Irresistible Girl Ch 03

Chapter 3: Paula's Revelation

Two in the morning and my wife woke me up by humping against my hip. "I'm sorry, master—I need it," she murmured. I wasn't entirely sure she was awake, so I rolled onto my side and softly asked what she needed. Cum, she said. Cum on her face. Smeared all over. "Make me your cum-bunny in front of all these people," she said. I asked her what people. She said something about all the wedding guests.

"Must be quite a dream," I said, sliding my hand down her tummy and rubbing her clit. She was drenched and ready.

"Sexy dream," she said. "I want it all over my face. Smear it around. Rub it in. Leave it till morning. I don't care."

I rose to my knees and let her suck me hard, then pushed her back down and started stroking. Anna threw her legs open and tapped out a dirty Morse code on her shaved box. I leaned over and braced myself on one arm so she could reach my nipple with her free hand. She knew when I was close, and turned her face toward me with her mouth open. "Not in the mouth," I said, gently closing her jaw. "On the face, cuntmeat, so all the wedding guests can see." I groaned and splashed her nose, then eased myself down and began fingerpainting her face with it until she shook the bed with her orgasm.

"Goddamn," she said, finally waking up completely. "That was—that was—do you think you can go again? Up my ass, maybe?"

* * *

Nights like that were quite a contrast from just a few months earlier, when we were both pretty much resigned to a sex life that ranged from placid to nonexistent. Then our beautiful daughter Melissa decided that she and I should be lovers—and after a few long seconds of contemplation I agreed and began an affair with her. When Melissa went back to Princeton for her sophomore year, we carried on in secret emails and lusty phone calls. About that time, Anna started reading The Liberation of Mary, a series of semi-scandalous erotic bestsellers that inspired her to explore her submissive side, with me as her novice master. I didn't even notice that Melissa was orchestrating the whole thing, and that she and her mother were also carrying on a long-distance lust that culminated on Melissa's first day home for Christmas break.

Since then, Melissa has been more like a wife to me, and Anna has been our toy. Our cuntmeat, to quote the book. It's been a crazy, kinky, completely consensual thing, and even after Melissa returned to school for her spring semester, she was thoughtful enough to indulge her mother's taste for pussy by recruiting a woman named Paula Fuller—herself a sex toy called "fuckpig" for her own daughter—to play with us on the weekends.

So counting Paula's daughter Courtney, five people in the world knew about the mother-daughter-father intrigue going on in our medium-size city in the middle of Minnesota. And five was plenty.

* * *

"Tell me about the dream," I said the next morning as I munched a slice of toast in the bedroom doorway.

Anna removed her towel and jiggled to the dresser to get a pair of panties. "If I tell you, we'll both be late for work."

"I have to know what got you all worked up."

She put the panties down. "Then there's no use putting these on. Fuck, I'm already wet."

I took off my pants and briefs and climbed up on the bed. She started to join me, but I put up my hand. "Tell me the dream first, and if it's a good story I'll make you cum before work. Stand right there—no touching yourself. Proceed."

"Bastard," she said with a smile. But she stood beside the bed and began to recount it all, closing her eyes to bring it all back. "We were in a church. The church we got married in, only bigger. Much bigger, and the pews were packed. There were flowers all around, so it looked like a wedding was about to occur. I looked around and saw all my friends and family, all your friends and family—pretty much everyone I know.

"The minister was Rev. McNolan, the one who married us. After I recognized him, the scene shifted and I saw who was getting married: It was you and Melissa."

My cock jumped. Anna went on.

"Melissa looked so beautiful in her white wedding gown. You looked handsome in your tuxedo. Your best man was Paula, but Melissa didn't have an attendant. She held your hands and you looked at each other like you were so happy, both of you smiling, looking into each other's eyes. Then I realized I should be in the dream somewhere if my daughter's getting married. And that's when I saw myself on the floor between you. Naked. On my hands and knees. With my bare ass facing the guests. When the minister said you could kiss the bride, you both stepped forward as if you didn't notice me. I could see you and Melissa kissing—your tongues, your hand cupping her breast—and then she ripped the bottom half of her dress off and straddled me. She said 'Go, cuntmeat. Ride me out of here.' And I obeyed her. She rode me down the aisle and stopped at every row to make sure everyone could see me. My parents were there and my mother and father both called me cuntmeat. My co-workers reached out to slap my ass as I crawled past, and one of them asked you if it was ok to jack off on my face. That must have been when I started humping you in your sleep."

