Will Wanton’s

Smut

 

 

The Perverted Mother

Chapter 7: Intermezzo

 

This story contains:

Gender Combo's: F; Lesbian FF; Hetero Fm (14)

Sex Acts: oral

Fetishes / Other: bit of incest (mother / son); pedo (fantasy infant); Dirty Talk; exhibitionism (fart); interr (White woman/Moroccan woman); hairy; bit of foot fetish (incl. nylons); spitting; bit of WS.

 

 

 

Days had passed since the filthy little tryst between Annette and my Tony, and in the meantime I had made a copy of the footage I took, and I’d sent it to Annette. Annette and I pretty much called each other every day and so I knew she had been enjoying the footage immensely several times already, watching herself and my son on her wide-screen television. She had even admitted to me that she found it hard to believe in retrospect how far she had gone and how filthy she had been. And indeed, she had completely let herself go over my son.

 

Annette had revealed something else to me. She had told me that more and more, she was fantasizing about having children of her own, not merely because she loved children, but because the idea of having her very own children and raising them from the very beginning to sexually satisfy her turned her on beyond belief. Children born for perversion, she would describe it as being. We turned each other on beyond belief with these forbidden fantasies. The visual in my head of Annette with the obstetrician, her bare feet in the stirrups and her legs wide, pushing a newborn baby from her slimy cunt, her knowing at that exact point in time that she is bringing it into the world primarily to give her cunt pleasure; it made my snatch drool just thinking about something so depraved.

 

From her end Annette planted seeds of obscene thoughts in my head as well, by making me think about the shockingly perverse things that I could have done myself when Tony or Angelica were still a baby. Such as finger fucking my twat hard, or fucking it hard with a big dildo as he or she was suckling on my stiff nipple. Shoving a big fat cock-shaped plastic object into my sucking, steaming snatch as I was breast feeding one of my kids. By…mmmmmm…taking the baby off my tit, moving it carefully down my body and get him or her to latch his or her wet, sucking mouth onto my engorged clit, and having my own infant child suck me off until hot white cream was oozing from my gash into the crack of my ass. And afterward, to take some of that tasty, fragrant white cunt-gravy on my fingertip and offering it up to my baby’s hungry mouth.

And this way, Annette and I drove each other mad with lust over the phone with such interminably depraved thoughts. I would never be able or willing to do these things in real life, enjoying the fantasies but drawing the line at reality. But something tells me I wouldn’t be able to put it past Annette. She was a pedophile with conviction and pride, in so far as the people she knew – such as me and my kids - allowed her to be. She was entirely loose from any sexual restraints; nothing seemed taboo for her.

 

It kind of surprised me that it had taken her this long to turn her own fantasies into reality, but apparently her discovery of my own activities with my kids played a substantial part in it. Another woman, about her own age, living close by, with her own dirty secret to keep; that kind of thing can make courage grow.

 

Annette told me she wanted to do something really daring; something hot and nasty. Something that would require courage but had tremendous pay-off for her. I proposed something to her I wasn’t sure she’d accept, but she accepted it immediately. I proposed that she go to her work – school – without wearing any panties, and wearing a loose skirt. She had done this before but now I was giving her an assignment that was way more depraved than all the other times. I told her that I wanted her to pick a moment as she was sitting behind her desk in the class room, as her students were busy with their assignments and the classroom was silent. And I told her to rip a loud fart. One that if possible was rich with odor and would course through the class room invading the nostrils of all the kids there. The whole idea was that those kids would not only hear her do something that no lady should ever do, but that all of them, over twenty of them, would inhale the scent expelled by her asshole. Over twenty early-teen kids smelling the gas that originated from her bowels. And the nasty thing about it was that she would do it consciously; that she was consciously arranging them to be acquainted with the smell from her farting shithole. Even if she was the only one knowing about it being a conscious act. She could fantasize about one of the boys or girls secretly enjoying the rank odor; of them secretly fantasizing that he or she would be dragging his or her young tongue up and down between the cheeks of her ass, lapping at her puckering shitter, and upward across her sopping, hairy cunt.

 

She would apologize after farting and pretend it was caused by stomach problems she’d been experiencing that day; but she herself would know the truth, and that was what made it so hot. Whether those twenty-plus young teenage kids knew or not, Annette would be using them for perverse, sexual gratification. That’s what made it so nasty.

 

I could hear Annette sigh and groan on the line after I described the assignment to her. She knew she would have to muster some courage to actually do it, but she knew just how she would feel if she succeeded. It would be a perverted deed we would remember for the rest of our lives. A horny, nasty deed of a filthy, depraved teacher. It was too good; too arousing, not to try it, and so Annette agreed, as long as she could determine the exact time at which she would do it.

 

But Annette called me the very next day about it. She’d told me enthusiastically that she’d already done it; that after we’d spoken about it the day before, she had become hotter and hotter with the idea. She’d told me that she had fingered herself to multiple orgasms, over a period of several hours, thinking about what she was going to do. She thought she could get away with it by making clear afterward that she had a bit of stomach flu; a fake excuse that would enable her to let rip a raunchy, smelly fart in class. She’d told me that after playing the whole scenario in her head, she had cum screaming into her pillow, having no less than four fingers up her twat.

 

She’d told me that she had done it about two hours before she called. She was wearing a white, loose summer dress. As agreed, she went without panties, and had made sure to move her dress out of the way so that she was sitting on the cushion of her chair with her bare ass. Nervously, she had waited until her courage was at its height, as the young teen kids – among them the two kids of my new black neighbors who were new in class that week – were busy reading in their books. Only the sounds of breathing, moving around in chairs, and of the birds and traffic outside could be heard. She’d told me that she bit her lower lip, closed her eyes, slowly leaned to one side a bit and lifted one bare buttock off of the chair so that the volume of her fart would be louder. And then she relaxed her anus, internally pushed on her intestines, after which a thunderous, loudly cracking fart blew from her shitter.

 

As I furiously ran my fingers up and down through my sopping slit I listened to Annette telling me how all the kids looked up in surprise, hearing perfectly well it was their teacher that had done it. Annette had told me that she’d made a facial expression indicating that she was embarrassed, which she really wasn’t at all.

“Sorry,” she had softly said. “My stomach is really troubling me, kids. I have to go away for a few minutes, but I’ll be back soon.”

But even before she had fully left the room, she could hear several students giggling, and she noticed several others pulling their shirt or sweater up over their noses. She herself could smell why: the scent of her fart was unbelievable; the scent of eggs; and the scent she had deliberately expelled had penetrated the nostrils of over twenty teenage students. They now all knew, every single one of them, just what the odor of her farts was. All of them were inhaling the stink from her butthole into their lungs. Outside of their knowledge they had all been made part of their teacher’s secret depraved game. I heard from Annette how she had quickly ran to the lady’s lavatory, and into a stall; how she had pulled her dress up to her waist and got herself off as if possessed, thinking about the obscenity of what she had done moments before that.

 

She’d told me that she knew the kids would talk about it amongst themselves, and without a doubt with others outside of class as well. That a lot of the kids at school would find out about Miss Annette ripping a loud, fragrant fart in class, and the thought of all those kids discussing her; discussing the gas that Annette had deliberately blown from her crapper, drove her wild in ways that were difficult to put into words.

