This started as the final chapter of another story, but that story veered in a direction unexpected. As such, I have re-done it as a standalone tale. I hope you enjoy.
* * * *
You noticed Selena. Of Hispanic ancestry, she was short, maybe five feet, four inches tall, with a curvy hourglass figure, wide face, big brown eyes, good lips, and nice round tits. I suspected a boob job. Her dark hair ended in long curls that ran past her shoulder blades. She was twenty-four; her presentation was youthful, but not childish.
She was also a flirt. I considered inviting her to my bed, but saner thoughts prevailed. Fucking Dad's staff seemed a bad idea and there was something about her I couldn't figure out, something worrisome.
I used my key to get into Dad's office one weekend, I needed to use the bathroom, and found Selena sprawled over her desk, Dad fucking her from behind. Caught red-handed, Dad confessed the affair to Mom and asked for a divorce. I've often wondered if I'd backed out of the office quietly that day whether Dad would have gotten Selena out of his system. Dad had cheated on Mom before. Mom wasn't stupid; I figured that, by pretending not to know, she forced him to keep it low-key. And I, by walking in on it, blew it all to hell.
Mom was devastated. Then it got worse. Mom and Dad shared the same social circle and Selena insisted on accompanying Dad everywhere. While a few friends stuck with Mom, most of society gravitated to Dad and his new companion. It was Dad, after all, who was the successful businessman, the patron of the arts, the champion of civic responsibility. He kept half a dozen of the city's most prominent charities afloat. During Christmas Mom visited her mother in Florida, returning to town only occasionally, leaving me home alone the rest of my senior year.
It seemed obvious to everyone but Dad that Selena loved the money. Before the proposal she said she wanted to continue working. After the proposal she quit, claiming to be overwhelmed by the demands of planning a wedding. While she said she was uninterested in material things, she allowed that the future bride of such a successful man needed to project a certain image; her credit card bills became staggering. Her small Japanese car was traded in for a Mercedes. As to her engagement ring, Dad didn't pick out that gaudy thing.
One final complaint. Selena used my anger at Dad to create an "us versus them mentality." Visits with Dad became difficult and unpleasant. She wasn't rude, it was passive-aggressive stuff. She'd insist on accompanying us to a football game, but become so antsy by the third quarter that we'd leave. She'd put Mom down, forcing me to either ignore the taunt or confront her in front of Dad. My room in the new house became her storeroom, my bed covered with her detritus, my closet stuffed with her clothes.
* * * *
The day before my high school graduation Bobby Jones, a friend who'd just finished his first year at the University of Alabama, dropped by Dad's house. Selena and Sarah, her best friend, had just returned from the mall. Bobby helped them unload. I figured he was checking out the chicks, but as we drove off he said, "I think I know those ladies."
Bobby made a few quick calls then showed me a video a fraternity brother forwarded Bobby's phone. It was Selena and Sarah, dressed in skin-tight clothes, dancing with an array of guys. It turns out that the two of them had occasionally shown up at Tide Pride, a bar frequented by Bobby's fraternity, partied, and picked out two studs, taking them back to their hotel for some blow-down-the-walls sex. The word was that the girls liked it hard and rough. They'd stopped coming around the beginning of the school year, which was about the time Dad had started screwing Selena.
I considered telling Dad, but our relationship was already strained and I couldn't think of an upside. Selena had stopped going.
* * * *
I worked that summer as a camp counselor in the North Carolina mountains. I enjoyed the outdoors and the kids, but most of all I enjoyed Renee, a Duke grade student in forest biology who was conducting research at a station near the camp. Twenty-five years old, she was of Scandinavian stock. Her blonde hair, which was so light it was almost white, ran past her shoulders. She had sky blue eyes and a clean bright complexion. Her chin and jaw were oversized, a "cocksucker's mouth" she'd say with a smile. She was six inches shorter than my six foot two inch frame and while she packed a few more pounds on her backside than ideal, they were balanced by her large round melon-like breasts. She was a country girl, raised on a farm, with a sweet unpretentious personality, a soft, almost hick, Southern accent, and a hippie sensibility, all of which masked her powerful intelligence.
She also loved sex. All the time. In ways I'd never imagined. I wasn't sure why I had been selected as the summer's fuck-mate; there were plenty of willing guys around. Best I could figure I (a) also loved to fuck, (b) was willing to let an older wiser more-experienced woman take the lead, (c) never told her what to do, (d) could go at it for hours, and (e) had a big, if not porn-sized, cock.
It wasn't all sex; we became friends. I told her about the failure of my parents' marriage - my anger at Dad, by resentment of Selena, how I blamed myself - and found compassion and wisdom. I fantasized about us staying together, but Renee was nothing if not grounded in reality. When I got too starry-eyed she'd remind me it was a summer fling.
Dad, who was heading for the airport for an overnight trip, bought me lunch the day I got back from camp. I told him about my summer romance. That night, missing Renee, I stayed up late drinking too many beers. I was woken by my phone. The text from Bobby said only, "Check this out - call ASAP." Attached was a video, dated the night before, of Selena and Sarah dancing with some college-aged guys. Through a throbbing hangover I called Bobby, who said the video was taken by a fraternity brother who, with a buddy, had spent the night with the ladies. They still liked their sex rough.
I called Renee; she was older and wiser. I told her what I knew and sent her the video. She called back, asked about the girls. When I mentioned Bobby's comment, that Selena and Sarah liked their sex hard, Renee's tone quickened. "Tell me more."
I told her I didn't know more. She sent me a text with further inquiries; I forwarded it to Bobby. He responded, she sent several follow-ups. Finally my phone rang. Bobby had lined up some of the guys who'd slept with Selena and Sarah. I hooked Renee onto the line and she spent ninety minutes peppering them with questions. After they hung up she called me back. "I think your step-mother's a submissive."
"What's a submissive?"
"A submissive? A submissive is a woman whose, well, natural sexual state is to relinquish control, to find a man or woman to whom she can surrender. I know it sounds like a contradiction, but its only when she does so that she finds peace and freedom, she can blossom only when deprived of choice. She usually needs her dominant to drag her there; she's probably too weak to defy society's rules on her own. Once there her universe is defined by the strength of her dominant."
I wasn't sure I understood, but said, "And you're saying that's Selena?"
"I'd need to meet her before rendering a final judgment, but yes."
"How do you know all this?"
"I've been a dom. A teacher in high school, a professor in college, one of my aunts, my mother's best friend."
"You never mentioned it."
"Didn't come up. I've done a lot of things I haven't told you."
I couldn't argue with that - she'd been the most innovative lover I'd known.
Renee continued. "Alabama-Birmingham has asked me to present my summer's finding. Figure while I'm in town you and I could get some sack time. It would also be a chance to meet your step-mom."
