enovel Tamed-Teenage Brides Anonymous [Future Story Codes]

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Tamed-Teenage Brides ....(66k)    by Anonymous

Note: Outside Cover has title as shown above. Inside Page shows the title as: "Tamed: Wives Must Obey"

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GENERAL INTRODUCTION

Some wives are equal partners in a relationship. But other wives are slaves.

This is a study of those wives who are slaves, who even enjoy their slavery. Sometimes the slavery is just part of a game, but other times it is indicative of the entire marriage.

Told in the women's own words with no censorship, these stories will enlighten and perhaps shock you.

In this book you will read about:

Linda, who is mastered by her husband and then remembers the time that her brother mastered her too.

Maggie, who writes a book about her need for brutality and then is brutalized by an entire office of men;

Terri, who marries a young black man and then allows that man to be the master of her own body and her mother's too.

Valerie, who is raped on her wedding night by a man who suddenly becomes-not a loving husband-but a wild sadist;

And Jenny, who plays games with her husband that turn sour when his brother enters into the sexual contest.

These stories are true. These women could be your neighbors.

And the thoughts that these women have could be the thoughts that your women are having at this very moment.

Who knows everything that a woman wants? No one, including the woman herself.

LINDA

Linda is a very attractive, young lady. She had long, dark hair and full, red lips. Her body is thin but sexy. And, when I say lady, I mean lady. She came in dressed in fine clothes and sat very lady-like as she told me the long story about her experiences with sexual abuse.

I don't blame my husband for what he did to me. You see, I am a spoiled brat, and I know it, and I also knew before I ever got married that the kind of treatment that my husband gave me-well, it was the kind of treatment that I really needed.

I think that I probably did all those bad things so that he would give me that kind of treatment, although I never really thought about it in those terms. It was-what do you call it-oh, yes. Subconscious. That is what was working when I tortured my husband that way by not being a good wife.

My husband's name is Lee. He comes from a very well-to-do family, and so do I.

But his family was different from mine. Lee's father had made all of his money on his own and he always told Lee that he wanted him to make it on his own too. Lee has money now, a good business in computers, but he built that business on his own.

Now, in my family, the money has been there for generations. Nobody can remember having to work to make it. I think that that had something to do with the way that I was such a spoiled brat.

Anyway, Lee married me and wanted me to be a regular wife. He said that I did not need a maid or a cook because we lived in an apartment and he thought that I could keep that clean by myself. But I had never really had to clean anything, and I certainly did not know how to cook.

Yet, I did not try to please my husband. I lay around in bed all day and I let the apartment turn into a pig-pen. Then, one day, Lee just could not take it any more.

That was the first day that he ever spanked me. I should tell you about that day in detail, I guess.

I was sitting around that afternoon waiting for him to come home from the office, and I decided to play a little game with him. I knew that he liked my body, the way that I looked. I thought that I would play the sexy maid for him. I moved around in the kitchen, which was filthy, and I took off my clothes except for my bra and my panties and my high heels. Then I put on an apron that he had given me when we got married.

We had been married about three months by then, and Lee was already very tired of my naughty, rich-bitch ways. But it took that game to bring out all the anger that he felt for me.

I moved around there in that apron and grinned. I even pulled out a frying pan. I thought that it would look cute if I was holding it when he came in, like a good, little wife should.

But, when he came in, he called for me. I called back and said that I was in the kitchen. When he walked through that kitchen door, I could tell by the look on his face that he had not had a good day at the office. He seemed tired and agitated. I just stood there in my bra and panties and high heels and apron and tried to look cute.

Well, Lee was in no mood for cuteness that day. He glared at me and then he looked around at the filthy kitchen.

"What the fuck are you doing, Linda?" he growled. "Are you trying to make fun of me?"

"No, Lee," I said. "I am-"

"You know that I want you to clean up the house, to show some kind of ability to do something. But you don't do that. You just think that you can get by on your beauty."

"No, Lee, I-"

"So you dress up like a real housewife and you stand here in the middle of all this garbage and you won't even fix me my dinner."

"Lee, I can't cook," I blubbered. I felt really sorry for myself then.

"Well, you can learn, you know. I would eat anything if you would just try to be a good wife."

And then Lee sat down in a chair and glared at me some more.

And I stood there and felt very naked in front of him, more naked than I ever felt when I was really naked, when we were making love.

I could see all that anger growing in his face, all that terrible anger from my husband.

And then he grabbed me and pulled me over his lap. I squealed when he did that.

"Lee, what are you doing?" I yelled.

"I am going to show you how to be a good wife," he snarled. "I am going to show you what happens to bad, little wives who won't even try to keep the house clean and cook for their husbands."

The next thing I knew he was pulling down my panties. I lay there on his lap and I kicked, but the strange thing is that I did not fight him that much.

It was then that the memory came back to me, but I will tell you about that memory later. I think that that early thing explains a lot about me, but I want to tell you what my husband did to me before I tell you about that other thing.

Lee pulled my panties down and I lay there over his lap.

Then he grabbed that frying pan out of my hand and he raised it high.

I turned around a little and looked up at that pan as he held it high.

And I squealed again, squealed in little-girl fear, I think.

"Lee, don't! Please, don't, Lee!"

But Lee did not listen to me. He brought that frying pan down on my bare bottom.

The pan was cold there for just one split second. And then my buns turned very hot.

Lee continued to spank me, to slam that frying pan down on my bottom again and again.

And my butt was getting hotter than I had gotten a kitchen stove.

I lifted my legs and squirmed a little, kicked a little. I fanned the flame that Lee was giving to my ass.

But I did not fight him too much, because I really, truly enjoyed it. I loved the way that my husband had mastered me. As my butt got hot, my pussy got hot too.

Now let me tell that that I had always enjoyed making it with Lee. I had always fucked him with a certain relish. But the fact is that I had never enjoyed it with him the way that I had enjoyed it with Ralph that one time-

I will tell you about Ralph later. That is a very important story for me.

Anyway, I was kicking and sighing and whimpering. And then the spanking stopped.

When I heard the frying pan clang on the floor, I turned slightly and looked up at my husband with tears in my eyes and I made a promise to him.

"Oh, Lee," I said. "I will try always to be a good wife for you."

"Will you clean and learn to cook, Linda?" he asked, gasping because the work that he had

, done on my ass had made him lose his breath.

"Yes. Yes, I will do that. If you spank me regularly, Lee. I need that spanking bad."

And Lee nodded. He seemed to understand my needs, and I thought that, in a strange way, my needs matched his. I thought that that made us a good husband and wife team.

And then I felt the hardness in his pants. I knew that his needs had to be met too.

I slithered off his lap like a sweet, little snake and I knelt there between his outstretched legs. I touched his crotch. I had touched it before, of course, but everything had changed now, changed because he had spanked me with that frying pan.

As I felt the hardness in my husband's pants with my fingers, I looked around at that kitchen and I almost threw up. The place was a mess. I knew that I would have to spend all the next day fixing the place up and cleaning it and being a good wife.

I thought that I might even start on the cleaning that night.

But I knew that I had to do something first, something that would please Lee. He had given me what I needed, and I knew that I had to give him what he wanted too.

My ass was still tingling and still burning a little from the spanking as I unzipped his pants and reached inside them and pulled out his cock. I held it in my hands and I saw Lee loosen his tie and sigh. I felt him shiver a little bit.

He always shivered when I touched him like that for the first time. That was one of the things about him that I liked best. It was real. He was not trying to be macho stud all the time. He just was real and his love for me was real too.

But the most real thing in my life at that moment was the burning sensation in my bare and beautiful buns. I felt that reality deep in my soul as I opened my mouth and took his cock into me. I pressed my lips around his prick tightly and I started to move my head back and forth, back and forth on my husband's quivering member.

And that cock got harder as I sucked on it. I could feel the tip of the thing grow and batter the back of my throat as I took it down there.

Lee groaned to me and touched my black hair as he sat there in his chair.

"Oh, Linda," he said, "Linda, you suck cock so fucking good. Your mouth is cool and hot at the same time."

He had said that to me before. He had said it so many times.

And I remembered then that Ralph had said it too.

As I knelt there with my buns cooling off, I thought that my pussy was going to explode with need-the need to be fucked.

But I moved my finger down between my legs and started to diddle myself.

I had a need, but, for some reason, I did not want to allow myself to be completely fulfilled that afternoon. I knew that Lee would fuck me well that night, and I wanted to make myself wait. I just wanted to suck his cock and let him come in my mouth.

I had never done that for him before. I had never taken his come into my mouth before.

But I wanted to do it this time, because I wanted to prove to him that he meant a great deal to me.

I wanted to prove to Lee that he was more than just my husband. He was my master too.

Strange, isn't it? But that is what went through my head when I sucked on his hardening spear of male flesh.

And I drove my finger deep into my snatch and felt my own pussy convulsing around my finger. I took the cock out of my mouth and held it up in my hand. I licked the tip of the thing and then I ran my tongue up and down the side of the prick.

And then I held it tightly in my fingers. I could feel the blood pulsing through the prick, and I knew that Lee was going to be coming very soon, very soon indeed.

So I took the prick back into my mouth and let it travel down my throat.

I held it there as Lee murmured to me.

"Linda. Linda. I am going to come," he said. "I am going to come."

And he tried to push me off his cock when he said that, tried to make sure that I did not take the semen into my mouth. But he gave up when he figured it out, figured out that that was exactly what I wanted from him that afternoon.

"God, Linda," he whimpered, "you mean that you are going to-Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

And then he started to come. He jerked around on that chair and shot wad after wad of hot, steaming come down my throat.

As he did that, I know that he was still having trouble believing that I, rich bitch that I was, was taking his gook down my throat and swallowing it.

I had only done that once before-and that had been with Ralph.

Well, I guess I should tell you about Ralph now. I guess I have kept you in suspense long enough. Ralph was my brother. Yes, my brother. Does that shock you?

Oh, I guess nothing shocks you. You have probably heard it all.

Well, I will tell you about the afternoon that my brother became my master. I loved that afternoon and the memory of it, but I had never allowed another man to master me until that afternoon when my husband took the situation into his own hands and spanked me.

When I was seventeen years old, Ralph was sixteen. We were very rich, and we had nothing to do in the middle of the summer except lie around the pool.

I think that it was during that summer that I started to notice just how much my brother had matured, how much of a man he was becoming.

I remember one afternoon early in the summer. I was swimming in the pool when Ralph came out in his bathing suit. I moved out of the water and onto the edge of the pool and looked at him as he stood there in the sunlight.

I knew that Ralph had set up a little gym down in the basement of our big house. And I knew that he went down there and worked out on weights every afternoon, but I had never really noticed what those weights had done to him until that afternoon by the pool.

He stood there in his brief, bikini swimming trunks and he raised his arms up to the sun. He was already tanned, and the muscles in his body seemed to flex with might.

And the bulge in his swimming trunks. Yes, I noticed that too.

I had never seen a bigger bulge in my life. By that time, I had been fucking around with guys for a couple of years, but I looked at my brother with his dark, lovely hair and his handsome face and his muscles and his tan and his bulge-especially his bulge-and I knew that no other young man in my social set was as much of a stud as my brother was.

And I knew that Ralph was probably fucking girls by then too. I had come upon him some nights in the back of our big yard, almost stumbled over him when he had been out there with some little dolly, some rich bitch just like me.

I smiled up at my brother and I found myself thinking that none of those girls could give him what I could give him. I found myself thinking that both Ralph and I were settling for second best because we were afraid to fuck each other.

When Ralph dived into the water, I watched him. He cut a straight line through that water, swimming with ease and skill and speed.

And I felt a sexual heat bubbling in my pussy. I sat there at the edge of the pool and watched him and I felt a little guilty because, after all, he was my brother.

Since then I have wondered how many sisters think of their brothers in that way.

And I think that a lot of them may do that.

After Ralph had swam a couple of laps in the pool, he moved up between my legs and grabbed my thighs. He smiled up at me and he said, "Come on in, Big Sister."

I squealed a little when he pulled me in, but I loved it. I loved the way that his hands felt on my body. I tumbled into the water and he grabbed me and held me close for just an instant. In that instant, I looked into his eyes and I wanted to kiss him and hold him that way forever and ever.

And he looked into my eyes and I could see that he was having similar thoughts.

Then he let me go and he swam off very quickly to the other side of the pool.

It was as if he did not want to be near me right then, as if I had some kind of disease that he did not want to catch.

And I did not try to follow my brother therein the pool. I knew that he was having some of the same thoughts that I was having, some of the same misgivings too. Was it right?

Neither one of us knew, I guess. We were both just teenagers.

But, as the summer wore on, I could not keep my eyes off my brother, even when he was dressed. It seemed that his body was always fighting to get out of those clothes.

And I started making a regular little journey down to the basement every afternoon.

I would stand outside the door of the little room where Ralph worked out. I would not make a sound. I would just stand there in the basement and listen to him grunt and sigh as he tested his body, built his own strength by adding more and more to the weights that he lifted. I would listen to that and I would close my eyes and imagine that Ralph was over me, slamming his cock deep into my pussy. And I would imagine that those sounds that I heard were the sounds of lust, the sounds that he would make while he was fucking me.

And then, after a few minutes of listening to those sounds, I would leave the door rush quietly out of the basement. I would head for my room upstairs. I would lock the door there and I would strip and lie down on my bed. I would finger my pussy and imagine that my own brother was fucking me. I would have huge and wonderful orgasms on those hot and pleasant afternoons.

I continued to go out with other boys from my social set during those weeks. I even fucked a few of them. They were all right, I guess, but they were nothing; like my brother. I was sure of that. Once, when I was at Jimmy Riddle's house, fucking him in his bed, I tried to close my eyes and imagine that it was Ralph fucking me, not Jimmy.

But it did not really work that well. Jimmy was thin and blond and my brother was muscular and dark-haired. And Jimmy's cock was nothing that could even begin to compare with Ralph's. I just knew that in my soul.

Finally, in early August, I could not stand it any longer.

That afternoon I went down to the basement in my bikini and stood there outside the door.

I listened as Ralph heaved and groaned with the weights that he was lifting, but I think that I had known all day that this afternoon would be different.

I raised my trembling hand and rapped on the door. Ralph stopped groaning and I immediately missed that beautiful, masculine sound.

Then I heard his voice coming through the heavy wooden door. "Yes? Who is it?"

"It's Linda, Ralph," I said softly. "May I come in?"

He did not answer, did not say anything. I knew that he was worrying in there, having those thoughts and having that guilt too. I could not wait for him to get over his misgivings. I opened the door and moved into the room

I closed it and I leaned against it there in my bikini. I could see my brother's eyes taking in my body. By that part of the summer, I had a good, deep tan too.

"What do you want, Linda?" my brother muttered.

Before I answered him, I took in his body. He was standing there in a pair of loose gym shorts. Well, at least most of the shorts were loose. There was a tight part, and it was that tightness, that tightness around his crotch, that I rested my eyes on.

"What do you want here, Linda?" he asked again. He almost seemed to be pleading with me. His dark eyes were wide and a little frightened.

"I want the same thing that you want, Ralph," I said.

And my brother knew what I was talking about. There was no reason for him to act as if he did not. He lowered his eyes to the floor and he mumbled to me.

"It is not right, Linda. You should not tempt me like this. You are my sister."

"I don't care, Ralph," I said, moving away from the door and slipping toward him in my bare feet. "The feelings are too strong. I have to have you, and I know that you want to have me too."

Before I even realized what I was doing, I was on my knees in front of Ralph.

I was kneeling before him as if he were some kind of sexy, dark-haired god, and, I guess, to me, he was just that and nothing more.

I raised my hands and touched my brother's stomach with my fingers.

"Please, Ralph," I said. "I will do anything that you want me to do. Please, Ralph, I need you. I know that you will be the best that I will ever have."

He jerked a little. I think that he was trying to turn away from me, but something held him there as I touched him. And that same something was working in my teenaged body too. That something forced me to move my fingers down his stomach and over the tight bulge of his shorts. When I did that, he groaned and so did I.

"Oh, Linda,' he said, "you are tempting me so."

"And Ralph, you tempt me. Let's give into temptation, Ralph."

I moved my fingers into the opening in the front of his shorts and touched his meat.

And that was when he staggered back, his eyes blazing with something like anger. I looked up at him and I could not understand what was making me do that to me.

"You want even me," he muttered. "You even want your own brother."

"I especially want you, Ralph," I said truthfully.

And then the whole, sordid story came out. Ralph growled at me.

"I have heard the stories about you, Linda but I didn't want to believe them. I have heard the other kids say that you are nothing but a whore."

And, when I heard that, I almost fell over. I was called a whore? I could not believe that.

Sure, I fucked guys. I was willing to admit that, even to my brother. But I never fucked a guy from the middle class or the lower class. I had stayed with my own social set.

You see what a rich bitch I was? That was how I defined whoredom, I guess. I thought that, as long as I fucked wealthy boys, I would not be a whore. Isn't that silly?

Isn't that sick?

I sought a way to explain this distinction that was in my own mind to my brother, but, before I could form the words, Ralph was moving toward me again. He growled at me again, but, there on my knees, I stared straight at that bulge in his crotch, and I thought that that bulge was growling at me, that the angry voice was coming from my brother's cock and balls.

"How many guys have you fucked, Linda?" he asked in that rough tone.

"What?" I whimpered.

"How many?" he yelled, and he raised his hand in a threatening gesture to me.

No one had ever raised his hand to me before. Our wealthy parents had not believed in disciplining their children. They hardly believed in talking to their children at all.

You see, down deep, both Ralph and I were very lonely, and, down deep, I think that I needed that discipline, that firm but loving touch.

I think that that was the reason I felt that sexy little fever in my pussy when my brother raised his hand to me. He was still sweating from the exercise workout that he had just had, and his perspiring, tanned, sexy body seemed to glow there in the light of that exercise room as he raised his hand at me.

I thought for a minute that I would not tell him, that I would force him to hit me with anger.

That was the sickness, I guess, the strange desire coming to me for the first time.

But my courage failed me and I squeaked out the truthful, number.

"Sixteen," I said.

"Sixteen?" he groaned, lowering his hand and shaking a bit with the anger and disgust that he felt in his body. "Sixteen boys. My sister has fucked sixteen boys."

And then I remembered the rules of my own life, and I chirped it out as I knelt there.

"But they have all been rich. None of them has even been in the upper middle class."

Ralph glared at me with his dark, beautiful eyes.

"What the fuck difference does that make, Linda?" he snarled.

And I could not answer him. I knew suddenly that it did not make any difference at all.

I lowered my eyes to the floor and shivered as Ralph said, "You are such a snotty, little bitch. You are a rich-bitch whore. That is what you are. And now you are even trying to fuck me, your own brother. I guess I fit into your social set, huh, Linda?"

"Yes," I mumbled, "you do, Ralph. But I would fuck you even if you were poor. You are so sexy, and you are my-"

I paused.

"Your what?" he growled. "Your what, Linda? What am I, you little whore?"

I had wanted to say that he was my brother, that that was the reason that I felt so strongly for him. I wanted to say that I wanted to fuck him because it would add an extra kinky thrill to know that I was having my own sexy brother's cock in my pussy.

But the words did not come out that way.

Yet the words that came out of my mouth had the ring of truth.

"You are my master, Ralph. You are my master."

I was not even sure what I meant by that, but I knew as I knelt there and looked up at him that I was speaking the truth. And Ralph's dark eyes told him that he knew too, that he could recognize the truth when it was spoken to him.

And the truth seemed to make my shimmering, sweating, sexy brother even more angry.

"You are sick, Linda. You are so fucking sick that I want to knock you senseless."

And his body tensed as he said that, tensed with the anger and the nervous tension that he felt. His muscles flexed and I groaned when I saw all of those muscles, all of that strength. Again, I spoke out without even thinking about what I was saying.

It was as if someone else was speaking for me, telling my brother truths that I could not stand to let out, that I could not even understand myself.

"Yes," I moaned, grabbing my tits and massaging them through my bikini top. "Yes, Ralph."

"Yes what?" he snarled at me.

"Yes," I whimpered, running my hands over my heaving body and wishing that I were already naked in front of him, naked and slave-like. "Yes, Ralph, knock me senseless if you wish."

