The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Week 4

Monday

77. Wendy recalls the previous week and a half later

A little more than a week later, on a Monday during her 6th period Study Hall, Wendy reflected on how weird her life had become. She still hadn’t fully accepted just how much of a dyke her mother had become. An open, unabashed lesbian. Just over a week ago, she had sex with her mother’s boyfriend, just over a week she began having sex with Steve every night, with the full knowledge and support of her mother while Mary fucked that girl Renee down the hall, in her bedroom.

Surely that didn’t make any sense. I mean. How had that happened? Steve, of all people. Her mother’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend now, she supposed, now that Renee had become her mother’s lover. The two women fucking each other as if their lives depended on it. With the bedroom door open, it sounded like, from how clearly their sounds, their moans and flesh slapping against each other, the wet noise of their sex, their screams, could be heard.

Really, a dyke Mom? How in the world did that happen?

And what did that mean for Wendy?

78. Wendy recalls the previous week

Wendy sat in the far corner of Study Hall, her favorite spot now, sitting behind Maddy. From time to time she’d look up, glance at the whiteboard, look over to Ms. Reifenstahl, the Study Hall monitor, perpetually lost in Harlequin Heat, and back to her own desk. Her eyes swept lazily over the half-extended world map partially covering the whiteboard, to the large calendar hanging over the head of Ms. Reifenstahl on the wall opposite Wendy. She stared out the open door into the nothingness of a hall of lockers and closed doors, a monotony broken only by the slow pacing of the bald custodian, Moby, as he pushed the dustmop up and down the hallway.

Maddy sighed, stretched, and rubbed the back of her neck.

Was it Wendy’s imagination, or had Maddy started dressing more, well, provocatively, since Wendy’s return to school? Her jeans fit her more snugly, tighter around the ass and hips, she wore cute blouses with the top three buttons undone, dangling earrings. Sometimes she wore skirts showing plenty of thigh. When Wendy looked at her feet, she practically gasped when she saw heels instead of sneakers. And Maddy Springer, was that blush, eyeshadow, and lipstick on your face? Wendy hadn’t said anything, of course.

She wanted to keep the bond between them, reestablished last week. Wendy didn’t feel it safe for even a gentle ribbing.

Her mom was a dyke, no big deal. At least she still liked boys, that was the main thing. She knew she still liked boys. Steve, of course, a man, a real man, not a boy. But now that all those guys started noticing her at school, in the halls, in class, she’d started noticing back, reveling in the attention, delighting in the allure, seeing how cute they all were, some of them, some of them, even hot, the athletes, the tall athletes. Even the shorter boys with powerful builds. Or lean builds, tight and packed with that masculine intensity she’d come to enjoy, allowing herself to look, to gaze, to admire, to want. She’d wanted them all, wanted to have them all, to know them all. School slut, indeed.

Wendy’s mind drifted back to last week, to last Wednesday. God, what had she been thinking? But fucking herself with that dildo while fantasizing about Steve just made it that much easier to want to have sex with him. There was just something about him, she supposed. After all, Mom had fucked him all the time, I mean, before she went full-on lesbian. They’d had sex three more times that night. The first time was lovely, simply lovely. The man knew his business, that was for sure. He started out slow, almost languid, before building to hard, steady pumping slowing back down to that slow, languid in and out, over and over, until she found herself thrusting her cunt at him, hot with heavy desire, pleading for him to go harder. And then he did. But not hard enough.

79. The first night of fucking Steve

They’d started out the couch that first time, after he’d pushed her over and thrust his cock into her yearning box. Oh god that felt good, the way he hammered her and the way she stabbed back at him, covering his cock with the heat of her wet sheathe, her slippery and burning cunt. Finally, she’d whirled around from beneath him, pushed him flat on the couch, and straddled his cock with her flowing, steaming pussy, pounding against him until finally, finally, she came. And then he came too, shooting his come insider her like a fountain, a volcano, bursting his hot magma into her pussy in streams of liquid fire. She collapsed against his heaving chest, feeling his taut muscles, stroking and caressing his arms, his biceps, his chin, with contented, happy fingers. Then another go on the couch, and one more in her mother’s bed. God, that felt so wrong. And so good, fucking her mother’s boyfriend in her mother’s own bed. That felt amazing.

That first night though. That sensation came back, sure enough. Fifteen minutes later, fifteen minutes after having Steve explode inside her like a geiser, that burning came back. Not as bad as before, no. Not nearly as bad as with Brad, but it did come back. She didn’t say anything. She had wanted to jump up and run to the shower, but she held on. Biting her lip and squeezing her thighs together against the pain, she felt on the verge of giving up, of fleeing upstairs to her bathroom, when the pain, the burning sensation, dissipated to a low and bearable discomfort. She wondered what was wrong with her. Why did semen burn her so much? I mean, Brad’s come was just awful. Unholy pain that seemed to burn her insides to ash, a pain so intense as to make the discomfort suffered by Steve’s come almost pleasurable in comparison.

He came inside two more times that night, and each time that pain flared up, each flare up less intense than the previous, shorter in duration. That last time, Wendy barely flinched. But she didn’t take him in her mouth. I mean, not that night. Thursday, though, when she got back home from school, he’d been waiting on the couch, stroking his dick, completely nude.

“Really?” Wendy laughed, seeing him. “You can’t wait?”

“I need you, baby. I need your beautiful lips around my hard cock.”

“Can’t a girl go to the bathroom first?”

“Later, babe. I need this.”

80. Sucking Steve’s cock

And she did. God help her, she did. Just knelt right down there between his open legs, held his throbbing and trembling cock in her right hand and slowly, methodically, lovingly took him into her mouth, listening attentively to his directions.

“Make it wet and sloppy, baby, don’t be afraid to make lots of noises, I want to hear you enjoy it, I want to hear you suck my cock when I close my eyes. I want to hear it plop out of your mouth, and I want to hear you groan as you shove it back into your hot wet mouth.”

And lots more instructions just like that: use your tongue, don’t be shy, use lots of spit, jack me off into your mouth, I want you to love it the way I love it when you suck me, god I want you to get hot just thinking about sucking me off, rub your pussy, rub your pussy, girl. All those words she listened to and took to heart. She’d learn to suck cock, all right. She’d learn to love it.

She remembered Sara’s instructions, but Steve’s were actually kinder, softer, more understanding and vulnerable, underneath all that bravado. She had him in her mouth, her teeth ready to bite, and he stroked her, caressed her, ran his rough hand soflty along the side of her head, petting, yes, petting her hair. She would have purred and almost did. God, it made her happy to give head.

When she tasted his pre-cum she picked up her pace, and prepared herself for the blast.

This time I won’t spit it out, she thought, remembering how she had bleched at the taste of Brad’s come in her mouth. This time I won’t choke.

She didn’t choke, but she didn’t swallow all. How could she have, there was so much of it? But she smiled happily at her second time. It went well, Steve’s come spurting and blasting into her mouth, spilling over her lips and down her chin, she swallowed what she could and continued to lick, bold against the taste, which, really, wasn’t nearly as bad as all that. Kind of bland. Brad’s was just awful, but Steve’s? Steve tasted, well, good. She liked it. Kind of creamy, really.

And still her mother hadn’t come home. At the point of really worrying, the phone rang, Wendy answered, hearing her mother’s voice on the other end, breathless and somehow absent, as if her mother had been deeply involved in something strenuous.

81. Mary calls to say she’s not coming home for a while

“Hi, baby. I’m, uh, not going to be able to get home tonight, dear. I’m, um, my friend really needs help. I’ll probably be gone until, um, oh, ugh, Saturday, baby, yeah, Saturday. I gotta go now. Bye-bye.”

Then her mother had hung up, and that was the last she heard or saw her until, true to her word, Saturday.

Not that she had cared at all. She had Steve to take her mind off her mother’s absence.

Steve could fuck and fuck a lot. Endowed with amazing stamina as well as an amazing cock.

And then it happened. The fucking turned tender. The sex became lovemaking, and Wendy’s emotions turned somersaults. She wondered what Steve felt. Did Steve love her? Did Steve think about her? What about her, Wendy? Did she love Steve? She thought about him constantly last week. Thought about his body, his taste, his odor. She wondered what he did, she wondered what he did when she was gone, how he piddled or idled, how he used up his spare time. What his job was.

He was smart. Clever, maybe, more than educated. It was his idea to spread the excuse that it was all a prank, that Brad and Wendy had played a prank. It wasn’t come, he said. Tell them it wasn’t come. It was, I don’t know, cake frosting, or some kind of bakery glaze for cinnamon rolls or donuts. Anything. Anything at all.

82. Steve comes up with the frosting excuse

“No one will believe that,” she’d rejoined.

“They will if they want to, and believe me, a lot of people will want to. People see what they want to see. Just get the message out, have a friend start spreading it. You’ll see. People like to talk, kids like to talk. They won’t want the story to die down, and by changing the narrative, you keep them interested. They’ll accept your narrative just to stay interested.”

“I don’t know.”

“Just do it. Call one of your friends right now, and get them to believe it.”

So she did. She called Maddy, and at first Maddy hadn’t wanted to talk to hear, but Wendy pleaded, and Maddy listened, and Wendy explained, until, miracle of miracles, Maddy started to believe her. She actually laughed, relieved.

“I knew it. I knew it had to be something like that. I just knew it had to be something like that. You’re such a dork, you know that? And everybody called you the ugliest names, just the ugliest names.”

Maddy gushed on and on. Wendy found it hard to hang up, feeling a sudden longing for her school friend.

Sure enough, she met that Thursday morning to the snickers and jeers of her school mates. But she held her head high, hung with a happy and effusive Maddy, hugged an astonished and joyous Trina, and sat at the fountain laughing and joking with her best friend. Her two best friends, now, she supposed. Surely Trina had become a dear friend? She was what.

Loyal.

Maddy hadn’t been loyal, but Wendy couldn’t stay mad. Not at her. Not now, when life suddenly looked normal to her, sitting with her two friends, laughing like old times. Waiting for school to be over so she could wrap Steve in her legs and arms. A little after school romp before dinner. Made by Steve. Oh, she’d tried to help, but after heating half a frozen baguette in the microwave, Steve shooed her out of the kitchen.

The snickering and the jeers died down that day. Slowly, to be sure. That morning, that Thursday morning sucked and sucked hard. But by the time lunch was over, she discovered that word had actually gone around. She’d never been popular before, so now the sudden effusions of friendship, the waves from across the room, the bright “hi, Wendy”, caught her completely off guard, threw her for the proverbial loop. She waved back, shyly at first, more confident and straightforward as the day wore on.

She enjoyed the attention, and enjoyed showing she enjoyed it, becoming warm and effusive in her turn.

Maddy noticed the change immediately.

“You seem different,” she said on the way to Study Hall.

“I mean,” Wendy replied, turning and smiling into Maddy’s eyes. “I think I am. I think I am different.”

Wednesday night. Thursday night. Friday night. Saturday.

Steve and she were fucking on Wendy’s bed when her mom came home that Saturday.

Steve tried to jump up when he heard the door slam downstairs, soon followed by Mary’s voice, calling for Wendy. But Wendy hugged Steve against her, wanting, no, needing to come.

“Keep fucking me,” she had said to him then, wrapping her legs around his back. “She can wait.”

And that’s how Mary found them, a few moments later, as she tapped on Wendy’s door, pushed it open, and saw Steve’s body stiffen. She stared at his bare ass as he pushed his hips hard against Wendy in his surge of orgasm, Wendy’s legs bent at the knee, her feet and ankles caressing the man’s lower body as she cooed in a soft orgasm of her own.

“Steve,” Mary had said after the couple had relaxed enough to come down from their dual climax, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to my daugher alone.”

Steve had mumbled something in agreement, quickly grabbed his trousers, and left Wendy’s bedroom, avoiding the mother’s gaze, not bothering to try to explain his actions.

Mary sat down on the side of Wendy’s bed. When Wendy recovered sufficiently to take notice of her mother she almost burst out laughing, thinking her mother was playing some huge prank on her.

“Mom! What the hell? What on earth did you do to yourself?”

Gone was the Mary she knew, the sober, serious-looking blonde with flowing hair and smart, neat clothes, a white blouse, a modest gray skirt, dress, or gray business suit, sensible shoes with low heels, a smudgeon of makeup to hide approaching age. In her place now, sitting on her bed, on Wendy’s bed, was a garrishly made-up version of her, dressed in a pink lycra tube top with a short black leather mini skirt, fishnet hose hooked to a garter, black leather 4-inch platform heels. Mary’s hair had been shaved off, leaving only a short, 3-inch pompadour dyed platinum, shaved almost bare on the sides and back of her head, revealing the curve of her modest occiput.

Her eyebrows had been dyed platinum. A thick chrome ring hung from her nose, piercing the septum. Glossy pink lipstick covered her thick, full lips, pink shimmery shadow adorned her eyes, outlined by liner and black mascara. Her face was covered in foundation and concealer. The heavy scent of perfume filled Wendy’s bedroom. Many rings and studs, at least five on earch ear, lined the curved arc of her lobes, the bottom of each lobe ending in a wide, brass double hoop with of what Wendy had finally learned was a Venus symbol, the symbol of woman, the two joined together meaning lesbian, of woman-on-woman love and desire.

How did it take her so long to know what a Venus symbol was?

Where had her mind been all this time?

She had finally mustered up enough courage to ask Maddy just that Friday. Her friend laughed.

“Really, Wendy? You’re in AP Biology and you don’t know what the symbol for women is? Two of them stuck together means lesbian.”

