, this time a pant, high pitched, tense – I felt his strokes grow shorter
and harder.
“You want to cum over her asshole while I hold it open?”
No reply this time, but he pulled out of me. Mum instantly pulled open my arse
cheeks, and I watched over my shoulder as he fired a hot, thick, seemingly
endless splatter of cum across my ass. Mums fingers trailed through it and then
pushed it inside my arse, while she bent to clean off his still hard dick.
I realised we’d only been in the room 5 minutes, and he’d cum already – he’d
booked an hour, and I wondered what we would do now!
Gary slumped back on the bed, wiped the sweat from his face, and laughed as he
said, “OK, I need a rest – you two carry on, I’ll just watch”.
I looked at mum with interest and a little apprehension. She fetched the
overnight bag from where she’d dropped it on the floor as she came in, and
bringing out a series of toys and restraints she bound me to the bed, face down.
My ankles were left untied, but she bound my wrists with handcuffs, and then
tied a silk rope to my right elbow. She pulled the rope hard around my neck, and
tied it off to my left elbow – my back was arched to keep my elbows so close,
and if I tried to straighten I couldn’t breathe because of the rope on my neck.
She pushed a ball against my mouth, and then tied it behind my head.
And then she vanished into the bathroom. I was more than a little frightened – I
trusted mum, and had enough cocaine in me to make almost anything seem horny and
exciting, but this was the first time I’d been tied up, and the first time I’d
been alone with a punter. Gary sat on an anonymous hotel room chair, naked,
wanking his cock to keep it hard as he waited.
And then out came mum, wearing her black strapon. She had black tape in crosses
over her nipples, which seemed pointless to me at the time, but was unfathomably
and inexplicably sexy. In her hand she held a cane, which she instantly brought
down across my arse with a whisking crack.
I jerked to escape the pain, but couldn’t even get onto my knees – my legs were
free, but with my arms tied the way they were I couldn’t get enough balance to
sit upright. She leaned over me with a hard, cruel look on her face; then, when
she was sure Gary couldn’t see, she grinned and smiled at me, and I felt it was
going to be OK.
She spat onto her hand, and wiped the spit on my tits and face, then she spat
again onto the head of her strapon. I watched her parade around the room in
black platforms, looking at me and then at Gary. As she passed him she grabbed
her dildo in one hand and pushed it towards his face – his mouth opened and he
sucked on it greedily, wanking all the time.
She ordered him up, told him to wet my arse, and he kneeled behind me on the bed
with his tongue buried surprisingly deeply in my sphincter. It felt wonderful,
and I lost myself in the sensation until he was pulled away by mum. She kneeled
where he had been and showed me the strapon in her fist… then, with slow,
deliberate movements, as though she was punishing me and wanted me to know it,
she pushed the cock into my arse.
It wasn’t the first time she’d done it, of course, but it was incredibly horny.
She’d never dominated me before; and the fact that Gary was spellbound, watching
and wanking really hard made it doubly erotic. She pushed deeper and deeper,
until it filled me completely and she could start fucking. She grabbed my elbows
as they were tied behind me, and she pulled me back onto the dildo. I was
gasping, the ball in my mouth restricting my breathing and raising my senses to
a high, frantic level. I could feel my blood pulsing, the cocaine surging
through me and an orgasm like I’d never felt before rising in my lower stomach.
I started to moan, a high keening sound that was strange in my own ears, but I
was uncontrollable – the orgasm started to wash over me, and it was enhanced
still further when I felt a hot splash on my face – to my right side Gary had
also reached a crescendo, and he painted my face with cum as I orgasmed hard on
mum’s cock.
**********************
Showered, cleaned, dressed in what we had with us, and back in the car again,
mum counted out the £600 we’d earned. She’d taken an extra £75 tip from Gary
after he’d asked to piss on me – no, she said, but you can piss into my mouth,
and he’d been delighted to accept. I didn’t see it happen, she sat in the shower
as he did it, and I stayed in the main hotel room secretively doing a line of
coke and jilling my clit.
**********************
Three days later, and I was in the same hotel meeting three Austrian businessmen
who spoke barely a word of English. They hadn’t asked for any particular kinks,
but it didn’t take a lot of imagination to work out that there were three of
them, and I had three holes. This was the first occasion I worked alone, and it
was also the first time I’d swallowed cum. The first guy to cum did it on my
breasts, the second inside a condom as he fucked me. The third and youngest,
probably about 30, finished in my mouth and immediately held his hand over my
mouth until I got the idea and swallowed it.