And Ralph's face turned very white. He backed up and he looked like he was growing to throw up.

And then he took several deep breaths and he heaved his chest out. He looked even sexier then. I thought that I was going to swoon, looking at my brother as he stood there that way, so strong and so masterful.

He finally growled at me again.

"If you want it so badly, I will give it to you. Get naked, you bitch."

I stayed on my knees. My fingers trembled as I reached behind me and loosened the top of my bikini. I removed it slowly and then let it drop away from my body. It lay there on the floor in front of me, and I looked up at Ralph. I moved my hands over my tits and I sighed a little with my eyes half-closed.

I worked my fingers around my nipples and then, on instinct more than anything else, I pinched both of those firm, bumpy, pink nipples with my fingers. I pinched them and pulled them out from my body. I shivered as the sharp, sexy pain went through me.

And my brother looked down on me. I could tell by the expression on his face that he was amazed to see me do such a thing. But I could also tell that he was getting turned on.

The bulge in his gym shorts was getting bigger and bigger.

It was a strange experience and I did not know what was going to happen from moment to moment, but I was not afraid. There was a certain delicious feeling that all of this gave to me. I sighed and felt my pussy grow even more moist in my cunt.

.Maybe I was a whore, I thought. Maybe this was the way that a little whore felt when she needed to be fucked. All I knew was that I needed to be fucked. I needed my brother's cock so badly that I could almost taste the need on my tongue.

But I knew that I would have to show him my need. I looked up at Ralph when I had stopped pinching my nipples and I could see in his dark eyes that he was still confused by all of this, by my need and his too. He would have to be taken along very slowly, and I had no doubt that I could take him, that that other being that had captivated me and forced me to tell truth would lead me to my brother in a very special way, a way he could not resist.

I moved on the floor. I sat back and lifted my hips slightly and pushed my bikini bottoms down my legs and off. I looked down and I could see the strips of white flesh around my tits and around my cunt. I wished that I had been allowed to sunbathe in the nude. I thought that those bikini marks made me look sick or something.

But then I looked up at Ralph. He did not seem to notice those marks of sickness.

My brother's forehead was covered with sweat, and he was massaging his bulge, feeling himself through his shorts. He groaned a little bit as I lay back there on the floor and spread my legs and lifted my hips up and showed him my black-furred pussy.

But I still sensed that Ralph was not quite ready to fuck me yet. I sighed as I moved my hands over my body. I twisted there on the floor and I kept my legs spread wide. I wanted my brother to concentrate on my cunt. I wanted him to fall in love with that hole. I knew that it was pretty. I had inspected myself with a little mirror before. My pussy was very pink and it was surrounded by that black hair that made it look even sweeter. I knew other boys from my social set had marveled at my pussy and had enjoyed lapping it out before I sucked on their cocks and made them hard so that they could fuck me. I was sure that my brother would find my pussy delicious too, if I lead him along slowly, kept him filled with desire until he overcame his guilt and rammed that beautiful, hard cock deep into me. I did not know why I was already sure that my brother's cock would be beautiful. I guess it was because the rest of him was so beautiful. That way, I knew that his cock had to be glorious and handsome too.

I slipped my hands down my body and moved my fingers over my cunt. I spread my pussy lips and I held my hips high so that Ralph could look down at all that wet, sweet pinkness. I felt the juice from that pussy ooze out onto my fingers and then I slipped two of my fingers into the outer lips and grabbed my clitoris.

"Oh, Ralph," I sighed lustfully, "I am hurting myself and I want you to hurt me too."

I yanked on my clit and felt the juicy, remarkable pain shoot into my head. I dug into the girl-meat with my nail and rocked a little as that pain was added to my new storehouse of sexual agony.

I did not understand why I was doing this. I had never done it before. But I loved it just the same.

And I was performing for my brother in a way, performing for him as he stood there and seemed to grow weak of will. He rubbed his hand over his gym shorts and then, with a quick and manly motion, he pushed those shorts down and stepped out of them.

His cock sprang out free, like a huge battering ram.

I stopped giving myself pain and looked at that thing. It was beautiful! It was huge and the head was red and swollen and covered with a glistening mucus that seemed to shine more than any other part of his muscular body.

My brother's prick was his best muscle, I thought with a smile on my lips.

I relaxed and lay there on the floor and let the sexual heat flood my body.

Ralph stood over me and spread his legs. His cock was standing straight out from his muscular, tanned body. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked very strong and angry then.

But, when he spoke to me again, he did not sound angry. His voice was soft and sweet.

"Are you certain that you want me to do it, Linda?" he asked.

"Anything you want to do to me, Ralph, is all right by me," I said, sitting up and staring at that hard, stiff cock.

"Even knocking you around and hurting you in some way?" he asked.

And I could see that my brother wanted to get it clear, wanted to try to figure out just how sick his sister was, just how jaded her desires were.

"Especially," I said, "especially that. Knock me around. Hurt me. You are my master, and I have been a rich bitch, a rich, little whore."

And I suddenly thought of a reason why my brother should be angry with me, why he had a right to knock me around if he wanted to. I moved up on my knees again and spread my legs slightly so that the heat and the juice could continue to escape from my pussy.

"I have been such a whore. I have given the family a bad name. I have embarrassed, you in front of your friends with my whorish ways. You deserve it, Ralph. I have made you suffer. If you wish to punish me, that is fine. In fact, I want you to punish me. No one else has a right to punish me, but you do, Ralph. You are my brother and I have embarrassed you, and you have a right. Please, Ralph. Please punish me."

My brother looked around the room, as if he were afraid that someone had come in.

But there was no one else in the house except for the servants.

And I knew that they were not going to come down there and disturb us. They were too busy drinking the family wine and stealing the little things from the bedrooms that they would later sell for extra money.

"How?" my brother finally asked me. "How am I supposed to punish you?"

"Any way you wish," I said. "Any way you want to punish me. I am your slave and you are my master."

Ralph gulped as that idea burned into his head. His eyes grew hard again and he smiled.

And I knew then that he had come up with something, some way in which he could punish me.

I smiled too. I looked forward to the punishment with all of my heart.

My brother had a little bench at the side of the exercise room. He used that bench to lie on when he lifted the bar with the weights on it high over his head. He walked to the edge of that bench and sat down on it. He spread his legs.

I scurried on my knees toward him. I thought that I would get a chance to suck on his cock. I licked my lips as I moved toward him, but, when I was just a few inches away from him, he reached out with both of his hands and put them on my shoulders and stopped me. He seemed to understand what I had planned in my fevered brain and he did not want me to do that at all.

"No, Linda," he said, "I must punish you first."

First! That meant that I would get a chance to share something greatly sexual with my brother! I sighed and shivered with the thought and I knew that that would make the punishment even better, if it was going to be a prelude to wild and lustful sex with this handsome teenager who just happened to come from the same womb that I had come from.

I knelt there in front of Ralph and looked up into those eyes again. Then I looked down at the cock. It was still strong and stiff and I found it vaguely remarkable that Ralph could hold his erection for so long when I had not even touched the organ, let alone sucked on it.

And I knew that that was another sign that Ralph was better than any of the other boys I had played with.

Ralph was truly a man already. He was truly a stud. He was truly my master.

My brother leaned back slightly on the bench and patted his tanned thighs with his hands. He grinned down at me more like a father than a brother.

"Over my lap, bitch," he said. "You are going to get the spanking of your life."

And I moved over his lap slowly, trembling a little as the sexual excitement got to me again.

I lay there and felt his stiff whanger sticking up and touching my flesh. I felt my own pussy pulsing with fiery sexuality.

And then I felt that I could make this better for me and for Ralph if I admitted something.

So I said it softly. "I am a whore, Ralph. I have embarrassed you. You have a right to punish me and to fuck me too. You are the only man in the world who has that right."

And Ralph chortled. I could tell that, by now, he was getting into our little game.

But was it a game? Now that Ralph had overcome his own guilt, I was thinking that maybe it was not a game to him. Maybe he thought I was a whore, really. Maybe I thought I was a whore, really. And then I decided that this was no game at all.

It was a great moment of truth!

And the moment lengthened as Ralph moved his hand over my buns. His fingers were damp and cool. I sighed when he slipped those fingers into my ass-crack.

And then the fingers were gone and I felt Ralph move. I felt muscles tense under me and I knew that he had raised his hand. I knew that soon he would bring it down on my ass.

And then he did bring it down. He smacked my ass hard with all of his strength.

And I squirmed there on his lap and whimpered out the word.

"Master."

"Call me brother too," Ralph snarled. "I am your brother, you little whore."

And then he smacked my ass again. I winced as the heat spread from my naked buns into the rest of my body, but then I got out all the words.

"My master," I sighed. "My brother."

"Right," he growled.

And then he started to spank me in earnest. He brought his hand down on my buns again and again, spreading that heat, making my flesh sting.

And it hurt. Sure, it hurt. But there was something that told me that this hurt was necessary, that I needed the hurt to be a good, little girl.

I lifted my legs and I kicked a little. Ralph put one hand on my back and held me steady on his lap as he spanked me with the other hand.

He was strong and rough with the spanking, but he was strangely sweet too.

I felt like a little girl who was being disciplined with love.

I cannot tell you how long the spanking went on. I know that my ass burned with the heat of his hand, and that burning seemed to last for an eternity. Yet, in another way, it was over much too soon.

When it was over, Ralph rested his hand on my hot bottom and massaged my buns.

And I turned my head and looked up at him and spoke with little sobs in my throat.

"What do you want me to do now, Master?"

I asked. And then I added, "Brother."

That was for good measure. That was to make Ralph happy with his little slave sister.

"I want," he muttered with a growling voice, "I want. I want. I want."

He seemed to have trouble getting it out, telling me just what he did want from me.

But I lay there on his lap and felt his still rock-hard cock working against my belly and I knew that I would gladly wait for an eternity to find out what my brother, my master, wanted from me now. I sighed and wiggled a little against the tip of that cock to give myself some pleasure.

And that wiggling that I did seemed to help Ralph make up his mind.

"I want you to suck on my cock, bitch," he said quickly. "I want to come in your mouth."

"I will do that, my master," I said softly.

And then I moved off my brother's lap and I slipped down to the floor between his out-stretched legs.

Yes, his cock was still hard and lovely. His cock seemed to throb when I curled my fingers around it.

I sighed and let that throbbing invade me. It seemed to travel from my fingers to my cunt.

And then I opened my mouth wide and I moved my head down over that prick. I closed my lips around the cock and I moved down further, taking that whole, beautiful monster into my mouth and throat.

And Ralph leaned back and groaned to me with passion in his male voice.

"Oh, Linda, you suck cock so well. Your mouth is cool and hot at the same time."

Remember, my husband said almost the same thing to me when I sucked him off after the spanking that I gave him. My mouth is one of the best parts of my sexual machine, you see. .

I worked up and down on the cock and I felt that hot throbbing of his maleness in my mouth and throat. As I knelt there sucking on his prick, Ralph moved his hands over my bare back and through my long, dark hair.

His touch was gentle now, but I did not forget that he was my master.

He was gentle with me this time, I thought, because I had pleased him.

But I hoped that another time would come, when I would not please him. I hoped that I would again feel his rough hand on me, taming my rich bitchiness.

I felt that I needed that rough hand to make the sex better for me.

I sucked on that cock with all of my might and then Ralph groaned again.

"I am going to come, you bitch. I am going to come in your mouth, my sister."

And I nodded my head slightly and worked on the prick with even more desire in my feverish head. I played with his big balls and I let the tip of the prick slip back into my throat and then I waited, waited for those great gobs of come to shoot down my throat.

And then they came, in mighty, manly spurts. They came into my mouth and throat.

I had never taken come like that in my mouth before, and I surprised myself this time.

I reached back and touched my still burning ass and I swallowed all that come that my brother had to offer me. I swallowed it all and felt warm and wonderful inside.

When the orgasm was over, I took my mouth off the prick. I licked it dry.

And then I looked up at my brother, my master.

When he saw me like that, he jerked back and he snarled at me.

"Now stay away from me, Linda," he groaned, his face growing tense and ugly. "Just stay away from me for the rest of your fucking life."

"But, Ralph-"

"You got what you wanted. Now stay away."

I have expected Ralph to throw me out of that exercise room. After all, it was a little bit like his own special kingdom.

But he did not do that. Instead, he jumped up and picked up his gym shorts and ran out of that room himself, leaving me there alone and suddenly very empty.

And Ralph did not speak to me again during the rest of the time that we both lived at home. Oh, he would say things like "pass the salt" at dinner, but he always looked away from me when I looked at him. I guess he felt terribly guilty about what he and I had done with each other. I guess that he was not really comfortable with the memory of how he had been my master that afternoon.

A year later, I graduated high school and went away to college. About six months after I went to college, I got a phone call one night. It was my mother and she told me the bad news. Ralph had gotten drunk and had wrecked his car. He was dead.

God, I cannot tell you how sad I was for the longest time after that.

I even gave up guys for a couple of years after that. But, then, during my senior year in college, I met Lee. I fell in love with him and he fell in love with me, and-

I just thought of something. Lee looks a lot like Ralph.

Oh, Jesus! Is that why I fell in love with him? Is that the thing that attracted me to him? Was I trying to find my dead brother again? My dead master? Was that it? Well, anyway-

I should tell you how my relationship with Lee changed after that spanking that he gave me, the first spanking that is.

I turned into the perfect homemaker. It has been two years now since he spanked me for the first time, and I keep the apartment clean and I cook all his meals. I have surprised myself a little bit by turning into a really good cook.

And I fuck him with passion every night.

But there are those special afternoons. I should tell you about them.

Usually, I call Lee at his office first. We have a little code that we use. I ask him if he feels like going to a game tonight, and he says yes or no.

If he says yes, it means that he will not be tired or busy with work when he comes home. It means that he will spank me and be my master when he comes home.

If he says yes, I mess up the apartment just a little bit, just enough so that he will notice it when he comes through the door. And I put on my apron. Nothing else. Just an apron. I stand in the living room and wait for him. When he comes home, he acts like he is really mad because the place is such a mess. He points toward the kitchen and he says, "Go get the frying pan, Linda."

That is when I scurry into the kitchen and get the frying pan, the same one all the time. I don't really cook in that pan. You see, it means too much to me to actually fry something in it. I would feel as if I were frying meat in a dildo or something.

Or frying meat in my best friend, I guess.

Anyway, I bring that pan out to him and Lee sits down on the couch. We play out our little game. He tells me that I am a worthless wife, and I agree with him. Then I lie down over his lap and I take my spanking with the frying pan.

After the spanking is over, I get on my knees in front of my husband and suck his cock until he comes in my mouth. I swallow that come and then I go in and fix him his dinner.

And I don't really think of my brother that much at all.

No, wait. That is not true. And I want to be truthful with you.

Sometimes, when I am alone in the afternoon, I lie naked in my bed and I play with myself and I think of Ralph. I don't really think of that time in the exercise room. That is too painful for me. I think of that afternoon by the pool, when I first noticed how sexy my brother was. I think of how it should have worked out for both of us. I imagine that he looked at me that afternoon in the pool and kissed me passionately. I imagine that he lifted me up out of the pool and lay with me under the sun and stripped off my bikini while I pushed his bathing trunks down.

And then I imagined that we fucked, with no guilt, just glory.

That was the way it should have been. Maybe, if it had been that way, Ralph would still be alive. I don't know. But that is what I imagine. That is the way I wish that it could have happened.

But I guess that nothing ever works out exactly as it should, does it?

Linda is a very lucky young woman. She has found a way to work out part of her guilt and part of her bad feelings about her relationship with her brother by playing these spanking games with her husband.

Why does she need pain? She needs it because, even though she will not admit it, she feels guilty about the incestuous relationship she had with her brother.

And the fact that her brother died just a few months after that hot afternoon in the exercise room, the fact that he rejected her after allowing her to suck his cock--well, that just adds to the young woman's guilt feelings.

But she is lucky. She has found Lee, who looks something like her brother, and she shares these spanking games with her husband. She does not really get hurt that badly, and she knows that these are just games. That is very important.

Given all the possibilities for perversion in Linda's life, her relationship with her husband seems truly normal. She needs these games and she gets what she needs.

She should have a long and happy marriage.

MAGGIE

Maggie is a tall and lanky redhead. She is obviously thirty-five or so, but she still looks okay. She is a famous writer. But she will tell her own story here.

I am a Jewish American Princess. A JAP. You have heard that term, I suppose.

Well, let me tell you this, I am very Jewish. And I was raised to think that my cunt is a goldmine. Oh, my mother and father never used that phrase with me. But I was raised to know that I was someone special.

And I am special. God, I am a writer. I write books that make the whole world come.

Course, I did not plan it that way. I originally wanted to write books of sociological significance. But I got off that idea real quick. Books of sociological significance sell like dog turds in the summer.

That is one of my editor's phrases. He is Jewish too. He is a faggot. He has a lot of phrases like that. I think that I talk like him a lot now. Maybe I have taken on his faggot personality as my own. I call him the demonic faggot. Maybe that means that I am demonically possessed by him.

What the hell?

You want to hear about my experiences with rough guys, right? Especially my husband?

Well, let me start with my husband. His name was Theo.

He is not Jewish. He is an Episcopalian from Boston.

Funny, you know. You never see Episcopalians in porn books. You see crazy, backwoods preachers and Catholic priests and maybe even a rabbi. But you never seen a title like "The Episcopalian's Whip." Wonder why that is?

I wonder if they would sell. I got to ask the demonic faggot about that.

Well, I met Theo when I was in college. I was majoring in sociology and Theo was majoring in lying around. He was flunking out because he never went to class. He just stayed in his dirty apartment and read science fiction books and shit like that. But he was very smart, smart in a way that none of the other boys I knew in college was. I used to think that it was because he wasn't Jewish. I usually ran around with Jewish guys and they were all sort of simpering and silly. They were also all stuck up and they wanted to compare grade point averages.

Theo, he just wanted to get into my pants. So I let him. God, that was fun.

After he had fucked me a couple of times, he told me that he intended to marry me and there was nothing that I could do about it. He said that he was not going to work and he planned to live off the money that I made.

There was something about that that sounded like fun. I knew Theo was telling the truth. He was not the kind of guy to work. And I found myself saying that I would support him when she were married. Strange thing is, I don't even think I really loved him.

Course, I probably never loved anybody, really. And Theo was fun to fuck.

So, after that semester was over, he dropped out of college. Flunked out, really. And I married him and my family supported both of us until I got my degree. My father was none too happy about Theo but he wanted his little princess to be happy.

Yeah, that is what he called me. His little princess.

Well, after we were married, Theo changed a little bit, but somehow the change did not surprise me at all. It was just the kind of stuff I should have expected from a guy like that.

He started to slap me around a little. When I said something he did not like, he would pop me. The first time it happened, I felt hurt. Then I felt something else. I felt like I had really needed that slap. So I just gave in and let him hit me once in a while. After all, he was my husband.

And then I graduated from college and got a job as a writer for a magazine in New York City. I moved there with Theo, and, when we got to New York City, he really changed.

I came home one night from work and Theo was sitting on the sofa in our living room going through some stuff he had just brought at one of those strange, New York City stores.

When I came in, he said, "Get over here, Maggie. Look at this shit."

I sat down next to him and looked it over. One of the things was a dog collar. I held it up and inspected it and I said, "Shit, Theo, we don't have a dog."

"Sure, we do," he said. "You are my little pooch, Maggie."

"What?"

"This shit is for you. I want to put that dog collar on you and use this other stuff on you too."

And then I looked over the stuff more carefully. There were ropes and leather bracelets and whips and all kinds of stuff in that box. I got real mad at Theo and asked him the first thing that came into my head.

"How much did all this shit cost?" , "Don't know," he said. "I just used the charge card."

"But I pay the bills around here, Theo," I said, feeling very angry with him.

"Sure, you do, Maggie," he said with an evil leer, "and you will pay this one too."

"No, I won't," I yelped. "I won't pay for sick shit like this."

And then Theo hit me bad, slapped me around something terrible. I tried to put up my hands to protect myself, but he pushed those hands down and, the next thing I knew, I was lying back on the couch with his hands around my neck.

At least, I thought in that instant that he had his hands around my neck.

But I was wrong. It was the collar. He tightened that dog collar around my neck and then he grabbed the leash and he stood up quickly.