The subject of talk between kids ranging from 10 to 14-years-old would be her ass and the smell coming from it. Ordinarily it would make a woman flee with shame; make it impossible for her to ever face these kids again. But not Annette. Annette reveled in it. For the fact that her act was deliberate yet safe in the sense that she could lay blame on so-called stomach problems, she reveled in being seen and spoken about as a dirty, farting teacher. Because that was what she was, and more. She was a deliberately farting teacher; someone who wanted desperately to share her ass and what it has to offer with her students. If word about her obscene flatulence would spread, it would only make her hotter than she already felt. She would accept any admonishment from her superior. He would probably call her into his office and tell her that even though it was an accident, such a thing could not happen again. Annette had told me she no intention of making it happen again, but she would remember this act for the rest of her life.

 

And so Annette told me in the smallest detail what had happened, and both of us came screaming and masturbating.

 

***

 

After this she told me that she would come up with a good dare for me, where I’d be the one taking some risks. I was curious about what she would come up with, and kind of apprehensive that it would be something that went too far for me to try, or something that was simply too risky in terms of being found out.

 

But the challenge she had for me came rather quickly, and was simultaneously exciting and a bit scary (for me anyway) yet not too risky. Not risky in the sense that anybody would find out about my relationship with my kids, anyway. The challenge was about something we’d discussed before. An earlier challenge she’d given me involved me going to a lingerie store and taking my daughter with me, to buy a sexy lingerie outfit and have my daughter eat my ass in the fitting room until I came. After I’d finished the assignment, I’d told Annette about the beautiful exotic looking salesgirl behind the counter. I’d told her how attractive I thought the girl was and how I got the feeling that she knew something strange was going on when I took my 12-year-old daughter with me into the fitting room. The salesgirl had looked at me somewhat oddly but not disapprovingly. A bit with a mysterious, naughty smile, as if she knew or suspected something “special” going on with me and my girl, but not knowing sure enough to say anything. I told Annette how thinking about doing something hot and dirty with this gorgeous, seemingly Mediterranean or Latina girl gave me the cunt-quivers.

 

So that was the assignment from Annette to me. The challenge of her to me was: dress up in the slutty outfit you had bought the first time. Wear some regular clothing over it and go back to the lingerie store. Tell the girl you’re talking about that you’d like to buy another outfit but want to know her opinion about it, asking her to come along with you into the fitting room where you will give her a little show of your current outfit, change into the new one and give her yet another little show, asking her opinion again. Seduce her with these little shows and sexual words. If at all possible, try initiating an introduction into our little secret world. Have her make you cum in the fitting room if you can make her. Give her nice tip after buying the new outfit. I will reimburse you for everything you need to buy.

 

Shivers were running through my body at the thought of possibly seducing this girl. I didn’t even dare think how it would be if she would end up becoming a willing participant in our depraved little group. She seemed a bit on the shy side, without having any reason to be as far as her looks were concerned.

 

I had accepted the challenge, and was dripping from the thought of possibly having sex with her. And not merely that; but doing something sexual with her in the fitting room, with other customers and personnel possibly close by. The question of course was whether she would be game.

 

***

 

It was an afternoon that the kids were in school, and Ed – I cared less and less – at work. This was the afternoon that I’d try to answer to Annette’s dare.

I stood in front of the large mirror. I was wearing the half cup brazier, my hard nipples poking straight ahead over the edges and clearly visible through the flimsy material of my blouse. The rest of my outfit consisted of a garter belt attached to nylon stockings, a pair of panties with an open slit in the crotch, through which the fleshy inner labia of my pussy were protruding, and over all of this a loose summer skirt that went down to about knee height. On my feet I wore a pair of open toed heels. I looked pretty damn good for a thirty plus year old woman if I say so myself, and hardly like a mother of two and housewife. My hair was hanging loose and I’d applied a little bit of make-up. Not too much; just enough. I made a naughty decision to go out the door without a jacket so as I was walking the street anybody that passed me should easily be able to notice my stiff tips poking through my blouse. Dressed like this, I went on my way to the lingerie store to complete my mission.

 

Having reached the door of the store, I could already feel that my pussy had gotten wet, thanks in no small part due to several men ogling my chest as they passed me in the street. Even a few teenage boys shamelessly looked at the nipples visibly poking through my blouse. I actually smiled at one of them as I caught his eyes, indicating to him that I was fully aware that the boy, whom I estimated to be about 14 or 15, was staring at my fucking tits. GOD, I felt so deliciously lewd. This was all so liberating. Anyway, with this mindset I walked into the store.

 

Looking around I noticed my target standing. The lovely exotic young lady whom I estimated to be about 21 or 22-years-old was standing between a few racks, waiting for any customer that could need some assistance. As before she was wearing her black, curly hair in a ponytail. I realized quickly that she had noticed me, and if I didn’t know any better I could have sworn that for a brief moment she was smiling.

Sexily swaying my hips I walked toward her and the sweet scent of her perfume met me halfway. I had no doubt mine met her halfway as well.

 

In a fraction of a second I gave her a once over. She was wearing black slacks and pumps on her feet. I could tell she was wearing dark grey nylons underneath. She was also wearing a white blouse and over that a black jacket. I realized as before that her hips seemed just a tad too wide for her overall frame, and a flash of my hands on her hips went through my head.

 

“Hello. Maybe you remember me? Not too long ago I bought a lingerie outfit here?”

 

“Oh yes, I remember. Weren’t you here with your daughter?” The salesgirl had the same sweet velvet voice I recalled, with a light accent to it that seemed to indicate that English was a language she may not speak all the time, or at least not since birth.

 

“Mmmm… That’s correct. She’s in school now. But I’m here because I’d like to buy another outfit. Now, I noticed you standing and remembered you were the one helping me at the register last time, and I was thinking if maybe you couldn’t help me again this time, but maybe a little bit more extensively?”

 

The girl looked at me with her dark eyes, her smile having changed into a slightly more inquisitive expression. “More extensively, mam?”

 

“Well yeah, it’s like this. I have this good friend who gave me her outside opinion about the outfit I’d bought here last time, but she is away on a vacation currently, so know I’d like to know the honest opinion of another woman before I, you know, surprise my husband with the new outfit. So I was thinking, why not you? I would really appreciate it. And of course I would be buying the outfit from you, so you’d be getting the commission.”

 

The girl was beaming. She understood what I meant and seemed happy that I wanted her advice. “But of course, mam. Will you let me know if you’ve found something you’d like to try out?”

 

“Count on it, ehh…”

 

“My name is Fatima, mam”

 

“Ah… Fatima. Are you Arabic, by any chance?”

 

“Yes mam. I was born in Morocco.”

 

“Well okay, Fatima. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve found something I’d like to try out,” I said with a smile.

 

I swayed away in the direction of a rack that had some pretty outrageous outfits and looked back over my shoulder to Fatima, who was looking elsewhere. A stunning young Moroccan woman. Beautiful. She seemed quite liberal; not wearing a headscarf in the store if she was even allowed to. But when push came to shove I wondered just how ‘liberal’ she truly was, sexually. I had to admit that the thought of a hot little tryst with a young Muslim woman was pretty arousing. Seducing a religious girl to engage in obscene, forbidden acts. To engage in the filthiest, perverted sex. Mmmmmm… What a catch she would be if she…

I wondered if she’d noticed the stiff nubs poking out from my blouse. Would she secretly be dripping tart Moroccan gash-juice into her panties? That long, curly hair; I could hold her by that so well to pull her face between my legs and…

God almighty, I really needed to stop with those thoughts before my womanly fragrance was going to spread throughout the store.

