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Subject: {ASSM} Blackmailed Into Incest: My Story by Donna
Date: Thu, 13 Jul 2000 09:10:05 -0400
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Blackmailed Into Incest:
My Story by Donna
I've been married for six years to a very nice man, a widower, whom I'll
call George. In many ways George is the ideal husband. He's honest, hard
working and a good provider for his son and myself. The major problem is that
he's almost twice my age. I'm in my thirties and he's well over sixty. That
wouldn't be a problem except that over the past four years he's gradually
become impotent and two years ago he completely lost interest in sex. We never
have sex. I don't mean seldom. I mean never. Even that might not have been a
problem if he'd maintained his interest in sex and had been willing to satisfy
me in some other way, orally or manually, but he's too much of a puritan for
that and he seemed to assume that since he wasn't interested in sex anymore, I
wasn't interested either. He was wrong. I became very frustrated and, since
masturbation was my only outlet, I masturbated frequently. Of course I had to
do that in secret because George would have thought I was depraved and sinful.
But if my husband lost interest in sex, his son, my stepson, who I'll
call Philip, didn't. He's fourteen and, perhaps like most fourteen year old
boys, seems obsessed with it. I do the laundry and have to wash his
sperm-soaked handkerchiefs every week so I know he masturbated even more
frequently than I did. He also hid girlie magazines in his room and stared at
my body all the time and spied on me trying to catch a look at me undressed.
Philip is a good looking kid and big for his age but he's aggressive,
demanding, inconsiderate and more than a little spoiled. Perhaps because Philip
lost his mother at an early age, George gives him everything he wants and
exercises very little discipline. Even though I didn't particularly like
Philip, occasionally, just for amusement, I'd give him a peek at me in my
undies, or a look down my blouse, or up my skirt. I figured it was harmless and
I certainly had no intention of letting it go any further than that. But you
can't put a horny boy and a horney woman in a house and not expect problems.
It started with the dog. Philip agitated for a dog so naturally we had to
get one. I refused to try to house-train a puppy so George and I went to the
pound and picked out a grown one. Butch is a very big, black mongrel. George
thought that having a dog would teach Philip responsibility but, of course, I
was the one that ended up with the responsibility of caring for the dog. I feed
it, make sure it has water, let it out when it wants out, take it for walks and
take it to the Vet. Philip yells at it and pets it occasionally. So the dog
ended up loving me and follows me around everywhere and is reluctant to let me
out of his sight even if I have to pee. So when the dog and I were home alone
I'd go to the bathroom and leave the door open and he'd sit in the doorway and
watch me.
That's what got me into trouble. One day, after I'd finished peeing and
was just about to get off the pot, the dog strolled over, stuck his head
between my legs and licked my pussy. It was like an electric shock! No one, man
or beast, had licked my pussy since my dating days years ago. (Some of the
males I dated qualified as beasts.) I got so excited by the dog's tongue that I
kicked off my panties and spread my legs wider and let him lick some more. I
couldn't help myself. Eventually he got tired and quit, leaving me on the edge
of orgasm. I wanted more. I left my panties laying on the bathroom floor and
went to the kitchen to see what I could find that Butch might like to lick. I
knew he loved peanut butter but that seemed messy. I finally decided on peanut
oil. I pulled up my dress, spread some on my cunt, sat down on a kitchen chair,
spread my legs wide and called him over. He slurped it up and I had a
tremendous orgasm.
From then on it became a daily ritual. As soon as George left for work
and Philip had left for school, I'd pull off my panties, sit down on a kitchen
chair, spread some peanut oil on my cunt and let Butch eagerly lick it off and
lick me to a great orgasm. It was admittedly a little perverted but what was
the harm? The dog liked it, I certainly liked it and who was it harming? If
George had learned about it he would have been appalled and ordered me out of
the house and straight to hell, but it wasn't like I was being unfaithful and
having an affair with the mailman.
Soon I stopped wearing panties entirely. What was the point? By noon they
were dirty with dog slobber, peanut oil and my own wetness.
I swear I'd never had any dirty thoughts about fucking a dog before he
started licking me but I certainly started having them then. In addition to a
tongue Butch had a cock, a very big cock. I'd seen it on occasion. It wasn't
long before I started checking to see just how big it was. I'd get the dog over
on his back on the living room carpet and play with his sheath. His cock would
slowly come out. It looked a little gross at first, red and wet with
lubrication and with that big, round knot at the base, but in size it was very
impressive and it certainly was a cock.