“Well, I mean, I guess I never thought about it,” Wendy had tried to defend herself then, knowing that she had sounded naïve and even a little stupid.

When she looked down, she knew her mother couldn’t be wearing a bra, because her mother’s nipples protruded through the thin covering of the lycra top, nipples pierced by large bars. Wendy caught her breath as she saw the same double-headed stick figure hanging from a necklace around her neck, a neck which also sported a wide leather collar lined with steel rings. The double Venus symbol hung between the globes of Mary’s large tits, inviting stares and lingering glances.

The flab of Mary’s belly bulged slightly, exposed by the pink tube top, showing a belly button pierced by a long chrome bar decorated on both ends by a small, pink, diamond-shaped glass.

“Listen, Wendy,” Mary began to say, and to Wendy’s utterly flabergasted astonishment, a small, round, chrome ball studded the front half of her mother’s tongue, giving her mother a slight but noticeable lisp. “I need to tell you something.”

Wendy sat up, all ears. After tucking strands of loose hair behind her ears, she folded her hands in the lap of her crossed legs and gazed intently at her mother.

Mary took a deep breath, exhaled, and spoke without looking directly at her daughter, who bored holes in Mary’s profile.

“As you know, I’ve been away. Visiting, um, a friend who was really going through a hard time.”

“Who?” Wendy asked, curious.

“Um, someone from a long time ago. I hadn’t seen her for ages.” Mary paused, collecting her thoughts. A sharp worry flashed across Wendy’s mind. Her mother seemed confused, her thoughts wandering and straggling. Her voice faltered, words came out in short bursts or tripped slowly over each other, haltingly.

“Her husband left her, and she was, um, devastated. Simply devastated. We got to talking about old times when it suddenly came out. I mean, I suddenly came out. Um. Do you love me, Wendy? Do you really love me?”

“What’s this all about, Mom? What are you trying to tell me?”

“Do you love me, Wendy?”

“I care about you, mother.”

Those words caught Mary short, and she jerked back, recognizing her own statement. Then she sighed and pursued her intentions.

“The thing is, um. I’ve become a lesbian, Wendy. I mean, I’ve always been a lesbian. I know that now. It’s just that. The past few days with my friend. They were just so. So. So amazing. She enlarged my mind. She showed me me. She made me see me. God, I’m such a dyke now. I get so turned on by women it drives me crazy.”

Wendy fought back laughter and continue to wear a serious, sympathetic expression.

“But what about Steve, Mom? What about Dad, didn’t you love him? I mean, you married him!”

“Oh honey, Steve’s a good person. I’m glad you’re with him, really I am. But for me, it’s just different. Women are just right for me. I loved your father, but this is something that’s been coming for a long time now. I just didn’t know it. Sa- my friend, showed me that. She taught me how to be myself, the best version of myself.”

Wendy nodded her head, stunned in disbelief. Had her mother really just blessed her sexual activity with a man twice her age? What in the world?

“I see.”

Mary turned to Wendy, tears in her garrish eyes.

“Can you accept me, darling? Can you accept who I am?”

Wendy leaned over to hug her mother.

“Well, I mean,” she said, “why wouldn’t I?”

Mary broke away from the hug, jumped up from the bed, and practically clapped her hands with joy.

“I’m so happy, Wendy. I’m going to call Renee.”

“Who’s Renee?”

“I think,” Mary had replied then, “I think she’s going to be my girlfriend.”

How in the world did she already get a girlfriend? But Wendy simply nodded her head, long up and down motions expressing disbelief more than agreement, and being non-plussed more than disbelief, of being stunned.

Wendy smiled at the memory of her mother spinning around in her bedroom, dressed in a street walker’s outfit, blissfully raving about some girl named Renee. Returning to the present, she glanced at the clock hanging over the door. Twenty-five minutes left before the last period. Before Art History, a class she shared with Melani. She picked up the Randall book. She hadn’t read a page of it since the Wednesday before last. What between Steve pounding her on her bed upstairs or making out the couch, her blouse completely unbuttoned, in the living room, with her mother and Renee feeling each other up in the kitchen, things had gotten a little weird, a little hot and heavy at the Love household.

Really, she thought, she should at least try to pick up where she left off.

But her mind went back to last week instead. She put the book back down.

I mean, wasn’t that odd? About her and Steve and her mother and Renee? But when Wendy thought about it, she didn’t think it seemed odd at all. She didn’t seem bothered by anything that had been happening lately. After those first two days, that Monday and Tuesday, everything just seemed so, so, acceptable. She didn’t really care about anything other than sex with Steve. I mean, that in itself was weird, wasn’t it? I mean, I should be grossed out by that, shouldn’t I? But she wasn’t it. She loved it. She loved doing it. She loved thinking about it. She loved looking forward to it. Dressing provocatively for him. Wearing those see-thru negligees and tiny panties Sara had bought her, dressing up just to fuck. To have sex. To make love.

To be his woman, to be his girl.

Because it had turned into that, in a way. A very tender act between a man and a woman. Well, almost a woman. Crawing on the bed, on all fours, while Steve pounded her from the rear. Wendy closed her eyes, remembering the sweet sensations. He just grabbed at the waist, gripping above her ass as he slammed into her, she reveled in the feeling of him pressing into the fleshy globes of her ass cheeks.

The way he came inside her, the way she felt when he came inside her, especially on her back, with him jerking those last spasms into her pussy, his eyes glazed, those short, brutally tender utterances bursting from his throat, the way he’d spasm and sink on her, head collapsing against hers or falling flat on her breasts as she stroked his head, stroked the lush hair of his head. God. That could never get old.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Coming home to him. Even after her mother came back, Steve would be home, waiting for her. Making dinner for everybody, Renee included, whenever she showed up, which became soon became every night. At first she seemed timid, shy, even shocked by the open display of sexual heat between her and Steve, hesitant to display the same affection towards Mary. Until her mother just embraced her, clung to her with arms holding her tight, plunging her mouth over the startled young woman’s mouth, tasting her in an open mouth kiss. Renee learned to open up after that, reaching below Mary’s blouse to fondle and caress her breasts, pouring kiss upon kiss on the woman’s face, her neck, the space between her breasts.

If the touching became too sexual, at first Steve and Wendy would leave for her own bedroom or go to the couch to make out, well, more than that really. Much more than that. That one time Steve pulled her shorts down to have her, practically in front of her mother, fucking her right there in the living room while Mary fingered Renee in the kitchen. God, they were a mess. What in the hell was wrong with them? What in the hell had come over them?

83. Open debauchery at home

All last week it had gone from immodest to outright open lewdness. At first Steve would constrain himself to rubbing her ass in front of her mother with his hand outside her shorts. Or her mother leaving her blouses half buttoned, cleavage exposed while Renee hugged her from behind. Soon, however, Wendy had gotten used to walking around without a bra, in just a short T-shirt, and tight, barely-there panties. Or gym shorts without any panties at all. As the week drew on, she began to wear her lingerie around the house, short, see-through babydolls, or camisoles with showing her hard nipples beneath the satin fabric. Renee and Mary dressed likewise. More than once Wendy had walked into the kitchen, or the living room, or encounter her mother and lover on the way to the bathroom, her mother’s tits openly exposed, her pierced nipples jutting from her glorious mounds of flesh. It all seemed so normal, so expected, to be naked or half-naked around each other, and engaged in sexual or pre-sexual activity, breasts wriggling loose beneath thin fabric, and asses bouncing, covered only in the stingiest of garments.

Her mother and Renee from guzzling all those pink smoothies down like water to someone dying in the desert. They’d have two or three drinks per day, but where they got the stuff she never figured out. At least it wasn’t the dreadful stuff Steve would bring home, that blue crap, ostensibly blueberry, so horribly flavored by artificial additives as to defy any description besides aspartame bland. But Steve drank his too by the bucketful, claiming it gave him energy.

She’d managed to resist drinking those things.

At night things had become almost debauched. Loud sounds of sex and love-making echoed down the halls, rising from the living room below, or resounding from their bedrooms, doors open wide. They had, both couples, agreed by tacit consent, to leave their bedroom doors open while they fucked, made love, kissed each other’s pussies, and drove each other to orgasm after orgasm. And although it was true that Steve, endowed with a wonderful stamina, an ability to come soon after coming, his staying power fell short of the two lesbians down the hall, who cried, wailed, ululated and lowed, the sound of women in the throes of ecstasy. And as she fell asleep in Steve’s arms, cuddling her back against his hard chest, her dreams swelled with the sounds of lesbian love, with the cries and whispers of Sapphic intimacy, of women urging each other’s climax, long after the world itself had fallen asleep.

But that Saturday morning. Surely that was a little weird? I mean, wasn’t it? Hot, definitely hot. But weird, right? I mean, whose idea was it to watch that dyke porno together? Renee’s? Her mother’s?

Wendy’s mind drifted back to that Saturday, so strange, so bizarre, so hot.

84. Sitting on Steve’s lap

She had been sitting in Steve’s lap at the time, her back against his chest, as she straddled his hips, dry humping him against his jeans. He’d had a hand up her shirt, she had by that time given up entirely on wearing a bra at home, not with Steve there ready to paw it off at a moment’s notice. Why bother? She’d even started taking her bra off at school, just before her last class, so that he could fondle her boobies, that’s what he called sometimes called them, boobies, tits, when he picked her up at school in his blue Honda. Her tits swayed loose under her blouse, attracting attention from the boys. She loved having their eyes on her. She loved knowing she caused all those erections in class.

Sometimes Steve got rough, and this was one of those times, he pawed and kneaded the flesh of her tits like wet, raw dough, pinching and pulling her nipples so painfully, so gorgeously painful. He’d stuck his other hand below the waste band of her shorts, rubbing her hard, throbbing clit, stroking her wet and steaming pussy up and down with the palm of his hand, up and down, up and down, driving her crazy with lust, already heightened by the lipstick, the capsules, the smoothies. She drove her golden-haired cunt harder into his lap, grunting and mewling, now squeezing her thighs against his intruding hand, now spreading her legs wide, allowing him full access to her hot, her very hot cunt.

She fell back against her lover, opening her mouth against his, her soft mouth in a loud and sloppy hunger against his lips, his mouth. A fine stubble bristled against her mouth, her lips, her glossy pink lips, a hard, rough feeling against her own softness, the softness of her kisses, but his tongue was warm, wet, and soft, and waves of pleasure and contentment flowed through her being as she kissed Steve wantonly on the living room sofa, caught in his double, triple embrace of hand on snatch, on breast, and his mouth open and fast upon her fervent mouth.

Steve didn’t pull his hands away or break the kiss when Mary came into the living room with Renee, Renee’s hand under the mother’s skirt, kneading and rubbing her ass cheeks as Wendy’s mother walked in front of her. Wendy’s heart had raced then. This was the first time they had gone so far, so openly, she and Steve. Though she had just watched Renee finger her mother, masturbating herself while she watched. Fair’s fair, she thought, spreading her legs as Steve held her wet pussy in his hand, finger fucking her with his middle finger right there in front of her mother. Wendy groaned and thrust her hips forward into his hand, holding her legs wide apart. Let her look, she’d thought then. Let her and Renee both look if they want to. She groaned more loudly into Steve’s mouth. Her chest writhed under his hand. He raised the bottom hem of her cutoff, exposing her full breasts to Mary and her girlfriend’s view, and pinched her nipple, scissoring it between his index and middle finger.

Should she have been embarrassed? Should she have pulled away, jumped off Steve’s lap, straightened her shirt, her shorts? Shouldn’t she have been, well, a little more modest? What for, she thought. Steve’s seen her, Mary’s seen her in that photo, all splayed out like a whore. Hell, she’s probably even shown that picture to Renee, both looking at it while they fucked each other silly. She liked it. That’s the truth, really, when you came right down to it. She liked that they all had seen with her pussy exposed and come all over her face. She liked it, being so utterly out in the open like that.

Like the pictures of those sluts in the magazine and DVDs she’d almost thrown away. She did throw away. But she’d also fetched everything back. Dildo, mags, DVDs, makeup and all.

It excited her something fierce, something ferocious in its newness, its strangeness, its danger. Its vulnerability. Its raw nakedness, to be caught, to be seen practically having sex with a man on her mother’s sofa, in her mother’s home, a man who only a few day’s ago was her mother’s boyfriend. A tingle thrilled through her body as the recollection of that day sped through Wendy’s mind. A tingle of pride. At only sixteen, she was getting sex, regularly, wonderfully, amazingly, with a man who knew how to fuck. Steve had amazing stamina. He could fuck, come, and fuck again. He’d had no problem getting hard again after his shooting his load in or on her.

She felt grown-up, way older than anyone else in her class. Way more experienced than even her teachers, whom she now looked down upon disdainfully as being hopelessly outdated, prudish, ignorant. The thought of dropping school altogether remained in her as a lingering possibility. After all, her mother had quit work and gone on to do something else. Other things. What they were she didn’t see.

“Oh,” she’d said. “Just some stuff my friend showed me. I’ll tell you all about it when I get it off the ground.”

Renee and Mary had been giggling in the kitchen when Steve and Wendy came downstairs, Steve waving and making for the living room. By now Wendy had grown accustomed to seeing her mother and Renee in various states of undress. The couple walked around the house barely dressed, sometimes in underwear and lingerie, sometimes wearing silk robes hanging just past the bottom curves of their asses. Wendy was one to talk, she ran around the house most days now just wearing a short T-shirt, no bra, and barely there panties, G-strings, thongs, tangas, whatever.

Renee held Mary close as she rubbed Mary’s breasts under the parting of a loose, mostly unbuttoned sheer pink blouse worn over pink boy shorts. Renee kept fondling Mary when Wendy and Steve walked in, giving a last, lingering feel to the bare tit in her hand before stepping aside to the corner of the island.