He jerked me off the couch. I tumbled onto the floor, choking with that tight thing around my neck. And I looked up at him with tears in my eyes.

"My bitch dog," he muttered. "Maggie, you are my bitch dog."

I moved up on my hands and knees. I had to. It was either do that or strangle as he jerked me around on that leash.

Soon, I found myself crawling around behind him and Theo walked proudly around our New York City apartment. He looked like a man with a fine dog on a leash, I thought.

But his dog did not satisfy him entirely. He turned and glared at me and said, "Bark, bitch dog. Bark and howl a little bit."

And I barked with short, dog-like sounds. I barked and then I let out a long, suffering howl.

Theo smiled down at me and then he kicked me in the butt.

The kick was sudden. I was not entirely prepared for it. But I heard myself squealing like a kicked dog just the same.

I think that it was at that moment that my dog soul took over. I started to think of myself as a dog. I stuck out my tongue and panted like a dog.

I moved around behind Theo as he walked with his leash, and I felt like a dog.

And I quickly discovered that the feeling was not that bad.

For some reason, I started to equate being Jewish with being a dog. I hated that equation, but I made it myself. I did not understand what was going on in my head.

And I don't know if Theo understood it either, but he made the most of it that night.

Later that night, he took my collar off and he made me get naked. Then he forced me up on the bed and I lay there with my arms and legs spread wide as Theo attached leather strips to my wrists and ankles and fixed those leather strips to the bed posts.

I lay there and looked at him. I was open to his abuse. I surrendered to him.

"All right, Theo," I said. "Anything you want. I will be your dog. I will be anything you want me to be. I wHI-"

And then I started to cry. I don't think that I knew until that very moment just how much I needed Theo, just how attached I had grown to this lazy but intelligent man.

I suppose that it was a bad time to announce that I was his forever, because, after I said those things, while I was crying, Theo announced that he was leaving me.

"Maggie," he said, "you bore me and you don't make enough money. I have found another woman. She is very rich. She is Jewish too, and she does not bore me at all."

"What?" I whimpered. "What?"

"Good-bye, Maggie," my husband said.

Then he picked up a suitcase and walked out of the bedroom. As he walked through the living room, he called back to me. "I went to the bank today and took all the money out of the checking account."

And then he was gone. He was gone and I was trapped there on the bed.

I looked at the leather around my wrists and my ankles. I jerked on those things. I started to scream.

"Theo! Theo! Come back and-"

And then I stopped. I did not know what I wanted Theo to come back and do.

I lay there. I was hungry and thirsty, but, more than anything else, I was tired. I had worked all day and the depression set in on me with a heavy load. I closed my eyes and I thought that I would sleep. When I woke up, I thought, I would try to think of a way to get free. When I woke up, I would try to think of a way to get my husband back.

And I did sleep. And I dreamed.

In my dream, I was strangely happy. I was naked in a field with the dog collar around me.

I was tagging along behind Theo. He had me trained well. I moved steadily behind him and I looked up at him with love. I seemed to understand that he put the leash on me because I was just a dumb animal. He did not want me to run away or get lost. I looked out to the edge of the field and I saw the big superhighway with the trucks rolling by, and I knew that, if I did not have that leash and that collar and that master, I might wander onto that highway and get crushed under the wheels of the truck. I felt strangely satisfied and strangely safe as I moved naked behind my husband.

And then, in my dream, Theo turned. I suddenly noticed that he was naked too. He had a huge and mighty hard-on. He smiled down on me and gave the leash a little jerk, just enough to let his dog know what he wanted. I moved up in front of him and whimpered a bit like a happy dog will do. I knelt in front of Leo and took his cock into my mouth.

I sucked on that cock as if it were a rubber bone or something. I played with the cock like a happy little pooch. I held the cock in my hand (or my paw, if you will), and I licked the end of it. I barked with a short and happy sound, and my master laughed.

And then I took just the tip of his organ into my mouth and sucked on it with a mighty pressure. My master moaned and patted my head and I knew that I was a good dog.

I took my mouth off the cock and barked again. Then I pressed the cock back against Theo's stomach and made little growling sounds in my throat as I licked the underside of the shaft.

I licked the balls too. They were sweet and they smelled like musk.

I opened my mouth wide and I took the balls into me. I growled again and I knew that that growl was vibrating the balls in a sexy way. Again, Theo groaned in my dream. Again, he patted my head. Again, I was the happiest little dog in the world because I was pleasing my master so well.

I opened my mouth and let the balls pop out of me. Then my master gently pushed me back. He had his hand on my forehead and I knew what he wanted. I fell back into the tall grass and held my arms and legs up over me, held myself open like a bitch in heat.

And, in my dream, I was in heat. My pussy was bubbling with fever and passion.

My master came down over me. He still held the end of the leash in his hand, but he did not jerk it any longer. He moved down into the tall grass and he sniffed at my wet cunt. He smelled my own musk, you see.

He was like a dog too at that moment, smelling my heat, my bitchiness.

Theo spread my pussy lips with his fingers and drove his tongue deep into me.

I whimpered like a happy dog when he did that and I tossed a little in that grass and looked up at the clear, blue sky.

The dream was wonderful. Theo was licking out my pussy. I did not mind being a dog if he did that for me. I did not mind being a dog at all. You see, Theo had never eaten me out in reality. He had wanted me to suck his cock, naturally, and I had done that, but, when I asked him to go down on me that one time, he slapped me hard and said that that was the most disgusting thing he had ever heard of.

But, in my dream, he licked out my cunt and made his dog feel good.

His tongue seemed to turn somersaults in that pussy of mine, that dog pussy. I moaned and thrashed about in the tall grass when he did that.

And I howled as he pulled his tongue out of my pussy and held my lips open with his fingers and struck that feverish clit of mine with his sweet and masterful tongue.

Yes, I actually howled.

And then, when he was finished eating me out, he moved over me and he fucked me.

He slammed his cock into me and we rolled in the grass as he fucked me hard and made me feel so good. Come to think of it, in the dream, he did not fuck me dog-style. I wonder why. It would seem to fit if he had.

Anyway, he fucked me in that dream, and I had the greatest fucking orgasm of my life.

And then, after we were finished with the fucking, he picked up the leash and stood up and I followed him through the field, feeling safe and secure and loved and well-fucked, feeling like the best, little pooch in the world.

Maybe you would say that I shouldn't have felt that way. But I did.

When I woke up from the dream, I was still hungry and thirsty, and now I needed to piss.

I thought that I might have to wet the bed like a bad dog. But then I looked across the room and saw the young woman standing there in the shadows. She moved toward me. She was very pretty, but she seemed a little sad, a little soft. "Theo sent me here to take the leather off you," she said. "Theo said that you should not be tied down too long."

And then I understood that she was the other girl in Theo's life. She was the one that he had left me for.

"Does he eat you out?" I asked softly as the girl took the leather off my wrists.

"What?" she asked.

"Does he eat out your pussy?"

"No," she said softly. "I would never ask him to do something like that."

"Why?"

"Because I am not worthy. I just have a lot of money."

And, even though she had taken my husband away from me, I could not hate her. I guess you might think that I should have fought her right there, grabbed her and hit her and called her names.

But I felt sorry for her. She was so soft and she was obviously embarrassed to be there. And she was freeing me. When I was free on the bed, I said, "Thank you."

"That is all right," the girl said. "I do what he tells me to do."

"I have to piss now," I said softly.

"I understand. Go on."

I got off the bed and went to the bathroom and pissed. I thought about that dream that I had, and I missed Theo already. I missed him even though he had been cruel to me. And then I decided that I missed him because he had been cruel to me.

When I came out of the bathroom, the other girl was gone.

I never saw her or Theo again. I don't even know if they still live in New York City.

I hope that they are happy together. I really do hope that they find happiness.

My life changed a lot after Theo left me. I started thinking about what had happened to me and I started trying to figure out why I felt the way I did about my husband, why I missed his cruelty. And then I started to interview other women, and I found that my feelings were much like theirs.

There are a lot of us out there in America, my friend, a lot of women who would not mind having a master to protect them and tell them what to do.

But I suppose that you have met a lot of them yourself. I don't have to tell you that there are many, many of us.

Anyway, I started to think of writing a book about my experiences and the experiences of other women like me. It didn't start off to be just about Jewish women, but, as I looked over my research, I thought that that was a good way to narrow down the subject.

You know the myth, I am sure. Jewish men do not beat their wives. Jewish men do not master their wives. In a Jewish family, the woman runs everything. She whines until she gets what she wants. Well, part of that myth is true, I guess. Jewish men, or at least a lot of Jewish men, are real simps.

But my theory is that Jewish women whine and act like bitches because they really want their men to take control of them, to master them in a way. You see, when you have a master, you also have protection. Remember that?

I wrote my book saying that and I backed it up with the evidence that I had.

And the shit hit the fan all over America. I was called anti-Semitic. It is a phrase that Jews throw around a lot, you know.

They are very, very hung-up on that stuff. They think that everyone is their enemy, even other Jews. And I don't have to tell you that Jews yell and scream at each other a lot and take each other to court and-

Well, you probably read the stories in the papers about my book and the furor that I started. Naturally, the book sold very well. My editor, the demonic faggot, was very happy with me.

But, even as the fame and the money came into my life, I felt a little bad. You see, I had not fucked any man or dealt with any man closely since Theo had left me.

That is, I had not done anything like that until the afternoon that I journeyed way uptown in Manhattan to the leading Jewish university in America. I had been invited up there to speak and I was going up a day before the speech to be interviewed by Mister Leonard Fink. He was a publicist for the university.

I went into Lennie's office. That is what everyone called Fink. Lennie. Well, I went into his office and I saw someone sitting there on the other side of the room that I recognized. You could have knocked me over with a motza.

It was Big Hank. I had met him a year before at a party at the apartment of the demonic faggot. Big Hank was one of the most famous porn writers in America, but he had given up the porn field a couple of years before and had wandered off into the middle of America, only to come back with stories that were hard to believe. He had told some of those stories at that party and had enthralled the huge crowd. He was a little bit like a pornographic Mark Twain, the demonic faggot often said.

But Big Hank was sitting in that office, wearing a yarmulka on his head.

He looked up from a newspaper and he saw me too. His face grew white and he stood up quickly.

"Big Hank!" I yelped.

But, before I could say anything else, Big Hank was up from his chair and rushing toward me. He grabbed my arm and whispered to me, "Let's take a walk, Maggie. I have to talk to you."

A few minutes later, we stood outside the building and Big Hank muttered to me.

"Maggie, it is all right that you know me. The people here won't mind that. But don't mention anything about the fact that I was a-a-you know."

"A porn writer?"

"Right. They think that I am a rabbi here. I got the job because I told them I was a rabbi. I know enough about the faith to get by."

"What kind of job, Big Hank?" I asked with my eyes wide.

"Remember. It is Rabbi Big Hank," he said.

"Rabbi Big Hank," I said, trying out the name. Then I started to giggle.

Big Hank grabbed my shoulders and growled at me.

"You got to think of me as a rabbi. I get a lot of money for writing press releases for this university, but they will fire my ass in a minute if they find out that I am not kosher. You understand? You have to keep quiet. You can't blow my cover."

"Rabbi Big Hank," I said, and I continued to giggle.

But then I stopped laughing. I knew that I had to be serious about this. I did not want Big Hank to lose his job. Then I thought of something else.

"Big Hank," I said, "you're not even

Jewish."

"Well, I just have to be careful when I am standing at the urinal."

"Oh."

Big Hank led me back into the building and kept coaching me as we walked back to the publicity office.

"Remember, it is Rabbi Big Hank. Even to Lennie Fink. He thinks that I am a rabbi too."

"Okay. Okay," I said. But I giggled one last time before he walked back into the office.

Lennie Fink was sitting behind his desk. He was a short guy, but very cute. He had a black mustache and he wore a yarmulka too.

"Do you know Rabbi Big Hank?" he asked, standing up and extending his hand.

"Oh, yes, I have known Rabbi Big Hank for a long time," I said with a grin as I looked at the shaking former porn writer.

I knew that Big Hank was still a little nervous, still unsure if I could keep my mouth shut.

"I have to go interview the Rav," he said. "I will see you around, Maggie."

After Big Hank had dashed out of the room, I turned to Lennie and said, "I am Jewish, but what is a rav?"

"The Rav," the publicity man said. "He is an old man who is the leading rabbi in America. Big Hank calls him the top dog in the

Orthodox kennel. Big Hank is not that respective of anyone."

"Oh."

"He teaches here. The Rav, I mean. It is a real feather in our cap to have that man teaching classes here, even though he is very old, about eighty or so."

And then a young boy in a yarmulka came strolling into the office.

"Sorry, Lennie," he said, looking at me. "I did not know you were busy."

"I am interviewing this young lady, Mordecai," Lennie said. "She is the one who wrote the book on Jewish female slaves. You heard about that?"

"Oh, yes," the young boy said, breaking into a sweat. "I don't know if I agree with it. I don't think my mother is a slave, and my father is a rabbi. I come from a long line of rabbis. But, I guess, I sort of hope that what you say is true."

And then Mordecai backed out of the room, and I could tell that I made him nervous too.

Lennie Fink smiled.

"Mordecai is just out of high school. He either wants to be a rabbi or'a television anchorman. He is not certain which. He has high hopes, but he is a snotty, little kid, sometimes. I think he needs some girl to give him a good fuck."

When Lennie said that, I relaxed. I smiled at him and thought that this guy sounded something like Big Hank-the real Big Hank. That porn writer thought that every nervous and psychological disorder could be cured with a good fuck. He had said that that night at the demonic faggot's party, and everyone had laughed.

Everyone but me.

I was not sure that he wasn't completely correct.

Lennie started to interview me. He took notes as he asked me about my book. He had read the book too, he said, and he had discussed it with his wife.

"What did your wife say?" I asked him with interest.

"She spent ten years in Israel. She said you were full of shit."

"But, knowing her, do you think I am right?" I asked, leaning forward slightly.

Lennie blushed a little and then he said, "I am asking the questions here."

He did ask more questions. He asked about what kind of books I planned next. He asked about my reaction to the hate mail that I received from angry Jewish women. He also asked how many women came up to me and said that I was right in my theories.

"More than you would suspect," I said.

And then he asked the most important question of all.

He stood up and moved from behind his desk. Then he sat on the edge of the desk and grinned down at me.

"Tell me, Maggie," he said, "if I slapped the shit out of you right now, would you fuck me on this desk here?"

And I thought that that was a very strange question, but, as I thought about it, the strangest thing was that no reporter had asked it before. I had been interviewed by many men, Jewish men and gentile men, and not one of them had the courage to ask that question.

I answered it truthfully. "Yes," I said, "I think that I would. I think that, if you slapped me hard enough, I would do anything that you wanted me to do."

Lennie Fink smiled down at me. Then he moved quickly.

His hand came across my face with such a hard slap that I tumbled out of the chair.

I lay there on the floor and felt my pussy bubble with passion.

Lennie reached down and grabbed my red hair and pulled me up. He threw me back on the desk and he snarled at me like a master should snarl.

"Get your clothes off, Maggie. You are going to fuck the whole public relations office."

"What?" I yelped.

And then Lennie leaned forward and slapped me again.

"I said that you are going to fuck the whole goddamn office, even your friend Big Hank, the fake rabbi."

"You know that he is a fake?" I muttered, a little surprised, but also pleased that I did not have to keep that secret any longer.

"Shit, we all know he is a fake. What kind of rabbi has a name like Big Hank? But he writes well and he writes quickly and so we let him stay on. We don't find too many quick and good writers up here at the top of Manhattan."

But then Lennie leaned over and hit me again. He snarled at me in the way that only a Jewish man can snarl, I think.

"I said get your fucking clothes off, you bitch."

And I could not refuse him. It had been years since I had been treated like that, years since Theo had tied me to the bed and left me there.

I almost ripped my clothes pulling them off. Lennie stepped back and laughed as he saw me work with such excitement and such passion.

In a few seconds, I was naked, lying there on his desk. I moved around on the desk and cleared it off with my body, knocking papers and pens and books into the floor.

Then I stopped. I wondered if my master, Lennie Fink, would mind my doing that.

He did not seem to mind. He was too busy stripping himself.

When I looked at his tool for the first time, I gasped and touched my tit with my hand. I could not believe the size of that cock. Lennie was a short guy, but his prick must have been at least eleven inches long.

It hung there like a sausage between his legs, and it was not even hard yet.

I was suddenly on fire with lust. I churned around on that desk and I cried out to the man with the big cock. "I want to suck it! Please, let me suck it! God, I want that big piece of meat!"

And Lennie moved close to the desk. I moved around and let my head hang off that desk and looked at the big thing. Lennie lifted it with both of his hands and moved it back and forth with a mighty churning motion. He slapped my face with his huge, fat cock.

And those slaps stung my face and made me feel warm and wet inside. I thought that something was dissolving inside of me. I thought that I was in Jewish American Princess heaven.

I spread my legs wide and ran my fingers through the dark red hair of my snatch.

Then I slipped two of my fingers deep into my pussy and started to work them back and forth as I opened my mouth wide. Lennie drove that huge cock into my mouth and I closed my lips around it. I fingered myself as I sucked on that cock.

And the heat built up in me, the heat that was almost driving me crazy.

As I sucked on that huge thing, took about half of it in my mouth and let it grow harder there, Lennie leaned over me and slapped my tits. I felt the pain there and that pain made everything so much better.

Then Lennie did something that I had dreamed about. He reached out and yanked my fingers out of my cunt and he snarled at me again.

"Let me at that pussy, you red-haired bitch," he said.

And he lay down on top of me and pressed his mouth against my warm, wet cunt. He drove his tongue into my pussy and I almost leaped with delight.

I might have leaped too if he had not been lying on top of me, if his hardening, huge cock had not been expanding and battering the insides of my mouth.

I put my arms around his body and held him close as his tongue worked Jewish miracles in my cunt. He parted my pussy lips as if it were the Red Sea and he moved across on dry land. Well, not dry, really. I guess my pussy was soaking wet when his tongue was in there.

When this mutual oral stuff was over, he moved away from me and stood there at the edge of his desk. His cock-that huge piece of meat-was standing straight out from his body. It looked like a pole.

I sighed as I moved around on the desk and spread my legs and slipped them over his shoulders. I spoke to him with lust in my voice.

"Oh, fuck me, Lennie. Fuck me with that huge, Jewish dick."

Of course, I knew that it might hurt a bit at first, when that big thing went into me. I knew that he might even rip me open with that huge sword of flesh.

But I did not care. I felt like a Jewish queen as Lennie pressed the fat head of that huge thing into my pussy. I felt like the famous Queen Esther of the Old Testament. I felt like a woman who could control the world.

The prick stretched my pussy to a new size. I sighed and thrashed about and yelped at him.

"Give me more. Give me more of that cock. I want it all inside me. I want all of that kosher cock deep in my fucking pussy."

And Lennie took a deep breath and grabbed my legs and held them close to his chest.

And he shoved his cock deep into that pussy as I squealed and thrashed about on the desk like a mad woman.

It was only then, when all of his prick was in me, when all of that meat was working its miracles inside of my cunt, that I noticed that Lennie and I were no longer alone.

It was only then that I heard the applause.

Someone was clapping in appreciation of my pussy's ability to take all of Lennie's prick into me. I turned and looked and saw the young man, the teenager, Mordecai.

He was grinning at me and he continued to grin at me as he asked Lennie the question.

"Do you remember your promise, Lennie?"

"Yes," the big-cocked publicist said. "I remember my promise, Mordy."

And then the teenager explained it to me as Lennie started to move back and forth in my cunt.

"I went to an all-boys high school. I never fucked a woman before. But Lennie said that, if things worked out with you, I could have you second."

"Sure," I moaned. "Sure. Anything Lennie wants."

But I wondered as I lay there if I would be any good for a second young man. Lennie's cock, I thought, was so big that it might stretch my pussy too large. I might just have a huge tunnel there in my cunt when Lennie was finished with me.

Still, I sighed and groaned and did not care what that prick did to harm my cunt.

I just knew that it felt very good inside me at that moment. It stuffed me and made me warm, hot with lust and slave-like devotion.