 

To make my mission as fun and as hot as possible, I looked for the most revealing, hottest, sluttiest outfit I could find. Something that would really bring out the skanky whore in me. And I had found just the outfit fairly quickly. It didn’t differ all that much from the one I was wearing, except that instead of nylon stockings it had fishnet stockings with large holes, and it had fringes here and there. I really wanted to show off to Fatima and this seemed like the perfect outfit for that.

 

I looked over various racks at that sweet Moroccan salesgirl and just felt my fuck-hole clench and drool. She had such a hot figure, almost perfect. Nicely shaped, larger than medium breasts. Hips just slightly wider and buttocks just slightly larger than befitting the rest of her body; but to me this only made it better for their intended purpose: to grab onto during wild sex. Generally I liked seeing little dimples in a woman’s butt cheeks when a woman clenches them. Buttocks not to big, but just big enough to see the flesh quiver and roll a bit. It sounds so hot when someone smacks an ass like that. And it’s so delicious to just take hands full of buttock, to pull those big globes apart to expose the pungent crack and to use my tongue to… STOP IT, Michelle.

 

Fatima seemed to have a great butt for those purposes; a hot, nice ass catering to various lascivious needs.

 

I had taken the outfit off the hangers and walked toward Fatima, who was surveying the story. I made it my business to make sure that anyone who would be looking at me would be able to see just what kind of outfit I had chosen.

Let them see just how slutty I like my lingerie; how whorish I like to dress.

 

“Hi, Fatima,” I said chirpily when I had reached her. “I’d really like to try this outfit. I think my man would appreciate it as well,” I said winking to her, making Fatima smile about the secret message. “Of course I want a second opinion from another woman. Would you mind coming with me so you can judge how it looks on me?”

 

“But of course, mam. Although I have the feeling that it would suit you just fine,” she said barely above a whisper, smiling, as if she had a good idea about just what kind of woman I was, without a hint of judgmentalness.

 

“Mmmmm… Still, I would appreciate it if you could see it on me. And please call me Michelle. Mam makes me feel way too old.”

 

***

 

Having arrived in the fitting room area, she directed me into one of the fitting rooms.

 

“Shall I wait outside until you’ve finished changing, Michelle?” she asked, not entirely sure what I expected her to do.

 

“Don’t be silly. It’s just women among women, isn’t it? Come with me into the fitting room, so I can also get your opinion on the outfit I’m wearing now, while we’re at it.”

 

Fatima passed by as she came into the fitting room while I held the door; her perfume smelled like heaven, and as she passed by me with only a few inches between us she momentarily looked into my eyes with a nervous smile on her face, and I smiled back. The sexual tension was palpable already. She already seemed fully aware of the fact that there was something unspoken between us that went beyond a simple salesgirl/customer relationship.

 

I closed the door behind her and locked it. The room was big enough for at least two people with plenty of moving space left. It had the room of a small kitchen.

There were a few hangers for clothes, a large body length mirror, and two benches across from each other against opposite walls.

Fatima sat down on one of them. As I mentioned, she seemed perfectly aware of the tension between us on the one hand, and on the other hand she seemed a bit nervous because she didn’t know what to expect. Maybe she was having an internal conflict because of her religious beliefs too, although somehow I got the impression that her religion was more to placate the outside world and especially her family and community than it being something she strictly lived by.

 

“Have you been working here long, Fatima?” I asked, trying to break the ice as I slowly started unbuttoning my blouse.

 

“Uh, about a year and a half I think. This is actually my first full time job,” she answered, a bit skittish.

 

“Your first job? How old are you, if I may ask?” I continued as I had reached the last few buttons on my blouse, nearing the point where I’d show her my naked, hard nipples.

 

“I’ve just turned 23 years old. I think I’ll probably be staying in this job for a while; I like it here,” she said as she watched my finally undoing my blouse and pulling it off. I pretended as if the act of taking off my blouse and showing my stiff, red buds as they stuck out from above the half cup brazier was a regular, meaningless act in this situation; but without saying so both of us knew it had an unbelievably erotic charge. I got goose bumps from her glance at my knobs, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if her mouth was watering; or better said, I certainly hoped that the sight of my red tit tips were having that effect on her.

 

As I slowly, casually folded my blouse and hung it over a hanger, and then took my time putting the hanger up on the wall again, giving Fatima more time to stare at my orbs, I tried upping the ante a bit through questions.

 

“You like it here? Why is that? Do you like the type of product this store sells? Maybe you feel like selling these goods to women makes you a part of their sex life, somehow?”

 

Fatima smiled with a blush, turning her face away in shyness. It was obvious that with that last remark, I had come close to the truth of this currently demure young woman.

 

“You can tell me, you know. You should know just how open-minded and liberal I am about anything having to do with sex. But you should have known that from the kind of outfits it buy here. And if there is anyone that knows how to keep a secret, it’s me, you can take my word on that.

Let me tell you something, Fatima. I can see myself buying outfits in this story more often, and I’d love to be able to be served by you so you could get the commission every time. I’d love for us to have a kind of bond. I don’t know how you would feel about that, but I would really love for you to feel comfortable enough with me to share personal information about yourself.”

 

I stood still in front of ‘my’ bench, my nipples standing straight ahead from my tits, hoping she’d continue talking about herself. I tried pretending that standing in front of her like this didn’t have an effect on me, but truth be told I was hot as fuck and nervous at the same time. Hot as fuck from each time I could feel her eyes pass across my taut, erect buds, and nervous because I was hoping that I wouldn’t go too fast and scare her away as I tried pulling her from her shell. But getting her to say personal things about herself was a necessary step. And somehow I sensed that she really wanted to open up.

 

“I guess that’s it,” Fatima responded mustering courage and answering my initial question of why she liked working here. “I… Because of my culture, my religion, and my family, and the social control I constantly have to watch and restrain myself. Stay proper. I can be fairly liberated with family and within my community without too much of a problem, but there are still limits to just how liberated I can behave, you know. The way I am basically allowed to behave without attracting negative attention is a way that ordinary non-Muslim women would take for granted. But the way I truly feel I am inside, I can’t be that way among other people that I know. As a matter of fact, the way I truly feel I am inside, I can’t really be that way among any people, which makes the way I feel I am even harder. But here, in this store, I kind of feel comfortable. The goods we sell here make me feel almost at home; it fits with the way I am.”

 

Fatima was revealing a lot about herself in a short time, without even saying all that much that one could call specific. It was obvious she felt insecure admitting it, regardless of how I tried to make her feel at ease. Her voice was soft; too shy to say what she’d really like to say with any confidence. Getting her to come out of her shell completely would be such fun.