I soon got used to the way it looked and one morning. after I'd played
him into an erection, I got my nerve together, pulled up my dress, straddled
him on the floor and eased myself down on it. It was the first cock I'd had in
two years and it felt great! I rode him to three glorious orgasms before he had
one and lost interest.
I felt very depraved after that first time. Getting the dog to lick me
off could be passed off as a mild perversion, just fun and games, but fucking a
dog? That was bestiality with a capital B! I took a long, hot shower, washed
thoroughly and promised myself I'd never do it again! Well, I amended a short
time later, I wouldn't do it again unless I got really horny and absolutely had
to have some relief. I felt that way the very next day. So from then on our
morning licking sessions were followed by fucking sessions. I tried various
positions with Butch. Dog style didn't work very well because, in his
excitement, he had a hard time finding the right port of entry and he'd
withdraw too far and slip out all the time. We settled on either me astride him
on the floor, or me slouched down on the couch with my bare ass half over the
edge of the cushion and my legs spread wide and my feet on the floor and him
mounting me missionary style with his back paws on the floor and his front ones
on my shoulders. In that position I could guide him in and then take hold of
the knot at the base of his cock and keep him inside me.
The first few times I got the dog to fuck me I still felt very guilty and
depraved, but I soon got over that. As someone once pointed out, what we do is
"normal". It's those strange things that other people do that are "abnormal".
The dog clearly enjoyed it, I certainly enjoyed it and we were harming no one.
What my husband didn't know wouldn't disturb his moral principles. Besides, my
husband actually benefited by it. Since I was no longer sexually frustrated I
was a much happier, cheerier person. He noticed it and commented on it,
congratulating me on getting over my "constant gloom".
And yes, if you must know all the dirty details, I occasionally did get
carried away with lust and suck off the dog. I know, if you haven't done that,
it sounds gross, but it really isn't much different than sucking off a man and
it's just as enjoyable. There is, however, one major difference: The dog
doesn't run around and tell all his buddies that you give great head. Again,
after the first time I did it I felt very guilty and depraved, but again, I
soon got over that and did it again and again.
However, there were problems. Butch didn't understand that this little
affair we had going was supposed to be kept a secret from my husband and his
son. Even when they were around he'd stick his nose up under my skirt or dress
and try to lick my cunt. He knew that was the prelude to fucking. Philip, my
stepson, saw him do that a number of times and once, when Philip was in the
kitchen, I bent way over to take a pan out of the drawer in the bottom of the
stove and Butch jumped on my back and tried to mount me. I tried to laugh all
this off and blame it on "dogs will be dogs". That seemed to work with my
husband, but Philip started eyeing me suspiciously. He's sharper than his
father. Not nearly as nice, but sharper.
Still things went on their merry way until one disastrous day. George
went off to work and Philip went off to school. As soon as they were gone, as
usual, I pulled up my dress, spread peanut oil on my cunt, sat down on a
kitchen chair, spread my legs wide and called Butch over. He eagerly licked me
off for awhile and then we retired to the living room. I pulled my dress up
around my waist, sat down on the edge of the couch and Butch, who knew the
drill, immediately hopped on me missionary style and I guided his cock inside
me. We were both on our way to a great orgasm when I looked up and was shocked
to see Philip standing in the doorway to the dining room staring at us wide
eyed, his mouth open and his pants bulging. I found out later he had skipped
school and snuck back into the house in the hope of catching me doing something
dirty with the dog. He did.
Horrified, I immediately pushed the dog off, ignoring his wine of
protest, and jumped up and smoothed down my dress.
"You were fucking the dog!" Philip declared, stating the obvious.
"I was not!" I declared, denying the obvious.
"Yes you were! I saw you! I'm going to tell Dad!"
"He won't believe you!" I tried to scoff.
"Yes he will," Philip confidently declared and I knew the boy was right.
"Well, you just can't do that!" I was scared to death! My husband would
have a moral fit and order me, the perverted harlot, out of his house. What
kind of divorce settlement could I get if I was charged with adultery with a
dog? I anxiously mulled it over for a few seconds. "Ok. What do you want to
keep quiet?" I asked. "Money? I'll give you money. How much do you want?"