Mary and Renee stood on either side of one corner of the island, facing a pair of tall, clear tumblers filled with the pink smoothies which had by now become a routine drink for both Renee and Mary.

They’d offer one to Wendy whenever she’d appear, but Wendy, resisting the urge to say yes, always declined. She’d spent more than a week putting Sara out of her mind, getting rid of anything reminder of that week, those two weeks when it seemed she’d do anything Sara suggested. She’d thought about it more and more, and although it seemed ridiculous to her, she suspected the smoothies, the pink lipstick, the pink pills, and all the makeup she and Sara had bought from that woman in the mall, from that stand in the mall, Therapeutic Transformations. She knew it made her sound paranoid, and she tried not to dwell on it, but something about that makeup, that lipstick, those smoothies changed her. Or at least pushed her to go in directions she wouldn’t normally have gone. Maybe it was just her imagination, but no. No thank you. I’m fine.

85. Renee offers Wendy a pink smoothie

But now as Renee leaned against the island, poking her round ass bursting from the confines of tight, black boy shorts trimmed with lace, short enough to show the bottom half of her ass cheeks, cheeks the sloped into thick thighs tapering at the knee and leading to that succulent curve of the calves before ending at her stocky, bare feet, sucking her smoothie through a straw sticking between her glossy, pink lips, Wendy unconsciously licked her lips. What could it hurt to have a sip, she thought.

“Would you like a smoothie, darling?”

Her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts, seeming to read her mind.

Wendy nodded slowly, doubtfully. Why not?

Mary started to hand her her own drink, but Renee caught her arm.

“Let her have her own drink. I’ll get one for her.”

Renee swept across the kitchen to the refrigerator, moving gracefully in front of her shaking bottom. The mother caught the daughter staring, and smiled at her knowingly when Wendy looked up. Wendy returned an oh, please look. Like Renee, Mary also wore the shiny pink lipstick Wendy recognized so well. Though morning light shone through the kitchen window, Mary had already gotten herself made up for the day, her short platinum hair had been spiked up, black mascara outlined her wide almond eyes, pink glimmering eyeshadow shimmered above her eyes, set off by dark eyeliner. She looked stunning, Wendy admitted, keeping her eyes from drifting to the metal studs running through her nipples showing through her pink blouse. Or staring too long at the chrome ring hanging from the sweet spot below the septum.

“Hey that’s my shirt,” Wendy suddenly exclaimed, realizing why the blouse seemed so familiar to her.

“I know honey, do you mind?” her mother asked innocently.

“Um. I guess not.” Was it her imagination, or were her mother’s nipples getting harder behind the thin fabric of that sheer blouse?

Renee came back with Wendy’s drink.

“Cheers,” she said, “drink up. Here, take these.”

Renee held out her hand, palm up. Two red capsules rolled in the cup of her palm. Wendy looked up at her mother, almost fearfully, a questioning expression flashing across her face, in her eyes. Mary smiled reassuringly.

“Go ahead, darling. They don’t hurt. I’ve been taking them all week, and I feel great. They’re just vitamins, really.”

Wendy gingerly picked the two capsules up and plopped into her mouth.

Renee winked at Mary as she handed the drink to her daughter, who held the straw to her lips and sucked the cold pink drink up into her mouth, swallowing the capsules in the first gulp. The familiar tingle turning to a hot glow in her insides soon flowed through her, and she greedily, hungrily sucked up the remaining smoothie in continuous, long sucking pulls from her straw until she plopped the glass, empty, on the counter of the island.

Renee giggled.

“You two are so cute. And so much alike.”

Wendy stared in fixation at the pink glimmer of Renee’s lips, then her eyes dropped to the gaze at the nipples sticking out from the black, cropped T-shirt that Renee wore, her round, pear-sized breasts lifting away from the shirt, exposing the fleshy midriff and jeweled navel, pierced by a bar with that double stick figure. At least now she knew what it meant.

“It’s a lesbian sign, honey,” her mother had told her a few days prior when she had asked about it. “Whoever wears is it a dyke, baby. It means she’s a girl who likes other girls. A woman who has sex with other women. Like Renee and me.”

“I know, Mom. I’m not stupid.”

Renee went over to Mary, embraced her from the front and the side, tucking a hand under her widely parted blouse to cup a breast, fondling and pinching the nipple, before leaning in to deliver a very long, very loud, and very wet, open-mouthed kiss on the pink mouth of Wendy’s mother. Enrapt, Wendy stood mutely, watching her mother’s girlfriend completely reveal Mary tit before sliding the hand down to beneath the waist band of Mary’s underwear, slipping her fingers over Mary’s snatch, and fingering the woman in front of her daughter. Mary moaned and spread her legs wider, giving her girlfriend access, lost in the delirium of the pleasure flowing through her.

Wendy’s lips parted as she watched her mother’s hips thrust into Renee’s hand, while Renee wrapped her other arm around Mary’s back, holding her up, keeping her from collapsing in her overload. The room fell quiet, Wendy stood perfectly still, moving only to lick her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, heart racing and beating in her chest. Only the sounds of Mary’s whimpers and moans could be heard, along with the wet, plopping of Renee’s fingers siding in and out of Mary’s obviously wet pussy.

Then Wendy heard Renee’s soft voice.

“You like that, girl? Do you? Do you like me fucking you with my hand in front your daughter? That’s it, baby, fuck my fingers. Fuck my fingers and spread your legs wider, wider girl, put on a good show for your girl, put on a good show for your Wendy.”

A new arousal overcame Wendy. After several cautious moments of internal struggle, Wendy’s right hand drifted to her own center to rub her tingling groin, now growing warm and getting wet, her throbbing clit hardening, over the fabric of her thong panties, slipping her fingers around the gusset to touch her wet lips directly. She leaned against the countertop for support, feeling the sudden onslaught of an unexpected climax, and closed her eyes. Her mother’s whimpering and groaning washed over her ears. Then she heard her mother screaming.

“Ugh.”

She looked up to see her mother collapsing against the counter, still propped by an arm around her back and Renee’s hand in her groin. Finally, Renee released her hold on Mary, and pulled her hand from her vagina.

“That was good, wasn’t it babe?”

Mary just stooped over the countertop of the island and nodded, trying to collect her breath, avoiding Wendy’s gaze.

Renee reached for her purse on the island, pulling out a black and gold tube with a pink label.

86. Pink lipstick for Wendy

“Hey, Wendy, try on this lipstick,” Renee had suggested. “I think it would look great on you. You have such gorgeously full lips.”

“Um. I don’t know,” Wendy said, but she walked over to stand in front of Renee, who began layering a coat on Wendy’s lips as the teenager opened her mouth and parted her lips for her mother’s girlfriend. Wendy smelled the scent of her mother’s pussy on Renee’s hand as Renee applied a second coat, then a third coat before stepping back to admire her work.

“You really should wear lipstick and makeup more often. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in makeup.”

“I tried it,” replied Wendy weakly. “It’s just that.”

“I know,” said Renee. “But it’s hardly the makeup’s fault is it?”

“I guess not.”

Wendy’s lips started burning, and that familiar raging heat flared up in her pussy. Renee reached over to hold her, to embrace, moving her mouth in a prelude to a kiss, but Wendy fled to the living room, where Steve waited.

She was on fire. She found Steve slouching on the sofa, surfing channels through Saturday morning cartoons. Rushing towards him, she climbed on his lap and straddled the surprised man, who quickly embraced the girl, hands rubbing up and down her sides, exploring the curves of her breast, feeling her nude and wonderful tits under her T-shirt.

“Ready for another round?” he winked. They’d already had sex that morning, just before coming downstairs.

“Hm hm,” Wendy nodded, giggling. She turned around on his lap, turning her back to him.

God, Steve’s hard cock stuck against her raging pussy. She felt it throbbing against her thigh, imprisoned in the heavy denim of his jeans. The cushions of the sofa shook as Mary sat down, vergy close to Steve and Wendy. Wendy broke her kiss long enough to watch the world taking place around her. Renee had crossed the room to the TV to stick in a DVD in the player, and walked back to the couch, a mischievous smirk settling on her face as she sat between Mary outstretched and naked legs. Wendy wondered at the surrealism of this moment, the atmosphere oozed volcanic sexuality, her mother leaned back against the sofa, dressed only in her boy shorts and that cute pink blouse, completely unbuttoned with both sides of the shirt parted to exposed the studded nipples of her gorgeous, full, and pear-shaped breasts.

The heat caused by the pink smoothie, the red capsules, and the Pink Sunshine Spice surged through Wendy’s body, inflaming her mind, driving her senseless with desire, a flurry of confused thoughts poured over her, only to disappear just as fast. She only knew that she was turned on, and turned on like she’d never been before in her young life, not even during that night with Sara. Wendy turned her attention to Renee, enjoying the view as her mother’s girlfriend, dressed only in black panties and a short black sleeveless T-shirt, settled between her mother’s thighs. Renee lovingly draped Mary’s arms around her body, placing the palms of the older woman on the slight and flesh bulge of the barista’s midriff. Renee tilted her head upward and kissed Mary’s glossy pink lips. Wendy, that raging fire burning hotter in her loins, rubbed the outline of Steve’s cock painfully stuck in the poor man’s trouser.

Then the movie started.

87. Lesbian porno film starts, Renee kisses and fondles Mary, Wendy unleashes Steve

The usual credits rolled across the screen as Steve casually rubbed his hand over Wendy’s aching hole. From time to time, the teenager glanced over to watch her mother making out with her young girlfriend. Renee fondled Mary’s breast in open view of the daughter, flicking and rubbing the nipple, pulling it away from her breast by the stud piercing the nipple. Every once in a while, she pull her mouth away from Mary’s lips and kiss her breasts, gently taking the each nipple into her mouth, or flicking it with the tip of her tongue. She dripped a trail of saliva from her mouth to rub onto the tit, and Mary groaned with pleasure. Then she’d bring her pink lips to Mary’s pink lips, lightly brush hers against the mother’s, before covering her mouth with her mouth and plunging her tongue to swirl loudly and passionately with Mary’s.

Wendy groaned to her mother’s groans, aching at the vision of her mother with her girlfriend.

On screen, a woman answered the door to her house, opening the door to a younger woman dressed in short plaid miniskirt, the tails of her blouse tied to reveal a well-toned midriff. Both women wore heavy makeup, and the woman who answered the door wore a short blue dress with a plunging neckline. Soon the older woman reached for the younger woman and locked her in a heated embrace, locking her red lips against the pink lips of the other.

The soft sounds of a woman’s lips upon a woman’s lips drifting over the room, enticing, delightful, the bright noise of women on the verge of turning each other on, accompanied by plaintive whimpers, anguished moans of pleasure.

Wendy shivered as Steve stroked her pussy, running his fingers between her wet and warm cleft, her ragged breath getting shorter and faster as she watched the younger woman pull the straps of the blue dress to liberate the older woman’s breasts, smaller than Mary’s, smaller than Wendy’s, about the size of Renee’s breasts, and so cute, so pear-shaped, with upward curves ending in two peaks of rock hard nipples jutting forward, desperate to be touched, licked, tickled.

Wendy moved her hand along Steve’s crotch to the top of the zipper. She shifted her position to unbutton his jeans, pull down the fly and release his agonized cock. Steve, seizing the initiative, lifted is hips, grabbed the waist of his jeans and pulled the down to the floor in one rapid move, using one foot to pry the other foot free. The he gripped the band of Wendy’s shorts, looked at her, smiled, and pulled them down, along with her panties. Wendy sat naked from the waist down on Steve’s lap.

By this time the two women in the film, both brunettes, had moved to the sofa of the living room, the older woman shuffled off her dress, spread her legs, and prompted the younger woman to squat between her legs, pressing the girl’s head until the girl, now dressed only in her mini-skirt, began to kiss and lick the other woman’s shaved and hairless cunt, her labia spread wide and flaring for the younger woman’s tongue.

By now Wendy had lost all restraint, rising slightly to shift her hips, she grabbed Steve’s cock, straightened it upward, and directed it to her incredibly wet snatch, between her red and swollen labia. She lowered her pussy onto Steve’s cock, impaling herself inch by slow inch upon Steve’s swollen, throbbing member, her glazed eyes fixated on the oral sex taking place on the wide, flat screen of the television. Not caring if her mother saw her or not, Wendy rocked against Steve, fucking him in long, slow motions, taking in every sound and sight coming from the DVD, mesmerized by the lesbian sex displayed all around her.

The living room was alive with sighs, groans, murmurs and squeals of pleasure. From the television she heard the words pussy and lick and hot. Pussy. Cunt. Lick me.

“You like it don’t you, you little pussy-licker, you’re so good, you like eating pussy, don’t you? You’re such a good girl. Such a good muff diver. Eat that pussy for me, eat my hot wet cunt, like the hot lesbian you are.”

Wendy groaned to a high-pitched wail and quickened her thrusts against Steve’s gourd.

Steve raised her T-shirt past her breasts, and Wendy, sensing her boyfriend’s intent, lifted her arms that he could pull the shirt off all the way. God, she was so exposed now. She heard her mother say, “shit,” a heartrending whine of lust. She looked over to her right. Renee had shifted places with Mary. She leaned against the back of the couch, spread her legs wide, so wide her calves touched against Wendy’s calves, and pushed Mary down, down, down, pressing Wendy’s mother’s face against the glistening lips of her waiting pussy.

Wendy caught her mother’s eyes, mother and daughter equally wild with longing, eyes glazed with lust and desire.