Anna was right. We were both late for work that day.

* * *

I'll be the first to admit that I was living in the best of every possible world, even if there were times when my prostate let me know it needed a break. It was fun to slip away to the den and have phone sex with my daughter, to act like a crazy college kid with a long-distance girlfriend. It was just as much fun to experience Anna's sexual reawakening, and to know Melissa approved of—and occasionally choreographed—our master-and-slave play.

And then there was Paula. Tall, slim, small-breasted Paula—mine for the asking. She shared Anna's love of submission and humiliation and, just like Anna, obeyed her dominant daughter without question. What kept it all from getting too weird was the fact that we all knew when kinky time began and when it ended. We all knew when to indulge in name-calling and pussy-spanking and when to concentrate on work and home repairs and nonsexual entertainment. When Paula came over for the weekend on Friday evenings, she was ready to serve; before she left for home on Sunday we talked about everything except leather slappers and butt plugs. No one was in permanent chains. No one was in actual servitude. All of us knew where the line between kinky and freaky was.

All of us, that is, except Paula's daughter.

Courtney Fuller was attending college on the west coast, and Paula always hedged a little when we asked how their relationship started and what kept it going. "We just kind of fell into it when her father left," she would say with a shrug. "Who knows why one woman gets turned on by being in control?" Courtney had made her mother get her nipples pierced as a sign of subservience, and apparently was fond of threatening to drag her to a tattoo parlor and have "I am my daughter's fuckpig" inked on her ass. "Naturally, she wouldn't really do such a thing," Paula would laugh, but there was a catch in the laugh and I had the sense she hadn't ruled it out completely.

One Friday night in April, our daughters coordinated their schedules so they could both supervise a threesome in our master bedroom. We set one laptop facing the side of the bed and one facing the end, then videoconferenced the girls in. It was ridiculously high-tech.

I'd only seen Courtney in pictures, but now there she was on the laptop screen, a pretty coed with curly red hair and a body more like Anna's than her mother's. (One reason Paula said she loved sucking Anna's tits so much was because they were big and round like her daughter's.) Melissa waved at us from another corner of the laptop: "Home in six weeks, people. Can't wait to have cuntmeat sucking my boyfriend's goo out of my pussy."

"You're making me wet, Mistress," said Anna.

"Both these bitches have too many clothes on," said Courtney. "You should have been naked before you logged on."

"We weren't sure what you and Melissa had planned," I offered.

"Strip each other," said Melissa. "Make out while you're doing it."

Anna and Paula obeyed quickly. They'd done a lot of making out during our weekend sessions, and at least once, Anna told me, during the middle of a workday when she invited Paula to meet her at a home she'd just finished showing. Melissa's order wasn't one they had to think twice about.

Courtney turned her attention to me. "Mr Woodson. So. How's my mother as a lay?"

"Fantastic."

"And as a fuckpig?"

"She's never been anything less than compliant."

"Are you whipping her?"

"We have some floggers and paddles—"

"No whips?"

"Never. Anna and I never use them—the floggers seem to inflict all the pain I'm comfortable inflicting."

Courtney ahemed. "Mother? Fuckpig? Why aren't you begging to be whipped? I believe I instructed you to take one of our whips two weekends ago."

Paula looked at the screen with Anna's left breast in her hand. "I'm sorry, Goddess. I could tell Master John wasn't a sadist."

"I don't actually care what you could tell or what he is or isn't, fuckpig. You think I'm not keeping track of how many times you fuck up while I'm away? Jesus. Both of you bitches, hurry up and get naked. Now, Mr Woodson, I let this fuckpig play with you because she's a stupid cunt who needs a strong hand. She only understands pain and being put in her place. She craves it. Please tell me you've never gone down on her."

"Once, but—"

"OK, goddamn. I wasn't lending her out as a lover. Do you understand that?"

Melissa broke in. "I know Daddy is dominating her, Court. I've watched. He focuses more on humiliation than pain. That's what cuntmeat likes best too."

"Melissa, I give less than half a fuck about what these bitches like. Can we just start this show? Fuckpig and Chubby McFloppytits, stand back to back."