As he slammed his huge piece of meat into me again and again, Lennie leaned forward and slapped me hard. The slaps made the fucking even better. I rocked there on his desk and groaned to my new, Jewish master.

"Anything you want. Anything you want, Lennie. I am yours until you want to throw me away."

And then as he fucked me, Lennie growled at Mordecai.

"Go get the others, and don't forget Big Hank, the fake rabbi."

"Okay, Lennie," the teenager said with a grin.

Mordy took one last look at my naked body as I twisted there on the desk and then he dashed off to get all the others that I would fuck, ail the others who would drive me crazy that afternoon with their cocks.

"He's a good kid, really. Just a little young," Lennie muttered.

And then the Jewish stud leaned forward, pressing my legs back toward my head.

And he slammed his prick deeper and deeper into my pussy. He was driving me crazy with his fucking. I felt as if things were exploding deep inside me.

Then Lennie groaned and I knew that something was exploding deep inside me. His cock was spurting out gallons and gallons of love cream. At least, that is what it felt like to me at that moment.

He came with groans and growls. And then, when he was finished, he pulled his prick out of my pussy and snarled at me again.

"Lick this thing clean, bitch," he said. "Lick it good."

And I could not deny him. I moved around on the desk and I grabbed the cock and I licked it with my tongue. I tasted the come and my own pussy fluid on that big and mighty piece of flesh.

I was still licking Lennie's huge cock when the kid, Mordecai, came rushing into the room again. He smiled at me and rubbed his hand over his own crotch.

And then he made his report to Lennie with that boyish grin on his face.

"They are coming in," he said. "I told them that things worked out with her just the way that you hoped that they would."

I took my mouth away from Lennie's prick and asked him, "How many?"

"How many what?" the big-cocked man said.

"How many will I fuck this afternoon?"

And Lennie reached over and slapped his hand hard on my bare ass. I squirmed a little when he did that.

And then Lennie spoke like the master that he was.

"You will fuck as many as I tell you to fuck, bitch," he said, "and not one more."

And I knew that Lennie was right to react that way. I knew that I had gone too far by 'asking such a silly question.

And then Lennie turned and pointed at the teenager.

"You are going to start with Mordy," he said. "He has never fucked a girl before."

I moved around on the desk and looked at the kid. I smiled at him but I spoke to Lennie.

"Anything you say, Master," I muttered. "Anything you say."

"Get your clothes off, Mordy," Lennie said, moving back to the desk where Big Hank had been sitting and sitting down in Big Hank's big chair.

Mordy started to take off his clothes. As he did, he spoke to me.

"I have never really done it before," he said. "I am only seventeen. But I have read a book on it."

He looked at Lennie.

"Can I show her the book I read?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Sure, Mordy," Lennie said. "Show her the book."

Mordy had taken off his shirt. I noticed that his chest was pale and thin. But he was a cute kid in a way. And I felt my pussy quivering because I had never had a virgin male before. I wanted to make it good for Mordy, and I also wanted to make it good for Lennie too. I would do anything that he told me to do.

Mordy stepped out his shoes and pulled off his black socks. Then he ran across the little office and picked up the book. It was on another desk there.

He carried it back to me and held it up.

"This is called 'Sex for Teens' and it is by Rabbi Arthur Kaplan."

Lennie chuckled. He leaned back in Big Hank's chair and said, "The book is very old. But it is too hot for the university library. One of the rabbis found it there and demanded that they take that book off the shelves. They did, and Big Hank brought it over to this office."

Mordy was opening the book. He studied it and his brow became furrowed.

"This is one of my favorite parts," he said. "It is all the phrases for sex. The rabbi said that a teenager should know what those phrases are, but he said that you should not use them in public. It was not polite. I have noticed that Big Hank uses those phrases all the time, and he calls himself a rabbi."

Lennie laughed again. I looked at the man behind the desk.

"Mordy actually believes that Big Hank is a rabbi. Big Hank claims that he is a Reform rabbi, of course."

Mordy nodded his head. "I guess Reform rabbis don't have to be polite," he said.

And then the teenager turned a few pages in the book and found a phrase that he really liked. He smiled as he looked at me and said, "Do you fall off a roof?"

"What?"

"That is what Rabbi Kahn says women call it when they have their period."

I grinned up at Mordy.

"What was that phrase again?" I asked.

"Falling off a roof," Mordy said. "Of course, some women call it the blessing."

I tried to keep from laughing. The boy was so serious about the whole thing, and I thought that Lennie would be angry with me if I made fun of him.

But I had to smile. Falling off a roof, I thought. I had never heard that phrase before.

And then Mordy put the book down on one of the desks and looked down at me.

"You are very pretty," he said. "I hope you do me fine."

"I will do you fine, Mordy," I said. "Get your clothes off now."

And I felt a little bit like a mother as the young man smiled and blushed a little. He looked at Lennie, and the naked man behind the desk nodded.

In my mind, I thought that it was very nice that Lennie Fink was like a father to this innocent teenager and I was like a mother. I supposed that that meant that Big Hank was like the crazy uncle that teenaged boys always thought the world of because the other members of the family were slightly ashamed of him.

Mordy pulled off his pants and stood there in his shorts. He had a nice, big bulge there too, although I knew that he would not be as big as Lennie. Not very many men in the world were as big as that stud.

"I think that I would like to be a television reporter one day," Mordy said earnestly. "I think that I would like to be an anchorman. My parents want me to be a rabbi, but I like journalism a lot, and I interviewed a man who worked as a television anchorman once and I watched him do the news that night. I thought that that was very exciting. Do you think that

I would look good on television?"

And then, right after he asked the question, he pushed his shorts down.

I looked at the boyish but big prick that sprang out of those shorts and I smiled.

"Yes," I said softly, moving closer to the prick by crawling on my stomach across Lennie's desk. "Yes, Mordy, I think that you will look very good on television."

And then I reached out and touched his prick, curled my fingers around it.

And Mordy gulped and started to shiver a little. I put my other hand on his buns and pulled him closer to me. I looked up at him and I batted my eyes.

"I want to suck your cock, Mordy, if that is all right with Lennie."

"Just fine with me," Lennie said with a grin. "Mordy needs to know how that feels too, if he is going to make a career for himself in television.

"May I move off the desk and knee before this young stud, Master?" I asked Lennie.

"Oh, my god," Mordy sighed as he heard me say that. He shivered some more and the beads of perspiration seemed to pop out of every pore in his body.

"Sure," Lennie said. "Get down on your knees like the bitch slave that you are, Maggie."

I took my hand off the cock and Mordy stumbled back slightly. I moved easily off the desk and onto the floor. Then I knelt there and motioned for the teenager to come closer to me. As he moved hesitantly toward me, I saw another man, a little man with white hair and a cupid-like face move into the room.

"She will work with you in a minute," Lennie said. "I don't think that Mordy will be that long with her."

Mordy looked back over his shoulder at the little man and smiled.

"It is my first time and she is going to suck my cock. But I have read a book."

The little man smiled and then turned slightly and looked at Lennie.

"But what I want to know is this," he said in an accented voice. "I want to know if she will dance for me, like you promised."

"Sure, Sam," the man behind the desk said. "Sure, she will dance just like a ballerina for you, Sam."

Then Lennie Fink looked at me and growled.

"Get to it, Bitch. Suck on Mordy's cock. Let me feel that. You got a lot to do this afternoon."

"Yes, Master," I whimpered softly.

And Mordy shook and shivered as he moved closer to me.

"Master," the kid muttered. "She called Lennie master. I just call him boss sometimes."

I did not stop to explain to Mordy why I called Lennie master.

I figured that he would understand sooner or later anyway, when he grew older. He might even understand deep in his soul right now, I thought.

I just opened my mouth and took his hard, meaty, boyish cock in my mouth.

I took just the tip of the prick into my lips first, and I pressed my lips tightly around it. Then I looked up and saw him toss his head back and moan. When he did that, his yarmulka fell off.

Sam moved across the room and picked it up and put it back on the boy's head.

"Always wear that, Mordy," he said in his accented voice. "Show some respect."

But I noticed that Sam was not wearing a yarmulka.

But I could not really care. I just sucked on Mordy's cock. I put my hands on his firm, boyish ass and I slipped a finger into his crack. He sighed and almost howled when I did that to him.

And his cock got harder and longer in my mouth.

I did not want Mordy to come in my mouth. I wanted him to actually get his prick into a pussy this afternoon, and I could sense that that was what my master, Lennie Fink, wanted too.

I took my mouth off the prick and stood up. I lay back on Lennie's bare desk and I spread my legs. I moved my fingers down to my pussy and opened my pinkness for Mordy.

"Just put your cock in there, Mordy," I said.

The teenager suddenly seemed very proud. He stood up very straight and said, "I know what to do. I read that book by Rabbi Kaplan."

And Lennie laughed out loud then. Mordy glanced at him and blushed.

Then the teenager stumbled toward him and I reached out and grabbed his stiff, wet cock and pulled it into my gaping pussy hole.

I had been worried, as I told you, that I would not be able to feel any other prick in my pussy after Lennie Fink's rough and huge tool had stretched me open.

But my pussy had moved back to its original size, I guess.

I felt Mordy's cock just fine when he was in me. I felt that cock deep in my cunt and I lay back and wrapped my legs around the teenager's body.

As I grabbed my tits and started to massage them, Mordy leaned over me but he was not moving. I cried out to him in passion.

"Fuck me, Mordy. Move in and out of my pussy. Fuck me just like Rabbi Kaplan would want you to do."

And Mordy grinned down at me and slipped his meaty, boyish cock back and forth in my cunt.

"That's it, Mordy," I said. "That is just fine. Fuck me good. That is good, Mordy."

As he worked back and forth in my cock, the young man started to beam with pride.

He looked down at me as I rocked there on the desk, and he said, "I think that I will be just fine on television. I think that I have the makings of an anchorman."

"Yes. Yes," I whimpered. "If you fuck like this, you might even make it to the network."

And Mordy groaned when I said that. Then he shivered, and I could tell that he was coming deep in my pussy. I held him close there and let him come, let him shoot his boyish wads of goo into his first cunt-my cunt.

And then, when his orgasm was over, I released Mordy. He stumbled back against Big Hank's desk and he turned around and smiled at Lennie.

"Did I do it right?"

"You did it right, Mordy," my master said. And then we all looked at the little man with the white hair.

"What I want to know is this: Is she going to dance for me like a-like a-oh, you know, Lennie."

"Like a ballerina," Lennie said.

"Yeah. Ballerina."

And then the man turned to me and smiled.

"Sorry about my English. I have only been in the country since 1948."

I looked at Lennie. I could not understand about this dancing that this man wanted me to do. But I knew that, if Lennie wanted it too, I would do it. I would do anything for my master.

And Lennie seemed to know just what I needed. He got out of the chair and moved around the desk and looked down at me. He slapped me hard and then he explained.

"Sam here just loves ballerinas. He is an artist. He likes to paint ballerinas. Well, he is not going to paint you, but you are going to be his ballerina. You are going to dance naked for him."

"What I want to know is this: When does she dance?"

Lennie Fink moved back. I took one long look at his huge cock as he slipped behind that desk again.

Then he answered the little man's question. "She dances right now, don't you, bitch?"

Now, I am not a dancer. I will tell you that right now. But I sprang off that desk and started to move naked in the middle of that office like a ballerina would. I was willing to dance for these men because Lennie had ordered me to do that.

And I am not what you would call graceful. When I tried to twirl like a ballerina, I ran into Mordy. He reached out and touched my tits before I got away, and everyone laughed.

But I danced as best I could. I wanted to be a ballerina for these men.

I grew dizzy with my dancing, and I thought that I was going to throw up. I felt the come rolling down the inside of my leg and I finally leaned back against the bare desk and looked at the little man.

I was surprised that he was naked already. He grinned at me.

"What I want to know is this," he said in his accented English. "Is she going to fuck me too?"

"Yes, Sam," the man behind the desk said. "She will fuck you."

I moved back on the desk and spread my legs. Sam moved close to me and I touched his cock. I tugged on it. He was already hard and full. He did not need much more excitement.

"I have not really fucked a ballerina since I left Poland," the man muttered. "That was in 1947. I have had to settle for girls in dance halls ever since. I don't like disco, you know. I like ballerinas. What I want to know is this: Will you pull my cock into your pussy real good?"

"Yes, Sam," I said softly, "I will."

And then I did. I slipped the tip of his organ into my pussy and lay back as Sam shoved his Polish prick deep into me.

The little man was not like Mordy. He knew just how to fuck, once he got started.

And that was something that did not require any ability with English at all. As he started to slam into my pussy again and again, Sam leaned forward and put his fingers on my nipples. He groaned to me in his accent.

"Ballerina tits. Real ballerina tits."

Of course, I was not a ballerina, but I was willing to let Sam believe that. I was willing to do anything to please Lennie and all of his friends.

But then I heard another rough voice come from the door.

"What the shit is this?" the man yelled. "You know what I mean? What the shit is this? I am in charge here. I have been in charge for 40 years. You know what I mean?"

When Sam heard the voice, he jerked. He pulled his cock out of my pussy and backed up. He took his hands off my tits and waved at me as he slipped toward the back of the office in fear.

"Bye, Ballerina," he muttered sadly.

And I felt sorry for the little man. I turned a looked at the man who had interrupted us.

He was a little man too and he was chewing on a cigar.

"S.H., " Lennie groaned. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"They said it couldn't be done, but you did it. Fink. You got a girl in here naked."

He pulled on his prick as he said that and then he muttered around his cigar again.

"But I am in charge here. You know what I mean? You understand? I am in charge."

Lennie waved his hands in the air and shrugged his shoulders.

"Okay, Maggie," he said, "S.H. is in charge. Suck his cock."

I did not like this little brute of a man. I thought that he was cold and crazy.

But, if Lennie told me to suck his cock, I would have to do that.

I moved off the desk and strolled toward the man with the cigar. I towered over him.

And then I dropped on my knees in front of him and took his cock in my mouth.

To me, that cock tasted like an old cigar too.

"You know what I mean?" the man muttered. "You know what I'm talking about? I am in charge here, and I-"

And then the man started to make funny-little sounds, sounds as if he were dying.

And he moved back from her with a jerking motion. I looked up to see the woman with her arm around the man's neck. She was pressing the cigar into his mouth. I let go of the little guy's cold, stale cock and watched as the young woman pulled him away and tried to gag him with his own cigar.

"You get the fuck out of here, S H., " she said. "You get out of here and leave these people alone. You are a fucking piece of shit, S. H."

And, when she let the man go, he dropped to his knees and started to cough, started to spit the pieces of cigar out of his mouth and throat. The woman kicked him in the ribs.

"You are a fucking shit, S. H., " she snarled at him. "You are not worth anything."

The man crawled out of the room and Lennie stood up and applauded as he cheered the woman.

"Great job, Marilyn. You are the only one who can handle the little Fuehrer."

I looked up at this Marilyn. She had big tits and a cheerful smile. She was sexy in a sweet and girlish way, even though she was probably in her mid-thirties at least, I figured.

"Do you want her too, Marilyn?" Lennie asked.

The dark-haired, cute woman looked down at me. She touched the top of my red hair with her fingers.

"Well," she said, "I could use a little cunt-lapping. Do you think that she will give me a cunt-lapping, Lennie?"

"She will give you anything that I tell her to give you, Marilyn," Lennie said proudly.

Marilyn started to unbutton her blouse. She was not wearing a bra. She grinned down at me, and, even though I never done anything with a woman before, I found myself grinning up at her.

She kicked off her shoes and she pushed down her jeans. She stepped out of them.

And then she moved to the desk and lay back there and spread her legs wide.

I looked at Lennie Fink, my master, and I waited for his order.

"Do it, bitch," he said. "Treat her good. She deserves it. She's the only one who can really handle S. H."

And I understood what Lennie was talking about. I smiled at him.

This woman did save me from that cold and stale, cigar-butt cock.

I stood up and moved toward the desk. I leaned over Marilyn and she smiled at me and showed her sexy dimples as I started to kiss her neck.

"Wow!" Mordy yelled. "She is really doing this! Is this natural, Lennie?"

"Sure, Mordy," I heard my master say. "Just sit back and enjoy the show."

"What I want to know is this: Is she going to suck Marilyn's what-do-you-call it?"

"You mean tit?" Mordy asked.

And I moved down to one of her tits and sucked her nipple into my lips.

"No," Sam muttered. "No. No. My English is not so good. Her what-do-you-call-it. You know."

"Her clitoris, Sam," Lennie said. "Is she going to suck Marilyn's clitoris? That is what you are asking, right?"

"Right," the little man said.

"Yes," Lennie informed the man. "She will get to that very soon."

"Wow!" Mordy yelled again. "Wow! This is great!"

"I bet the rabbi's book doesn't say anything about this, does it, Mordy?" Lennie asked.

"No. I never read anything at all like this."

And I had never thought that I would do anything like this. But I was sucking on Marilyn's nipple and she was moving her fingers through my red hair and heaving a little under my body. I felt my pussy growing moist.

To me, at that moment, this woman was a heroine.

But I knew that I would have eaten her cunt if she had been the worst woman in the world. I would have done it because Lennie Fink told me to do it.

I found myself feeling very glad that she was such a sexy woman.

I took my mouth off her nipple and moved my tongue down over her stomach. She heaved again when I did that and she sighed to me. "Good. Good. You have a real good tongue. Lick me good, Red."

She did not even know my name, but that made no difference between us at that moment.

I was giving her pleasure with my tongue. I ran my tongue into her navel and she jerked and tossed there on the desk.

And I was getting pleasure too. My pussy was flooding with juice.

As I moved down on my knees and licked the black hair that grew above her cunt, I Heard Mordy cry out.

"Look, Rabbi Big Hank! Look at what she is doing!"

"My god," I heard the fake rabbi muttered. "What is going on here?"

And then I heard Lennie chuckle, and I heard my master's voice too.

"Why don't you fuck her, Rabbi Big Hank? Fuck her while she eats out Marilyn."

"But-"

Big Hank was hesitating, and I knew why. Big Hank had a foreskin. I remembered then that someone had told me that. If he pulled his cock out to fuck me, they would learn the truth, that he was not a rabbi after all.

I stood up quickly. I took my mouth off the woman's body but I ran my fingers around the lips of her pussy. I looked back at my old friend and smiled.

"It is all right, Big Hank. Lennie knows the truth. He says that he does not mind."

"You mean-" the big guy asked. "You mean he knows that I am not-"

I nodded and Lennie laughed.

"Go ahead and fuck her, Big Hank."

Mordy muttered to Lennie. "Please," he said, "show some respect. Rabbi Big Hank is a Reform rabbi, but he is still a rabbi, Lennie."

And Lennie chuckled again. I watched as Big Hank unzipped his pants.

He had a huge cock too. It was big as Lennie's.

He pulled the skin back on the cock and stroked on himself. He moved close to me as I bent over and spread my legs. I buried my face in Marilyn's cunt as Big Hank moved the tip of his fat, uncircumcised cock against my pussy lips.

My cunt was aching for that cock, and my tongue was aching for the woman's pussy.

I moved my hands up Marilyn's body and touched her big tits. I held on and slipped my tongue into her cunt just as Big Hank-the fake rabbi of the university-slipped his prick into me.

I was caught between them and it was a delicious experience.

I worked my tongue into Marilyn's pussy as she tossed there on the desk. I had never tasted cunt before, but this cunt was sweet and musky. I loved the aroma that worked into my nostrils and I loved the honey that clung to my tongue. I loved it too when Big Hank slammed himself deep into my cunt. I wanted to moan and shiver, but I was trapped, wonderfully trapped between them. Big Hank was moving his hands over my back and then he slipped his hands under me and grabbed my tits. He pulled on them and that added another special kind of feeling to me, a wonderful kind of feeling.

And I pulled my tongue out of Marilyn's cunt and spread her pussy lips with my fingers and started to strike on that cunt with my tongue. I rocked as Big Hank battered me and sucked that clit into my lips and started to tug on it as Big Hank tugged on my slave-like tits. "See, Sam?" Lennie yelled. "She is sucking on Marilyn's clit!"

"I hear the slurping, but what I want to know is this-"

The little man paused, and I supposed that he had no question to ask, not while this sexy thing was going on right in front of him.