Memories of a week before flooded Mary’s mind, images of Wendy blending with the video of women having sex with each other, Sapphic videos of heated lesbian lust. God, how those girls used her, how they fucked her in every hole without let up, how the sucked her, pulling at her tits with their mouths, biting and pinching her nipples, pulling and sucking at her clit, her pussy lips, nibbling and biting and licking and sucking, never stopping never pausing, just fucking her with finger, tongue, dildo, and vibrator, over and over and over again, until she had become an unending stream of climax and shrieking, a body continually shuddering as each new wave of orgasm collapsed around her, and always, always the pictures of Wendy in her mind, her pussy and her face, drenched with come.

Then that other video, the one of Sara and Wendy kissing on the sofa, feeling each other, Wendy only in that pink babydoll, so hot, so sexy, Wendy madeup in pink lipstick, hot pink glossy lipstick, then Wendy and Sara on Sara’s bed, Sara ramming that fat dildo into her daughter repeatedly. She remembed how she’d been changed, altered, refashioned by the ministration of those terrible lovely girls, by the effects of whatever was in those drinks, those capsules, that sound, those images. She remembered how every time the image of Wendy appeared, or the video of Sara and Wendy fucking a dildo on Sara’s bed, or kissing each other on Sara’s couch, on the same couch Sara fucked and kissed Mary, a thought had flashed brilliantly through her mind, like lightning, like the streak of a falling star, like the passing flash of headlights in the middle of the night.

This is wrong, she’d think. This cannot be. I should not think this. But as soon as that thought flashed, another thought, more pronounced, a lasting and staying thought, said, no, this is good. This is right. I want this. I want to watch girls fuck Wendy, I want to watch Wendy fuck girls. I want to fuck Wendy. I want it all on video. I want to make movies with Wendy.

Wendy’s so hot, Mary said to herself, humming along to the sounds of lesbian desire and sex coming from the big flat screen in the living room, heart beating to the cadence of a barely audible rhythm heard and not heard below the heated Sapphic voices, a tonality she had by now welcomed into her mind. Wendy’s so fucking hot. I’m such a bad mom for wanting to fuck her, my own daughter, but I do. I want to fuck her so badly. God, her tits are so beautiful.

Wendy nodded her head at her mother, and Mary stuck out her pierced tongue to lick Renee’s exposed vagina.

“God, I love pussy, Wendy,” her mother told her, looking directly into her daughter’s eyes. “I love pussy so, so much.”

Then she pressed the flat of her tongue against Renee’s quaking hole, lapping the wide and fleshy sides of her girlfriend’s cunt before finally centering on the slit between her folds, slowly and patiently working Renee’s plump pussy, holding back the frenzy that she knew, Mary knew, would soon overwhelm her. From time to time she looked up, holding her daughter’s eyes in her own as she ministered her affection on her new girlfriend’s steaming love box.

Wendy closed her eyes and stretched her legs out, spreading her thighs wide for Steve’s cock. Her leg touched Renee’s leg, her knee hooked over and overlapping the barista’s leg. Soon she felt a soft hand stroking her thigh above her knee, a woman’s hand, but she did not look up or open her eyes. Steve held her waist as they fucked, and the two couple’s bodies were so close now. Wendy held out her right arm for balance and met the neck and shoulders of her mother’s girlfriend, who leaned in closer to Wendy and kissed Wendy’s fingers.

88. Wendy fondles Renee’s breast

Renee leaned against Wendy, and Wendy hung her arm around the back of Renee’s neck, lowering until she felt the top swell of Renee’s breast. When she opened her eyes, she saw her mother looking at her, a smile playing upon her wet mouth before she renewed her oral attack on Renee’s trembling center. Renee held Wendy’s hand with her other hand and moved it lower, pulling it down and below the hem of her shirt before lifting it up again to hold the soft flesh of her bosom. Wendy’s hand remain passive, allowing Renee to move it, but not exploring on her own, restraining herself despite the heat and excitement coursing through her body, despite the chemicals in the pink smoothie, and burning of her pink lips.

Had she ever touched a woman’s tit before, she wondered. Did I touch Sara’s? Yes, that night came back to her, she had kissed and held Sara’s body, how they had fucked each other, over and over again, how they had kissed every part of each other’s body. Except down there. She’d never put her mouth down there before. But she’d had it down to her, by Steve of course. Steve loved licking her furry pussy, her blond, furry pussy.

Wendy began to squeeze Renee’s tit, the warm, soft flesh of the barista’s breast, a handful, more than a handful, roaming her fingers around the woman’s hard nipples, as Steve jerked hard against her cunt, thrusting his cock harder and faster against her hole. An electric heat rolled over Wendy as she felt Renee’s breasts, her caresses became a desperate kneading, and she felt the warm lips of the young woman on her neck, kissing her repeatedly, sucking on the wet skin of her neck, wet with sweat, kisses, and spittle from Renee’s tongue. Wendy squeeled when nibbled her playfully with her front teeth.

She listened to Steve groaning and swearing behind her.

“I’m fucking you,” he kept saying over and over again, “God you’re so hot, your pussy’s so hot and I’m fucking you.”

89. Renee caresses Wendy’s leg

Renee’s left hand moved to Wendy’s right leg, spread out and hung over her own thigh. Wendy’s thighs were spread so wide, but she spread them wider for the other girl, letting Renee know to move her hand further and upwards. Renee’s soft hand stroked the inside of Wendy’s leg above her knee, moving in slowing, sensual circles, and Wendy, already wet from the constant fucking, the delirius stimulation of lesbian sex on the flat screen, the sounds of Mary, her mother, hair cropped short and pierced with many piercings, licking her girlfriend’s cunt, the same girlfriend whose breast she now held and fondled, the groans and sobs coming from the television, from the girl beside her and the mother below, the heavy rumbling grunts of the man beneath, the man whose cock pummeled her pussy as she ground her cunt into his cock, trembled and shook, a shiver ran the length of her spine, charged with the tingling heat of sexual fury, close to complete breakdown as she felt an orgasm building in her profound depths.

Wendy’s hand quickened its pace, she felt and squeezed Renee’s tit, smaller than her own, but a good handful of flesh, with increasing desperation, aching for more, her fingers rubbing Renee’s nipple to a rock, her palm sliding over and over the wonderfully soft globe, desperate and yearning for female flesh, the contact of a woman, sizzling. Sara came back to her lust-addled mind, Sara and all the ways she had fucked herself listening to her over the phone. Sara, who had fucked her silly in her bed, who had watched in wonder as she squirted her orgasm all over the passenger seat of her car, Sara, who had listened in mute wonder as Wendy told her about the woman at the bookstore. The woman at the bookstore.

Steve’s cock jack-hammered her pussy.

90. Wendy opens her mouth to let Renee’s tongue in

Wendy closed her eyes again, leaning her head against Renee as the girl continued to neck her. She felt Renee turn her heard towards her, felt the warmth of Renee’s breath, the heat of her breath coming ragged and heavy from the woman’s mouth, inching closer and closer to her own mouth. Renee’s soft lips brushed against hers, and Wendy held her breath, then parted her lips to let the girl in, unable to resist the soft mouth, the soft pink lips of the woman necking her, the woman whose breast she fondled, whose nipples, rock hard, erect, she pinched between her fingers.

“Oh, Wendy,” she heard Renee sigh, breaking the kiss momentarily. “God, you’re so hot. You’re making my pussy so hot for your mom. God, she licks me so good. I’m going to come in her face. I’m going to come in your mother’s face, Wendy.”

The drugs’ effects continued to mount, the pink substance and the red capsules driving her to lesbian craving as the aphrodisiacs exploded through her nervous system, intoxicating her with a sexual frenzy beyond rational or irrational thought. Wendy’s mind turned off, lost in a haze of concupiscence, yearning, lechery and sensual devotion, driven to deranged lust by the sounds of lesbian moaning and shrieking coming from the television, from the wet noise and of her mother licking Renee’s cunt without let up, cooing with animalistic murmurs into her girlfriends mound, the noise of her own kisses with Renee, their warm wet tongues twirling and swirling against each other, tongue tips touching and sliding against each other, wet pink tongues emerging and submerging from wet, pink lips, the smell of Renee’s shampoo, her hair, her skin, her beautiful skin.

And still Steve kept pounding her from below, driving his hard cock remorselessly into her scalding folds, the soaked and swollen lips of her hot pussy. Renee’s hand moved towards her steaming center, sliding over the inside of her damp thighs, sweat mixing with the secretion of her vagina. Wendy squeaked into Renee’s mouth when Renee stroked and tickled her hard clit around Steve’s hammering cock, running her fingers through the luxurious and soaked fur of Wendy’s mound, rubbing Wendy’s pussy around the thick organ as it pounded and pounded the teenager’s twat.

Renee pulled away from Wendy’s open and dripping mouth.

“I love it that you don’t shave, baby,” Renee whispered. “Your pussy is so hot.”

Wendy hurled her mouth at Renee, covering her lips with her lips, her tongue darting into the other girl’s mouth.

Suddenly Steve cried out, stiffened, and shot his climax into Wendy, jamming the girl tight to his hips, shooting stream after stream of hot come straight into Wendy’s quivering golden hole. Wendy pulled away from Renee and buried her mouth over Steve’s mouth, frantically kissing him in his orgasm, writhing against his cock for an orgasm of her own, long in coming, and soon there. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding the back of his head as she sobbed her climax, convulsing her hips around his cock, and pouring her ecstasy into his open mouth.

Finally she broke the kiss, lifted her dripping cunt off his softening penis, and sank to the carpeted floor between his legs. She held his cock lovingly, looked up at Renee, and engulfed the head of Steve’s dick with her outstretched lips. Steve groaned in delirious agony, the renewed contact on his extinguished penis, sending waves of pleasure and pain to his brain. But Renee’s eyes were already closed, withdrawn into her own orgasm as Mary covered Renee’s twat with her open mouth, sucking and licking at her clit and vagina as Renee rocked her wet climax into Mary’s mouth, pressed tight and hard to Renee’s every spasm. Wendy watched her mother in awe and continued to work Steve back to a full hard-on with her mouth.

When Renee stop shuddering, she opened her eyes, smiled at Wendy, and raised Mary to her face, kissing her affectionately, tasting her pussy on the tongue of Wendy’s mother. Then Renee slipped to the floor beside Wendy while Mary took her place on the living room sofa, climbing into position by squatting around her lover’s head, then spreading her legs wide. Wendy, unable to restrain herself, glanced at the lips of her mother’s hole. She sucked in a quick intake of breath. A thin bar, similar to the navel piercing, ran vertically through the hood of her mother’s clitoris. A pair of steel rings pierced her outer labia, partnered with a smaller ring near the bottom of her vulva, near the perineum.

Her mother saw Wendy staring at her, and she smiled.

“Do you like it honey? I’ve been wanting to show you for days.”

91. Wendy stares at her mother’s vagina piercings as drugs course through her

Wendy nodded her head, her mouth still on Steve’s cock, eyes on her mother. The effects of the chemicals flowing through her system intensified, euphoric, a glow hovered around her mother’s head, aura-like, a platinum blonde halo surrounding the short haircut, her short pompadour glistening, steeped in sweat and pussy, her pink eyeshadow shimmered, twinkling with a thousand glitters, her black mascara ran, and her dark eyeliner was smeared, but even that took on new brightness, a strange, radiating dark glow around her eyes, pale blue eyes deep like the ocean. The piercings on her nipples sparkled like gems, silver-like and bright, her tits hung gloriously from her chest, full ripe pears ready to be devoured, and Wendy devoured them with her greedy, lust-crazed eyes, nipples erect and firm behind the sparks of her piercings. And her gaze drifted down, down, down again to Mary’s bare shaven pussy, glowing red and hot, bejeweled with shining rings. A tremor of a coming orgasm thrilled through Wendy’s overheated, overstimulated, sex-demented body.

Mary bent forward, reached over Renee, and began taking off Renee short black T-shirt. Wendy peeked at Renee’s round and feminine figure, admiring, gaping at the way her smaller breasts jiggled as she bent forward to place her mouth on Mary’s open pussy, shoved forward to the front of the couch. Wendy returned her attention to Steve’s cock, now at full hardness. She placed her left hand on Steve’s leg, stroking his cock with her right hand, feeding its length into her mouth as she ran her lips and tongue up and down, now sucking at the bulbous tip with her mouth, now kissing its length, now suddenly devouring his penis with a ferocious and loud deep throated sucking.

92. Wendy strokes her mother’s leg

She felt someone take her hand, lift it off Steve’s leg, and place it on the top of her mother’s thigh, so close now to Steve. Wendy opened her eyes, and turned to her left. Renee looked up from Mary’s pussy and smiled at her, mouth lustrous with cunt fluid, encouraging the teenager to touch her mother’s leg by moving it with her own hand on top, Wendy’s hand gripped gently but forcefully below hers, up and down Mary’s thigh. Soon Wendy, caught up in the intoxicating sensations, caressed her mother’s leg without the urging of Renee, who released Wendy from her grip, realizing that the daughter needed no further encouragement.

Wendy, dazed in a sexual heat, closed her eyes and continued to deep throat Steve, now abandoning any restraint. Her palm of her hand floated lightly over Mary’s leg. Wendy trembled as she felt the top of her mother’s fleshy thigh. She moved her hand to the outer side of her leg, stroking upward to touch the sides of her mother’s ass and up around her waist, moving her hand down again to caress her mother’s knee, to lightly touch her shin, the muscles of her calves, torn between lust and need, a strange and sudden need to know her mother fully, to experience the body of her mother in every part.