 

“Let me see if I can summarize what I think you’re trying to say. You feel you’re quite different from what you’re allowed to be within the limits of your culture and your community. Am I right? Up to a point you can show liberated behavior, like for instance not having to wear a headscarf or any other traditional dress when you go outside the house; but what you are allowed to be still does not come close to how you would truly like to be? Preferably, you’d like to just release your true self, be much more open-minded and sexually liberated without having to worry about what people think? Be more revealing? Be more provocative? Maybe be able to go to a public swimming pool, or to the beach in skimpy bikini’s that allow you to show off your body? Make people see you because you feel you can be proud of your body, rather than covering it up as if it is a thing of shame?

You like working in a lingerie store because you get to work with sexy goods, and sexy people? You can see what kind of outfits they buy and imagine how they’d look in it, and how they seduce their partners, and what would happen in their bedrooms?

You fantasize about being the kind of woman that can easily be open and honest about that sort of thing. Maybe you’d love to be able to dress up in outfits like the ones this store sells, and be able to show them off to someone?

Am I close, Fatima? Am I close in thinking you like working here because this is a place that allows you to be around something sexual without having to worry about how people will think of you? Because this store is the closest thing you know that offers you a chance to be just a bit more like you really are?

 

Fatima looked at me with big, dark eyes as if I had just read her mind.

 

“Exactly. It’s just… Sometimes I think the way I really am inside, and the things I’d really love to do, is really abnormal. I can’t really make a comparison between my thoughts and those of people who don’t have to worry about the opinions and judgments of others. I can’t really determine if the thoughts in my head are thoughts that are okay in the minds of ordinary people, or whether I am abnormal even to them. Sometimes I think about things, that…”

 

“That make you think other people would be shocked if they knew? That other people would find filthy? Sick? Perverted?” I responded, helping her out.

 

Fatima nodded her head and looked away again as she did before, blushing and smiling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying these things. I’m an employee here and you’re a customer and…”

 

“Don’t worry, girl. I was the one asking, wasn’t I? I think it’s wonderfully interesting to listen to you. I can tell you, I don’t know how far your thoughts can go, but compared to the things I am capable of thinking about, and even doing, your thought are probably pretty normal. So if there is anyone whose judgment you shouldn’t have to worry about, it is mine.

The things I can think or fantasize about; things I can do, now that would shock people and horrify quite a few. They’d certainly call me depraved,” I said with a snicker, as if I was proud of being this way, which of course I actually am.

 

Fatima seemed to feel more comfortable after I’d tried putting her at ease with those last remarks. I could tell she was interested in just what thoughts and things I was talking about, but she wasn’t ready yet to ask me about them.

 

“Now, if you don’t mind I’d like to continue undressing because I’d really love to get you honest opinion about the outfit I’m wearing right now,” I said as I started undoing my skirt while simultaneously stepping out of my shoes. The feeling of the soft carpet underneath my stocking-clad feet was wonderful. Somehow that feeling made me feel even more lewd and exposed even though it should have failed in comparison to my naked tits. I guess because kicking off your shoes is something you would do to feel comfortable.

 

I licked my dry, slightly painted lips and felt my heart beat fast. This was the moment and I could feel Fatima’s eyes on my body. My skirt was loose and I allowed it to drop down and pool at my feet. I stepped out of it and was now completely exposed in nothing but the outfit I’d wanted to show off, and which I had bought from the Moroccan salesgirl sitting in front of me. I stood dressed in the half cup brazier that kept up my tits but didn’t cover my rubbery nipples; the nylon stockings that were held up by suspenders and a garter belt; and the crotchless panties, with an open slit that allowed my swollen inner labia to stick out.

 

“Well?” I asked with a slight tremor in my voice as I spread my arms wide and allowed the delicious 23-year-old Moroccan salesgirl to admire me in this whorish outfit. And she certainly did seem to admire the way I looked. I could almost *feel* her dark eyes glide up my body, starting at my stocking-clad feet up my legs, to focus for just a second on the lewdly exposed cunt-lips at my crotch, further up to my tits and nipples and finally my face. She then looked into my eyes for a few seconds. We both knew that all of this was mainly meant to be sexual rather than just me asking her professional opinion, but neither of us was going to admit it at this point.

 

“It looks fantastic,” Fatima uttered. But I tried fishing for a less succinct and formal response; a response that would much more clearly express how she really felt.

 

“It is beautiful, isn’t it? But is it hot? Is it something that you think would give any man a nice hard cock just by looking at it? Does it make me look like a sex-starved whore?”

 

I’d hoped that our relationship had at least progressed to the point where I could use those words now, and Fatima seemed overtaken by timidity for just a second after my provocative words, as if surrendering to a reflex, but she quickly regained composure and realized whom she was dealing with, and what type of woman I had told her I was.

 

“Oh yes…” she responded excitedly with that Moroccan accent of hers. “A man would be crazy not to get a hard prick from a body…I mean an outfit like that.”

(The cutie still seemed somewhat shy when uttering the word “prick”, but I’d teach her to make shyness with dirty words a thing of the past, if she’d give me the chance.)

“It looks just extraordinary on you. Very hot and…slutty. Like you’re begging for sex.”

 

“Very whorish, isn’t it? Panties like these with an open crotch,” I said, boldly pulling the slit in the crotch of the panties open wider with fingers from both hands, thus exposing more of my wet sex, “that I wouldn’t even have to take off for a guy to stick me onto his throbbing pole. If these panties are not sending the message of “fuck me”, then I don’t know what will.”

 

Fatima giggled. She was delighted that we could exchange such naughty words without her having to worry about anything. It must be a great relief for her. All her life she was used to behaving conservatively about sexual matters.

 

“Have you…you know…done it with your husband while you were wearing those panties?” she asked with interest, undoubtedly forming a picture in her head about how it must’ve looked.

 

“Oh no. Despite what I may have led you to believe earlier, my husband and I don’t really do it often anymore. No, I have to find my satisfaction elsewhere,” I said nonchalantly. I didn’t even try denying I was involved with people other than my husband.

 

“Elsewhere?” Fatima asked somewhat shocked. “Where? With whom?”

 

I looked at her and sighed.

 

“Well, see, Fatima. I’d really love to tell you that. But I don’t think you’d be able to deal with it. At least not right now. I still don’t know just how far your thoughts and fantasies go; how kinky you really are deep inside, and how much you could handle before you’ve reached your limit. I’d have no problem revealing my secrets to you, but I myself worry about judgments as well. Maybe once I get to know you better and learn a bit more about you, I’d feel more comfortable being more revealing about my personal life.”

 

“Oh. Okay,” she responded, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

 

“But I can reveal to you that I’m having more fun that I’ve ever had before in my life. Just like you I’ve had a deep longing for more than people were willing to give; for things that went beyond what people I knew could handle. Just like you I had to keep it mostly to myself. But I’m telling you, Fatima. Ever since I’ve found some people that allowed me to be myself completely, everything has been just wonderful. It just feels so fucking awesome being so free; to just be able to let myself go. I wish you could just liberate that aspect of yourself too; that you could experience what it’s like to just be the real you, without fear, shame or judgments. To just try anything you feel like trying; to experiment and test your own boundaries, if you have any.”

 

“Me too,” Fatima replied as she looked deeply into my eyes, with both a bit of sadness as well as a bit of expectation in her voice.