And I heard Mordy groan with passion in his teenaged voice.

"This is terrific. I wonder why Rabbi Kaplan did not mention something like this."

And then I heard Marilyn yell out as she tossed there on the desk.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! I am coming. Coming! Coming!"

And the big-titted, sexy beauty threw her legs over my shoulders as I sucked her to an orgasm. I did that while Big Hank continued to plunder my pussy with his cock.

As the long, sweet shudder worked through Marilyn's body, I knew that she had come.

I kept sucking her clitoris until she had come and then I moved my face off her pussy. I looked up at her as she smiled down at me between her legs. I turned my head to one side as Big Hank continued to fuck me and I kissed the inside of her thigh.

"Thank you," I murmured. "You saved me from that cigar-butt cock."

"S.H. sucks pig dicks," the woman snarled.

But then she smiled at me again and said, "Thank you for that orgasm."

She moved off the desk gingerly, so as not to disturb me too much while Big Hank continued to fuck me. I leaned against that desk as Big Hank pulled on my nipples.

And I felt that prick deep in my pussy, filling me with such heat that I just had to cry out in passion to the man.

"Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me, you fake rabbi! Fuck my hot, hot cunt!"

And then I heard Mordy ask the question softly.

"What is she talking about, Lennie? What does she mean when she says fake rabbi?"

And Lennie exploded with laughter. His booming, masterful laugh filled the room.

And Big Hank was too filled with male passion to worry about the fact that I had given him away like that.

He was close to coming. He growled and groaned and then he slammed his prick deep into my snatch.

And I shivered as I felt that slamming. I knew that Big Hank, the fake rabbi, was coming in my pussy, coming in my cunt.

When Big Hank was finished with me, I collapsed onto the desk and slid down on the floor. I lay there and looked at my master.

"Is that all, Lennie?" I asked. "Is that all for me this afternoon?"

And Lennie looked around the room. I think that that would have been all for me if the bearded, old man had not entered the room at that moment.

"The Rav!" Mordy screamed. "It is the Rav!"

"What is going on here?" the bearded man chirped. "What does the Talmud say of this?"

And Lennie pointed at the bearded old man and growled at me.

"Bitch, go suck that Rav's cock. Do it now."

I looked at the old man, and I started to move toward him. I found myself filled with vigor and strength again, and I knew that it could not because I found that old man sexy. It had to be because Lennie had given me the order.

"Are you a good Jew?" the old man asked as I moved my hand over the crotch of his old, black trousers. "Would you fast on the day before Purim? Do you-"

I knelt there and blocked out all of the old man's questions. I just wanted to do what my master told me to do.

Well, anyway, I found my master that afternoon in that university public relations office.

I found the man who knew how to handle me. And it wasn't Mordy and it wasn't Big Hank and it wasn't even the Rav.

It was Lennie Fink, the big-cocked master of my dreams.

Since that afternoon, I have met Lennie many times in motel rooms around New York and New Jersey. Of course, we are not married, as I was married to Theo, but the truth is that I feel more married to Lennie than I ever felt to my real husband.

And I think that, maybe, he feels a little bit like my husband too.

I told him everything, of course. I told him about the night that Theo tied me up and left me on that bed. I told him about the dream that I had. I told him about my secret desires.

Now, when he comes to see me in those hotel rooms, I am prepared. I have the dog collar and the leash-new ones that I bought at that kinky, New York City store.

When Lennie comes to see me, we both take off our clothes. Then he sits in a chair for a little while and pats my head, just as if I were a good, little pooch. He tells me about his day at the office, tells me about the way that Big Hank fucks off all the time, tells me about the way that S.H. bellows and screams.

And then he looks down at me and says, "Shall we go for a walk, little bitch?"

I always scurry naked across the room on my hands and knees. I pick up the leash with the collar attached and I carry it back to him in my mouth. He takes it from my mouth and he puts the collar on me and he walks around the room with me. I feel so safe and so secure when he does that, you know.

And then, after we have had our little walk, he takes the collar off me and slaps my rear end. I climb onto the bed and he ties me down there with the leather. He spreads my arms and legs and he ties me so I am helpless.

But that is all right, you know.

I trust this master. I know that he would never leave me like that.

He is not like Theo at all. He is Jewish, just as I am Jewish, and he understands me better than my husband ever did.

When I am tied to that bed, he kneels over my throat and he shoves his cock into my mouth. I suck it until he is hard and then he fucks me. I squirm against the leather that holds me down as he fucks me, and that leather pleases my little dog soul.

And he always unties me and makes sure that I am all right, before he leaves me.

Lennie Fink really understands me, and I love him as he should be loved. I love him because he is the best, big-cocked master that a little pooch could have.

Maggie really has a problem with feelings of her own self-worth. She needs immediate psychological help. She is not a dog, after all. And she does not seem to think of these things she does with Lennie as a game.

She is a very confused woman, and her confusion seems to stem from her Jewishness.

She is suffering from what one noted psychologist called the "Jewish bitch" syndrome. She is the typical spoiled Jewish girl who grows up into a troubled woman because she knows that she should not be so spoiled, because she feels empty when she thinks that she cannot hold a man.

So she gives into men like this Lennie Fink who master her. She thinks that this is the closest thing to love she will ever receive.

And who knows?

She just might be right.

VALERIE

Valerie is a beautiful, sexy, dark-haired teenager. She is what every man would call cute, and she is probably what almost every man would want to get into. When she came for her interview, I wondered what kind of problem a young girl like this could have. And then she told me this hair-raising story.

I should not have run and I should not have gotten married. I was only sixteen.

But I hated it at home and Bob was so nice to me. He was older. He was twenty-five.

Of course, my parents did not even know that I was dating Bob. They would never have allowed that. He was so much older than I was. But I liked the fact that he was older. He seemed to be so experienced and yet so gentle. He was gentle the first time we fucked. He was gentle with me until that night I told him that I wanted to run off and marry him. Then we did run off and we did get married-

And Bob was not gentle any longer.

He changed on our wedding night. We checked into this little, seedy motel and we went into the room. It was one of those X-rated motels, those places that showed adult movies on the TV. I was really very nervous. Of course I had fucked Bob before, but I thought that this would be different. I kept thinking that I had made a commitment for life just a few hours before when we had stood in front of that preacher and said that we would have and hold each other until death parted us.

I was just an innocent, simple kid. I really believed all of that.

But I don't think Bob ever meant to stay around me for long and even be faithful to me. Like I said, that night he changed.

We got to the motel room and he turned on the TV. He glanced at the scene that was on and he said, "Val, you sit there and watch that. Learn something."

Then he went into the bathroom and closed the door with a slam.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at that television. I had never seen anything like that before. Let me tell you about that scene:

There was a big titted girl lying in the middle of the floor and a man was standing over her with a leather whip in his hand. The girl was naked and she was whimpering like she had lost something that she really cherished. And the man started to beat her with that whip. I know now that they were just acting, and acting pretty badly. He was not really hurting her that much. It was just part of the movie.

But, at the time, I thought that it was the most terrible thing that I had ever seen.

I wanted to get up and turn that television off, but I was afraid to do that. Bob had told me to watch that. I don't think that I had ever been afraid of Bob before that moment.

But I was married to him by then, and I felt very, very trapped.

When he came out of the bathroom, he was naked. I looked at him and I tried to smile.

I had seen him naked before, and I thought that that was a sign that he was just the same, old Bob, the one that I had fucked before I had married him.

But I was not sure. He seemed to be more cruel. There was a hardness in his eyes that I had never seen before.

"What's the matter. Bob?" I asked softly.

And that was when he hit me for the first time. He curled his fingers into a fist and he slammed that fist right into my face. I yelped a little and fell back on the bed.

I lay there and I touched my nose. It was broken and bleeding. I could hardly breathe.

But Bob did not seem to care about that. He moved onto the bed and leaned over me.

He snarled down at me and I looked up and wondered what had happened to the sweet Bob that I had known before.

"You think that you are so fucking special," he said. "You think that your fucking ass is a gold-mine."

"No," I murmured, shaking my head. "I don't, Bob. Honest, I don't."

And Bob grabbed my blouse and tore it open. He pulled off my bra and he looked down at my tits. He grabbed my nipples with his hands and he jerked on them. I cried out.

And that was when he thought of something else that he had to do.

He got off the bed and ran back into the bathroom. I started to get up and run out of the room, but I was too weak and I was too shocked.

Bob came back with his underwear, his underpants. They were wet with something.

He got on the bed again and he grabbed my throat. He started to choke me and forced me to open my mouth. That is when he shoved the underpants into my mouth.

And that was when I tasted the urine on them. That is what made them wet.

I thought that I was going to throw up, and I was really having trouble breathing now.

I thought that I was going to pass out for sure.

But Bob kept me conscious by pulling my nipples. Then he lowered his face down to one of them. He had often sucked on my nipples before. But he did not suck this time.

On our wedding night, he bit down hard on one of those nipples and he made me bleed.

My body was tingling with pain. My eyes were filled with tears.

And then Bob started talking to me, and I knew that I was in big trouble. I knew that he was crazy.

"You are just like my fucking sister," he snarled. "She was a bitch too. Well, I beat her up all the time and showed her that she was not so special. I beat her up until one time she went to sleep and did not wake up. She looked just like you, you know."

And I thought for a minute that Bob was going to cry as he remembered his sister.

I looked at him with my eyes wide. I could not believe what I was hearing.

And I knew then that I was really trapped, terribly trapped.

Bob did not cry. Instead, he hit me right in the stomach. I gasped and the soiled underwear popped out of my mouth. That was when I had my one chance.

I screamed. I screamed for help in that seedy motel room.

Bob tried to stop me from screaming. He put his hands on my throat and he choked me. I gagged and I fought him. I fought him with all of my strength.

And I kept screaming every chance that I got.

Soon, there were people banging on the door. Men were calling out. Then, a few seconds later, they were breaking that door down and pulling Bob off me.

And he started to scream too, scream in his own warped fantasy.

"Leave me alone! I know how to handle her! She is my sister!"

Needless to say, after that, Bob was put into the hospital. He is still there.

I guess that I could have gone home, but I didn't. I could not stand to face my parents after I had gotten myself in so much trouble.

After all, I had found Bob and had dated them without their approval.

I keep thinking that it was all really my fault, and I think that is the reason why I work in a sweatshop now in the city, sewing material together for next to nothing in pay. I can't go home and I can't get a good job, because I don't have a high school diploma. I am trapped here in the city too.

But I would not mind being trapped so much if I thought that I could trust men again.

Yet, I cannot trust men. I keep thinking of the way Bob hurt me that night.

On my wedding night.

And I do not trust anyone. I just want to crawl in a hole and hide until I die.

And I know that I need help. I am not his sister, but am I at fault? Was it my fault that Bob went crazy?

Of course, it is not her fault. She has to understand that.

She got herself into a bad situation because she was rebellious, but it was not her fault that she got linked up with a mad man. She had not seen his madness until their wedding night.

First, Valerie must call her parents and tell them where she is. I am sure that they are terribly worried about her. I am sure that they will take her back. Then she can live at home and try to forget this terrible experience that she had on her wedding night in an X-rated motel.

And I am sure that, if she can forget this experience, there will be another, better wedding night to come, a wedding night that will be filled with bliss and happiness for this beautiful teenager.

TERRI

Terri is a young, inexperienced college girl. She is very pretty, with large breasts and dark eyes and hair. She speaks with a definite Southern accent, and it was her Southernness that first attracted me to her story. I think that it is a story that could not happen to a Northern girl.

You have have noticed my Southern accent. Well it may surprise you to learn that I am not from the South at all. I was born in Massachusetts and I have lived most of my life in New York City. But my mother is Southern, a belle from Mississippi. And I talk just like her.

Yet, I do not think just like her. Or maybe I do.

Let me tell you the story of my marriage to Freddie.

I lived with my mother until I started college. I don't remember my father at all. He was a Yankee, my mother tells me, and he took my mother to Massachusetts when she was just fifteen and then he left her all alone there, pregnant with me. She never saw him again. But she came to New York City. I don't know why she did not go back to Mississippi when she was left all alone. I guess maybe she was a little embarrassed or ashamed to be pregnant with a baby and have no husband on her arm. That was something that a Southern belle would be embarrassed about, I guess.

Well, she raised me to be a Southern belle too. I learned to hate Yankees, even though I was living right in the middle of the New York City, the biggest Yankee town of them all.

And then I went away to college. I went back to Massachusetts because I got a scholarship in drama at a big university there. When I was away from my mother, I started to think that maybe she was wrong to be filled with such bitterness. I remember that my mother was always very pretty. She took good care of herself and she worked in an office. But she did not go out with men. Even though the Yankee men were licking around her like dogs, she did not want to have anything to do with them. She was always very nice to them to their face. That was one thing that Southern belles learned to do, be nice and courteous to people. But then she would come home and she would curse them and she would curse my father and she would tell me that all Yankee men were no good.

I believed that too, until I got the university. Then I met some Yankee men who seemed very nice. I had these feelings inside of me too. I wanted to fuck me some Yankee men, or any men. I had had these feelings, these yearnings, for the longest time.

The first Yankee boy that I fucked was a guy named Jerry. He was from Boston.

And I really liked it. I think that I liked the fucking so much that I did not even think of Jerry being a Yankee. I just liked the feeling of a cock in my cunt.

And then I fucked some other Yankee boys and I liked it with all of them.

And then I met my first Southern stud, the only one that I have really ever known. He was from Alabama and he was going to the university on a scholarship too. His name was

Freddie and he was very smart and he had a long, long dick.

He was sort of a little guy with a flashing, bright smile, but, when he took his pants off in front of me the first time, I knew that Freddie was not little all over.

I had never seen a cock that size on any Yankee boy. I will tell you that.

Oh, there is something else that I should tell you about Freddie.

Freddie was black.

But he was Southern. And he did have that long cock. And he was a good fucker and he was very nice to me. He was kind and considerate and sweet. I sort of fell in love with him.

And I married Freddie.

Oh, there is something else that you should know about Freddie. He had a fine, dark color like shining black marble. What I mean is this: he could have never passed for white or Spanish or something like that. He was black through and through.

Well, I took him back to New York City with me after I married him. I had written my mother about it. I had just told her that Freddie was a Southern boy. For that reason, she was very happy that I found a boy like that and married him.

But, when we got to the apartment where I had lived for so long with my mother, she opened the door and looked at his shining, black skin, and she yelled at me.

"Terri, you have brought a nigger with you!"

"Mother," I said, "this is Freddie. He is my husband."

"You have married a nigger?" she yelled. "You have married a fucking nigger?"

I nodded my head. I thought that she would be surprised, but I had thought too that Freddie's Southern charm would win her over rather quickly once he started to talk to her.

But he never got the chance to talk. She slammed the door and refused to open it when I hammered on it. She screamed from the other side of the door, "I have no daughter! I have no daughter!"

And Freddie and I took the train back to Massachusetts that night.

On the train, I could tell that Freddie was hurt and angry. We did not speak for the longest time, until he finally he said, "Your mother is very beautiful."

I thought that it was very strange that he would say something like that. Oh, it was true. My mother is very beautiful. She had dark eyes and dark hair and red lips and she has a very good body. But she had just insulted Freddie in a terrible way.

Still, I had to agree with him. I said it softly as we rode through the black night on that train. "Yes," I said, "she is very beautiful."

"You are beautiful too, Terri," Freddie said to me.

And then I turned in the seat on the train and I said, "You have to believe me, Freddie. I am nothing like my mother. She is a Southern belle, and I am a New York City girl."

"You sound like a Southern belle," he said.

"But I am a New York City girl at heart," I protested.

"We will see," he muttered. "We will see. I hope that you are a little bit of a Southern belle."

And I did not understand what Freddie was talking about, but I sensed that I should not speak to him about this any more. He was thinking, thinking very hard about something. I could tell that from the expression on his black, noble face.

Noble. Yes, that was the word to describe Freddie. I think that he is noble, like some black, African, jungle prince. But he is Southern too, and he understands me. That makes all the difference now.

When we got back to our little apartment that night, he was still thinking. I took off my clothes and lay on the bed. I felt so guilty because my mother had treated me that way. I reached out to him as he walked through the room and I spoke to him.

"Come to bed, Freddie! Fuck me. I will show you that I am not at all like my mother." , Then the guy turned and smiled down at me. He moved toward the bed and sat down on the edge of it. He reached out and touched my naked, white body with his black, strong hand.

"Listen, Terri," he said, "you have to understand this. I want you to be more like your mother."

I sat up in the bed. I could not believe what I had just heard.

"What?" I muttered. "You want me to call you nigger and stuff like that? That does not make sense, Freddie. I could not treat you like that. I would feel so badly."

He put his hand blacks on the sides of my head and he looked deep into my eyes.

"Terri," he said, "the reason I first fell in love with you was that you were a Southern girl. You sounded like the Southern white girls I used to know back in Alabama. They used to tease me and then run away from me. I could tell that they wanted me, but they would never allow themselves to give into their lusts for me. They were confused, and, because they were confused, they took their anger out on me."

"They did?"

"They used tcx call me names. But then, when one of them looked at me, when one of them thought that no one else was looking, she would lick her lips and yearn for me. I could see that yearning in their eyes, and I yearned for them too. I fucked only black girls because that was all that I was allowed to fuck down there, but I yearned for them."

"What do you-"

"Let me tell you about Melanie. Okay? I think that will explain it all."

I was silent as Freddie moved his hands down my white, naked body. Then he stood up and started to walk about the room, and he started to tell me this story about this girl from Alabama, this white girl and what she had done to him.

"Melanie was my age. She was in my high school class. Of course, the high school was integrated," Freddie said. "The courts made them integrate the high schools and everything else back in the early sixties. Well, Melanie was a white. Southern belle. She was a rich girl in that small town. She was like the princess of that town. A Southern princess, I guess you could say. She used to look at me sometimes when we were in high school and I could see that she was staring right at my crotch. You know my cock is very big. In that way, I am almost the stereotype of the black stud."

"Yes," I muttered softly. "I love that about you, Freddie."

But my young husband did not seem to hear me. He just kept walking around the room and talking about this girl.

"Once, late one summer night, I was walking through the park in the town where I grew up, and I heard someone call my name real low like. I knew that it was a girl who was calling me, and I thought that it might be one of my black girlfriends. I had a lot of black girlfriends. I was very popular with them. But I walked across the park toward that voice and I saw Melanie standing there. She was standing in the bushes and she was looking at me. She was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts and she raised her T-shirt up to her neck and showed me her tits. She had fine, big, white tits. She said, 'Freddie, would you like to put your black hands on my tits?' I didn't say anything. At first, I thought it was some kind of trap, that a bunch of white boys would jump out of the bushes and beat the hell out of me if I touched her tits. But I was drawn closer to her. Fact is, Melanie had beautiful, white tits. I kept looking around and wondering when the other guys were going to jump me. I kept looking at her tits too. Those white tits with those round, pink nipples seemed to me to be the center of the universe. Finally I could not stop myself. I just had to touch her. I want you to understand, Terri, that I was still scared, that I still thought that some of those white, redneck boys would jump me out of nowhere and beat the shit out of me and maybe even castrate me or something like that. But I didn't care any longer. Her tits seemed to control me, seemed to hypnotize me. I reached out and put my hands on her tits. I felt them. And then I was surprised that nothing happened at all. Nobody else was there to jump me. There was just me and Melanie and Melanie's huge, white tits. I sighed and relaxed a little bit and I moved down over those tits and I started to kiss them. That was when Melanie sighed to me. She said, "Kiss my tits, Freddie. Kiss those tits with your black, nigger lips." That was an insult, I guess. In fact, I know it. If she had called me a nigger under any other circumstances, I would have knocked the piss out of her and left her there in the park. But her tits seemed to make me weak. I could not fight her. I could not fight those tits. I moved my mouth over those white tits and I licked them and kissed them. I dropped to my knees in front of her and I sucked on one of her pink nipples. As I sucked on her that way, she ran her fingers over my head and she said, "Nigger hair. Kinky nigger hair on my kinky, stud, nigger slave.'"

As Freddie told me that story, I hated that white girl that I had never met. But something else was happening to my emotions too. I was getting turned on, very turned on, just listening to his story. As he talked about sucking on that white girl's tits, I licked my lips and moved my hands over my own big breasts. I felt as if my pussy were on fire with lust.