He thought about it. That was positive. It showed he could be bribed. I
started mentally reviewing my checking account, trying to figure out how much I
could give him.
"No, I don't want money," he finally decided, a sly, expectant smile on
his face. "I want to see you naked."
We stared at each other while I debated my options. There weren't any.
"Ok," I finally reluctantly agreed. "Let's go upstairs."
"You stay!" I ordered Butch and went up the stairs. Philip eagerly
followed me. I went to his bedroom and, when he was inside, I closed the door,
not wanting Butch to join us. I told Philip to sit on his bed, which he
expectantly did, and then, standing in front of him in the small room, I
started taking off my clothes. I pulled off my dress and, since I wasn't
wearing any panties, I was already half nude. While he stared at my crotch I
took off my bra and kicked off my shoes and stood in front of him stark naked.
"There!" I declared. "Had enough?" I asked after a few moments and
reached for my dress.
"No," he told me. "I want to touch you."
"Wait a minute! That wasn't part of the deal!" I protested.
"It is now," he told me, still staring at my body like it was candy and
he was ready to eat it. "Lay down here on the bed," he ordered, patting the bed
next to him.
"No! I'm not going to let you feel me up!"
"I'll tell Dad what you were doing with the dog," he threatened.
"Well, I'll tell your father that you tried to feel me up!" I threatened.
"Well, I'll tell him you tried to seduce me! Who do you think he'll
believe?" Philip demanded and smirked.
It was a good point. His father would believe him, not me.
I reluctantly lay down on the bed next to him.
Rather hesitantly at first, he touched my breasts and then, gaining more
confidence, he caressed them, squeezed them and played with my nipples. No one
had fondled my breasts in years and despite my anger at the little shit I felt
myself getting aroused. I tried to suppress it.
Then he ran his hand down across my stomach and started playing with my
pubic area. At first he just rubbed it but then he started trying to find his
way in my cunt. Involuntarily I spread my legs to give him more room and then I
just closed my eyes and let it happen. He found it. I was hot and well
lubricated and he easily slid a finger inside me. I tried not to groan but as
he worked first one finger and then two in and out I couldn't help but move my
hips to meet them. I was almost on the verge of an involuntary orgasm when he
suddenly pulled his fingers out.
I opened my eyes to see him getting off the bed. He dropped his pants,
kicked them away, and did the same with his shorts, displaying a major
erection. His cock, which jutted out from his body, was much bigger than I'd
thought it was, almost adult size . "Sit up!" he ordered, standing next to the
bed.
I sat up.
"Suck my cock!" He ordered, waving it in my face.
"No!" I told him. "I don't suck cock!" Even if you discount the dog, that
was something of a lie. I hadn't sucked off a man since I'd met his father but
before that I'd sucked off lots of them and had enjoyed it immensely.
"You don't?" he asked surprised and very disappointed.
"No," I told him, but I was very tempted.
"But I thought all women did it," he said, very dejected. "I've seen
pictures of women doing it and there's a girl in my school that does it for any
boy that asks."
"Well, get her to do it!" I told him, still staring at his cock.
"I have. She's done it, but now I want you to do it," he informed me,
stepping closer.
"Well, I don't do it!" I told him, looking longingly at his cock.
He thought about that for a moment and then said sternly, "Well, you're
going to have to. You're going to have to suck my cock! If you don't, I'll tell
Dad you fucked the dog!"
"I'll tell him you tried to make me suck your cock!" I threatened, but I
was staring at it and weakening. He may have heard that in my voice.
"He won't believe you. Come on, Mom. You know your going to do it
eventually." he declared, impatiently sticking his young, strong, attractive
cock in my face and stroking it. "Suck my cock, Mom."
Philip seldom called me "mom". George, my husband, had tried to get him
to call me "mother" when we were first married, but with little success. Why
was he calling me "mom" now? I absently wondered. Was it because a mother was
supposed to satisfy his needs? He obviously had a need! It was staring me in
the face. Or was it because calling me mother made it more erotic and more
exciting? It had that effect on me.
He was right, of course. If he kept insisting I knew that sooner or later
I'd have to do what he wanted. I'd have to suck his cock. Besides, the more I
looked at it the more I wanted to do it. I finally reached out and tentatively
took hold of it. It was the first human cock I'd held in years. It was young,
smooth and strong and felt great. I bent over, studied it for a moment and then
took it in my mouth. It tasted like cock, very good cock. Philip groaned as I
moved it in and out, savoring it.
