Denise Bryant - Mother and Daughter

I screamed when he first entered me, but that did not last long. I was thoroughly lubricated. In fact, my dress was wet from where I had been sitting. I have always secreted profusely, so much so that I sometimes wear a sanitary napkin if I feel that I am going to be unduly aroused without having a chance to remove my clothes. Some men like this characteristic a great deal, particularly those who enjoy going down on me. More about all of that later.

I clung hungrily to Luke and worked my pelvis against him in frantic thrusts, thus starting my series of multiple orgasms. At last, I was in the blessed world of interpersonal sex for which I hungered. The three months of my sexual hermitage was over. I was living again.

And thus began the phase of my life that was utterly devoted to erotic pleasures of every shading, deviation and variation that the human animal can envisage. Bill directed me to a hundred or more intrigues over the next few years, and he was always good for at least one appearance each week or month for us to play our charade of the girl exposing herself so he could look up the dress. There were a thousand variations, yet his reaction and masturbation remained almost the same no matter what little drama I acted out.

I was, in effect, a part-time whore. My income from this enterprise ran as high as two hundred dollars a week on occasion. I moved into a lovely town house, and when Kathy came to spend the summer, I was able to treat her as a veritable fairy princess, buying her all kinds of expensive clothes, jewelry and other gifts and lavishing her with a big allowance and a savings account.

It was sometimes difficult to keep her from finding out about the double-life her sexy mother led, what with her there all the time during the summer. I did, however, think that I was quite successful at this. I never had any of my paying clients in the house while she was there.

Even my “quickie” dates, like the man who stayed only five or ten minutes while I went down on him for ten dollars, were not allowed in the house during the summer. Anyone with whom I was involved sexually, whether for money or my own enjoyment, had to provide the place for lovemaking when Kathy was at home.

Among my activities of those years were flings at every kind of perversion and variation known to man. The men Bill had introduced me to, introduced me to others in turn. I could have all the sex I wanted of any kind, and at any time. I became a veritable nymphomaniac.

Some of my dates took me to swap parties, to stag parties. I experienced many threesomes, including one with a man and his German Shepherd. At some of the swinging parties, I discovered that I had an amazing capability for bi-sexuality. I realized that my admiration of a nicely shaped female body was not altogether esthetic. The first time I went down on a man's wife, I was drunk and I loved it. The next time, I was sober, and I loved it more.

I became involved in what was almost a real love affair with one of the most beautiful girls in this city, Cindy Warwick. Cindy was 24 when I first met her, a full-time call girl who catered to afternoon and early evening rendezvous with some of the richest men in town and from out of town. I suppose one reason I was so intensely attracted to Cindy was that she also led a very strange double life.

Cindy had two darling children and a nice home with a wonderful old woman for a housekeeper. She was a perfect mother, absolutely wonderful with her children. To them and the neighbors, she was a professional freelance writer with an office downtown. The “office” consisted of a lovely one-bedroom apartment where she entertained men for up to a hundred dollars an hour.

It was easy to see how she could command such fees. Cindy was tall, blonde and beautiful. Her figure measured 38-26-38. She loved sex in such a natural and affectionate way with either a man or a woman that there was nothing ever dirty about it with her. She loved everyone, she loved people, and sex was a part of love. I envied her greatly.

I think she fell in love with me about the second time I ever saw her. We had put on a show for this big advertising executive from New York whom Bill had sent over to Cindy's. He had told her he would pay two hundred dollars to watch her go down on a girl. She called me, and we went through the whole business for him. When he left, Cindy looked at me with the sweetest and most touching expression I had ever seen on another girl's face.

“Denise…,” she said, smiling so sweetly as she pushed aside her long blonde hair and sat back down on the bed beside me, “I want to do it for love now… can I?”

I was overwhelmed-that is the only way I can describe it. I opened my legs for her and held her head right between them and I began to have wonderful, wonderful orgasms when I felt her wonderful, soft tongue licking every spot just right, her lips caressing and sucking.

We saw each other quite often after that. It was never involved. We never professed a serious or deep love until much later. But there was more there than merely the superficial aspects of the sexual relationship. We have remained very close to each other.

The fact is that I never became close to anyone during that first four years of my life as a teacher and part-time professional. I lived a full sex life and a full life in my work. The bizarre and unusual became so routine that I suppose I was ripe for some sort of a change when Bob came along.

And when I think of the over-all aspects of the strange mother and daughter element that ran as an undercurrent and more during the next four years, I often wonder if it began when I met Bill in the library and became a wanton, or when I met Bob at a party one night and almost let him take over both my daughter and myself?

The first time I ever saw Bob he was stripped naked and having sex relations with a 19-year-old blonde at a swap party. I had gone to the party with Bill, but most of the other couples there were married. When Bill and I arrived about 9:30, the group had formed a circle in the living room and were all watching Bob with this girl.

She was a newcomer to the crowd, the wife of a young man who worked as a salesman for the company headed by the host of that particular party. They had played some sort of game to determine whom she should swap with first, and the rules were that she must be initiated in front of everyone.

Bob Morgan was not a conventionally good-looking man. He was 45, a little fat and with graying hair cut very short in a military style. His face was rugged and very virile, with several scars or cuts still showing. He was a retired colonel who had worked in very clandestine military intelligence operations and he was somehow still involved with quite secret work that required him to just “disappear” for weeks or months at a time.

Of course, I did not know all of this as I perched on the edge of a chair and allowed the host to agitate my clitoris with his fingers while we all watched the performance entranced. All I knew was that I had never before seen a man who so compelled me to watch him. The novelty of watching and being watched in sexual acts had long ago worn off. I still enjoyed it immensely, but never to this extent.

The blonde girl was lying on her back on a mat, her legs wrapped up around Bob's back as he hovered over her, his long penis penetrating her in the most beautifully timed and rhythmic strokes I had ever seen. It was so obvious that he was controlling the entire thing. The girl was his slave, her body and emotions reacting to his direction as music from a trained orchestra reacts to the director's baton.

I had never in my life seen a man capable of such a cool and controlled performance with a completely new girl under pressure like this. The girl was a darling, her figure perfect and youthful, yet I watched the eyes of the others in the room and discovered that they too were following each move that Bob made, while the girl's movements and occasional outcries of “Faster! Faster!” were all but ignored.