And Freddie walked around and continued his story.

"Melanie kept saying stuff like that to me, but I did not care. I sucked on her nipple and then I moved my mouth down over her stomach. I licked her white flesh there and I tasted her sweet, cool flesh. I don't think that I had ever tasted anything so sweet. I had never tasted a white girl's flesh before. And there seemed to be a different. Let me tell you about black girls, Terri. They go crazy from right at the first. They are moaning and whining and jerking around like jungle savages, I guess you can say, from the very first moment that they are touched. But Melanie was different. White girls are different. You are different too. White girls are more cool. They accept more things and they don't go crazy as easily. I think that is what really got me turned on that night with Melanie. She was not jerking around and crying out that she wanted my cock in her pussy, like the black girls did. She just felt the passion softly in her body. Oh, she had it there. I could tell that. But she felt it softly and sweetly. She was cool, really cool. She just kept speaking to me softly and calling me a nigger, slave stud and stuff like that. And that turned me on. Turned me on for sure, Terri. She talked to me and I licked her stomach and ran my tongue into her deep, sweet navel, and I felt my cock getting so hard in my pants that I thought I was going to rip right out of those things. Well, anyway, I opened her shorts slowly. I wanted to get to her pussy. I wanted to lick that part of her body too. It was only right, I thought."

Then Freddie gasped, and I gasped too, sitting there. It was then, when he paused in his story, that I noticed that I had my fingers in my pussy. I was playing with myself while my black husband told me this story of the South. It seemed to me that this was the ultimate, Southern story in a lot of ways.

Freddie started to talk again. He smiled a little now as he remembered it. But I do not see why he would smile as he told this part of the story.

"When I opened her shorts and breathed on her nice, white panties, she yelped and moved , back, out of my grasp. I just knelt there and looked at her. I thought that she would want me to do something like that, but I guess that I did not understand a white girl's soul at that time. At least, I certainly did not understand Melanie and her soul. She backed up and closed her shorts and pulled her T-shirt down, and she did not speak to me softly and with lust any longer. She growled at me like an angry dog. 'You nigger bastard,' she said, 'just who in hell do you think you are? Did you really think that I would let a nigger put his mouth on my pussy? Did you really think that I would let. a nigger fuck me? You are crazy, nigger, just plain crazy. I ought to have you horsewhipped.'"

That part of the story made me feel very sorry for Freddie again. I pulled my fingers out of my pussy and looked down at the sheet under me. I felt ashamed of my own whiteness at that moment, as I had never been ashamed before.

"I hated Melanie at that moment. I wanted to grab her and hurt her bad," Freddie said. "But I could not do that. I still felt weak in front of her. As she turned and walked away, I just bowed my head and I cried. I thought that she was taking something very special, something that was important to me, with her. And I thought that I would never find that something again. I didn't either, until I met you, Terri. You gave me back that special something. I cannot explain what it is. But I know that you gave it back to me. And then, tonight, your mother said those things and slammed the door and I thought about Melanie again."

"I am sorry, Freddie," I muttered. "I am sorry that my mother acted in that way. I am not at all like her or like this Melanie either."

Freddie looked at me and shook his head.

"No, Terri," he said, "you don't understand. You have to be like Melanie in a way. I love you, Terri, but, now, when I look at you, I think of Melanie and I have to have some way to work out what she did to me, to cling to that something special. I have to be able to think that I am a real man again, and not a slave."

I cannot say I understood exactly what he was getting at.

But something in my heart seemed to understand everything quickly. If Freddie did not want to be a slave, I thought, then I would be the slave. If he did not want to be the nigger, then I would be the nigger.

I found myself slipping off the bed and kneeling naked there in the floor.

And I found myself speaking the words that changed our relationship, that made it more dangerous and sweeter too.

"I will be your slave, Freddie. I will be your nigger slave."

Freddie looked down on me and grinned like a happy child on Christmas morning.

"Really, Terri?" he asked. "Really? You would do that for me?"

I knelt there naked and lifted my arms and sighed out the word.

"Master. Master Freddie, you own me just like you own this here plantation."

And my black husband grinned and rocked and said some soft words too.

"Nigger," he said, "you are the prettiest, little nigger slave we have here on the plantation. But you ain't pick enough cotton today. You only picked twenty pounds. That means that I am going to have to beat you, nigger slave."

"I know what it means, Master," I said, getting into the role now. "I am sorry I didn't pick enough cotton, but, out there in the sun, I started thinking of you and I got all hot and bothered and I just like to lie there in the cotton fields and diddle my nigger pussy. I diddled thinking of you, Master, because you are such a white stud."

And Freddie laughed when I brought in this new dimension to our game.

He was still laughing when he moved toward me and grabbed my dark hair and pulled my head back as I knelt there.

"Pretty nigger slave," he said, "you are going to have to learn your lesson. But, if you learn it well, I am going to make you a house nigger. I am going to bring you into the house and let you serve me and the mistress. You can even be there when the mistress's baby is born next season."

"Oh, master," I whimpered as a little bit of pain shot through my head, "I don't know nothing about birthing babies."

And Freddie almost laughed when I said that. He was smart and he understood that I was quoting from that famous movie. Still, he kept a straight face. He stayed in his role and he growled at me.

"You gonna learn things, black slave bitch. You are going to learn to serve your master well."

And then he pulled me up onto my feet, pulled on my hair as I struggled to my feet.

That hurt. I will not lie to her. I was feeling the pain.

But I was feeling something else too. I felt a certain kind of sweetness, because I thought that I was paying for the sins of all white people. I was at least paying for the sins of my mother and this Melanie from my husband's past.

I would be his slave. I would be his nigger and that would make Freddie feel good. That would make him feel more like a man.

As I struggled to my feet, I ran my fingers over the crotch of his pants. He was getting hard and long down there. Yes, I thought, he was feeling more and more like a man every minute.

Freddie pushed me back on the bed. I lay there and looked up at him.

And then I looked down at my own body. Of course, I am white, but the game was making my eyes play tricks on me. I looked down and I thought that my body was black and shining.

And then I looked at Freddie and I saw him as a strong, white man. I saw him as the master.

"Master," I whimpered to him, "this nigger flesh belongs to you. Do with it what you will."

And Freddie growled with coarse laughter and pulled off his shirt. His body was covered with perspiration and that made his black skin-his white flesh in my imagination-shine even more. I felt wonderful and I spread my legs for him as my husband stood over me and stripped.

As he took off his clothes, he kept speaking to me.

"Nigger slut. Slave slut. I am going to teach you how to serve a master. If you learn good, then you can be a house nigger. Nigger bitch. Nigger slut. I am going to teach you good."

"Yes," I muttered. "Yes, master, teach me good. I want to learn to be a good nigger slave."

And, all the time that I said that, I felt my pussy pulsing with desire. I felt the hot, lusty juices flooding me and driving me nearly crazy with the nigger lust.

When Freddie was naked, he stood over me as' I lay there on the bed. His huge dork swung like a giant piece of meat between his legs. I loved the sight of it. I yearned to rise up and touch it, but I was frozen there, waiting for my master to show me how to be a good nigger slave.

I lay there on the bed with my legs spread. I raised my hips slightly and Freddie looked at my pussy. He had seen it so often before, but I wondered now if he saw it as a black, nigger pussy.

Yet, I did not speak. I did not want to ruin the moment with words.

Freddie lifted his pole of flesh with both of his hands. He started to massage it.

And, as he did that, I moved. I moved up on the bed and slipped toward the edge of it.

I sat there and looked at the prick, just a few inches away from my face, and I sighed.

I moved my hands over my big tits. I felt the passion growing in my cunt.

I yearned to say something, but I did not know what words a nigger slave should speak to her white master.

You see, I had never been a nigger slave before. But I was certainly enjoying this now.

I started to think of my beautiful mother. I started to think again of the way that she had insulted Freddie that night. I knew that I had to pay for being my mother's daughter.

And I wondered what my mother would have done if she could have seen our slave games that we were playing.

She would probably turn away in disgust, I thought, but it really did not matter. She had already turned away from me in disgust, had said that she had no daughter. And I did not really need a mother any longer. I knew that. I had Freddie and he was all that a girl like me-a Southern belle turned nigger slave slut-would ever need.

I moved my fingers around my nipples and I moaned. I leaned closer to Freddie's big prick.

And then he did something that he had never done to me before. His prick was hardening, and it would be ready to fuck me very soon. I knew that. But I did not expect him to do what he did at that moment.

He slapped my face with the big cock. He slapped me hard, first one side of my face and then the other.

I will not tell you that it did not hurt when he slapped me like that.

It hung and it stung my face, but it also felt deliciously kinky. I leaned forward as he slapped me with his huge meat and I murmured to my husband.

"Oh, Master, your white cock feels so good when you slap my nigger face."

And Freddie laughed and slapped me a few more times. Then he put his hands on my shoulders.

He pushed me back on the bed as he growled at me with an order.

"Play with your nigger cunt, slave," he said. "I want to see that pinkness inside your nigger twat."

I lay there and I spread my legs and I showed him my pinkness. I was wet in there too. And I knew that my pinkness was probably glistening with sexiness. I slipped my fingers inside my cunt and rammed them deep inside me as I started to moan. As I fingered my cunt with one hand, I moved the other one over my tits and my stomach. My body seemed to ache with need, and I wanted my master to give me what I needed.

I had never been so turned on with anyone before in my life. I had never been so turned on even with Freddie before. I was gaping, I thought, and my need was rushing out of me. But there was always enough need to fill me up when part of the need ran out of me.

"Oh, Master," I sighed. "Master, fuck my nigger pussy. Fuck my slave pussy with your big, white cock."

And, as I dug around deep in that cunt with my fingers, I looked at his cock. It was big.

He had an huge organ that stuck out straight from his body. It was tilted up slightly.

He smiled at me and ran his hand up and down that organ. Then he moved onto the bed with me.

And I knew that I was going to be fulfilled then, fulfilled by what my husband was going to do to me.

Freddie lay down next to me and put his fingers around my wrist. He jerked my fingers from my twat.

And then he said, "I got something better to put inside that nigger cunt, slave slut."

I tossed on the bed and begged him to do it, to fuck my nigger cunt.

"Yes," I moaned, touching his cock as he moved over me. "Yes. Yes. Fuck my nigger cunt."

And then Freddie positioned himself over me. I lifted my hips and let him aim his porker at me.

I felt the tip of his wet, firm, big cock on my pussy lips, and I trembled with desire.

And I put my hands on his chest, let my fingers slip up over his shoulders and around his neck.

As he slid into me, I whispered to him. As the big, throbbing organ worked into my cunt, I moaned.

"Yes, Master, fuck my hot, nigger cunt. Fuck me hard, Master. Fuck me hard and deep."

And then I pulled Freddie down to me and I lifted my legs and slipped them around his body.

And we kissed as he started to fuck me with his hard, masterful cock. We kissed and opened our mouths and our tongues played their usual games with each other as he slammed deep into me again and again.

You see, once the fucking started, the game ended. He was no longer the master and I was no longer the slave.

He wasn't the nigger and I wasn't the nigger either. There were no niggers left in our world when Freddie started to fuck me.

We were just husband and wife, two people who loved each other, two people who were turned on by each other. That was the healthy part of our fucking.

But I think that it was all healthy. It certainly did not hurt either one of us when we played our nigger slave and white master game.

As the months went by, the game became a standard part of our love-play, and Freddie and I looked forward to the game with eagerness. We did not play it every night, of course. That would have lessened the thrill of the game. We played it, at the most, once a week. But we spend time preparing for the game. Freddie saved up some money and went out and bought a whip. It was not the kind of whip that would really cut my flesh. We didn't want to be that hard-core when we played our game.

It was a whip that cracked like little bombs going off. It was made of soft, black leather and it did sting when he hit me with it, but it did not really hurt me at all.

And I made a little dress for myself. It was short and tattered and I would wear it over my naked body when we started to play our game. It was the kind of dress that I thought a black slave girl in the cotton fields might wear.

And we played the game with more variations. Sometimes he would beat me because I had not picked enough cotton. Sometimes he would say that he had heard that I had sassed the mistress of the house. Sometimes he would just say that I turned him on too much. Those were the nights, I think, that I liked best. When he told me that I turned him on too much and drove him crazy with lust, he would beat me because he did not want to lose his soul to some nigger bitch. But he would always end up giving into his emotions. He would always fuck me anyway, screaming that he could not help himself, that I had the finest, black, nigger flesh he had ever seen or touched in his life.

A few months after we made that trip to New York City, I got a call from my mother. She was lonely and she wanted to see me, she said, but she did not want to see that nigger that I had married. I could not hate her. She was my mother, and I realized that that beautiful woman was sick. I told her that, if she wanted to come up and visit, she could. But she would not be able to stay in my apartment because it was Freddie's apartment too.

She did not like that, but she seemed to understand, and she said she might drop up sometime.

I honestly did not think that she would ever come up there. She had spent so many years in New York City, going to work and then coming home and watching television. She rarely even went out of her apartment. She was that lost in the modern world. It frightened her.

And, now that I think about it, it must have taken my mother a long time to work up the courage to even call me. But she was my mother and she did love me. I guess it took a lot of love and courage for her to get on the train and come to Massachusetts too.

But she did not call me when she started her trip. Perhaps she wanted to surprise me.

She was the one who got the big surprise. She was the one whose life was really changed that weekend.

As I said, we were not expecting any company that Saturday morning. Freddie and I were lounging around the apartment. We had just finished a late breakfast when we looked at each other. He got that glimmer in his dark eyes and he smiled.

"The game?" he asked.

I nodded my head. I was ready to play the game. I was always ready to play the game.

But we did not think to lock the front door. It all worked out so perfectly, you see. Perhaps it was fate, but I know that we did not lock the door because we were both so anxious to play that game together.

A few minutes later, I was wearing the tattered dress and kneeling in front of Freddie. He was standing over me naked with that kind but cruel whip in his hand.

"You have been haunting me again, black bitch," he muttered to me. "Last night, I was fucking my wife, the mistress of this plantation, and I thought of you. I tried to get you out of my head because I was in a white pussy. And my wife's pussy is very good too. But you kept coming back to me. You kept getting into my head and haunting me. I could not get rid of you. Now I am going to beat the shit out of your nigger hide because I want you to quit bothering me like that."

I knelt there and trembled. I thought that Freddie was a very good actor. When he talked about that kind of thing, I actually thought that I did haunt him in some way, and it made my nigger heart proud to haunt such a white, sexy, masterful stud.

Freddie grabbed my tattered dress and pulled me up to my feet. He snarled at me.

And then he grabbed the front of my dress and he ripped it. He tore it open.

That was not really new. It was the third tattered dress that I had had torn off me by my master. I just kept sewing it together again, making it look even more sexy and tattered.

The dress fell away from my body. I stood there naked in front of my master.

He looked over my body and he screamed at me.

"You will haunt me again! That nigger body is just too fucking good to keep out of my mind!"

And then Freddie pushed me back onto the bed and raised his whip high and brought it down on my big, nigger tits. I sighed and felt the stinging heat go through my breasts. I loved that heat and I loved the way that it seemed to travel straight down to my pussy.

Freddie moved onto the bed on his knees and brought the whip down on my naked body again and again. I groaned and tossed there on the sheet. I reached out and grabbed his cock in my hand. I moaned to him.

"Yes, beat my nigger body, Master. Beat it good. I need the beating in my nigger soul."

And Freddie continued to beat my naked body even as I raised up slightly and opened my mouth wide and took his big prick into me and started to suck on it.

The cock grew in my mouth. I was turned so that my butt was open to his whip. He started to slap that whip across my rear end, putting the heat there, and he snarled at me as I sucked on his huge, handsome cock.

"Nigger bitch. Fucking nigger slave bitch. Suck that cock, you nigger bitch."

And then, suddenly, I noticed that he was not beating me any longer. He actually seemed to be trying to push me away from his body. But my nigger lips would not be denied. I would not stop sucking on his growing and stiffening organ.

At least, I would not stop until I heard the woman's voice behind me, the one that I recognized so well.

"Terri, what kind of sick game is this? What are you doing with that nigger?"

It was my mother. I took my mouth off Freddie's cock and turned. Suddenly, now that my mother was here, the game did not work any more. I knew that I was the white one and Freddie was the black one.

My mother stood there, shivering and looking at me with her eyes wide. I thought that she would turn and leave and never contact me again.

There was silence in that room for the longest time, and then my mother mumbled.

"I knocked, but there was no answer. The door was open. I wanted to come and see you, Terri. I miss you, and I-"

She stopped talking and looked at Freddie, looked at my black husband and looked at his huge and throbbing cock.

"Nigger!" she yelled. "Nigger!"

And she pointed straight at his prick, as if his cock was the only thing about him that was really black.

I looked at Freddie. I thought that he would be hurt again. But I saw my husband smile.

He seemed to understand something about y mother at that moment. He moved off the bed and he went toward her. He spoke to her softly but firmly..

"I am Terri's husband," he said. "She loves me and I love her. We are going to have children and they will be your grandchildren. We are going to have a lot of children someday.".

My mother lowered her finger and stood there. She sobbed a little.

"We play this game because it is fun," Freddie said. "I think that you could have fun with a game like this too. What is your name? Your first name?"

"Donna," my mother muttered.

"Donna," he said. "A Southern belle name, I guess."

"It is enough of a Southern belle name," my mother said softly.

"What kind of game would you like to play, Donna?" Freddie asked almost tenderly, stroking his big, black cock with one hand as he held the whip in the other. "What kind of nigger game do you fantasize about at night?"

My mother looked at Freddie, her eyes wide. "How did you know?" she said.

And I sat up on the bed, shocked by what I was hearing and seeing.

Freddie just smiled at my mother. He stepped a little closer to her.

"All you Southern girls dream about some kind of nigger game, some kind of nigger cock," he said.

And then he looked over my mother's body. He grinned and took his hand off his cock.

He ran his black fingers through her dark hair and moved his face close to hers.

"And you are very beautiful, Donna," he said. "I would love to play a game with you."

And then, as I sat there on the bed naked and watched, my black, young husband put his face to my mother's and kissed her passionately. My mother was caught up in the passion almost immediately. She wrapped her arms around his naked body and held him close and sighed as his tongue went into tier mouth.

And I was not jealous at all. I knew that Freddie was right to do something like this.

I understood that my mother needed this, needed it even more than I had needed it. She seemed to change right there in front of my eyes, to become more of a woman in my naked, black husband's arms.

When the kiss was over, she held him and she whispered to him. But I could hear her plainly from where I sat there on the bed.

"I dream of a nigger revolution. I dream of Nat Turner. I dream of being a Southern belle who is raped by her nigger slave. I dream of him taking out all his anger on my white body. That is what I dream about, but I have never put it into words before."

Freddie pulled away from her and smiled. "It sounds like a very good dream. Donna, and it sounds like a very good game too," he said.

And then he turned to me and grinned. "Get off the bed, Terri," he said. "I am going to play a game with your sexy mother. You can watch for now."

Still, I was not in the least jealous. I grinned at my sexy, black husband. I knew that he was right. And I knew too that he was very smart, very sensitive to women.

He seemed to understand my mother's needs so well. And I wanted him to help her in any way that he could.

I also found myself turned on with the idea of seeing my husband and my mother play this game together.

I moved off the bed quickly and I sat down in a chair in the corner. I looked at Freddie and I looked at my mother, and I felt like a queen who had ordered actors to give a command performance.

Then Freddie turned back to my mother and spoke softly to her.

"Take off your clothes, Donna, and lie down on the bed. I think that the game should start with your masturbating, thinking about all those nigger bucks out there in the fields and how much you would like to fuck them-especially one of them."

"Especially you," my mother said with a sweet smile. "I would like to fuck especially you."

"That is right. Donna. Now get out of those clothes and get ready for the game."

My mother moved to follow his instructions, to take off her clothes and bare her body and soul for him.

I had not seen my mother naked in a long, long time, since I was a little girl. I was fascinated by the look of her body. It was very white. She did not get out in the sun very often. But it was very beautiful too. My mother was still a young woman, not yet forty, and she had a sexy appeal. I could see that even as I sat there watching her. And I looked at the expression on Freddie's face and I could tell that he could see it too.