I wanted to go slow and fully enjoy the first blow job I'd given to
another human in years but the kid got excited, grabbed me by the hair on the
back of my head and started ramming his cock into my mouth as far as it would
go. Fortunately, along with algebra, I'd learned to "deep-throat" during my
senior year in high school. I took it all. Despite this rape of my mouth I was
soon enjoying it. I like a little force now and then.
I soon sensed he was on the verge of coming and sucked harder. He
groaned, jammed his cock down my throat and held it there. I felt his sperm
pumping down my throat. There were gobs and gobs of it. You would have thought
the little jerk had been storing it up for months, but he hadn't. I knew
because I washed his handkerchiefs. I swallowed and swallowed and when he was
finished I sucked him clean and then pushed him away.
"There!" I told him, wiping off my face and trying to sound disgusted,
which I wasn't. I'd had an orgasm while I was sucking him and was hot for more,
but I forced myself to say, "Ok. I did what you wanted. Now that's the end of
it!"
"But I didn't get to fuck you!" he protested, standing in front of me
with his cock at half-mast. "The dog gets to fuck you. How come he gets to fuck
you and I don't? I want to fuck you!"
"No!" I told him, staring greedily at his cock, which was already
starting to grow again.
"I'll tell Dad!" he threatened. "I'll tell Dad you fucked the dog and
then you made me let you suck my cock!"
I thought about that. It was a very scary thought. His father would
probably believe him. "But you can't do it even if I'd let you," I pointed out.
"You can't fuck anyone. You're not even hard."
"Well, get it hard!" he ordered. "Suck it!" He stepped forward again and
waved his half-erect cock in my face. "Common, Mom, suck it hard again. I want
to fuck you," he pleaded, changing tactics.
What the hell? I'd already sucked it once and I certainly wanted to be
fucked. I took his nearly erect cock and sucked it into hardness. It only took
a minute. Then I climbed up further on the bed and spread my legs. He
immediately jumped on me and started poking me with his cock. I took hold of it
and guided it inside me. It felt wonderful! But I wasn't given much time to
enjoy it. He banged away at me trying to bring himself off. He was an even less
considerate lover than the dog. Fortunately, because I'd sucked him off first,
it took him a few minutes to come and in that time I managed to have another
good orgasm. Not great, but good.
It was like he'd just gotten a wonderful new toy, me, and he wanted to
play with it. He followed me around for the rest of the day trying to feel me
up and we fucked three more times. By the last one at three in the afternoon
he'd tired enough to slow down a bit and I managed to have a tremendous orgasm.
Then, thank God, he fell asleep and I was able to get the house cleaned up
before his father got home from work.
Philip wanted to skip school again the next day and stay home and fuck,
but I refused to let him. When he go home at three-thirty he dropped his book
bag on the floor, grabbed me, dragged me up to his bedroom, made me suck him
off again and then we fucked. That became the pattern. I'd suck him off and
then fuck him every afternoon when he got home from school and, of course, we'd
do it on weekends when his father was out of the house. I still continued to do
the dog, but much less frequently. Philip was in heat and, even though I was
too, I was getting more sex than I could handle. It wasn't very good quality
sex because, despite my efforts to train him, Philip remained only interested
in his own gratification, but he certainly made up for the quality with
quantity.
The problem was that he soon became careless and wanted to feel me up and
fuck me when his father was in the house. He'd come out in the kitchen and
attack me when I was cleaning up after supper and his father was in the living
room watching TV. If I was in the mood, and thought it was safe, I'd let him
feel me up a bit. It was something of a turn-on to let the son masturbate me
with his father, my husband, only fifty feet away and oblivious to what was
happening. But I refused to let the kid fuck me under those conditions. It was
crazy! Philip seemed convinced that his father was stupid, blind and deaf and
wouldn't care if he did catch us in the act. Philip acted accordingly. But, of
course, I couldn't go along with that!
One evening after supper when I was about finished in the kitchen and was
just cleaning the sink, Philip came up behind me and started feeling me up.
George was in the living room watching TV. It seemed safe enough and I was
horney so I let the kid hike my dress up around my waist and play with my cunt.