Mary stretched her legs wider, hanging her right leg over Steve’s leg, spreading her other leg over the arm of the sofa, murmuring and sighing, groans escaping the parted pink lips of her open mouth, the tendons of her inner thighs taut like cables. She jerked her spasming cunt at Renee’s relentless tonguing. Wendy turned her hand to the inside of her mother’s thigh, now warm and moist with sweat beading on the skin, relentlessly driving her hand slowly to Mary’s center. Mary held her eyes fixed upon her daughter’s face as Wendy continued to suck on Steve’s cock, loudly and wet slurping at the hard organ, her mouth popping of the tip with loud smack only to shove her face over his dick.

Loud moans came from the television behind her, high-pitched squeals blending torment and pleasure. Wendy lifted her head to look behind her. On the screen, one woman lay on her back, her legs spread wide and out as another woman crouched over her, her legs spread over her lover’s legs as she rubbed her pussy frantically over the pussy of her lover beneath her. The camera zoomed close into the two wet vaginas, smashing and rubbing each other in sultry, furious heat.

Wendy tensed momentarily as she she felt Renee’s hand slide across the top her lower back. Wendy had crouched on her knees between Steve’s legs, and her ass, curvaceous at all times, was now at almost at full bloom as she pooched it back to get her mouth around Steve’s cock. She shifted her ass away from Renee, trying to shake off the woman’s unexpected touch. Renee hung her arm across Wendy’s waist and firmly scooted her by the hips in her direction. Wendy relented, relaxing to the the soft touch of Renee’s hand on her body as she slipped her hand down her ass. Renee continued sucking on Mary’s cunt, sometimes pulling her clitoral hood with her lips tight between are teeth, sometime sucking out her inner lips, spreading them with her tongue, and lapping the secretions now pouring profusely from Mary’s overstimulated pussy, a clean and pungent taste, not quite tart and somehow, what, she wondered, full, rich, earthy. Mary’s pussy plopped and burbled around Renee’s mouth.

Renee sighed into Mary Love’s mound as she moved her hand lower across Wendy’s ass. She kneaded Wendy’s left cheek like dough, fondling, squeezing, and caressing her flesh softly by turns and harshly gripping it the next before slapping her ass loudly. Renee ran her hand between the warm crack of Wendy’s ass, and Wendy, feeling a hand in a strange place, shivered, tightened, then relaxed, sticking her ass even further backward, turning her body further in Renee’s direction, letting her mother’s lover know she had full access, full permission to explore those secret parts of her.

93. Renee feels Wendy’s ass

Renee ran her hand through the warmth of Wendy’s ass, running her index and middle fingers over the rosebud of Wendy’s anus, then down to the wet, sloppy heat of Wendy’s come-saturated cunt, then back to the asshole, lubricating it with Wendy’s secretions and Steve’s semen, repeating many times to get Wendy’s asshole wet, ready, lubricated for penetration. Wendy’s ass clenched and shook at Renee’s touch, the woman’s fingers and palm sliding easily over Wendy’s wet, warm folds, her sodden hot valley, the cleft of her needy sex, spreading her lips wide to plunge a finger in the come-soaked hole. Renee spread the come and flowing lubrication of the teenger’s vaginal secretions across the perineum and over her anus, lubricating her rosebud over and over again. Wendy wiggled her ass, delighted at the strange new feelings, aroused beyond words, she opened her mouth wide and swallowed the length of Steve’s cock, deep-throating him with load, almost angry noises accompanied by popping and slurps.

Wendy slipped her right hand between her legs, rubbing her pussy over the top of Renee’s hand, soaked with Steve’s come, lifting her head off Steve’s cock long enough to stare in fixation at the two pussies on the flat screen rubbing against each other to the feverish wails and groans of the two lesbian lovers. Wendy’s and Renee’s fingers entwined as first Renee, then Wendy, plunged two fingers each into her cunt, pumping them into her as she gazed behind her in lust and fascination at the Sapphic love on the screen, the two pussies, the two shaven vaginas colliding and sliding, one over the other.

Steve touched her head.

“I’m almost there baby, keep sucking.”

Wendy turned her back on the scene and opend her lips around the cock in front of her face. She brought her hand up from her drenched pussy, her open vagina thrusting forward against Renee’s hand, and jacked her boyfriend as she sucked the length of his hard and throbbing cock.

94. Touched by Renee

Wendy’s fingers neared her mother’s center, her steaming snatch, already touching the hot, flat side of her outer labia touching the inner thigh at its extreme joint. Wendy and Mary both shuddered as the tip of Wendy’s fingers met the hard steel rings of her labial piercing, and Renee moved her mouth away from Mary’s shining pussy to watch in awe as the daughter felt and explored the mother’s cunt. She moved her thumb over Wendy’s warm rosebud, and pushed inside with the tip, holding her pussy in a clamp with her middle and ring fingers. Wendy’s ass tightened and relaxed, allowing Renee’s thumb to penetrate further. The teenager rocked back against Renee’s hand, desperate for harder fucking. Renee gave it to her, driving her thumb into her ass all the way to the base, holding Wendy like a bowling ball as the girl shuddered against her hand.

Filled in mouth, ass, and pussy, stimulated and frantic for more, Wendy pushed her hand closer to her mother’s cunt, so hot, so wet. She ran her fingers over the piercings of her lips, caressing the top piercing of her mother’s clitoral hood with the palm of her hand, such a smooth and warm pussy, so wet, so hot. The voices of the women on film rose to a crescendo of pleasure, screaming into each other as they both orgasmed over and over against each other’s sex. Wendy ran her finger tips over the flowing opening of her mother’s vagina. She held her index and middle fingers at the edge of her hole, but Mary, no longer able to bear the torment, thrust her pussy onto her daughter’s fingers as Renee suddenly grabbed Wendy’s hand and held it at her mother’s pussy, gyrating and fucking herself on her daughter’s hand.

95. Wendy touches her mother’s pussy

Wendy’s eyes were wide and wild as she stared into her mother’s blue eyes, her mascara blurred and her eyeshadow smeared. The daughter held the cock of the mother’s ex-boyfriend in her mouth, bobbing rapidly up and down on the male organ. The tip of Wendy’s tongue tasted Steve’s precum, and she knew her lover was on the verge of another climax. She tried to pull her hand away from Renee’s grip, from her mother’s thrusting wet cunt, but relented, yielding to the will of the two women at her side, unable to resist her own desire for her mother’s love hole.

Renee felt Wendy moving her hand on its own volition, making small short jabs into Mary, and she slowly released her grip on the teenager. Wendy, now able to withdraw her hand freely, kept it in her mother’s snatch, steaming, wet, the heat of Mary’s pussy creating a feverish delirium of need in Wendy. She pushed her fingers deeper into Mary’s hole, using her thumb to stroke her mother’s pierced hood and throbbing clit. Secretion streamed from Mary’s swollen pussy, her ragged breath came in heavy short bursts, and plaintive, animal sounds erupted from her throat, deep and hungry rumbles of an aching unfulfillable desire, a volcano whose eruption would create peace only for a moment before needing to explode again.

“That’s good, baby,” Renee urged. “Fuck your mother. Fuck your mother’s pussy.”

96. Wendy finger fucks her mother

I’m in my mother, Wendy thought. My fingers are inside my mother’s pussy. And Mom’s fucking them, she’s fucking herself on my hand.

The realization destroyed what was left of Wendy, of a Wendy who cared for anything other than cock, cunt, coming, and sex. Of a Wendy who thought of herself as anything other than someone to fuck, as someone who fucked.

Wendy clamped her mouth around Steve’s trembling cock as she felt his orgasm coming, ready and now able to swallow all of it without removing her mouth from his dick. He had taught her well, and she had been eager, so eager, to show her skills. A thought came into her mind, an image of her face covered in Brad’s come, and how her mother had kept that picture and that picture of her splayed out like a drenched and used-up whore too. Did she fuck herself to it? Did her mother fuck herself to visions of Wendy’s come face? Did she stare at her cream pie pussy while she shrieked coming on her own hand, or coming on Renee’s hand?

97. Mary watches as Steve comes all over Wendy’s face

She readied herself for Steve’s blast. When it came she quickly swallowed part of the first rope before pulling the cock out of her mouth and aiming the tip directly at her face as stream after stream of come spurted onto Wendy’s forehead, her nose, her eyes, and her cheeks. Pointing Steve’s cock downward, she aimed the tip, still shooting out semen like a firehose, at her breasts, leaving a trail of come dripping from each nipple jutting like bullets from her tits.

Mary’s mind quaked. She reeled as Wendy plunged her fingers into her saturated pussy, she pummeled her daughter’s hand with her hips, jerking and thrusting forward again and again, rapidly drawing herself to a climax. When the first rope of come hit Wendy between her eyes, Mary gave out a brief whimper, then her voice burst from her in hoarse, rapid groans and curses.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, Wendy. Oh god, oh fuck, oh god. Do it, Wendy, do it. Shoot that fucking come all over you, all over your tits, all over your fucking whore face.”

Then she screamed as the avalanche of her orgasm toppled down the slopes of her mind, lost in a shattering quake of vanishing thoughts, broken emotions, and tumbling pleasure. She slipped off the sofa like a rag doll, sinking between Renee and her beautiful, beautiful daughter who had just fucked her pussy, who had just stared at her wordlessly as blast after blast of white, man come exploded over her face. Standing on her shaking knees, Mary hugged Wendy’s sticky body against her, closing her face to Wendy’s sticky, cum-covered face, breathing in the pungent stink of Steve’s cum. Wendy shivered as she felt her mother’s tongue lick up and down her face, licking off the cum from her face, licking the cum off her cheeks, sucking on her chin, tasting the cum of her daughter’s lover and swallowing it down, a lioness cleaning the head of her precious, trembling cub.

98. Mary, shocked

Mary collapsed against the side of the couch, shaking, her breath shuddering from her heaving chest. Her breathing became deeper, quicker, frantic, bursting from her in spasms of emotion, until great heavy sobs tore from her bosom, and she pounded the seat cushions of the sofa with a balled fist.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, I’m so sorry Wendy.”

“Mom?”

Wendy moved towards her mother, but Mary brushed her off.

Renee, still on her knees, crept towards the sobbing woman.

“Mary, honey? What’s wrong?”

“Oh god, Renee, how can you ask me that? You take things too far, you always take things too far. I’m. I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault. I. I. I have to.”

Mary jumped up, glaring at Steve, her face wearing an expression of deep shame, remorse, and anger.

“Steve, get out of here. Get out of here now and never come back.”

“Mom!” Wendy protested.

“Go, Steve. Now.”

Steve recognized the mood, the storm, the anger. Feeling himself the target of a wrath better avoided, he quickly stood up, nodded at Wendy without saying anything, and passed upstairs to dress.

Mary stood helplessly in the living room for a moment, then followed Steve upstairs, but going to her own room, slamming the door behind her.

Renee cast Wendy a concerned look.

“Are you okay, Wendy? Are you okay with all this?”

Wendy shrugged her shoulders, then nodded. She felt Steve’s semen trickle down her leg as she stood up to see her boyfriend off.

“I mean. I’m not sure what all this is.”

99. Wendy comes back to present

Now as she sat in her 6th period Study Hall, watching the clock hands, Wendy tried to think about school, about her homework, about upcoming exams, but nothing stayed in her mind.

The next day, on Sunday, her mother had wanted to go for a drive.

She seemed to be over what had happened Saturday. To tell the truth, Wendy hadn’t even seen her mother after that morning. She’d gone upstairs to say goodbye to Steve, and Steve suggested they both get out of there for a while.

“I think you’d better just keep out of her way for a bit. Let Renee deal with it. I guess it just got too, well, crazy. Probably be best for everybody to calm down a bit.”

But Wendy already felt calm.

I mean, it was fun, wasn’t it? That’s all that mattered, wasn’t it? It’s not like she’d have done any of that on her own. I mean, it’s just that. Watching Renee finger her mother in the kitchen, and then that lesbian porno blaring in the background, and Steve just hammering her pussy. Well, I mean, her mother’s girlfriend had put her hand there in the first place. It’s not like it had been her idea. And her mother. She was the one that started fucking her hand. She didn’t know how any of that was Steve’s fault.

But she took a shower and got dressed anyway, throwing on old jeans and a long-sleeve sweatshirt. She spent the rest of the day hanging out with Steve, driving in his blue import over to the next town, El Hondo, to see a classics auto show Steve had been wanting to go to. An odd sort of thing happened, though, on the way to El Hondo. Not really odd, just a little. I mean, just a long line of small, dusty, white cars driving in the opposite direction, towards Edge City, at least twenty of them, maybe more.

One or two of the drivers waved a hand at Steve’s blue car as they burped past, but Steve didn’t seem to notice, and Wendy didn’t say anything.

After the show, they went back to Steve’s apartment. Steve opened a six pack of Murica. He tossed one of the red, white, and blue cans to Wendy. She pulled the tab, flung it to a corner of the room and pulled a long gulp from the can. She was learning.

“Hey. I try to keep this place clean.”

“That’s your tab corner, isn’t it?”

“Well, still.”

She spent the night with him. The next day, Steve drove her back home.

“Hey, look baby. I’m going to be really busy this week. I’m, uh, I’ve got some stuff going on. Work stuff. I probably won’t be able to drop by. Not for a few days anyway. Might be for the best. The way Mary feels right now.”

“Um. Sure, Steve. I’ll be okay.”

Steve leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

“You sure?”

Wendy furled her brows in a confused half-frown.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Her mother was standing in the kitchen, waiting anxiously for her. She cast a scared and apprehensive glance at Wendy, who strode to the refrigerator to pull out a cartoon of orange juice.