The second time around, and without being able to explain it to me, they all
came on my face within about 20 seconds. Mum had been showing me porn movies at
home so I could learn what men wanted, how to make it look good, and most
importantly what to expect. But I still wasn’t ready for three facials, and it
surprised me how horny it made me feel to get marked that way.
It’s always possible they all called me daughter. Or slut. Or cunt. I don’t know
a word of Austrian, and they spoke barely any English, but we managed to agree a
price of £900 for 2 hours of my company. Just about the only thing about me that
they did know was my age. Not one of them referred to me by name in the whole
time I was there – I wasn’t a person, I was an object of lust; and it astonished
me (still does) how empowering that can feel.
**********************
It was a month before I dropped out of school. They weren’t sad to see me go;
I’d experimented with odd hair colours for years, but in the last year I’d
become a coke-whore, and didn’t care about much except fun and money any more.
It’s hard to get a girl to do geography homework when the alternative is a few
lines of coke and £500 in an hour for sex with a stranger.
Recently I’d had my nose, navel and nipples pierced (try hiding that in the
changing rooms after school gym). The inside of both wrists contained intricate
tattoos, one a delicate cherry blossom design hiding the word “mum”, the other a
matching design hiding the word “fuck”. Unless you made me sit still while you
examined them, you’d never know what the copperplate writing said, but it made
me feel incredible to carry that word around on my body. And on my hip, next to
where I should have had pubic hair, my lovely, friendly tattoo artist had
designed a beautiful spray of blossom and butterflies, trailing across my hip,
and just visible if I wore low-waited jeans.
I felt I was starting to look how I felt: not cheap exactly, but affordable and
sexy. I felt like being a slut was a great ambition, and thanks to mum’s help
and encouragement, I was definitely looking and acting like one.
Chapter 3 - My Thoughts About Sexual Maturity
=============================================
Hi Kelly,
I thought I'd write something about sexual maturity. I hope it's OK, and not too
studied! I'll put down my thoughts about incest next time too.
Sands
****************
I can’t remember when I first had a sexual thought. If Nancy Friday is right
(Google her) it was probably at an extremely young age, before I was able to
walk. According to her, male babies masturbate in the womb. I can’t think of an
evolutionary reason why that would happen, it’s probably just a side-effect of
our in-built sexual nature. And I haven’t researched it personally, but it’s
probably true that humans have sexual impulses almost as soon as we’re born. If
we didn’t, we’d be alone in the natural world.
I should tell you at this stage that I have no time for the religious view of
the world. Like the majority of Europeans I’m an atheist, and although support
people’s freedom to believe what they like, I also support my own freedom to
point and laugh at those who worship an invisible man in the sky. So when I
discuss this, it’s not from a traditional, Christian "moral" view, but rather a
rationalist and (for want of a better term) scientific viewpoint. After all, we
can’t possibly get morals from the Bible, we must invent them ourselves. Want to
know how I come to that conclusion? Well, it’s the story of Sodom, Gomorrah and
Lot. Lot lived in Sodom, with a wife and 2 daughters. One day, the townspeople
came to Lot’s house to rape him – in case you’re wondering, this is all in the
Old Testament (our ONLY source for the word of the combined Christian, Jewish
and Islamic God). Rather than allow himself to be raped, Lot offered the mob his
own daughter, who was (according to scripture) not yet at an marrying age. Which
means she was under 12. Following this, God sent an angel down to pluck out the
eyes of the entire mob of would-be-rapists, who at that point had done nothing
wrong. What a nice God. The angel then informed Lot that his actions (i.e.
volunteering his 12 year old daughter as a rape victim) made him “righteous in
the eyes of God”. And so Lot was saved. His wife died, turned into a pillar of
salt by God because she looked back when Sodom was being destroyed. And Lot and
his 2 daughters moved into a cave in the hills where this "righteous" man got
them both pregnant within a year - and the oldest was 12, remember.
Now, we don’t teach that as a moral lesson in church. We all self-censor it, and
teach Jonah and the Whale or The Good Samaritan instead. Stories which match the
standard moral view of the world. And that decision to censor Lot's story must
be a result of our own moral decisions – we decide it’s not a moral tale, so we
don’t preach it. So morals can’t possibly come from the Bible. If they did, we’d
all think the story of Lot is morally acceptable, and we don’t. Therefore morals
must come from outside of the Bible: from ourselves, our society and the
zeitgeist.