As usual I wasn't wearing any panties. He fingered me for awhile and then took
his cock out and rubbed it against my ass, begging me in a whisper to spread my
legs and bend over further so he could shove it in. We'd done it that way many
times, with me bent over the kitchen table or the sink and Philip mounting me
from the rear, but, of course, not when his father was in the house. It was too
dangerous to do it then so I refused, but I was hot and if the boy wanted to
masturbate me to orgasm that was fine.
Philip continued to finger me, rub his cock in the crack of my ass and
softly plead with me to let him fuck me. I was just standing there bent over
and enjoying the fingering when I happened to look up at the kitchen window and
saw my husband's reflection in the glass! I froze. George was standing in the
doorway to the kitchen watching us! I stared at him, scared to death, trying to
decide what to do. Philip, who was oblivious to his father's presence, kept
fingering me and pleading with me to let him fuck me. I just stood there, bent
over the sink, my dress up around my waist, frozen in fear. In a moment George
was going to come storming into the kitchen ready to kill! What was I going to
do? How was I going to explain my way out of this? It flashed through my mind
that I'd have to claim the kid had attacked me, forced me. But a moment later I
realized that wouldn't work. Why hadn't I made noise, called out for help? My
husband had only been fifty feet away. Why had I just let the kid lift my dress
up around my waist, stick his fingers in my cunt and rub his bare cock against
my ass? Why hadn't I made any noisy protest? There wasn't any explanation for
that except that I hadn't objected to it and had quietly let it happen.
Besides, if I tried to lay the blame on Philip he'd tell George about the dog
and I'd be exposed as a degenerate capable of anything.
I stared at my husband's reflection in the window, holding my breath,
waiting for him to act. I waited. He didn't act. He just stood there watching
us. After a few moments he stepped back into the shadows of the darkened dining
room, but I could still make him out in the darkness and he was still there
watching us. I slowly realized that he wasn't going to do anything, at least
not now, and I relaxed a bit and breathed again.
Then I began to think that perhaps the kid had been right. Perhaps George
really didn't care if the kid felt me up and fucked me. Then I began to get
irritated. Why didn't my husband care? After all, sexually at least, I was
technically his possession. Didn't he feel any proprietary rights to me? What
was I? Just an object to be shared and used? And why was he still watching? He
must be enjoying it! He was the pervert! Perhaps he was even getting a little
turned on for a change. Perhaps he was even getting a partial erection.
The more I thought about it the more angry I got. Ok! If he liked what he
was seeing and wanted a show, by God, I'd give him a show! I'd give him
something to see! I spread my legs wide apart and bent way over the sink. Then
I reached under, grabbed Philip's searching cock and guided it into my cunt.
When Philip thrust home I looked up and checked the window again. George was
still there in the shadows. Philip banged away at me with his usual lack of
finesse but I groaned and moaned like it was the best fuck I'd ever had. In a
way it was. It was certainly the most exciting. I was fucking the son right in
front of the father, my husband. I had a tremendous orgasm and during it I
looked up to see if George was still there to see it. He was.
After it was over, and I'd cleaned Philip's sperm off my crotch and
thighs, I joined my husband and his son in the living room and we all watched
TV like nothing had happened. Nothing was said and George gave no indication
that anything was wrong.
That evening when we went up to bed I was more than a little
apprehensive. I thought that perhaps George was saving up his anger until we
were alone, but nothing was said. Then I thought that perhaps seeing me fucked
by his son might be enough of a turn-on that George would want to have sex, but
he just said, "Goodnight, dear," as usual, and turned over and went to sleep.
It was clear that George didn't care that I was fucking his son. Well, if
he didn't care, I didn't care. So I continued to suck off and fuck the kid when
he got home from school and I still do it every school day. Despite my efforts
at training, the boy is still a poor lover but, aside from the dog, he's the
only one I've got, and my husband seems to approve of him.
I was, and still am, careful not to rub my husband's nose in it and
perhaps force him to react. I still generally try to keep Philip at bay when
George is in the house, but if Philip comes on to me in the kitchen after
dinner, and I'm in the mood, I let him feel me up and fuck me. But I insist we
do it with me bending over the kitchen sink and Philip entering me from the
rear so I can watch for George in the window. He's usually there in the
darkened dining room watching, which greatly increases my pleasure.
Perhaps that seems a little sick to you, but to me it's just erotic.
Where is the line between a "little sick" and erotic? And like the man says: If
I do it, it must be normal.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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