She shook the cartoon.

“We need to go the store.”

Mary took a deep breath before speaking.

“Wendy.”

Wendy walked to the other side of the kitchen, took a glass from the cupboard, steadying the glass in one hand as she tilted the spout of the cartoon over the rim, watching the orange liquid fill the vessel.

“Mom.”

But Mary couldn’t bring herself to mention it. All her resolution to talk about what had happened yesterday dissipated in the face of Wendy’s indifference.

“I know, honey, let’s go to the River Trail. We haven’t been there for ages.”

Wendy suddenly remembered they had used to go to that one church on Sundays. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Her mother had been silent on the way out of town, uttering monosyllabic replies to anything Wendy said. Exasperated, Wendy questioned her mother directly.

“Mom?” she asked, “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“Oh god, Wendy, how can you ask me that? Doesn’t all this, all this stuff at home, seem all kinds of wrong to you?”

“Um. It’s weird I guess. I don’t know about wrong.”

“But Steve! He’s twice your age, Wendy!”

“I thought you didn’t mind me being with Steve?”

“I don’t. I do, really. I think I do. I mean, I don’t. Oh, god, Wendy. I don’t know what to think anymore. Not since I. Not since I came out. But you need a boy your own age, honey,” cried Mary.

“I don’t want a boy my own age, Mom.”

Mary just sighed. A short but deep huff of perplexed resignation. Wendy looked at her across the middle console of their Odyssey and felt a sudden relief. Despite the short, platinum hair, despite the pierced nose, the studs and double Venus bangles hanging from her ears, despite the blue eyeshadow, black mascara and eyeliner, despite the bright pink lipstick, despite her denim jacket and short denim skirt and pink hose leading to feet enclosed by study, tan hiking boots, that was her mother sitting in the driver’s seat, eyes steady on the road. Her sigh was unmistakable.

“Well. What about a girl, then?”

“Mom!”

Really though, it was a fair question, she supposed. It’s not as if she’d never tried it before. I mean, yesterday did happen after all. Even if neither of them were going to mention it. And it’s not as if she hadn’t come and come hard with Sara, hadn’t spent the night with Sara, making out and getting fucked with that dildo over and over again. And that woman at the bookstore. Another platinum blonde, she realized. But that was just experimentation, she decided. I mean, yesterday had gotten a little out of hand, she supposed. I didn’t know anything about sex, then. I do now.

Boy, do I ever, Wendy thought. She wasn’t altogether correct.

100. At the waterfall

As Mary drove the thirty or so miles to Reno Arroyo Canyon River Trail, west of of Edge City, Wendy settled into that quiet, comtemplative mood she always fell into whenever a car ride lasted more than five minutes. Besides, she enjoyed the suddenly changing landscape once you rounded the corner near Hightower Rock, about ten or fifteen miles east of the Trail. The geography around Edge City included a few small canyons with steep inclines lined with scrub brush and mountain juniper. Edge City itself spread out on a flat valley between two flat highlands, its streets ran through a rolling landscape, but the geography outside of Edge City, once you rounded Hightower Rock, turned outright bizarre, even fantastical.

The late morning sun climbed higher in the glass blue sky as the minivan pressed its way west, here and there large, white, puffy clouds floatingly lazily above momentarily blocked the sun’s light, forming large shadows wavering across the dreamlike landscape. Weird, almost alien, rock formations stretched across the level, sage-covered plains, suddenly looming hills covered in cactus and prickly pear, thatches of browned grass. Huge, oblong boulders stood precarious on top of tall, thin, contorted pillars, threatening to topple at any moment, and the canyon deepened as Rosaroja River flowed west out of Edge City. A smaller highway veered right from Intersovereignty 25 towards Hightower Rock, a highway hugging the wall of a canyon spur as it descended.

Wendy marveled at the distinct rock formation, a tall mass of stone, vaguely cathedral-like, with a jagged peak. What geological forces shaped it, how did it come to be there, standing alone, seemingly in the midst of a wide, featureless plain, on the edge of the canyon, overlooking the canyon as if a sentinel stood there, unmoving, inflexible, unyielding in its vigilance? Recalling the Randall account of the Hightower Rock Meteorite, she wondered whether the object had really been a controlled craft. It seemed unlikely. Then the Odysee swept around the bend in the highway, and the landscape opened up, the featureless landscape was an illusion created by distance, direction, and topography.

The hum of the engine, the brightness of the day, the soft music coming over the radio, the easy-listening smooth jazz her mother preferred, Mary’s silence, and the gentle, continual roll of the mini-van lulled Wendy into a sleep. She leaned her head against the window of the door, closed her eyes, and fell into insubstantial dreams, not waking until the car stopped in the parking lot of the River Trail entrance.

The Edge City Chamber of Commerce had reached an agreement with the Sovereignty of Nuevo Metziticli to open a series of gift shops, boutiques, restaurants and other tourist attractions just outside the border of Reno Arroyo Canyon Sovereignty Park, but once a visitor passed the two tall wooden posts marking the entrance to the Trail, all commercial activity ceased. That Saturday, Wendy had spent most of the time shopping with Sara or walking the trails outside the park itself, where site seers could look through look-out binoculars and take small flat-bottom boats down the calm stretch of the river.

Now, as Wendy walked through the posts, and seeing the vast expanse of wilderness ahead, the trail leading along a landscape marked by scrub, cactus, rock, and venomous snake, she wondered at her mother’s clothes, wholly inappropriate for strenuous walking, she’d have thought.

“Nonsense,” her mother retorted. “These boots are sturdy. They’re made for walking. That’s just what they’ll do.”

A faint smile played upon Mary’s shiny pink lips, but Wendy huffed, comfortable in her flannel shirt, her faded jeans, and tan hiking boots of her own. They both gripped thick metal staves in their hands, a necessity for long walks, especially one in rattlesnake territory. Wendy checked the ground, but hoped the cool weather reduced the chance of snake encounter. The sun blazed high in the blue sky, intermittently hidden by a wandering cloud, but the weather remained cool, a late summer coolness hinting at the autumn and winter to come. Wendy flung light backpack over her shoulders, a pink backpack for school books, now loaded with bottle water and snack. Nonetheless, sweat began to bead and pearl on Wendy’s and Mary’s brows, and Wendy unbutton her flannel shirt, rolling up the sleeves. Wendy tried to ignore Mary’s sideways glances at her loose breasts bouncing with each step below the V neck of her white sleeveless T-shirt. Mary unbuttoned her denim jacket. Her pierced nipples poked through the thin fabric her blue shirt. Catching Wendy’s own sideways glance, Mary pushed her chest forward.

“It’s about two miles away,” Mary said. “Are you ready for this?”

Wendy rolled her eyes.

“That’s not far, Mom.”

The trail ran to the side of the canyon, and hugged the sides, sometimes nearing the edge alarmingly, and Wendy learned to walk on the outside of the path. She didn’t really like heights, and the constant reminder of the perilous drop worried her. But they slowly advanced, beating the ground with the tips of their metal staves, and gradually the trail wound in a wide curve around a promontory opening onto a wide canyon, Rosaroja River far below. On the far side of the canyon, over a mile from where Wendy stood with her mother, a wide waterfall, over a hundred yards wide, plunged into the deep chasm. That was Big Reno Arroyo Falls. Closer to the couple, and on their side of the canyon, but forming a smaller, narrower grotto or channel on the side of the larger main canyon, Little Reno Arroyo Falls, bubbling spritely, dropped below them into a deep and narrow channel.

A side path forked from the main trail on the edge of the wide canyon, a smaller, rocky trail that dropped into the grotto in a declining curve among rocks, small boulders, and the usual scrub growth of the canyon landscape.

“Give it a try?”

Wendy agreed.

“Why not?”

The two women carefully descended the trail, at the bottom of which they saw before them a low cliff, some five fathoms high, with a broken and jagged top. Over it muted water trickled down through a wide cleft that seemed to have been carved out by a fall that had once been strong and full. The water from the fall collected in a small pool at the bottom of the cascade. Wendy and Mary walked to the sides of the pool, the rocks becoming smoother and flatter near the edge. The temperature at the pool felt considerably cooler than the weather above. Here the sun, no longer directly overhead, shone with less intensity, and the west side of the canyon cast a shadow over part of the pool formed by the waterfall. Opposite the meager waterfall, the water from the pool flowed down a narrow channel, descending in bubbling rapids towards the main stream of the river.

Mary and Wendy shared the idea at the same time. Unlacing their boots, the yanked them off with some effort. Wendy shuffled off her backpack and sat on a flat rock at the side of the pool. She rolled up her jeans in big cuffs, wiggled her toes, and dunked her feet into the cool water of the waterfall’s basin. Mary, more slowly, had to roll down her pink hose to her ankles and past her feet, but eventually she too was able to sigh with relief as the cool water swirled around her feet, aching and swollen from the miles of strenous walking.

Wendy gazed at the scene around her. The walls of the chasm rose more or less sharply on three sides of the canyon. When she looked at waterfall falling in a thin stream, she saw an opening beyond the plunging water, dark against the shimmering water. Her mother shifted on the rock next to her, and Wendy felt her mother press against her, her hips touching her own. Mary swirled her bare feet in the water, forming small circles that gradually increased until they toyed and played with Wendy’s feet in the water. Mary leaned against Wendy, tilting her head against Wendy’s shoulder.

“Oh honey, this is so nice.”

Wendy felt her mother reach for her hand and clasp it in hers, squeezing her hand affectionately.

“I’m so glad we came here.”

The din of the water falling into the pool filled the basin, echoing off the sides of the canyon, creating an endlessly resounding clamor. Wendy continued to stare at the opening in the rock behind the cascading water. Mary wrapped her right arm around her daughter’s waist, squeezing her towards her. The clamor rose to a loud buzzing sound, a drone as if many small voices, distant, combined to form a dimly heard shouting, now rising in volume. The fall of the water roared in Wendy’s ears, and she stared into the opening behind the falling water. Mary nuzzled her nose against Wendy’s cheek.

“It’s been so long since we’ve been here. So long since we spent any time alone. Quality time.”

Mary kissed her daughter’s ear.

Wendy shivered.

The sound of the waterfall grew, a crescendo of echoes, the drone became a roar, and Wendy heard voices in that roar, many voices calling her name, or someone’s name, or calling nobody at all. The voices called plaintively, longingly, sighing for her attention, sighing for Wendy’s notice, for Wendy’s presence. Then she felt it. Her mother brushed her lips against Wendy’s cheek and kissed her again. Something moved behind the fall. Something stirred behind the cascade. Something shimmered and wavered, formless and void. Wendy felt it. A hidden power, waiting to be revealed. A concealed potency, vigilant, alert, watchful.

Her mother’s lips brushed the corners of her mouth, the pink gleam of the lipstick burned the side of her lips, and she felt her mother kiss her again, her lips pressed against the corner of her mouth, touching her lips, the pink lipstick burning into her with a sudden, flaming intensity. Shocked, Wendy turned to face her Mary, her lips parted in an exclamation quickly stifled by Mary’s ravenous mouth. Mary covered Wendy’s lips with her own, her tongue urged its way into Wendy’s mouth. Mary groaned as she felt the tip of Wendy’s tongue, motionless, against her own tongue.

Wendy closed her eyes as her mother’s tongue probed her open mouth.

The voices rose now in a deafening roar, a shouting and exultation of many voices, a myriad voices filling her mind, blocking out all thought. Wendy tasted the pink lipstick of her mother’s lips, her own lips burned, charged with a searing electricity, but Wendy’s mind withdrew, blank to the world around her as she seemed to herself to ascend, to float, into a cloud of voices high above the earth. A sighing and a shuddering overcame her, and she found herself in a mist, a pink mist cloaking loud and excited whispers and the groaning of many voices, all female, in ecstasy. And from the pink mist emerged faces, familiar and different, faces she recognized and she knew the moment again was upon, but it was different this time. Somehow it was different. She saw the faces of Wendy, and she knew they were not her.

She was Wendy, and they were Wendy, but she was not them, nor were they she.

And the mist cleared, and she saw herself behind the waterfall, in the opening of the rock behind the waterfall. She could see her mother on the side of the pool, on the flat rock overhanging the edge of the basin, her legs in the water and her arms around her daughter, Wendy. She could see her mother in the throes of a passionate kiss with her daughter, Wendy. She could see herself slowly responding to her mother’s kiss, the glow of a glimmering pink lipstick smeared over her mouth radiating from her face. She saw her arms and hands rise to Mary’s head, she saw her hands caressing the sides of Mary’s head, caressing the short, platinum hair of her mother’s head, and she saw her hands move inside, to touch her mother’s chest, to feel her mother’s breasts.

She heard groaning in the cavern, sighs and anguished pleas for sexual release echoing against the walls of the cavern. She turned and saw a tall pillar of stone, smoothly and perfectly cut, obelisk in shape but not in size, a tapering column with a sharp four-sided pyramid at the top. A myriad faces emerged from the walls, a myraid bodies with those faces, all nude, all Wendy, all groaning and sighing and crying in the heat of orgasm. The bodies writhed and gyrated, the bodies of Wendy trembled in ecstasy, and then she saw other women pleasuring Wendy, she saw Wendy pleasuring other women, so many women, Wendy innumerable coming and shuddering over the mouths and pussies of her lovers. She recognized Sara, she recognized Maddy. She recognized her mother. So many women, so many of them were strangers to her, but Sara was a constant, Sara and Maddy fucking Wendy with huge dildo, Sara and Trina sharing kisses as they took turns tasting Wendy’s flowing cunt, Wendy’s mouth on Sara’s pussy, Sara standing behind Wendy, gyrating and pounding her ass, her asshole, with impossibly enormous strap-on dildos, Wendy hanging from strange devices, clad in head to foot in black latex, but she recognized her, she recognized herself, Wendy could not remain concealed from Wendy, Wendy could not evade the eyes or mind of Wendy.