I saw Anna blush. Melissa looked like she wanted to say something, but held her tongue. Anna stood back to back with Paula, clasping her hands.

"Mr Woodson," said Courtney. "Fuckpig was supposed to bring you two packages tonight. Did she?"

"Got 'em right here," I said. "A sack and an unopened Fed Ex box."

"Empty the sack." I emptied it onto the bed: two rather nasty-looking pairs of nipple clamps. They weren't necessarily bitey-looking, but I tested the spring and they were going to clamp down hard. "Attach one clamp to the fuckpig's left nipple, please." I did. Paula winced and squeezed her mouth shut. I moved to her other breast, but Courtney stopped me. "No—the other one goes under their arms onto your milk cow's right udder." I attached the clamp to Anna, connecting the women, then Courtney had me do the same thing on the other side. The chains had a bit of slack, but too much movement by either woman would cause additional pain for them both. Anna hadn't played with such tight clamps, so her whimpering was a bit louder than Paula's. Paula whispered over her shoulder to relax and focus on something else.

"Your assignment, bitches, is to face each other without removing the clamps. If one slips off, you start over from the beginning. Is that clear?"

Both women nodded. I glanced at the laptop and watched a sadistic grin spread over Courtney's face as Anna and her mother struggled to figure out a nonpainful way—any way at all, actually—to solve this human version of a blacksmith puzzle. I suppose if I'd been an engineer instead of a liberal arts major, I could have figured it out sooner, though I also had no doubt that Courtney would not have been happy with my kibitzing. Anna and Paula tried talking through some ideas, but their thoughts were punctuated with cries of discomfort.

And then suddenly when I looked back at the laptop, Melissa was looking elsewhere, off to the side. She quickly turned back at her webcam, said "Back in two minutes," and shut down the videoconference. Courtney asked her where she was going, but it was too late. Anna was fighting back tears but managed to ask if Melissa was ok. I said I'd find out and walked behind the laptops with my phone. Melissa answered cheerfully: "Hey there—a friend just dropped by, so can I call you later?"

"Call me Father if you're in trouble."

"None at all, Daddy. Say Hi to Mom!"

Mysterious. I was concerned about why she'd voluntarily leave the session so easily, but also concerned that she wouldn't be there to temper Courtney's meaner impulses. "Melissa's fine," I said, "but might not be back." I remained out of sight of both webcams so I could coach Anna and Paula—not that I had a clue how to get them out of their predicament. Both women were taking turns trying to duck down, bend at the waist, and turn, which wasn't getting them anywhere except in more pain. At one point Paula got twisted around enough to beg her daughter to let them stop. One of her clamps slipped off and Courtney responded as I knew she would: "Back to square one, bitches. Mr Woodson—clamp the fuckpig, this time all the way up her areola."

I stepped into camera view and whispered an apology to Paula as I reattached the clamp. "It's ok," she whispered back, and the tone was one of resignation, not arousal. I patted my wife on the shoulder and left them to Courtney.

"I'm giving you ten minutes," said the girl. That's when it hit me: I moved behind the webcams and got the attention of the trembling women. I pantomimed exactly what they had to do: Slip their arms inside the chains, press their backs together, and ease themselves first into a sitting position and then flat on the floor with their heads together. I hoped there was enough slack in the chains, but even so, the hard part would be for Paula to somehow do a backwards somersault and ease her way back onto Anna.

As a point of observation, there is absolutely nothing sexy about watching a woman do a backwards somersault onto another woman. But they pulled it off and I moved one of the laptops so that Courtney could see in fact that Paula and Anna were facing each other. "They did it," I said, and Courtney grudgingly said I could help them up and remove their clamps. I took the clamps off first and both women wailed as the blood rushed back to their nipples. I helped Anna up and asked softly if she was okay. She nodded and whispered back: "I prefer Melissa." Paula clutched my arm and rose to her feet, confusion in her eyes. Something had changed.

"You bitches are boring," said Courtney. "Mr Woodson, open the Fed Ex box, please."

I opened the box and heard Courtney chortle as I let a zip-locked baggie slide into my hand. There was a pair of polka-dotted panties inside.

"Put the panties over my mother's head, Mr Woodson. Make sure the crotch is right even with her mouth. They should still feel moist with linebacker cum. Wait—were they linebackers or offensive linemen? Can't remember—all I know is that they were big and black and they filled this little white girl up with a fuckload of semen. Fuckpig, face the webcam so I can see that the crotch is in the right place—that's it. Good job, bitch. Wiggle your tongue around. Now, chubby blonde, let's see some hot lezzie makeout action."