 

I looked at her a few seconds, and then said: “How about you and I make a deal? How about we make a deal that you can say anything to me? Any word? Any kind of language? That you don’t have to watch your words with me? No matter what obscene word you can think of, Fatima, no doubt I will have heard it and used it myself. So please do not be shy around me, okay Fatima? Will you make that deal with me?”

 

“What do you mean, exactly?” she asked, seemingly to get some clear example before committing.

 

I still looked into her eyes deeply, and decided to make my intentions as clear as possible. This was where I was crossing a boundary between us.

 

“These,” I said as I pushed my breasts up with my hands, ”are my tits. Not my breasts, but my TITS. Or my mounds; or my knockers; or my orbs. Whatever you can think of that would be rude to say if you used it in everyday conversation. And these are my nipples; or my knobs; or my buds; or my nubbins; or my tit tips. As far as I’m concerned you could call them my dirty fucking pacifiers.”

 

Fatima couldn’t help but burst out laughing, then quickly and a bit shyly held her hand in front of her mouth and she continued giggling at a softer tone, as if catching herself doing something too outrageous.

 

“This right here,” I continued stoically as I moved my hands to either side of my crotch, “is my CUNT; my twat; my snatch; my pussy; my cleft; my gash. There are so many dirty words for vagina. Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Fatima? I’m trying to tell you that with me, you don’t have to pretend to be more innocent than you really are. I’m not your family, your culture, your religion or your community. I’m someone around whom you don’t have to feel ashamed of your sexuality. I don’t care for imposed boundaries or taboos. I may have them myself, but I don’t expect much less demand them with anyone else. You can let go of your real you as much as you’d like around me, because I think it is a real crime that a lovely, sexy Moroccan woman like you cannot simply feel as free and as hot and as horny as she’d like.”

 

“Thank you,” she said deeply serious almost getting emotional from the sense of trust she seemed to be feeling. It would undoubtedly be near impossible for a Moroccan girl from a Muslim background, even one that was fairly liberated, to meet someone to whom she could entrust her inner sexual secrets and desires. So for someone like me to be standing in front of her must have kind of felt like winning the lottery.

 

“Do you believe me?”

 

“I believe you,” she said softly, nodding her head.

 

I turned around so my back was turned to her. I looked over my shoulder at her.

 

“So what’s this?” I asked with a cheeky smile as I grabbed my butt.

 

“Your ass,” Fatima said with a smile in her voice.

 

“Or?”

 

“Your butt,” she now said with a slightly more serious, slightly huskier voice.

 

“What have I got in my hands?” I asked teasing her, trying to get her out of her shell even more.

 

“Your buttocks… Butt cheeks… Ass cheeks”

 

“And what’s between these butt cheeks? Give me as much as you can think of.”

 

“Mmmm… Your butt crack… The crack of your ass.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Your anus.”

 

“Uh huh,” I mumbled affirmatively, a certain amount of arousal in my voice. It was so fucking hot hearing more and more dirty words finally coming out of that previously shy mouth, and with that Arabic or Moroccan accent. “Have any other words for that?”

 

“Uhhmm… Your…uhm…asshole? Butt hole? Your rosebud? Your rectum? Your…uhm…pooper?” I could tell that saying these words aloud were having an effect on her. I was probably the first person to whom she had said these words. Maybe she hadn’t even said them to herself, so the very sound of it in her own voice was an entirely new experience for her. But I think it was an experience she would not soon forget.

 

“Do you understand now that you can say anything to me, Fatima?” I said with an inviting smile as I turned back around to face her, and noticed her breathing more heavily. The expression I could see on her face was a mix of shyness, sweetness, excitement and naughtiness. God, how I’d love to see that face after she had learned to completely let go and as she was involved in doing something really nasty.

“I could have told you words that were even more obscene. But I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. As I said, I’m yet to find out exactly where your limits are.”

 

“I’m pretty sure they are farther than the words we just used,” Fatima said. “I just still feel a bit uncomfortable because I’ve only really got to know you better today. But I’ve admitted so much already, Michelle. You don’t know how nice I think it is that I can show myself to someone this much already. I’ve got non-Muslim girlfriends too. But even they don’t seem as free and sexual as I’d like to be. That’s why I think I might be really perverted.”

 

“Oh Fatima, if only you knew just how badly I’d like to see the real you, in all its glory. Fully proud in all of your sexuality, no matter how far it would go, how lewd it would be. But I think I should try on this new outfit now, don’t you think? I’m really interested in how you think it looks on me, and what words you would use,” I said winking at her.

 

“Hah hah. Well, why don’t you take off that whorish outfit you’re wearing now, and try on that even hotter, even more whorish outfit,” she laughed, surprising me with her initiative.

 

“Oooooo… You go girl. Loosening up already,” I teased.

 

“This outfit has fishnets. I prefer the feeling of nylon stockings on my feet and legs, but these fishnets really have that slutty, skanky thing going for them, don’t you think? They’re not really functional. They seem only to be made to make a woman look like a slut; to make cocks hard and cunts wet,” I said referring to the possibility of women getting wet looking at me.

 

As Fatima was now looking on in a much more relaxed state, I unclipped the suspenders from my stockings, and sitting on the bench of slowly rolled first one stocking and then the other down my legs as I held my foot up into her direction. I noticed her looking at my feet as I curled my toes; and enjoyed getting her to be comfortable with every facet of my body. My foot, whichever one I was dangling, was at about a maximum of 40cm when I stretched my leg, and I got the impression that she had to hold back from grabbing it. She was kind of swaying a little bit on her bench, seemingly feeling a bit anxious. It seemed she was starting to get aroused a bit from me slowly and silently taking the stockings off of my legs, just as I’d wanted.

 

I then proceeded to reach behind me to undo the half cup brazier, showing her my tits in all of their splendor. And finally I pushed my panties down my hips and legs, giving Fatima her first unobstructed full view of my hairy pussy. It was indescribably hot and arousing to feel her spying eyes fixated on my brown triangle of cunt-curls, my fleshy protruding inner folds and the pink, gleaming groove in between. I felt a drop of juice slide down along the inside of my right thigh.

 

“Luckily I’ve already bought this outfit, because I’m positively soaking wet,” I remarked as if it was the most common thing to say. “But no worries, Fatima. I’ll dry my snatch properly because putting on the panties of this new outfit. Wouldn’t want to ruin it before I’ve even bought it, would I?”

 

Fatima could only smile silently at that, her eyes glassy. I could smell myself, which meant that Fatima must also be smelling me. At this very moment, I thought, the scent of my cunt is travelling up her Moroccan nose; the very thought sending a tingle coursing through my loins. It was blatantly obvious at this point that she too was horny. She tried pretending she wasn’t, but the look in her eyes, her deep breathing and her silence spoke volumes.

 

With a Kleenex that I’d gotten from my purse I demonstratively wiped my wet slit bottom to top. The upward movement through my sopping crease caused it to open fully to the dark eyed gaze of the salesgirl. I dropped the wet Kleenex to the left of me on the bench with the intention of leaving it there, allowing Fatima to take and keep it for own use if she so desired, supposedly without me even knowing it. Maybe she’d like a Kleenex soaking with pussy cream as a souvenir.

 

“Phew. Did those words we just used have the same effect on you as they had on me?” I asked absentmindedly as I put on the half cup bra from the new outfit.