OK, that’s my reasoning for ignoring religion as a moral compass. Back to the
main story!! My first knowingly sexual act – masturbation in the shower –
happened when I was 11 or 12. I expect it’s the same for most people here. Most
of the girls will have played with a shower head, and many of the boys will have
experienced erections before they even knew what they were. Now personally, I
feel there’s a very fine line to be trodden between accepting natural sexual
curiosity and exploiting it. Defining where that line is is the core moral issue
surrounding incest and age-related sex.
I think we should all – by which I mean the whole of society – accept that
people don’t suddenly become sexual on their 16th birthday. In the time of Lot,
12 was the average age for marriage, and up until the mid-19th century it was
usual for a girl to be married at 15 or 14. I think it’s a legal aberration
that makes us immediately think an under-16 is a sexual child, and that he or
she cannot be touched. I know people who didn't feel ready for sex until they
were 22, so surely it's just as likely that somebody else feels ready for sex
well before they're 16? Of course it is! If I remember my own teens, I was
desperate to be sexual from the age of about 13.
We cannot deny nature, and it’s damaging to do so. How many of us suffer from
strangulated sexual feelings in adulthood as a direct result of having our
sexuality driven underground in our teens? My guess is, almost all of us.
Repressing sexuality is fundamentally damaging to the psyche, just look at the
massively high percentage of sexually abusive or abnormal Catholic priests. And
the teens are the most important psychological age. Repression of sexual in the
teens has the most damaging effect of all. Stopping an under 18 from acting
sexually is close to child-abuse, in that it damages that child in ways that
can take a lifetime to resolve.
It is also against nature to prevent it. Why? In evolutionary terms there are
huge advantages to being able to breed early. For one thing, we can cram more
"litters" into our short breeding period. And for another, we're probably not
meant to live much beyond 40 (left to nature, and without modern medicines etc).
So we need to have 3 or 4 kids, and raise them to breeding age before we die.
That means we have to start before we're 16, or it just won't work as a natural
process.
Furthermore, sex is a massively powerful and natural instinct in all animals,
including us. Because we are just animals, like apes or rats or rabbits, and we
have instincts and evolutionary programming that create just the same drives,
for food, shelter, warmth and sex. It’s absolutely crazy to deny the single most
important driving force of our adult lives – the urge to reproduce. But that’s
exactly what we do every day. My own mother was very open about sex, and I know
that as soon as I was sexually curious she helped me to explore. I hope that I’d
do the same if I ever have children. I would argue strongly for openness in
sexual matters as soon as the child wants to know. Anything else is just
curtailing nature, and risks untold psychological harm. But what I do feel is
wrong is allowing our own passions and feelings to force sexual progress too
soon. A child may feel sexual, but can’t explain it, can’t fully understand it.
Sexual maturity is more than simply having hair on your vagina, or being able to
achieve an erection. It’s all about mentality, the maturing and understanding
that comes with becoming a genuine adult.
From my own perspective, this didn’t happen to me until I was about 14. I was
capable of sex well before that, probably from about 9 or so (we almost all
are). But just because something CAN happen, it doesn’t mean we should MAKE it
happen. I feel the law falls far behind reality in cases of incest or statutory
rape. (Pure rape is not a purely sexual crime, it’s a violent crime. There is a
victim and a perpetrator. And as such I feel the law should apply as much as it
would apply for any violent crime.) But jailing men and women simply because
they had a consensual sexual relationship that spanned a purely arbitrary
dividing line – well that’s crazy! In my opinion, sex between adults and minors
should be legal as long as the minor can be shown to understand and approve of
the acts. I was a legal minor when I first had sex, and although I wouldn’t
categorize it as straight-forward incest, my mother was involved (along with
another man). I loved it. And I would have done it again in an instant –
although it actually took a few weeks before anything else sexual happened. But
this is my basic conclusion – banning sex before the age of 16 (or 18, or any
other age) will never work, simply because we cannot deny our nature. And the
present view of a sexually responsible age is, just as with the rest of our
morals, a result of the cultural zeitgeist. I imagine that almost any person,
independently confronted with the facts, would choose an age much younger than
16.
The moral pressure of “society” makes us all slaves to irrationality. Just as
with prohibition and the “war on drugs”, it’s a battle that can never be won
because it stands dead against nature. I take cocaine. Cats take catnip. Dogs
love chocolate. In every case they’re drugs which have a negative long-term
effect, but feel wonderful for a short time. If we can’t prevent cats from
following their nature, what makes us feel we can avoid nature ourselves?! Sex
is the most natural thing in the world, as long as it’s consensual. So let’s
stop pretending 16 previous birthdays makes any difference, and start acting on
our nature.
Sandra McVie - A Daughter's Inheritance