This series of short stories chronicles the journey of Ashleigh with her friends and relations, as she explores her sexuality, and progresses from teenage sex to the wider reaches of sexual behaviour. They are written from different points of view, to give insight into how the experiences influence the individual characters.
Read the whole set of stories for a better understanding of the characters' motivation and personality, and watch their exploits unfold with people of both sexes, in single and group situations and within their families.
The house was empty when I arrived back from Geeta's party. I threw off my coat and stood in front of the tall mirror in my bedroom – and examined myself in full nudity in the half-light of my bedside lamps.
My naked cunt was sensitive to the touch from all the work done on it. It felt like a ripe plum in my hand. It throbbed. I winced. I squeezed and a rush of pain and passion and excitement ran through my body. I love that feeling when my body's all tingling after sex.
"What a pity I couldn't stay," I thought, feeling cheated, "just one more bitch to make me cum one last time ... that would have been perfect."
Then I started to worry: How would I get out of this one? How could I explain it to Mum? What could I possibly say to her? How would she react? Would she call me a slut and kick me out?
I spoke to myself in the mirror. "It's too late for excuses ... my only option is to confess ... get it out in the open ... accept my punishment."
"She might be my mother," I said, squeezing my cunt again to get another burst of tingle through my body, "but we're both women of a certain type ... the type that love sex and depravity and want everything ... from girl-on-girl stuff to vigorous hardcore."
"Perhaps I should celebrate being one of few women who have sex with their mother."
I was getting into this. My voice rose as I snarled at my image and shouted at the bitch in the mirror as if she was my enemy – my tits thrust out in defiance. I began to rehearse what I'd say to her when the confrontation came, rambling around different arguments to defend myself.
"I'm not a bad girl ... I don't get out of my mind on drink ... or do drugs ... or have tattoos and piercings ... and I look after my appearance, keeping slim and fit."
"I've done nothing more than you did at my age ... so I turned out like you ... so what?"
"You've spent a lifetime flaunting your body at men and women ... enjoying sex ... so why not me?"
I ran my hand down and around my right breast, down my side, down my waist, around my hips, around my arse, down my thigh and back up to feel the smoothness of my shaved pubic area. I loved my body. I gave my cunt another squeeze to produce another rush of excitement.
"So get off my case, bitch ... I'll do what I want ... if you don't like it .... you can go and fuck yourself."
"It's your fault really ... what an example you set ... I must have inherited your genes."
I felt better once I'd arrived at the conclusion that my mother was a fucking slut and she made me the way I am.
I remembered the business card in my coat pocket, the one given to me by the black woman with big tits and voluptuous arse – the stranger I'd brought to orgasm – who squirted lady cum all over my face – the dirty bitch. The thought made me laugh out loud. The memory sent a quiver from my head to my clit.
I read her name: Jessica. Call me, she said; come and spend a night with me and my partner. I couldn't wait to meet them and work on her cunt until it sprayed more lady cum all over my face, while he fucked me from behind.
Perhaps an eighteen year old girl like me ought to feel embarrassed by thoughts like that – but I didn't. Just the opposite – I felt excited. Another tingle ran through me at the thought of meeting two strangers for sex.
"Wait until I tell Danielle," I thought. Then I remembered bringing her mother, Joanne, to a shuddering climax – and her inviting me to fuck with her and her husband, Bill. Explaining to Danielle how I fucked her parents was going to be harder than talking to my mother.
Only after I'd got those thoughts from my mind did I notice my face was wrecked: my mascara was spread around my eyes and across my cheeks; my makeup and lipstick and the extra layers of gloss were gone – probably deposited around the cunts of Geeta's bitches. A thin, dried-on layer of Jessica's cum glistened on my nose – I could still taste its sweet saltiness – dirty bitch.
I let my almost-black hair out of its ponytail and shook it down across my shoulders, my pink nipples stuck upwards and outwards in response to the lewdness of my thoughts.
"I'm beautiful," I thought, without conceit, "I can get any man or woman I want." I laughed out loud. "Who could resist my pouty lips and my tits and my shaven cunt ... and my willingness to share them around?"
"I'm my own woman and can do anything I like ... have sex with anyone, anytime, anywhere ... even with my own mother." An involuntary shudder of excitement shot through me. It felt weird to be turned on by my own mother. I didn't care.
After a piss, I fell into bed without washing, so not to lose the smell of sex. Sleep was impossible. The events of the evening churned in my head – until I began to resent not finishing on a high with a final orgasmic flourish.
I reached into my bedside drawer for the vibrator that John gave me when Danielle and I went for the threesome. Nobody was home but me. It was time to make as much noise as I wanted – and fulfil my need to bring the evening to a climax.
My cunt was well lubricated from the action earlier in the evening, so the full length of the vibrator easily slipped inside me. I threw off the sheet and got onto my hands and knees – my arse in the air – the vibrator at full throttle. I knew it wouldn't take long to bring myself off.
Turning the vibrator around inside my cunt, I held it hard against me, and directed the rabbit onto my arsehole. I gasped as I pushed it inside and held it there with one hand, my fingers stroking around my clit. The rabbit worked wonders on my arse, the tips of my fingers circling in and out of my arsehole.
I soon entered the world where the only thing that matters is the pleasure playing around your erogenous zones and through your head. That place where everything blends into one sensation and you don't quite know what's best – up your cunt or your arsehole or the tingling that pulses through your body and your nipples – as the sensation flows in and around you.
My breathing got heavier. Saliva drained from my mouth to wet the pillow. My mind buzzed with images of women and shaven cunts and tight arseholes and men with big dicks up my cunt and filling my mouth with spicy cum. I thrashed about, working the sex toy on myself harder and harder.
When the orgasm came my cunt contracted around the vibrator, and gripped it tight. At the same time, my arsehole contracted around the rabbit, and gripped that. I felt my clit pulsing against my fingers, held tight inside my cunt. My body began to spasm, then again and again.
It was one of the most explosive orgasms I'd ever experienced – as if the stress built up during the anticipation of Geeta's party; and fucking about inside the cunts and arseholes of a bunch of strangers; and bringing my own mother to a climax all contributed to it.
I didn't realise how much tension I'd released until I collapsed down into the bed, dripping with sweat, my head soaked in the saliva that coated the pillow. I lay there and kept the vibrator up my cunt to hang onto the feeling of the orgasm. Nothing else mattered as I drifted into semi-sleep.
It sounded like a bird stirred in the undergrowth in my semi-consciousness. I awoke, exhausted but satisfied. The bedside lights seemed bright. The white figure in the doorway startled me.
"How long have you been there?" I asked, pulling the bedclothes around my shoulders.
"Long enough to realise that my little girl has grown into a sensuous woman."
"I must have inherited it from you," I said, the words I'd so carefully rehearsed completely gone from my mind. I was too busy slipping the vibrator out from inside me and burying it beneath the pillows, without my mother noticing.
"We have to talk, Ashleigh."