And she loved it.

She loved every minute of it, every delicious minute of lesbian fucking, of kissing pussy after wet pussy after steaming pussy. Of licking and looking, of tasting and touching.

The faces and bodies of Wendy with her lovers receded into the pink mist billowing once more from the walls of the cavern, and from the mist she saw Wendy emerge again, but one this time, and she knew it was her, she was Wendy, she was that Wendy, but she didn’t know what she was watching. A Wendy in a short sheer babydoll, the short sheer babydoll that she had worn that night with Sara, her nipples and tits gloriously exposed, and she gasped when she saw her face, beautifully and wonderfully distorted, she saw her golden thatch between her thighs, the golden thatch of her beatiful pussy, shining from below the fabric of her nightwear like a fire, burning like a golden fire, blazing like dragon fire, and her lips were pink, a radiating pink, and her eyes were a fierce blue rimmed with pink, a glittering blue eyeshadow gleamed abover her eyes, outlined with dark mascara and eyeliner, and her blond hair rippled and heaved around her head like a halo of flame, and her face burned with rage and love.

Then the vision faded, and another Wendy, the same Wendy, her again, but this time she saw her in the dark, sitting in some dark corner, still dressed in her babydoll, but reduced, knees pulled up against her chest as she held her head against her knees, fearful, trembling with fear and horror. Her left arm bled from a terrible gash, red blood poured from the wound, flowing down her legs, and she hugged herself tighter as the thing she fled drew near, a horrible thing, malignant and powerful, and then that vision too passed.

Wendy looked at her mother, locked in an embrace of passion and desire with her own daughter, as Mary pulled Wendy’s shirt above her breasts to kiss, lick, and nibble at Wendy’s tormented nipples, proudly erect, a look of pure desire and ecstasy washing over Wendy’s face. Wendy in the cavern watched in wonder and growing excitement at the vision taking place beyond the fall of the water. Her groin burned with a mounting heat, and she moved her hands to unbutton the fly of her jeans. God she needed to relieve herself. She could feel it, feel her mother’s lips on her mouth, feel the steel stud in her mother’s tongue slide and rub against her own tongue, she could feel the piercings of her mother’s nipples as the Wendy by the pool felt and cupped her mother’s breasts under the blue fabric of her shirt. She felt her mother’s tits grow hard and erect, she felt Mary groan into her open mouth, the pink lipstick burning her lips and igniting a fire in her pussy.

Wendy by the pool opened in her eyes, revolted with herself. What in the world, she thought. This is my mother. I’m not even. Usually. This is disgusting. This should be disgusting. Wendy’s stomach turned inside her. It is disgusting. I’m not even. Most of the time.

Something shimmered behind the waterfall, and Wendy closed her eyes again, melting into the pleasure of her mother’s tongue, her hand slipping from her mother’s belly to caress the top of Mary’s thighs, gripping and feeling her mother’s thigh just below the high hem of her mother’s denim skirt, riding high as Mary parted her legs, inviting Wendy’s hand further inside. Wendy’s hand stirred and moved inward.

101. Wendy makes contact with The Consortium

Wendy in the cavern ran her middle finger between her warm, wet lips, spreading her lips with her index and ring finger, running her palm over her soft blond fur. Her jeans hung halfway past her ass, and her legs trembled at the approach of a quickly oncoming orgasm. The she heard or felt a vibration behind her, and Wendy spun around, turning her back on her mother and herself by the pool to face the shaking obelisk. Drawn to its power and mystery, she moved towards it, her hand still rubbing her groin, and touched it with her other hand, reaching above to touch the top of its pyramid, only slightly above her own height. Immediately the world she knew vanished below her as she ascended in a single instance, transforming lightyears into infintessimal points, into a pink luminous cloud hovering beyond the confines of her reality.

A million sighs greeted her, a million multiplied by a million multipled by a million more sighs greeted her, sighs, cries, whispers, and groans innumerable thrilled and vibrated in the space which was not space around her. Time ceased to have meaning. Space fell away into something larger, an infinite container of space, time, memory, being. And still the sighing continued, as if an endless multitude of orgasms, of female orgasms, of feminine euphoria, bliss, fervor, exaltation, and rapture, were shuddering and piercing the air that was not air around her, around a her that had no body, around a self without self.

A million bees buzzed, a billion swarms of bees buzzed all around, a tremendous buzzing of a tremendous hive, infinite beyond measurement, a hive of pink honey and pink love. Then she heard words, or felt sounds that might have been words, or felt a vibration that might have formed sounds which might have formed words which might have been heard had there been ears to hear and a body to have ears, and a self to give meaing, but there was no body, and no ears, and no words, and no self, but she heard them all the same.

No.

Not yet.

Ch’thologh Mohl.

The archivist, you need the archivist.

Oh, that’s right right, dear, he’s not one yet is he? The recorder then, love, you need the recorder, there, yes, right there, just a little, oh god, yes, right there. Oh you just know how, stop it now girls, oh, fuck. Yes. There. Oh yeah, there.

Another shuddering sigh.

Jack Randall. You need Jack Randall.

And then, whether she had a body or not, an orgasm, or something very much like an orgasm, wracked her selfless mind, or what might have been her mind, and she shrieked with an outraged and extended joy as she fell, fell, fell, lightyear upon lightyear, back to her earth.

‘Hakesch ‘Haschk’dim, orgasm of contact, orgasm of greeting and parting, orgasm of joyful encounter and happy farewell, a light vibration around the edges, a short tremolo of pleasant joy, a light, cheerful orgasm, bubbling like champagne, with playful tones of vanilla and blackberry. Suitable for strangers and friends alike.

It really was so lovely to finally meet you, dear.

102. Archivist joke

It is, of course, just an Archivist joke that the Consortium lists over 34,000 words for orgasm. The real number is much, much higher.

103. Back to Wendy

A side path forked from the main trail on the edge of the wide canyon, a smaller, rocky trail that dropped into the grotto in a declining curve among rocks, small boulders, and the usual scrub growth of the canyon landscape.

“Give it a try?”

Wendy agreed.

“Why not?”

The two women carefully descended the trail, at the bottom of which they saw before them a low cliff, some five fathoms high, with a broken and jagged top. Over it a bubbling water splashed down through a wide cleft that seemed to have been carved out by a fall that had once been strong and full. The water from the loud fall collected in a small pool at the bottom of the cascade. Wendy and Mary walked to the sides of the pool, the rocks becoming smoother and flatter near the edge. The temperature at the pool felt considerably cooler than the weather above. Here the sun, no longer directly overhead, shone with less intensity, and the west side of the canyon cast a shadow over part of the pool formed by the waterfall. Opposite the waterfall, the water from the pool flowed down a narrow channel, descending in bubbling rapids towards the main stream of the river.

Mary and Wendy shared the idea at the same time. Unlacing their boots, the yanked them off with some effort. Wendy shuffled off her backpack and sat on a flat rock at the side of the pool. She rolled up her jeans in big cuffs, wiggled her toes, and dunked her feet into the cool water of the waterfall’s basin. Mary, more slowly, had to roll down her pink hose to her ankles and past her feet, but eventually she too was able to sigh with relief as the cool water swirled around her feet, aching and swollen from the miles of strenous walking.

Wendy gazed at the scene around her. The walls of the chasm rose more or less sharply on three sides of the canyon. Wendy stared at the the roaring waterfall plunging into the rippling water of the basin. Her mother shifted on the rock next to her, and Wendy felt her mother press against her, her hips touching her own. Mary swirled her bare feet in the water, forming small circles that gradually increased until they toyed and played with Wendy’s feet in the water. Mary leaned against Wendy, tilting her head against Wendy’s shoulder.

“Oh honey, this is so nice.”

Wendy felt her mother reach for her hand and clasp it in hers, squeezing her hand affectionately.

Wendy glanced at her mother.

“Hungry? We should eat our sandwiches. I’m kind of getting thirsty, too. Want some water?”

Wendy pulled her hand out of her mother’s grasp to rummage through her back pack. Pulling her legs out of the water, she sat cross-legged on the rock beside the pool, admiring the whitewater created by the cascading stream. It all seemed so familiar, but she hadn’t been here in years. Not since her father. Stop it.

She wondered at the sense of sexual release she felt. It had been building all day long, what with Steve leaving yesterday morning and leaving her alone with her pornography to keep her company. Renee and her mother fucking down the hall all day long didn’t help much. She’d rubbed one out yesterday, several times in fact, before finally leaving the house to go riding around the neighborhood aimlessly. Sixteen and still riding a bike.

When was she going to get a permit? She’d have to start badgering Mom, she supposed. I mean, that’s what kids did. They learned to drive. She needed to learn to drive. I mean. But all morning long she’d felt it, that rise, that need, that aching need to come, not just masturbate, but to come, to orgasm, to shriek into her lover’s ear, to shriek into Steve’s mouth as he hammered another fucking climax into her pussy. That’s what she needed.

Strangely, she felt that that’s just what she’d had. Like just now. Like, just five minutes ago or something. She felt like she’d been fucked and fucked good. The afterglow of the climax still shimmered through her. Even Mary noticed it.

“Gosh, that water sure did you some good,” Mary said after they climbed back to the top of the canyon. “You look like you’ve just been, well, taken. And taken hard.”

“Mom.”

“Well, it’s true. I should know, I’ve seen what you look like after a good pounding all week long now.”

“Mom.”

“I suppose you could say the same for me.”

“Mom. Stop.”

104. To her father’s grave

Wendy’s shoulders drooped from exhaustion. The long hike back had been exhausting. Even the stave in her right hand weighed heavy, and she had wanted to drop it, to leave it behind her on the trail, regardless of any snake they might encounter. There’d be no snake. Though the declining sun still showered the land below in its light, the light itself came weak against the coolness of the weather. A coolness that did not stop Wendy’s forehead from pearling with sweat, sweat clung to her underarms and rolled down her thighs and calves, sticking to her jeans, making them uncomfortable and grimy.

She lagged behind her mother. With her head down, she watched the constant pace of her mother legs, bare now, Mary having stuffed her hose into Wendy’s back pack rather that put them back on. Wendy noticed her mother and laughed.

“I told you that you looked ridiculous with hose and hiking boots. Now you’re just going to chafe your feet.”

“Nonsense. Hose never looks ridiculous. Besides, I wore anklet socks over them. My feet will be fine.”

Now she trailed behind her mother’s gently swaying ass, her bare legs trotting forward, seemingly tireless. Wendy inspected the short cropped back of her mother’s head, the pompadour swept backward from the forehead and formed a wide V as the hair style tapered to a razor cut at the neck. The many studs lining Mary’s lobes glittered in the sunlight. The gilded thread edging the heart shaped double venus symbol embroidered in pink on the back of Mary’s denim jacket caught the sunlight, outlining her mother’s loudly proclaimed lesbianism in a fiery gleam.

God. She’s really gone all in on the whole dyke thing, Wendy thought to herself. It’s like it’s her calling or something.

They neared the bend of Hightower Rock, and just when Wendy thought she’d collapse on the ground from exhaustion she saw the double wooden posts in the distance ahead, marking the end of the wilderness and the beginning of human civilization.

Once they climbed into the Odysee, warm from the sunlight despite the cool weather, Mary turned towards her daughter.

“Honey?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for coming with me today. I know we really haven’t had any time together. And, well, everything’s just gotten so, um, crazy. I mean, it can’t have been easy for you to have me suddenly go all lesbian on you. What with Renee practically moving in. And then Steve. I mean, that’s got to be a little strange for you, darling, doesn’t it?”

Wendy put that look on her face again, somber and understanding at the same time. She nodded understandingly at her mother with an understanding smile, one of those flat, understanding smiles with the corners of the mouth upturned slightly.

Then her smile broadened into genuine relief.

“I’m okay with it, Mom. Really. Actually, I like it. I like the way things are. It’s crazy weird. But it’s good. It’s so, so. So open. I just feel like we, both of us, we’ve been so. So shut off.”

The four o’clock sun hovered in the western sky, a glaring light in the rearview mirrors.

The Odysee breached the outskirts of Edge City and veered north.

“We going somewhere?”

“Just a little detour, honey. I hope you don’t mind.”

The Odysee went down a wide four-lane boulevard with shopping strips, gas stations, banks, and stores of every kind on either side. Mary must have seen what she’d been looking for, because the Odysee turned into a busy parking lot, rolled to an open space in front of a set of dark tinted glass windows with dark tinted glass door. The sign above the door said Angie’s Flowers.

“I’ll just be a second, honey.”

Mary got out of the mini-van, and Wendy watch a couple of middle-aged women look her mother over disapprovingly, but Mary didn’t seem to notice. She smiled, held the door open for them and entered the flower shop behind the pair.

Mom looks like the dykiest dyke in Reno County, Wendy thought.

Mary came back a few minutes later with a big bouquet of yellow and white chrysanthemums.

“What in the world,” said Wendy.

“They’re lovely,” Mary answered.

The gates of Lone Raven Hill Cemetery loomed in a wrought iron arch over entrance, the gravel of the path lined with cottonwood crunched under the slow-moving wheels of the Odysee. Wendy sank into her seat. Although her mother had said nothing, she’d guessed the destination as soon as the van turned the corner of Broad Street towards Lone Raven Hill.