 

“A bit,” she said softly, dreamily. I suspected she was quite underselling it.

 

“It really did, didn’t it?” I responded as if I had discovered a naughty secret. “I can’t believe you’re sitting there on that little bench with a wet cunt and not even telling me about it. It’s okay if you did, you know? Good for you anyway. Just too bad you can’t do anything about it. Although… Maybe later on the toilet in the ladies room. Have a good finger-dunking…”

 

“Maybe…”

 

“You haven’t gotten scared or angry with me saying these things, have you?” I asked, suddenly getting a little worried about her short responses.

 

“Oh no, no,” she said quickly, coming out of a haze and scared that I would break off the intimacy we’d been sharing. “Absolutely not. It’s just that… I think you’re really beautiful. I’m sorry. I was just kind of silently admiring you; I hope you don’t mind.”

 

“Mind? Honey, you’re flattering me. Now I’m the one getting a little shy; a stunningly gorgeous girl like you admiring my body. By all means go right ahead; I could always do with new admirers,” I giggled.

 

Meanwhile I had finished putting on both the brazier as well as the pair of panties. I had stoically positioned my protruding, engorged twat flaps in between the open slit of the crotch, just as I had with the pair I wore coming into the store.

 

“Mmmmm… These fishnet stockings seem a bit more bothersome to put on. My toes will get caught behind all the strings. Would you mind helping me out with these?”

 

Fatima slowly came from her bench to sit down on her knees in front of me. I handed her a rolled up stocking and pointed my bare foot in her direction, hovering it at her chest height. Carefully, with slightly shaking hands, she placed the rolled stocking over my toes, and slowly started to roll it upward over my foot and then further up over my leg. The silence between us during this moment, and the audible breathing we did through our nostrils, gave the sexual tension even more charge.

Nothing beats an erotic action playing out in silence.

Her fingers gently moved over my skin; sliding like velvet over my leg, from foot to thigh until finally the fishnet had been rolled out completely. The propinquity of her hands to my crotch sent a quiver running through my cunt. Give or take four inches upward and she could have stuffed her digits straight into my slimy hole if she had wanted to. She did her stroking extremely well; ran her fingers over my leg several times to make sure all the little strings were tight up against my flesh; that there were no creases or folds in the fishnet as it hugged my leg. She did it from own initiative; making me confident that she was coming out of her hiding place more and more.

 

When she was done with my leg she looked up, straight into my eyes with a serious yet sensual gaze. I knew that she would have liked to do more, but hadn’t mustered the courage for more yet. I knew that something was still stopping her. Maybe part of her was still afraid that I’d pull back my support of her; that I’d condemn any action she’d make that I hadn’t first explicitly invited. She had an insecurity running through the exterior of her persona, but it was obvious to me that behind that thin outer shell was a wild Moroccan mare that would be near-impossible to tame once it had been released.

Without her giving all that much information, my instincts had already told me that she would make an excellent addition to our little perverse group. Maybe she would have to get used to a few things, but something about her convinced me that this young woman was keeping a very dirty, kinky Moroccan chick hidden from the world.

I was thinking for just a split second about putting my toes to her lips and asking her point blank to suck on them hard; to hungrily slide that soft, pink, wet Muslim girl’s tongue along and around them. But I had to adapt to her state of mind; her pace.

But if it all went according to plan, I knew that someday soon I’d have her mouthing my toes; groaning; drooling; licking; slurping. Her face going up and down; that long, curly hair whipping along and her lips wetly sliding up and down my big toe as if she were hungrily sucking a juicy fat prick. Just one of the many things I’d have her do to me, before doing maybe even more to her. And if I could help it someone would be watching too.

 

God, I was hungering for this tasty young North African woman. I couldn’t wait to taste her from head to toe, and from front to back. I couldn’t wait making her release all the brakes and let out the Arabic fuck slut hiding inside her.

I could feel my juices run into those new panties, but didn’t really care because I’d already decided I was going to buy the outfit.

 

You could cut the sexual tension in that fitting room with a knife at this point. Without words and with deep eye contact I offered her my other foot, and Fatima proceeded to repeat the actions she’d performed on the first leg. When she was finally finished, she held onto my foot and calf just a bit longer than she needed to, before finally letting go. It was as if she was internally deciding whether to let go, or to do something kinky. But her insecurity won out this time.

 

“All done,” she said barely above a whisper, her voice thick with sensuality.

 

“Thank you, Fatima,” I responded with the same volume and my voice surging with barely repressed need. My heart was pounding. I felt so turned on that I wished I could’ve just eaten her alive; never before did I need to show such self control.

 

I stood up, but Fatima was slower to stand up. I had no idea whether it was intentional, or if she was so caught in the moment of our intimacy that she was simply a bit late in her responsiveness. But the effect of her delay was that as I stood up straight, Fatima’s face was only few inches removed from my intensely redolent cunt. I looked at her from above and noticed her looking straight at the fleshy folds sticking out from the crotch of the panties. She must have also been able to see my clit-hood and a few tufts of my bush from that vicinity. Her nose was close to the point that my hot aroma must’ve travelled from my wet, creamy slit straight into her nostrils. My crotch tingled from the simple fact of having her pretty face so close to my desperately horny, partially exposed sex. I didn’t want to push her, yet didn’t want to let a good opportunity go to waste, and so I’d decided to just stand there silently, waiting for Fatima to make a decision.

 

After a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity, she looked up straight into my eyes, smiling nervously but sweetly; she stretched her arms forward on either side of my fishnet-clad legs and used the edge of the bench behind me to balance herself as she came up. I could feel the material of her sleeves scrape against my might-as-well-be-bare legs. Slowly but tantalizingly closely she came up until finally she stood straight right in front of me, mere inches away; for a fraction of a second I could feel her blouse scraping along my nipples as she came up; it was her blouse-covered tits that had ran up along my stiff buds for a split second. I could actually feel her warm breath come from her nostrils and blow into my face.

I didn’t move a muscle (except for those in my cunt and ass which couldn’t help clenching from the arousal); if she wanted to make a move, I’d be ready for her. But ultimately she willed herself to regroup, and took a few steps backward.

 

“And? Does it look really skanky on me? Do I look like a dirty, common whore?” I asked barely above a whisper, before twirling around slowly as I presented myself to the salesgirl. Fatima gave me a once-over, with less shyness than ever; she licked her dry lips quickly and responded:

 

“Like a super-whore, Michelle. Exactly like you want it to look, right? I don’t know whom it is that you’d be wearing this for, but he or she is one lucky bastard – or bitch. They can easily access anything.”

 

“Access anything?” I asked her, challenging her to elaborate as I smiled and raised an eyebrow.

 

“With that bra they could easily grab those stiff nipples of yours. And with those panties they could easily get into your wet slit. You wouldn’t have to take off anything. They could simply start licking you; fingering you… Fucking you.”

 

Fatima said the words without any urging from my end, and with a lot more confidence in her voice.

 

“Well, sure. But when the time has come for them to start working on my shitter, I’d still have to take off my panties,” I said upping the ante. Pushing ahead past boundaries. I was hoping I wasn’t going too far too soon.

 

I watched as Fatima closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the meaning of my last obscene remark to have an effect on her.