My mother did not seem to notice me there in the room. She kept her eyes on Freddie, especially on his cock.

And I thought that it was probably best that she forget that I was in the room. She might be embarrassed and uptight because I was her naked daughter and I was sitting over there.

But Freddie seemed to hypnotize her with his grin. And I knew that he had done that to me many times before. He was so kind and yet there was a power in Freddie, a power that women seemed to understand in the pits of their stomachs.

When my mother was naked, she stood there and looked at my husband. And I sat across the room and looked at her. I took in her big, white tits and her pretty body. I saw the dark hair that grew around her sweet snatch.

Her body was a lot like mine, because I was her daughter.

And, naked, I thought, we could be mistaken for sisters. My mother looked that fucking good.

Freddie still held the whip in his hand. He pointed toward the bed with the whip and my mother scurried onto the white sheet. She lay there on her back and she waited for another order from Freddie.

My black husband moved toward the bed and smiled down at her.

"Have a little Southern-belle fantasy," he said. "Play with yourself and close your eyes and tell me what you are thinking of."

And then he moved back and stood there next to me. My mother did as she was told.

She closed her eyes and spread her legs and moved her fingers down the inside of her thighs until she touched her pink pussy lips.

I could smell the aroma of her turned-on cunt at that very moment.

And then my mother started to speak in soft, little gasps as her fingers went into her cunt. She was telling us-my black husband and myself-about her fantasy.

And I found myself intrigued by the story that she spun in those gasps, intrigued and turned on too.

"Those nigger bucks out there in the fields," she gasped. "I ride by them in the middle of the day and they all look up at me and say, 'Hello, Miss Donna.' They are all so strong and they shine under the sun. They work hard and they have the hardness in their pants that I love. I see that hardness and I want them to fuck me. I want to get off my horse and pick out one of them and motion for him to come toward me with my whip. I want Freddie. Yeah, the small but strong one with the big cock. He always picks a lot of cotton. He is like the prince of the niggers out there in the fields."

When my mother started to talk about my husband that way, I felt a little tingle run through me.

And I glanced up at Freddie and remembered that I thought of him in almost the same way.

And my mother kept fingering herself. Her story came out in more gasps as she tossed and turned on the bed, living out her Southern-belle dream.

"I would motion with my whip and Freddie would walk toward me. Then I would-I would turn and walk toward the woods with him. The woods at the end of the cotton rows. I would walk to those words and I would not look back. I would know that Freddie was following me. He could not deny me. I am his mistress. He would follow and I would carry my whip in my hand while another nigger, an old nigger who was no good for fucking, held my horse there and waited for us to come back. All the other niggers would know what I wanted to do with Freddie. But they would not say anything. Like animals know but do not say."

It was so hot, I thought. I looked up at Freddie. He was smiling and watching my mother.

And I yearned to thank him for giving her this wonderful moment.

But I knew that I could not interrupt. I would just have to sit there and watch. I put my fingers on my own pussy lips and sighed softly as my mother continued with her story.

"Freddie would follow me into the woods and he would stand there," my mother gasped. "He would be wearing just his pants, old and worn pants. I would be able to see a bit of his cock through one of the holes in those pants. I would turn there in the woods and I would raise my whip high. He would raise his hand and his eyes would grow wide with nigger fright. But he would not try to stop me. He would know that a nigger is put on this earth to be beaten by the white woman. He would know that and he would lower his hand and drop onto his knees in front of me and he would let my whip come down on his strong, black shoulders. He takes that whip like the nigger prince that he is. He even looks up at me and smiles as I beat his shoulders. He bleeds, but he does not show the pain."

The scene that my mother was describing was so hot that I could hardly stand being in the room. My fingers dug deep into my pussy again. I threw my head back and I looked at Freddie through tear-filled eyes. And I saw that Freddie did not seem to be phased at all by that story. My mother was talking about whipping his nigger flesh, and he was not angry or hurt. He seemed to know that things would change very soon.

And they did change-even in my mother's hot and sexy fantasy.

She rocked on the bed and pulled on her own clitoris as the musky odor filled the room.

And she told the rest of her hot fantastic story. She told it all.

"Then-then Freddie grabs the whip from my hand. He will not bleed for me any longer. He will not let me beat him any longer. He is too much of a prince, a stud for that kind of treatment and he knows it. He reaches up with his strong, young, black hands and he grabs at my blouse. He rips it open. He bares my tits to the summer heat. And then he pulls me down, down onto the ground. I try to scream, but I cannot make a sound. I lie there on the ground, staring up at Freddie, and I find that I want it. I really want it. It is something that I have never experienced before. I have never been mastered by a nigger before. I am going crazy with the fear and the lust which overrides the fear. And Freddie looks down on me and smiles. He starts to tear at my clothes. They fall away from my hot, sexy body like the petals of spring flowers, the petals of a magnolia. And then I am naked, alone, open to him. I sigh to him, and he snarls at me. "Which white bitch do I hate more than any other," he says. "It is you. Donna. You are the white bitch, the greatest white bitch of the world.' And then he falls on me and he starts to bite me. He bites my flesh and makes me moan and sigh and lust for him even more. I tremble as he bites me. I moan as his teeth dig into my white body. And then he pushes his hands down, those worn and sexy pants. And his cock-"

My mother paused in her story and turned and looked at Freddie's cock. She sighed.

"His cock is huge and black and royal. It is such a good, good nigger cock, and he slams that cock into me with such power. Such power. He controls me. Controls me. Ahhhhhhh."

My mother stopped speaking in her gasps. She was so far removed' from reality, I thought. She was in a fantasy in the middle of a sex game. But yet I had never seen my mother act more real, more human. She diddled her clitoris until she had come with a giant orgasm. Was this the orgasm she had late at night alone in her bedroom? I wondered if this was the orgasm she had every time she had that plantation fantasy.

Perhaps it was, but I thought that it must certainly be better this time, better because Freddie was there, ready to play her game with her, because she had looked as his very real cock as her fantasy had driven the heat through her body.

She lay there on the bed with her eyes closed. She rested. She was so white that she looked a little dead.

I shivered when I thought of that possibility-my beautiful, naked mother dead.

But I knew that, really, she had only begun to live. I smiled.

And then Freddie moved into action. He cracked that whip with a hard and brutal sound.

And my mother came alive again and jumped up. She stared at him.

Freddie moved toward the bed, cracking the whip again. He yelled at my mother.

"See this whip, white bitch? See this whip? I took it from the overseer! You ain't gonna treat me like a slave no more!"

She spoke in a frightened, Southern-belle voice as she raised her fingers to her lips.

"Freddie, what have you done?" she asked. "What has happened out there in the fields?"

"Revolution!" my naked, nigger husband yelled. "That is what has happened! We have killed the overseer! We have taken over, you white bitch!"

And then Freddie slipped close to the bed and threw back his arm. My mother covered her face with her hands, but I knew that he was not aiming the whip at her face.

Freddie cracked that whip across my mother's naked tits. She winced and fell back onto the bed.

She tried to roll away from the black stud, but she could not. He moved onto the bed, following her, whipping her with that soft leather, the leather that stung but did not cut.

And I looked at all of this and felt my pussy grow hotter and hotter.

I knew how that whip felt when it landed on female flesh. I knew from my own experience that it was hot and that it made the pussy of a female hot.

And I knew that my mother was feeling the same thing now that I had felt so often with Freddie, my black and strong master.

I knew that, down deep, my mother was loving this treatment, just as I loved it when Freddie treated me so roughly.

I was, after all, my mother's daughter. We were, after all, very much alike.

Freddie hit her again and again with the whip, as she tried to curl into the corner.

"Daddy," she whimpered. "Daddy. My daddy is the colonel and-"

"Your daddy is in New Orleans," Freddie growled, "and, when he comes back he will find his plantation burned to the ground, his slaves gone and his daughter well-fucked for the first time in her white-bitch life."

And then Freddie dropped the whip off the side of the bed. He grabbed my mother and pulled her toward him, made her lie straight and open under him.

And he moved his body over her throat. He rested on her big, white tits as he took his huge pole of black flesh in his hand and snarled at my mother with another order.

"Suck this nigger cock, you white, scummy bitch," he said.

"But-"

When my mother opened her mouth to speak, Freddie shoved his meat into her lips.

I sat there on the other side of the room and saw my mother start to suck on my black husband's cock.

But still (and you must believe this) I did not feel jealous. I knew that my mother needed this, and I was happy to share this treatment, this sexy treatment, with her. I knew that this treatment would cure her of many, many things.

Freddie leaned forward and groaned and soon he was fucking my mother in the mouth.

My mother held her red lips tight around the cock as it went down her throat and then came out. She moved her fingers up over his strong, black ass.

And Freddie battered her mouth with his, cock, drove his cock deep into her throat again and again.

He fucked her in the mouth until he groaned at her.

"White bitch of this plantation, I am going to come. I am going to come."

After he said that, he jerked his prick out of her mouth and moved down her body. My mother reached up and grabbed the huge prick with both of her hands.

And I found myself wondering how long it had been since she had handled a cock like that.

When Freddie started to come, she sighed. She closed her eyes but she kept her hands on his cock.

She continued to stroke that mighty, black organ and she twisted under his strong, young body.

And my black husband came all over my mother's white flesh. His white come hit her throat and her tits and her face. Some of it landed on her red, full lips.

My mother licked her lips then and tasted that sweet, sweet come.

When Freddie was finished with his orgasm, I thought that this whole game was over. But I was wrong. I still did not give my black husband enough credit, it seems, credit for knowing what females want, credit for thinking up new variations of a sex game.

When the orgasm was over, he moved off my mother's body and got off the bed and stood there and pointed at me.

My mother looked in my direction and gasped a little. She had probably forgotten in the heat of the game that I was there. I felt a little shamed too. I pulled my fingers out of my cunt and put my legs together, trying to cover myself a little in front of my mother.

When Freddie pointed at me, he spoke to my mother.

"She is a black, young thing, you white bitch. That is the game that we play together. In our games, she is the nigger. Well, she is the nigger still. She is a revolutionary nigger, the same as I am. And you will lick out that nigger gal's cunt."

I suppose I could have refused. I suppose my mother could have refused.

But both of us were under his control. I looked at the white woman lying there on the bed and I did feel like a nigger gal who had helped in a revolution. I smiled and stood up.

As I walked toward the bed, I kept my eyes on the sexy woman who lay there.

And I did not see her as my mother, not then, not as the heat of the moment entered my sexy brain.

In my imagination, she was the white bitch of the plantation, and I was a nigger gal. In my imagination, I was going to get my revenge on her for all the times that she had beaten me.

As I moved onto the bed, I spoke to her in a nigger gal voice.

"Remember?" I asked. "Remember the time you saw me playing with myself in the cotton fields? You called the overseer over and you told him to beat me until I was bloody and you sat up there on your fine, big horse and you watched as that overseer ripped my clothes off me and pushed me down onto the ground and beat the shit out of me. I cried out for mercy. I was bloody and torn. But you just sat up there on that horse and you laughed. You laughed. You laughed!"

In my imagination, I could almost remember what that happened to me.

And I certainly felt the anger, the torn and bloody anger of a nigger gal. The tables had turned now, and she was going to pay for that terrible deed.

"I am sorry, nigger gal," my mother moaned as I crawled onto the bed with her.

But she screamed and yelped when I started to slap her, when I leaned over her and ran my nigger hands over her tits and grabbed her nipples and pulled on them.

And then I was moving over her head. I was lowering my pussy down to her lips.

"Eat my nigger pussy, white bitch," I hissed as I put my cunt down on her face.

And then, when I felt her fingers open my pussy lips, when I felt that tongue go deep into my nigger honey-pot, I grabbed my own big tits and leaned back and looked at Freddie.

"Thank you, Freddie," I murmured.

And then I gave into the feelings, the hot and wonderful feelings, that my mother's tongue was giving to my pussy.

Now, as I think about it, I wonder what I was thanking Freddie for at that moment. I do not think that I was still in the game. I was not still the nigger gal who was working with the white bitch of the plantation. When I leaned back and grabbed my mother's nipple with my hand and twisted it, when I felt my mother's tongue deep in my snatch, I think that I knew with all of my heart that that was my sexy mother doing this to me. That was my mother that I was abusing in such a sexy way. I knew it was my mother and I think that I knew that this kind of relationship, this pussy-lapping relationship, was the type of thing that I had been wanting to share with my beautiful mother for a long, long time. And I think that I was thanking my black husband for giving me that chance to share.

I know one thing: When I moved around on my mother's face, when I moved down over her body so that I could lick out her pussy while she licked out mine, I was not a nigger gal with a white bitch. I was a naked daughter with a naked mother.

And I know that my mother's clit was hard and juicy and filled with sweetness. I know that my mother and I sucked each other's clitoris until we both came in a mound of hot and twisting female flesh there on the white, white sheet.

And, when it was over, Freddie joined up and lay between us and we both kissed him and stroked him and we took turns sucking on his cock. And he fucked both of us all afternoon long.

After that weekend, my mother went back to New York City. But she was a new woman then.

She was determined to go out in the city now. She was determined to meet people and even have an affair or two. She did not hate the Yankees any more.

She told us that before she kissed us both good-bye at the train station.

We visit her often in New York City. Sometimes my mother and I sit in the kitchen of the apartment and she talks about the studs that she fucks now in New York City. But, whenever we see her, we play the games with her and we all make love together-my mother and my black husband and myself.

And she visits us quite often in Massachusetts too. I have never been so close to my mother as I am now. I can tell you that.

And I have Freddie to thank for all of that, Freddie and his wonderful games.

Terri is suffering from a major identity crisis, but she seems to have worked it out. Freddie's games with her and her mother have given her a new lease on sanity, and words cannot begin to describe the good things that they have done for the mother. Donna.

Terri was obviously torn during much of her youth, wanting to be like her beautiful mother, feeling a connection to that woman who looked so much like her, and yet not wanting to be too much like the woman. She recognized that her mother was emotionally ill, and, in an attempt to keep herself from being ill in that way, she allowed herself to be attracted to a black youth. It is hard to believe that she would not think that such an attraction, such a marriage, would not upset her mother, a woman who was very linked to the Old South.

But Terri was extremely lucky in her choice. Her husband, Freddie, seems to understand women very well. First, he allowed Terri to work out the feelings of guilt that she had because she was her mother's daughter, and then, when the situation arose, the husband turned to the beautiful mother and worked with her too. If he has not cured Donna of her emotional troubles, he has done more with one afternoon of sexual game-playing than most namby-pamby psychiatrists can do in years of analysis.

And the lesbian relationship with her mother has brought Terri and Donna much closer together. This is obviously something that Terri dreamed of doing for a long time, something that she would never admit to herself. But Freddie understood his young wife's needs and helped her fulfill them. While we would not recommend that every daughter have a sexual relationship with her mother, this one seems to have done no harm and a great deal of good.

Freddie is a very intelligent young man. He should become a psychologist, perhaps. Then he might be able to help others in the way that he has helped these two women in his new, white family.

JENNY

Jenny is a big-titted redhead. She is twenty-four years old. She smoked constantly while we taped her story. She was obvious very nervous and a little frightened, as if she thought that this information was going to fall into the wrong hands.

Listen, when I married Steve, I knew that he liked to play little bondage games.

And it was all right with me. We had played some of them when we were dating, and I had enjoyed them just as much as he did. It was nothing real bad. He would tie my hands behind my back and I would kneel there on the floor and he would say things like, "Suck my cock, bitch." I would do that.

Of course, Steve did not really think that I was a bitch. He was a professor at a college, and he did not have anything to do with real bitches. He was very young to be a professor too. He looked even younger than he actually was. He was one of those handsome, fresh-faced, all-American types who will be called a boy until he is fifty or so.

I got off on those bondage games too. I felt sort of good knowing that Steve was in control of everything. I don't guess that I ever really trusted myself that much. I am not that smart, I suppose, i got myself in all kinds of bad relationships before Steve came along and sort of saved me. I shacked up with men who were no good, who stole money from me, who wanted me to mother them.

Steve did not do any of those things. He was a very respectable young man. And the bondage games were the way that we had of getting out our dark and deep desires.

And, like I said, I sort of liked the idea of not having any control. When I have control, I always seem to fuck things up. I start letting my cunt rule my head and things like that.

Well, when David came to live with us, I lost control and everything went crazy again. You see, when I saw David, I let my cunt rule my head again, and Steve was not always around to tell me what was right and wrong.

Steve had to teach at the college. He had to go to work.

And I stayed home with David and I started to have those feelings.

Let me tell you about David. He is Steve's younger brother. He is actually about twenty-one, but he looks younger. He has that same fresh-faced appearance and he wears his hair long, like the hippies used to do. He is retarded and mute. Oh, he doesn't sit in a corner and play with his own shit or anything like that. He is just child-like. He always smiles and he is always willing to help me when I tell him that I want him to do something around the house. Steve's mother took care of David until she died about six months ago and then David had no place to go. Their father was dead, had been dead for years. Steve asked if David could come and live with us. He said that he did not feel right putting David in some kind off home of institution and I agreed with him. David doesn't belong in some place like that. He is not crazy. He is just very sweet.

I had seen David several times before he moved in with us, but I had never been around him that much until he came to live at our house. He had his own room and he wasn't any trouble, but, like I said, Steve was at home at the college all day and David and I were around the house by ourselves and I started getting those kinky ideas again.

It was not that Steve did not satisfy me in bed. He did. I swear that he did. But he controlled me. He was so much smarter than I was. I felt like I could control David. He was like a child, and I found myself wanting to go to bed with that child.

I really found myself wanting that after one afternoon when I walked into David's room without knocking. He was lying on the bed, naked, and he had his cock in his hands. He was beating off. I was a little embarrassed and he was embarrassed too.

I should have excused myself and turned around and walked out immediately. But I did not do that.

I could not take my eyes off his cock. It was the biggest thing that I had ever seen.

David was a small guy, child-like, as I said. But his prick was gigantic. I had thought that Steve was well-endowed, and he was compared to the other men I had fucked. But David's prick seemed to dwarf even the thing that his big brother had swinging between his legs.

I smiled at David and he smiled at me. He seemed to know that I wanted him. But I could not bring myself to go near him as he lay there on his bed. He continued to smile and play with his cock. He seemed to be offering it to me.

And I wanted to take it. But I did not want to be unfaithful to Steve.

I got all flustered and then I turned and ran out of the room. I was embarrassed around Daid after that, really embarrassed. Even though he was mute, I could tell by the way that he looked at me that he understood my yearnings.

And I felt mute too, whenever I tried to talk to him about anything.

But I could not get that cock out of my brain. I started going to my bedroom, Steve's bedroom too, and locking the door in the afternoon. I would take off my clothes and lie on the bed and think about David and that huge cock. I would fantasize about fucking him.

Should I tell you about the fantasy? That may explain something. Perhaps you could even explain it to me. I don't know.

Well, in that fantasy, David and I would lie in the cool grass in the night-time. It would always be at night. I would be looking up at the big, full moon and I would not even touch David right at first. I would be naked and

David would come and lie down next to me. He would be naked too. In that fantasy, he would touch my tits first. His hands would be cool and small. He would knead my tits as if they were dough. He would then move over me slightly and he would look down at me. His face would be framed by that long, dark hair and he would smile at me with that wet-lipped, boyish smile that he had. Then he would kiss me, hard and passionately. He would continue to work on my tits as he did that and I would open my mouth and his tongue would go inside of my mouth and touch my tongue. In that fantasy, his tongue would be cool, almost like ice. But I would not mind the cool tongue at all. I would have heat in my body and I knew that that heat would be able to battle any coldness in David. When the kiss was over, David would move down my body. He would kiss my throat and then he would take one of my nipples into his cool, wet, sweet lips. As he sucked on my nipples, I would spread my legs and run my fingers through his long, dark hair, but I would keep looking up at the moon, the full moon in the night sky above us. Then I would start to move a little as the heat surged through my body and I would feel the cool grass under me, tickling me in a sexy way. And I would think that I was surrounded by coolness but the heat in my body would soon be melting the cool, cool world, even the cold moon up there in the night sky. And then David would move to my other tit and my other nipple in my fantasy. He would suck on that nipple and his hair would fall over my body and that hair would be cool too, very cool. And I would toss and tremble there in the grass. I would keep my eyes on the moon though. In my fantasy, for some reason that I cannot explain, the moon would be very important.