Courtney put her bare feet up on her desk and was fapping wildly as her mother and Anna tongue-wrestled around the cumstained panties. The more I watched, the more I was ready for this little experiment to be over—but also, the more I saw some real passion in Anna and Paula's kissing. They ignored the panties and kissed like lovers, not just submissives, not just participants in this sexual humiliation show. Courtney noticed it too and told them to back off. "Not liking what I'm seeing here, bitches. Face each other. Keep the panties on your head, stupid. Mr Woodson, do you have handcuffs handy?"

There was a pair of soft leather wrist restraints within reach. I dangled them in front of the camera.

"Good," said Courtney. "Cuff your wife's hands behind her. I need to teach fuckpig a little lesson."

I put the restraints on Anna's wrists and caressed her ass while I was back there. Paula lowered her eyes behind her daughter's panties.

"Now, fuckpig. I lent you out to this couple as a favor to Melissa. She knew our history, knew we could be trusted. I was under the impression that Mr Woodson was going to dominate you the way I do—my mistake. So he's more into humiliation—whoop-de-fucking-do. It was your responsibility to let him know how much you craved the sting of the whip, and the breath control, and the hot candle wax, and the expandable butt plugs—am I getting my point across?"

"Well," I ventured, "like Melissa said, I have a different style of—"

"Yes, I know—you got your style out of a book and you let your bitches top from the bottom. I'm not impressed, and after tonight I'm rescinding fuckpig's permission to play with you. But first she's going to do something that'll make all three of you sick."

"What are you talking about?"

Courtney ignored me. "Fuckpig, take a couple of steps back. Chubbycunt, open your legs a bit. Fuckpig, you're going to kick that bitch in the twat, hard enough to lift her off the ground. She's not your lover, stupid—she's a piece of fuck just like you. I want you to fuck her up."

This was too much. She had to know I wasn't going to let my wife be physically beaten. But before I could say anything, Paula ripped the panties off her head and said "No."

Courtney laughed. "'No'?"

"No," repeated Paula. "I'm done with this game."

"This isn't a game, fuckpig. This is you owing me—"

"I've paid in full, Courtney. I've paid for not believing you when you told me what your father was doing to you. I've indulged your kinkiest, most sadistic whims—and I won't do it anymore. I won't kick my friend, I won't 'fuck her up,' I won't do anything to endanger my relationship with these people."

"These people," snorted Courtney. "These people fuck their daughter just like Dad."

"It's different with them," said Paula. "And I'll tell you something else." She moved beside Anna and put her arm around my wife's shoulders, then beckoned me to her other side. "You all might as well hear it at once," she said. "I've fallen in love with John and Anna both."

I'm not sure anyone expected to hear the L-word in that situation. I didn't. Courtney certainly didn't. Anna grinned like she might have. Paula went on: "So, that's that. For a long time, Courtney, you gave me what I craved, what I thought I deserved. But I can't do it anymore."

Courtney stood up and leaned over the desk menacingly. "Mother. Fuckpig. When I come home, I'm going to beat this hearts-and-flowers bullshit out of you. I'm going to shave your head and tie you to a goddamn tree in the yard and charge people a quarter to fuck your stupid, worthless, fuckpig ass."

"I no longer consent to that, Courtney. Which makes it rape. Good night."

"What? 'Good night'? No, it's not good night. You're going to apologize, you're going to get your head back on straight, and you're going to do what I tell you—"

Whatever else Courtney threatened her mother with was lost when I shut down the webcam. Paula released Anna's wrists from the cuffs and the three of us sort of fell into a group hug on the bed. "Sorry to spring it on you like this," said Paula. "I knew I loved you after our second weekend together—and I don't have any expectations or anything like that. I'm happy with the status quo. I know we can't all live together like a threesome—I mean, there's Melissa to think of too—but whatever happens, I want us to—"

Anna shot me a look that said "Less talk, more fuck" and covered Paula's mouth with hers. I ran my hands down Paula's body, down to her slippery pussylips, and was tapping her clit when my cell phone buzzed.

It was Melissa, wanting to know if she'd missed anything important.