 

We could’ve beaten around the bush further, but I thought it had been quite enough. I’d decided to take that necessary first step toward us possibly having a sexual relationship. I was convinced that, albeit in small doses, she would be ready for more.

And so I traversed the yard or so between us until I was standing right up against her. Fatima opened her eyes and looked straight into mine.

 

“I know what you want, Fatima. Maybe I don’t know just how much quite yet. But I know enough. I know that right now you may not yet know for sure what you could get away with around me, so I’ll make the next move for you. I’m telling you right now, that if you truly want it, I could make all of your hot, perverse, nasty dreams come true. You probably can’t think of something weird or filthy enough that I can’t make happen for you one way or another. I understand that right now you may think I’m just saying all this, and that when push comes to shove I can’t back up my words, but I’m being dead serious. And let me tell you something else, Fatima, you secretly debauched Moroccan slut. I think you want to go very far. I think you are very, very nasty underneath this shy, introverted exterior of yours.

We have this little group, me and some other people. And these people have no taboos and are up for pretty much anything. I’m not even the filthiest person in our little secret commune. I think you would be an absolutely wonderful addition to that little group; a delicious, succulent and magnificent participant. And you only have to go as far as you want. It’s all about pleasure in this little group; about exploring your desires and daring to act on them. I want you to think about that, Fatima. I want you to think about the notion of no longer having to suppress what you’d most like to do with that hot Moroccan CUNT of yours. Or any other body part you’d like to bring to the table, for that matter. You can completely let go of any and all inhibitions and express any dirty, obscene fantasy with me and the other people in our little group. Whenever…you…want.”

 

And then I grabbed her head with both hands, and pulled it against mine. I forced my lips onto hers. It was a deep and passionate yet ordinary lesbian kiss. No tongue and no excess of spit; just wet lips against wet lips. My nipples scraped against the material of her blouse. My soft tits pressed against hers, squashed against each other, separated by nothing but a thin layer of cotton, or maybe two counting a bra she might have been wearing. I could feel myself dribble down the insides of my thighs. The fitting room smelled of wet snatch. I didn’t know how we’d solve the problem of my aroma filling the fitting room and I didn’t care. I felt Fatima grab me in return, her hands taking hold of my butt. She squeezed my cheeks; her hands were warm. Slowly she surrendered to her inner needs.

 

I could hear a desperate high pitched groan of hunger and lust emanate from the pit of her throat, causing her wet lips to vibrate against mine. She was surrendering to just a fraction of the sexual hunger that she had locked up for so long. Both of us breathed through our noses; warm air blew from our nostrils into each other’s face. We heard nothing in that fitting room but deep, short bursts of nasal breathing, her soft begging throaty groaning and the sounds of lips wetly unlocking again and again.

 

Slowly I forced my tongue out through my lips, and then through her lips into her mouth. A tasty warm, wet tongue was waiting for mine. Quickly we Frenched. With our mouths open and panting, we were wrestling and twisting our tongues like dueling pink snakes. We breathed hot breath into each other’s open mouths. We tasted each other’s warm saliva. It was no spit-kiss, but a fairly simple yet passionate tongue-kiss.

 

Carefully I grabbed Fatima at her long ponytail of dark curls, and softly pulled her head back. She looked at me with her mouth open and tongue out, wondering what I had in mind. I smiled devilishly at her and proceeded to allow a glob of spit to slowly descend from the tip of my tongue, lowering itself by an ever thinning string, until finally the string broke and the glob fell down into the middle of Fatima’s open mouth, plopping wetly against the back of her tongue. I then closed my open mouth onto hers; we started mouthing wildly. Lips and tongues slipped and slid, and teeth would clash, sometimes a bit too harshly.

 

Finally, our mouths unlocked with a slurp. She looked at me with a somewhat submissive expression, but with eyes shooting flames of long concealed lust. I could feel her heart beat quickly against my chest.

 

“And I’m actually holding back,” I assured her, making her smile naughtily.

 

“There is so much I’d like to do with you, Fatima. I’d like to do just about anything. But we’re in this damn fitting room, and your co-workers will start getting suspicious about you being in here with me for such a long time. There’s not much more we can do in here. And I’m not even sure just how much you’d even like to do.”

 

“So much, Michelle. So damn much,” she said with a needy, pleading voice.

 

“I believe you. But not here. Not now. I’ll give you my personal phone-number and my personal e-mail address. And when you realize you want to experience more; that you really want to let go of yourself and be more like inside you’ve always wanted to be, you can contact me anytime. But be aware that once you’ve allowed yourself to let go and experience some of the dirty things you’d like to experience, you will never want to go back to the kind of life you’ve been leading thus far. A new world will open up for you that you will never want to leave again. Not that I’d mind, because you’d always be welcome with me.”

 

“I don’t know if” Fatima stammered, maybe getting cold feet about the offer.

 

“Sssshhhh… You’ll get my number and my e-mail address, and it’s up to you to decide if you want to use them. If you don’t, it would be a shame, but I’ll still come here now and then to buy some slutwear, hopefully from you so you can get the commission, and I’ll accept that you’ll want no more from me than that.

If you do contact me, it would be just marvelous. Think about it. And remember, Fatima

ANYTHING you want to do, we’d probably find a way to give to you. No boundaries, no taboos.”

 

“Your daughter… The girl that you brought along with you the last time you were here…” she suddenly started. “Are you…you know…doing anything…?”

 

She seemed a bit too scared asking the question directly, but I knew what she was trying to ask.

 

“If I was to say yes, would that make you join us? Or would it make you stay away? Is it something that would help you convince how far you could go with us? Don’t answer; just think about what you want. How you’d like to be used. How you’d like to experience pleasure with your hot Moroccan Muslim tits, and your hot Moroccan Muslim cunt, and your hot Moroccan Muslim ass. We have cock in our little group, and we have pussies. And lots and lots of tongues.”

 

“I’ll think about it, Michelle,” Fatima said, getting just a bit shy again about the situation.

 

“You do that, please, because when I look at you the way you are now, there’s nothing I’d love to do more right now than just lick you from head to toe, and taste every single inch on your body. I sincerely hope that someday soon you’ll give me that opportunity. But for now, before we finish up here, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I was wondering if I could maybe slip my hand into your pants, and into your panties, and get your undoubtedly lovely taste and smell on my fingers, so I would know what I would be missing if you decide not to take me up on my offer?”

 

Fatima responded bashfully for a split second but regrouped quickly. She nodded her head. In all likelihood she had never been touched that intimately in her entire life, but it is what she wanted now.

 

As I was standing right up against her, looking straight into her eyes from mere inches, I slid a hand under the waistband of her slacks and further down. Feeling the elastic waistband of her panties, I then moved my finger tips underneath that and moved my hand further down as Fatima closed her eyes. I could feel the silky curls of her pubic hair; she seemed to have a thick, unshaven bush which I was dying to see. My finger tips slid down along her clit, which by the feel of it seemed unusually large, like a tiny cock. This delightful Arabic hottie had a gigantic love-button, and I couldn’t wait for the chance to see it and play with it properly. Finally my wandering digits arrived at her lips and cleft. She was hot, soaking wet and very slippery. I used two fingers to run up and down between her thick folds, oiling them up in her warm, greasy cuntal sauce. Fatima moaned deeply as my digits kept sliding up and down in the slippery crack of her sopping, steaming sex.

