Denise Bryant: Mother and Daughter

I empathized strongly with her, knowing the feelings she must be experiencing. Bob was playing with her, teasing her with his slow and measured strokes, denying her the speed-up so that she could reach her climax. She was such a young girl, probably incapable of multiple climaxes, but Bob was endearing himself to her by his very denial.

Yet his control over her was so complete that she could not hurry the process herself. As our host continued to finger me to climax, I felt irresistibly drawn to this man. I stood up and began to undress. Nobody noticed except our host and that was because he had to move to keep his fingers working on me.

When I was nude, I walked out to join Bob and the girl in a way that I had done many times at parties. I lay with my head just against her buttocks so that I could bring my lips and mouth into contact with their union. My whole body was aflame.

“Get her out! Dammit… get her out of the way!” Bob screamed angrily, while he never missed a stroke, never made a move of his body or limbs that was not directly concerned with what he was doing.

“He's a funny one,” our host whispered to me as he helped me up from the floor, my feelings shattered, “That's Bob Morgan. Quite a guy though. He's here with Suzy tonight… just got back from some super-secret job in Viet Nam.

And that was when I learned all about Bob Morgan, from my host, a man whose name I can't even remember, while I continued to watch the spectacle in front of me. Bob began to go faster now and the blonde became flooded with ecstatic wriggles, twists and a frantic pumping motion of her body. When their mutual climax came a few moments later, it was almost possible to see her inner muscles working on him. With each outward stroke, he seemed to bring part of her insides out with him. I don't think anyone there had ever seen anything like it before.

Into the evening and through the small morning hours, things broke up into small groups, twosomes, threesomes and so forth. I desperately wanted to connect with Bob, but he always was occupied by one or two other women, and usually off in a bedroom with them. As for myself, I was certainly not bored. Our host went down on me for a solid half hour, and then I was taken by two men from California who were visiting.

Eleanor, the host's wife, introduced me to a new girl from Texas who was bi, and the two of us went into a bedroom for a session, and then were joined by her husband and Luke. I think it must have been almost daylight when I had gone to take a douche in the small bathroom off the foyer, that I got a chance to see Bob again.

It certainly wasn't a romantic setting, but then swingers are used to anything. He walked right in on me as I sat there douching. I was surprised, but not shocked. I could meet him on his own terms. If he was bizarre enough to stay there after he came in, I was weird enough to go right ahead with what I was doing.

“How nice. I had hoped to have the opportunity to talk with you privately,” Bob commented, looking me over very straightforwardly, even stepping back to get a good look between my legs. “I must apologize for upsetting you when you had the urge to join us last evening, but you must realize that the concentration I had to use precluded a trio. You almost ruined the whole business.”

Bob seemed pleased at what he saw, smiled, and then busied himself at the lavatory, washing his hands and face, then searching through the medicine cabinet for a razor and shaving cream.

“You made me feel rather like an ass,” I told him with a weak laugh, “and this isn't exactly my idea of a place… or situation… in which to get acquainted.”

“You'll get over those remaining inhibitions,” he said casually, shooting pressurized cream on his face and smoothing it around. “I've decided take you under my wing and make a real woman of you. These parties will be off limits from now on. You are single, aren't you?”

“I am divorced,” I stated, absolutely fascinated by his amazing self-assurance and domination, yet determined to put up an expected protest. “I am divorced… but my 14-year-old daughter is spending the summer with me. She stays with me every summer…”

“Do you have a picture of her?”

“Yes… in my purse there, but…”

“Will you show it to me, please?” Bob asked, and there was no element of doubt in voice but that I would comply.

I felt peculiar, but in a wonderful way. Of course, I am odd, and my whole being at that time was completely unorthodox. But in looking back on this, even I am shocked at myself. There I was taking a douche in the bathroom with almost a total stranger who, as he was shaving, announced that he was going to “take over” my life, and I cut off the flow in the douche bag to retrieve a picture of Kathy from my purse.

“Very nice…,” he commented upon looking it the wallet-size, junior-high picture Kathy had it me last year. “She has a sensual face. Is she a virgin?”

“I should hope so!” I said with a note of protest. “She… well, had a tendency to be a bit wild and stay out late… God knows where she meets some of these creeps she shows up with, but… you ask the damnedest questions…”

“You both need a male influence in the home,” Bob observed sharply, turning his attention back to his shaving. “I've been staying at the Riverside Motel since I came back to the States. I think it would be best if I moved in with you tomorrow.”

“Oh, wait a minute now!” I exploded, angered by his presumptuousness as I stood up and wiped myself off, “You're clever enough to know that I like you… that I think you're sexy as hell… if I got down there and tried to lick you and that girl. But this is ridiculous. Just because you're some CIA character…”

“Who told you that?” he literally screamed at me, dropping his razor in the hot water and grabbing me by the neck, “Who told you that?”

“Ow… awk… you're hurting me!” I objected, fruitlessly struggling against his iron grip, “I… I was just told that you were… used to be in military intelligence or something…”

“That's all they told you?” he demanded, relaxing his grip just enough to let me know that those strong hands could strangle me to death in an instant if he so desired.

“They… said you still spooked or something… it was very vague…”

“All right,” he said, letting me go and returning to his shaving as if nothing had happened. “It's no secret that I was an intelligence officer. I still travel occasionally on classified work. I may be gone sometimes for indefinite periods. You must not question this. Now, what size quarters do you have?”

“Look… if you think you're going to move in on me,” I started again as he splashed water over his face and toweled it off, ”… you've got another guess coming…

“You need a man. You need constant companionship. The presence of a man is essential to your physical and mental well-being,” he rattled off at me, turning to face me and gathered me in his arms with those strong hands, “If you allow yourself to keep going to these parties, having boyfriends and girlfriends all over the place, you'll become much more of a tramp than you are now. Think of yourself ten years from now. Think of your daughter.”

“I… I am thinking of my daughter,” I told him nervously, overawed by the strength of his presence, the hypnotic influence he seemed to be wielding over me, “I've never had a man in the house… except as a very proper visitor… while she's at home.”

“Do you have an extra bedroom?”

“Yes… we use it as a den downstairs…”

“Don't you think I could take care of your physical needs?”

“Yes… but…”

Bob pressed his massive body to me and I think I must have succumbed totally, body and soul. It was as if I was no longer capable of self control. I had become weak and lifeless, dependent upon him for strength, for sustenance. I was no longer my own master.