Like I said, I cannot explain most of this. I don't know why I imagined the things that I did. You would think that I would just fantasize about fucking David in a regular way, on a bed and or something like that. But that is not the way-

Anyway, in my fantasy, David would suck on my other nipple until it was hard and cool too. But the heat was almost ready to burst out of my body. I could feel that heat and I kept touching his cool hair and I kept thinking that I was going to explode and parts of me would fly with that heat up the cool, cool moon. Then David would move down my body. He would kiss and lick my stomach and I would spread my legs wide for him. I would feel his cool lips and his cool fingers all over me. Of course, David probably was not very experienced with women in reality, but, in my fantasy, he was the best lover in the world. Perhaps that is the only place where people can find the perfect lovers-in their fantasies.

So he would move his head between my outstretched legs and his long, cool hair would touch the inside of my thighs and I would feel more heat in me. I would bounce there on the grass while David spread my pussy lips and drive his cool tongue deep into me. I would throw my legs over his cool shoulders in that fantasy, while he worked his tongue around there in my cunt and made me feel so, so hot.

And his shoulders would be cool and his long hair was tickling the inside of my thighs. And I would feel as if I were climbing, climbing up to that cool, cool moon. And then he would take his cool lips off my cunt and I would move around on that grass and suck on his cool, cool cock. I would suck it and feel the coolness come from the cock and battle with the heat inside me, and I would almost be driven crazy by that battle. And then, when his cool cock was full and hard and fat, I would lie back and David, sweet David, would drive his cool, cool, cool cock into my hot, hot, hot pussy.

But then, in my fantasy, it would hurt. His cock would be like ice in me. It would try to freeze my passion. I would feel the rumblings through my body and I would try to get him out of me, but he would continue to fuck me with that piece of cock-ice, and I would cry out, scream, beg for relief.

And then, in my fantasy, I would explode. Yes, explode. And, when I would explode, I would look up and see David turn into nothingness, melt all over me while the heat rushed out of me and up toward that moon.

I would come with the idea of explosion in my head. I would come as I played with myself.

I would keep coming as I felt parts of me going in a thousand different directions, and I would feel a big part of me traveling to the moon, wet with melted, cool David on my body, as the moon started to melt too, melt with the heat that I had.

It was a frightening fantasy. I will tell you that. But something in my heart drove me to have it again and again. Perhaps I felt guilty because I had those lustful thoughts about David. Perhaps I felt guilty because, after all, I was Steve's wife and Steve's woman.

But I would feel empty if I did not have that fantasy every fucking afternoon. I would go to my room and think that David was lying in his room, concentrating on me and playing with his huge dork, and I would have my fantasy and come like crazy, even though I was scared.

But the fantasy was nothing compared to the reality. Let me tell you about that.

Steve did not want to play the bondage game with me for a long time after David moved in, and I could understand that. He was a little worried that his brother would hear us. We did make a lot of noise when Steve yelled and cursed at me and I screamed for mercy. But, one night, after a month after David joined, about two weeks after I had seen his cock and had started to have my fantasy, Steve could obviously not hold back any longer. He had to have that bondage game. I think that things had been bad at the college and he needed to get out some anger that he felt toward the administrators there. I think that he used me that way sometimes, and I did not really mind.

Well, that night, when Steve and I went up to our bedroom, Steve did not even speak to me. He just went to the closet and got out the rope that he tied me with when we played our little game.

And I knew what he wanted. Truth was, I wanted it too. You see, I immediately thought that I could be able to work out some of my guilt about my feelings for David if Steve used me in that special way that night.

So I took off my clothes without saying anything. I smiled at Steve as he took off his clothes too.

And then I took my normal position. I knelt there in the middle of the floor while Steve tied my hands behind my back. Again, you see, I was not in control. Again, I thought that this would make things all right.

When I was tied, Steve just walked around me. He kept looking at the door, and, finally, I think he felt secure. Finally, he figured that his retarded but beautiful brother was asleep.

Then Steve stood in front of me and yelled at me with a vengeance. It seemed that all of his need for this game had built up over the past weeks and it all came out with those first words.

"Suck my cock, you filthy, red-haired whore! Suck my cock until I come, you worthless piece of shit!"

And he lifted his cock and stepped toward me and jabbed that thing in my face. I opened my mouth and I took the cock into me. I started to suck on it. His cock was big and fat and warm and I sighed as I sucked on it.

As I worked my mouth back and forth on his flesh, Steve ran his fingers through my hair.

Then he grabbed some of that hair and he pulled on it as he always did. And I felt the sharp pain and heard him yell at me again, yell with fire in his voice.

"You worthless bitch, suck my fucking cock! You whore, suck it good until I come!"

And with the pain in my head and the throbbing in my pussy, I felt alive as I had not felt alive in a long, long time. I sucked the cock and felt the pain and I felt my pussy throb with lust too. It was a great feeling, I thought, to have Steve control me again.

Nothing could go wrong with my naked husband in control. That was what I believed at that moment.

But I was wrong. Things started to go wrong almost immediately.

I heard the door open and I heard Steve gasp. He yanked his prick out of my mouth. He turned and we both saw David standing there in his undershorts. I saw that huge bulge in his shorts and I found myself licking my lips, even as Steve yelled at his little brother with shock.

"David? What the fuck are you doing here?"

David, of course, could not answer him. He just pointed at me. My eyes grew wide. I felt as if someone was turning me in, telling a police officer that I had committed some terrible crime.

Then Steve looked down at me. He seemed to be able to read something in David's expression, something that I could not read. But, of course, they were brothers, and I guess that Steve had gotten used to David's expressions and had learned how to read them when they were growing up.

David kept pointing and looking at me and I felt as if I were going to explode with shame.

Finally, I blurted it out to my husband. I had to. I felt that, in a way, he already knew.

"Yes, Steve. I am sorry. Oh, god, I am so sorry. I fantasize about fucking David."

When I said that, Steve backed up and looked at me as if I had some kind of terrible disease.

And then he looked at David again, at that big cock. He shook his head. David nodded. And then Steve smiled in an evil way and nodded too.

David seemed to understand it all. He quickly pushed his shorts down and stepped out of them so that he could be naked, as his brother and I were both naked.

And then he stepped closer to me as Steve moved away.

I looked at the big cock and then I looked at Steve. I was tied there. I guess that I could have gotten up and I could have run, because my feet were not tied together.

But I was too weak, too weak with shame. And I stared at Steve and felt .even more shame in my system. It was chilling me, as David's cock had chilled me in that fantasy.

"What do you want me to do, Steve?" I asked softly.

"I want you to suck on David's cock," my husband said firmly but calmly. "I want to share you with David."

"But, Steve-"

I said nothing more. I could think of nothing to say. I just knelt there and felt terribly empty. And then I looked at David's cock again and I knew that that huge tool would fill me up.

I opened my mouth wide, ready to take the cock into me.

And David smiled down at me and lifted his rod in both of his hands and moved close to my body. He shoved his cock into my mouth.

Just the fat tip was in my mouth at first. I squirmed a little in my bondage and I tightened my lips around that tip.

And then David pulled the prick out of my mouth and held it there right in front of my lips.

I knew without being told what he wanted. I stuck out my tongue and I licked the end of that thing. I licked the piss slit and tasted the first bits of ooze that slipped out to greet me in that sexy way.

And then I moved slightly and David moved slightly and I found myself licking up and down the length of the shaft. As I did that, my husband moved behind me and untied my hands. He growled at me.

"I want you free now," he said. "Free to do my biding. Free to give David what he needs."

I said nothing. I knew that I needed it too. I was surprised to find that David's cock was not like ice at all, as it had been in my fantasy.

And I knew that I would never be afraid of exploding and melting him again.

When it really came down to it, my mute, retarded brother-in-law was just a normal kind of guy.

Except for the fact that he had that huge rod, of course. .

That cock got stiff and strong as I took it back in my mouth. I raised my hands and moved my fingers around the organ. I used my fingertips to play it as if it were a flute.

And that seemed to please David. He grinned and I think he would have laughed if he had been able to make a sound at all.

Instead of making a sound, he just touched my red hair with his fingers and made me feel even warmer.

But Steve was yelling at me, even now, as he stood on the other side of the room.

"Yeah! Suck that cock, you whore! You have wanted it for so long! Suck my retarded brother's big cock! You love it, don't you, whore? You love that huge cock in your mouth?"

And I could not answer because I did have that huge cock in my mouth.

The thing was pressing against the back of my throat and making me feel filled-up and wonderful.

I moved my unbound hands over David's legs and then slipped them up over his rump and reached through his outstretched legs and felt his tight balls.

David was twisting a little as I touched him that way, and I knew that those twists meant that he enjoyed it, enjoyed it just as much as I did.

But I had trouble figuring out if Steve enjoyed it. He had stopped cursing me by now. He was silent except for the gasping that he was doing. I could not really concentrate on my husband. I could not even look at him.

The cock in my mouth kept my attention fixed on his big-cocked, silent brother.

And then David's fingers tightened in my red hair and he started to move back and forth, plunging his dork deep into my throat. He shook a little and I knew that he was coming.

I was surprised that Steve was not yelling now, not cheering me on and cursing me as I took his brother's goo down my throat.

But he was still gasping, gasping as David was coming. I opened my throat as wide as I could and I put my fingers around David's cock and I milked that prick for all that it was worth.

The silent, young man came in huge spurts down my throat. His come was warm and sweet, not cold at all. When his orgasm was finished, I took my mouth off his cock and I smiled up at David.

And then I leaned forward again and licked his organ clean before I really let him go.

Finally, I turned to Steve. My husband was standing there with a huge hard-on. He was still gasping.

"Get out of here, David," he muttered, speaking to his brother even as he looked at me.

David heard him and backed out of the room, stopping only to pick up his shorts.

When we were alone in that room again, Steve, with his massive rod hard, approached me.

I fell back onto the floor and spread my legs wide. I looked up at him and I guess I was a little afraid of Steve. I guess it showed in my eyes that he looked very mean and cruel at that moment. I spread my legs and offered him my red-haired pussy, but it was like the offering that a frightened girl would make, in order to save something more dear to her.

Of course, I could not think of anything that dear that I was trying to save.

Maybe that dear thing was my life. I don't know for certain.

I get all confused at this point. I was frightened of Steve and I loved him at the same time.

I just know that something had changed in our relationship, something had turned sour when David had walked into the room, when I had made my admission to my husband that I fantasized about his brother.

But I cannot say that I really knew what was going on in Steve's mind as he approached me.

Like I said, I am not that smart when it comes to men.

Steve moved onto his knees between my outstretched legs and put his hands under my ass and lifted me up as I lay there on the floor. Even though I was not tied at that time, I felt more like a prisoner than I had felt ever before when my husband.

As Steve knelt there, prepared to enter my pussy with his cock, he muttered to me.

"You really liked it, didn't you?" he asked.

"Liked what?" I asked, knowing what he meant but trying to stall until I could figure him out.

"You liked sucking David's cock, didn't you, you red-haired whore?"

And I moved my hands over my tits and I had to admit it. I nodded my head.

"Speak to me, you slut!" Steve yelled. "Admit it! You liked it!"

"Yes," I said. "I liked it a lot when I sucked his cock."

"And you really fantasized about fucking him all these weeks?"

"Yes. For the past couple of weeks. I have thought that it would-"

My husband slapped me then, slapped me hard across the face. The anger was there in his hand as it had never been before. I felt lost there as he slapped me. And then he slammed his prick deep into my pussy. He did not move in with love. He moved as if he wanted to blow my pussy up with dynamite.

I squealed a little when he did that. And then I lay there with Steve embedded in me.

As Steve started to work back and forth in my prick, he muttered to me.

"I thought that you were different. You think you are the first? A lot of girls have liked me but liked David better. Does that surprise you, you red-haired slut bitch?"

I opened my eyes wide. Yes, it did surprise me. I had always thought that David might be a virgin, that the chances of his being inexperienced were good. After all, he was retarded and mute.

But now I found out differently. Steve continued to work his prick in and out of me and he growled at me again and again with words that surprised me.

"I used to bring girls home and they would think that David was cute. They would want to hold him and touch him. And then they would touch that prick and they would go almost crazy with lust for him. They thought that he was something special. They thought that no one would ever find out. But he always made sure that I found out. I thought you were different though, Jenny. I thought that you really loved me."

"I do, Steve," I said softly as he fucked me.

And then I tried to move with his fucking, to fuck him back. I thought that that would prove that I did love him. But nothing seemed to work. He slammed into me with anger, not with love. And the bitterness seemed to pop out of Steve with his sweat.

Finally, he leaned over me. I tried to reach up and kiss him but he fought me off.

"Slut!" he screamed. "I would taste my brother's come in your fucking mouth!"

And I did not try to kiss him again. I knew that he was right. He would have tasted David's come in my mouth and that would have made Steve even more bitter.

Steve groaned and growled and then came in me. He came brutally.

I did not like that fucking at all. That was the strange thing. When he had tied me up and treated me like a captive or a slave, I had liked it. I had felt safe. But I was not tied up now and yet I felt terrible. I felt as if Steve would kill me when he was finished with me.

Now I think it would have been better if he had.

When he finished with that fucking of my pussy, he pulled out of me and stood up. Then he gasped a couple of times and he started to move around the bedroom. He pulled out a suitcase and started to pack.

I sat up, still dazed by all the strange things that had happened to me.

"Where are you going, Steve?" I muttered, and I touched my tit. I could feel my heart sinking with sadness. I did not want to be alone in this world-without the husband that I loved and trusted.

I wanted Steve to be around to take care of me.

"I am leaving," he said. "I will check into a hotel and I will see my lawyer tomorrow."

"Your lawyer?"

"I want a divorce, Jenny," he muttered.

Suddenly, I was very angry. Suddenly, I realized that Steve was blaming me for something that was not all my fault.

"Steve!" I yelled. "You made me, Steve! You ordered me to suck his cock! I would not have done that if you had not ordered me to do it and you know that, damn it! You know that!"

Steve turned and stared at me. Then he said it softly.

"No," he said, "you would not have sucked his cock if I had not ordered you to do it. But you would have thought about it. You would have thought about it for a long, long time, and ,every time you fucked me, you would have closed your eyes and wished that you were fucking David."

I did not deny it. I knew that Steve was correct in a strange way.

Then he added, "Don't worry. David will stay here. He will keep you well-fucked. Maybe if you keep him busy for the next few years, I will be able to find some girl who does not want to ride the prick of a retarded man."

And then he dressed. And then he picked up his suitcase.

And then he was gone-gone from my life forever. I felt terrible when I was left alone in that room.

I got up and I walked naked down to David's room. I opened the door and he was lying there and smiling at me. He had his cock all hard again. I went in and closed the door.

David could not really take care of me, I knew, but he was the only man I had.

I have not slept in that other bed-the one I shared with Steve since. I have shared David's bed and let the silent stud fuck away on me.

And that is not all that he does to me. I should tell you about the other things, the things that make me feel right at home in David's bedroom. I hope that these things do not shock you, but I must tell someone.

I allow David to beat me a little. I have brought the rope from my own bedroom and I let David tie me up. You see, he seems to need it too. I think that he misses his brother, although he cannot tell me that.

He cannot tell me anything, you know. I sometimes do wonder what he really thinks about when he abuses me. Oh, yes, he abuses me. In fact, he does it much worse that Steve ever did.

Of course, he cannot yell things at me. I have to do that for myself. So I do. I kneel before him with my hands tied behind my back. I am naked on those nights and I yell at myself.

"You red-haired slut," I say. "You stupid, red-haired whore. You let your husband leave you."

I feel a little guilty about that, I guess'. I always mention it when I scream at myself.

And, while I do that, David stands over me with a whip. Yes, a real, black, leather whip.

He stands over me and he brings that whip down on my body. He makes my flesh hot with the lash of the whip. He does not say anything. He does not even make a sound. The only sound in the room is the sound of my own yelling and the crack of the whip.

You see, that is really worse than Steve ever hurt me, I guess. But I don't really mind.

Somewhere deep in my soul, I think that I deserve it because I let Steve get away. Isn't that strange. I let my husband leave me, and I know in my mind that it was really all his fault. But I think that it was my fault too. After all, I did have that fantasy about David.

And one more thing. I know now why women find David attractive. It is not his muteness or even his boyish appeal. It is not his big cock either. I think I understand it now. David is dangerous. He is something strange, something that most women have never dealt with, and there is a sense of danger about his boyish sexuality, his mute stud appeal. I think that is so, although I am sure that I am not explaining it very well.

I just know that there is something about him-

Well, he beats me with that whip. It does not cut my skin. It is not that kind of whip.

The leather is soft and curls around my shoulders and stings me instead of cutting me.

He beats me with that whip and then he drops it and he raises his rod in his hands.

I kneel there and move toward it and open my mouth wide. And then he shoves it into me. I suck on it, suck on it and get it real hard. You would think that David would fuck me then, but the mute boy does not do that.

It is as if I am not good enough for him to fuck, I guess.

Instead of fucking me, he keeps his cock in my mouth and he runs his fingers through my red hair. He holds me like that. And then he starts to fuck my mouth. Yes, he slams that cock deep into my throat and he tenses his body and he pulls the cock back again.

Then he slams into me again. He fucks my mouth and I kneel there, willing and yearning.

Yes, yearning. I yearned for that cock in my mouth, battering the back of my throat, hurting me with his hardness and its wrath. It was a very wrathful cock, you see.

David knows just what I need. He cannot speak but he can really fuck my mouth and make me happy. But I still miss my husband. Sometimes, I hate having to scream out the insults myself. I hate yelling at myself and calling myself a whore. I wish that Steve were there to do it for me.

But I let him go. I let him go and now I am with David, and he will just have to do for me, I guess.

Jenny is a girl trapped by her own desires. That is obvious.

She is frightened of those desires, of those yearnings, but she cannot rid herself of them.

She thinks that she might explode with the heat of those desires, but she also yearns and tries to meet those things that frighten her. That is suitable in some girls. It helps them to overcome their troubles when they are able to meet the things that frighten them head-on, but it has not helped Jenny much at all.

She is a very special case.

One thing that we have noticed about Jenny is that she often says that she is not very intelligent, that she had many bad relationships with men before she met Steve.

She liked Steve because he seemed to control her and keep her safe. This is a typical estimation of a master-slave relationship.

Even though the person is hurt by the relationship, she feels safe with her master.

But we must remember that, in this safety, there is also pain. And the slave often suffers that pain as a child would suffer it, never making any decisions for herself, never allowing herself to become her own mistress, to take control of her own fate in any way.

Jenny is in this strange situation. She was once in it with Steve and now she is in it with his brother, David.

And it seems that her relationship with David is even sicker than the one that she had with her husband. We can only wonder what the mute, young man thinks of this relationship, if he really enjoys it that much.

We must encourage Jenny to develop her own self-image and we must give her the courage to face the world as an individual. She must learn to figure out her own problems, to estimate her own self-worth.

Then we might be able to give her a chance to live a good life-even if she decides to live it with David.

But it is doubted that she will want to live with David, after she discovers her own self-worth.

After all, he is a mute. He cannot offer her much in the way of intellectual and emotional companionship. She will have to go out and find someone who can offer her those things, even if that someone does not have a huge penis.

There is more to life than sex and slavery, and Jenny must realize that.

We will try to help her. Perhaps we will even be able to help David. But he may be a lost case. He has obviously found his role in life, and it seems that enjoys it. At least, we would think that he enjoys the way that women come to him for sex.

Why do women come to a mute young man for sex? Why do they feel attracted to him?

That is one of the mysteries that we have yet to figure out about women.

Perhaps these women are looking for something different. Perhaps they want to protect David as a mother would. Perhaps they think that he is a little dangerous and strange, as Jenny said.

Perhaps David had just had a string of luck-in which he has met some very strange women.

Jenny is strange. There can be do doubt about that, but, with our help, she should be able to work out her problems and become very normal again.

Then she will be able to go out and find a new man, one who can give her what she really, really needs.

THE END
Tamed-Teenage Brides ....(66k)    by Anonymous





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