Boldly, I slowly slid my other hand down her pants in the rear. Fatima suddenly opened her eyes, looking deeply into mine. She didn’t do anything to stop me, however. Not even when my other hand had also moved into her panties, and my fingers were delving into the humid, tight space between her soft buttocks. I could feel the crack sweat on the back of my hand where it had been absorbed into her panties, and the warm humidity of her ass cleft on my fingers. It was blazing hot between her soft, meaty buns. I could feel that Fatima had tiny hairs around her anus before my fingers had arrived at the wrinkled rim of her rear hole. She licked her lips as she looked into my eyes and allowed her two most intimate crevices to be handled by me.

 

Finally she closed her eyes again and growled softly; she GROWLED, when my finger tips were sliding up and down and around her asshole. Nobody had ever touched her there, I’m sure, and to lots of people it was a hole that wasn’t meant for touching, which is what must have gone through her mind. She may not even have ever touched herself back there, although somehow I doubted that. I lightly pushed the tips of my fingers against the soft, fragrant tissue and continued running them up and down as well, making sure to have touched every millimeter of her rubbery pucker and the surrounding area. With both hands I made lewd movements inside this woman’s pants, and made sure that the tastes as well as the odors of her dripping cunt as well as her shithole would be on my fingers.

 

After about a minute I finally pulled my hands free from her panties and slacks, and slowly brought my fingers to my face as we stared into each other’s eyes. In turn I brought the fingers smelling of cunt and ass underneath my nose, inhaling her sexy, intoxicating essence. She smelled spellbinding. Sweet in front and earthy in rear, both with a tiny hint of sweat permeating the aromas. Just the slightest scent of piss too. She had no doubt gone to the bathroom in this place today. Inhaling her holes from my fingers was making my mouth water. Right then, I would have loved nothing more than to put my mouth on everything between her legs from her abdomen back all the way to her tailbone, and ravish her completely with my tongue.

 

As she looked on from an agonizingly close distance, I stuck the fingers wet with her twat syrup into my mouth. Smacking my lips I sucked my digits clean until I withdrew them finally with an indecent slurp, followed up with me licking my lips sensually. I never averted my deep, longing look into her eyes as I then proceeded to stick the fingers of my other hand in my mouth. Fatima’s steamy, glazed look changed into a sexy pleading look, complete with slightly pursed lips as if longing for a taste, as she watched me taste her ass on my fingers, sucking the bittersweet sweat of her crack from them, until finally those fingers too, came from my loudly sucking mouth with a slurp.

 

“I think it would be best for you to check back in with your co-workers, you delicious Moroccan slut,” I whispered. “I’ll be there shortly to check out my new slut costume and pay you the commission you richly deserve. Doesn’t that make you feel a little bit like a whore? Don’t you just love that it does? I think you do.

And I’ll be giving you that information that you can use to contact me, when you’ve finally decided to abandon this demure mask you’ve been wearing to hide your true self from the world. And remember what I said, Fatima. Anything. No taboos. No matter how dirty, how depraved, how nasty. I’d love to see just how fucking nasty a Moroccan girl like you can get when she knows the time and need for shame is non-existent.”

 

“Uh huh,” Fatima responded, her voice thick with arousal, before she slowly, sexily, walked out the fitting room. Before closing the door behind her, she looked back at me for just a second, giving me a radiant, shy yet sexy smile before closing the door.

 

I knew right then and there that she would contact me soon enough.

 

***

 

On the one hand I knew that I hadn’t exactly succeeded in the assignment Annette had given me. After all, the intention was for Fatima to help me cum. But something made me think Annette would forgive me for that shortcoming once she found out that this delectable Moroccan woman will most likely be joining our perverse little group. She had hoped for it, but word of its likelihood will no doubt erase any potential disappointment in my lack of a fitting room climax.

 

 

***

 

After I’d arrived back home I knew my son was home as well. I looked for him, because despite everything I still had a profound ‘itch’ that I needed someone to ‘scratch’.

I’d found him in the bathroom busy taking a leak. Standing behind him I wrapped one arm around him, and with my free hand took over control of his urinating dick. I moved his pissing penis around playfully; it was as if I myself was a man taking a leak instead of my son. I then moved the fingers of my other hand under his nose. Tony could smell that I’d been busy.

 

“Yours?” he asked.

 

“No,” I said. “What you smell right now is the juicy cunt of a hot, 23-year-old Moroccan woman. She may become part of our little kinky group soon. Then it’ll be you, your sister, me, Annette and Fatima the Muslim slut.”

 

“That would be pretty hot,” he said. “Especially if she’s just like Miss Annette; she was really dirty.”

 

“She sure is,” I laughed. “And I’ve got the feeling that our Fatima will turn out to be quite kinky herself, in her own way, once she learns to let go. And if not, we’ll teach her to be dirty, won’t we darling son?”

 

My 14-year-old child had finished and was dripping drops of pee over my fingers. I immediately dropped to my knees and turned him around, eager to finally find out what my boy’s piss tastes like.

Looking up into his surprised eyes, I slurped his dripping, flaccid penis into my mouth to suck him clean. His salty piss tasted divine to me, if only because it came out of my own son. After all the piss that my kids had drank from my orgasming pussy I now finally knew what it was like tasting my own child’s golden liquid, although there wasn’t much left. I ended our little bathroom time by playfully sucking on the little fleshy spout that his protruding foreskin made.

 

“And now,” I started, grinning as I licked my fingers clean,” you’re going to give your horny mom the thorough fucking she desperately craves. Come with me and fuck your mother on your father’s side of the bed.”

 

***

 

After the interesting events of that day, even my son could not really screw away my heightened arousal, although not for a lack of trying. I had cum several times; one time emptying my bladder over my child’s prick as I tend to do when my cum is extreme. But I remained horny. I couldn’t wait for a call or e-mail from Fatima, but I knew I would have; maybe even for weeks.

I thought back to everything I’d experienced in the weeks and months leading up to this day; the happiness and satisfaction I’d finally found by revealing my true self to likeminded people. I had gained a whole new type of relationship with my darling kids, as well as a really hot and dear new girlfriend.

 

My mind suddenly wandered to my new neighbors whom had moved into the house on the other side of our backyard. And I remembered how steamy the sex was that Tony and me had, and finding out that we were being watched from the other house by our black female neighbor who had simply started masturbating openly in her room as we all watched each other. I couldn’t imagine her not sharing such open-mindedness with her spouse (regardless of me not being able to share mine with my husband), especially considering the fact that her husband could have easily gone upstairs and walked into her spying on us. She must have known he would have no moral problem with the kind of thing me and my son were doing at the time, or she wouldn’t have just carelessly thrown caution to the wind like that and finger-banged her shaven black cunt and asshole as a mother and her underage son were doing nasty things only one house away.

 

I knew that Ed would be AWOL that night again. I knew that I was interminably horny and desperate to see or do something new.

New neighbors, African-American, with maybe their own kinks that they’d perhaps be willing to share with likeminded people.

 

I already knew what I was going to do the moment I’d decided to think about the possibilities.

 

I was going to invite my African-American neighbors to come by tonight and get to know me and my kids better. A LOT better.

 

 

 

To Be Continued...

 

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