I can’t believe she did this. I haven’t been here since.

She had been out with Maddy that day, riding bikes on the trail encircling a nearby park, when Maddy’s mother’s car pulled to the side of the road. The girls sped up to the vehicle, sensing something important, but not being able to imagine what.

The passenger window rolled down, and Evelyn leaned over from the driver’s side.

“Wendy, you need to get home right away. Your mother just called me, and you need to get home, sweetheart.”

“Why? What happened, Mom?” Maddy shouted, excited and scared.

“Never you mind right now, Madison. Just get home now, sweetie. Your mother’s waiting for you.”

Wendy pedaled home as fast as she could, standing up in her bike and not sitting in the seat the entire two miles to her house. Almost ten minutes later she leapt from her bike and dropped it, back tire still spinning on the driveway, jumped up the front steps and burst through the front door.

“Mom?”

Mary Love stood in the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone.

“I, I, have to go now. Wendy’s here.”

Mary quickly hung up.

“Oh, baby, oh baby, oh baby,” she said.

“Mom, what? You’re scaring me.”

“Oh honey. It’s your father. He, he. He had a heart attack at work.”

Wendy didn’t understand.

“But he’s okay, isn’t he? I mean, we need to get going, don’t we? He’s all alone at the hospital.”

Mary shook her head.

“No, honey. He’s not. He, he didn’t make it, Wendy. He didn’t. When the ambulance came, he already.”

Then Wendy understood.

She waited for her mother to cry, but no tears came, though Mary’s eyes watered. She waited for her mother to hold her, to embrace her, but her mother remained stiff and rigid at the phone. Then Wendy turned away, walked to the living room, turned on the television, sat on the couch, got up, went to the kitchen and stared at her mother.

“But why?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I just don’t know.”

Then Wendy walked away, still holding the remote, to go upstairs to her bedroom, where she collapsed face down on her bed. She tried to cry, but no tears came.

People gathered in the house, friends, an uncle from out of sovereignty, people from work, both Mary’s and William’s work friends and acquaintances. Evelyn Springer and Maddy. Folk from the neighborhood dropped by to offer condolences. Food, deli meats and cheeses, casseroles in white porcelain or floral patterned baking dishes, salads in wooden bowls with large wooden spoons and forks, iced tea and bottled water, a variety of vegetable trays with olives and ranch dressing, covered the dining room table as friends, the one uncle, and strangers alike milled around the food, poking at the spread, a mute conversation running from one end of the house to another, but Wendy, dressed in a black dress, hid.

Suddenly grabbing Maddy’s hand, she had pulled her friend away from the table and dragged her upstairs.

She tore off her dress the moment they entered her bedroom.

“I just can’t take all these people here. I don’t even know any of them. Except my uncle, and I barely know him.”

She pulled her dress over her head, not bothering to unzip it, and the neck got stuck around her head.

“Help me out here, would you?”

At thirteen, Wendy’s body had just started its change, her thin hips were beginning to spread to the feminine curve, her breasts had begun to swell to the size of small apples, but on the whole, Wendy remained very much a girl. A girl who hated dresses with a dark and bitter passion. Maddy stood behind her friend, fumbling for the zipper concealed in the folds of the dress bundled at Wendy’s neck.

“Hold still, would you? I almost got it. There.”

Maddy found the zipper and unzipped it just enough for Wendy to yank the garment over her head in one swoop. She grabbed a T-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes, sat down on the floor and quickly got dressed. She looked up at Maddy, still dressed in a dark dress of her own.

“What about you? Ain’t you getting changed?”

“Into what?”

“You can wear my clothes. We’re about the same size. Anyway, I got some pants in the closet that don’t fit me. Just a little too big.’

“Are you calling me fat, Wendy?”

Wendy heard the laughter in Maddy’s question.

“You’re bigger than me. Just a little. But you’re not fat. I’m so skinny.”

Maddy changed out of her dress, more carefully than Wendy, and put on the jeans that Wendy held out to her. Then she slipped on a T-shirt and sneakers, a little too big for Maddy, but she pulled the strings tight and they were all right.

“Let’s get out of here,” Wendy said. Then she lifted a pink plastic purse her mother had bought her last month for her birthday.

Maddy started walking out the door.

“No!” Wendy blurted out. “Not that way. I don’t want to be seen. We can go out my window.”

Wendy parted her curtains, shoved open her bedroom window, and swung her head, neck, shoulder, and leg over the window sill. A shingled eave ran below the window, running midway along the entire front of the house, between the first and second floor. It almost two feet from the house’s side. Stopping at the corner of the house, Wendy knew that if they crept along the front of the house towards her parent’s bedroom, no, just mom’s now, she could jump down to the top of a lower outbuilding her father had built for his unpowered push mower and other yards supplies. The eave sloped at a more or less sharp incline from the house, but the shingles hindered slippage on their sneakers. Maddy hugged the side of the house as best she could, always expecting a grown-up to yell at them from the outside, but no call or shout rose from the empty front yard.

Wendy and Maddy ran, ducking under the windows in front, to the side of the garage. Wendy tried the door and breathed with relief when it open. A lot of times, her dad locked it, but this time it opened. Wendy ducked inside, fumbled around in the dark, and came back with her new green ten speed.

“What am I going to ride?” Maddy asked.

“We’ll ride together. I don’t need to sit down.”

Squatting on the triangular seat, Maddy clung to Wendy’s hips, lifting her legs out wide so her sneakers wouldn’t scrape the asphalt, as her best friend pedaled down West Pigeon Street, away from her mother, away from her uncle, away from all the strangers in her house, and away from the memory of her father, now gone forever.

105. A beer and cigarette between friends

A creek ran through Whistler’s Park, a creek bordered by great cottonwood trees with twisting branches and ghostly willows with hanging and sweeping limbs. Very few kids played in the park that day. Wendy and Maddy sneaked to their hidden, secret hideout, a recess in the side of the creek protected overhead by roots of a giant cottonwood. Flat slabs of slate and rock edged the creek bed, where a thin, shallow stream trickled and meandered among small boulders and loose, fallen branches.

Wendy scrambled down the steep slope of the creek bank, trying not to fall with her bike. At the bottom of the creek bed, Wendy leaned her bike against a large rock, and the two girls sat on the ground beneath the cottonwood roots, crosslegged, facing each other. Wendy put her purse between her thighs, and smiled cunningly at Maddy.

“You wanna see what I brought with us?”

Maddy nodded eagerly.

Wendy slowly withdrew a pack of Bactrian cigarettes, the double humped pack animal and ziggurat prominent on the front, from her purse, along with a narrow plastic lighter.

“Wendy! Are those real?”

Wendy grinned.

“I took them from my uncle last night. He brought a whole cartoon with him. But that’s not all. Look.”

She plunged her hand into her pink purse and held up a luminium can with the red, white, and blue label of Murica Beer.

“I also took this. The fridge is of full of ’em.”

Maddy looked all around her, expecting to see grown-ups, police, teachers, and shouting parents, leaping down the creek bank with angry remonstrations and accusations, but only the birds in the trees above her made any noise at all, unconcerned with the behavior of young, flightless bipeds.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Don’t worry, Maddy. No one will find out.”

It took a little persuading on Wendy’s part. She tugged on the end of the cellophane, unwrapped the package, used her nails to tear the foil, and held the opened pack to her nose.

“It smells so good,” she told Maddy. “Here. Try it.”

Maddy crinkled her nose above the opened pack.

“I don’t know,” Maddy repeated, hesitant.

“I do,” Wendy declared.

She dragged a cigarette from the pack.

She’d watched her uncle smoke all night long yesterday, fascinated by the smoke and the intent with which her father’s brother performed his ritual. Going to the back patio, gathering his beer and cigarettes about him, placing them neatly in front of him along with a black squarish ashtray, stooping his head forward while cupping the end of the cigarette with one hand and lighting it with a brass lighter in the other hand. He’d then lean back, suck on the lighted cigarette, blow out a gray-blue cloud of smoke from his mouth and nose, and sigh.

Wendy put the orange brown filtered end between her lips and cupped the end of the cigarette in her hand as she flicked the toothed wheel of the lighter. A long tongue of flame flared up, singing her bangs, but she managed to toss her head back while lighting the cigarette.

Then she sucked on the cigarette and blew the smoke out. Straight at Maddy’s wide eyes.

“See? Nothing to it.”

The tobacco tasted awful and left a sharp, acrid taste in her mouth. Not at all like it smelled in the pack. That was sweet and wonderful. This was just. Yuck. But she didn’t let on about that. Not in front of Maddy.

“Can you blow it through your nose?” Maddy asked. “I’ve seen people blow it through their nose.”

But try as she might, Wendy couldn’t figure out how to get the smoke to go through her nose.

“I guess you gotta have someone teach you that,” she said with a quiet resignation.

Wendy gave half the cigarette to Maddy, who shook her head.

“Oh, Maddy. Don’t chicken out. There’s nothing to it.”

Reluctantly, Maddy took the cigarette and sucked on it, just like Wendy did. She too hated the taste and immediately blew out a cloud of blue smoke.

“My mouth tastes terrible,” she said.

“Let’s drink some beer,” Wendy suggested. “It’ll get rid of the taste.”

Wendy pulled the tab on the luminium can, just like a can of soda, she thought.

The beer tasted horrible too. But Wendy took several long swallows before passing the can to Maddy. The carbonation burned in her mouth and throat, but after a few minutes, a warm, happy feeling spread through her body, and she started laughing.

“Have you ever kissed a boy, Maddy?”

“What?”

“I just wanted to know whether you’ve kissed anybody yet? I mean, have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“Well.”

“What? You?”

“Well, I mean, not really. But that Rob Parker asked if he could kiss me. I said yes.”

“But he’s in 9th grade! He’s going to be in 10th this year.”

Both Maddy and Wendy would be going into 8th grade when school began after the summer ended. Rob Parker lived a few houses down from the Springers.

“Well, I mean. It was at the pool. I mean, he asked me at the pool. Then we went behind those trees in the parking lot.”

“What was it like?”

“Um. Kind of icky. He put his tongue in my mouth. It was weird.”

“Really? Did you kiss back?”

“Well. Sort of. I sort of kissed back.”

Maddy giggled and snickered.

“I put my tongue in his mouth.”

Maddy fell silent.

“Does that make me a slut?”

But Wendy suddenly turned around, fell on her hands and knees, and threw up. Maddy watched as her friend heaved and convulsed, vomiting the contents of her empty stomach onto the rocks beyond the recess of their hideout.

Wendy finally rolled over onto her back, resting her head on dirt and dried leaves, barely avoiding the pool of her vomit. She stared at the trees, roots, and sky above her. She saw Maddy’s concerned face loom over her.

“My daddy’s dead, Maddy. My daddy’s dead, and my mother hates me.”

Wendy felt tears forming in her eyes. She felt a tremendous grief rise from her heart. Then it just as quickly subsided, and the tears, just beginning to well in her eyes, dwindled to a single drop, trickling slowly from the corner of one eye and down the side of her face.

106. At her father’s grave

The funeral was over. The cars had gathered in a long file. The drive to the cemetery had been long and slow, and Wendy crawled deeper into her own thoughts, avoiding her grief, and exploring the outlines of the future that had just started to take shape. A life without her father. She sat in the back seat of the limousine, facing her mother and uncle, but avoiding their looks. She started out the window. No one spoke.

She had walked up to her father’s corpse, reposed in its varnished, cushioned and embroidered coffin.

She had not recognized her father. She knew the body, the face. It bore a resemblance. But something had gone out of it, his joy, his living presence, his life. He didn’t look asleep. He looked dead. Like a dead fish. The flesh sat dead on his prominent cheeks, the makeup just brought out the lack of life and color, his lips seemed drawn, thin, ghoulish. Horrified more than sad, she turned away from body and fled back to her seat, waiting for her mother to sit again beside her. She tried to look sad, tragic, but she felt something stir inside her, very much like laughter, like happiness. She knew she was sad, she knew she had loved her father, she knew that those tears should come, that should should throw herself down on the floor and weep for hours, but the tears did not come. In their place this joy, this unwanted, unforeseen, and wildly out-of-place happiness at being alive.

Then the service ended, and they sat in the limo.

Wendy clutched her father’s garden hat, a wide-brimmed straw hat he wore whenever they worked outside together.

The car stopped. Wendy followed her mother and uncle to the grave site, where a prayer was spoken. The coffin was lowered into the grave by means of several pulleys. Men with shovels started tossing loose dirt onto the coffin. Wendy tossed the garden hat into the grave. Mary put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, but did not draw her near.

Clouds had begun to gather in the sky, a portent of rain for that evening. Wendy lagged behind her mother as they both wound their way to Bill’s grave. The turf had been well maintained, the grass green and neatly mowed. Wendy’s eyes wandered over angels, statues, marble and granite slabs engraved with dates, names, sometimes even portraits. Various small flags had been planted by many stones, the statues looked old, worn with time, tired. Some wings had been broken off, others were beginning to fracture. Most of the stones and statues were stained with age, mildew, and moss.

She remembered all this from three years ago. Not much had changed. A few new graves, a few new stones, some fresh dirt in a pile over a new grave, not yet plush with grass.

Her mother stopped, and Wendy fell in beside her.

William Henry Love, Beloved Father and Husband

1965 – 2007

“’Twas always thus,

And always thus will be.”

A bouquet of wilted flowers stood at the side of the grave stone. The area above the grave rose in a slight mound over the buried coffin of her father. Mary knelt to remove the old flower from the flat stone vase, replacing them carefully with the chrysanthemums.

“Who put those there?” Wendy asked quietly.

“I did. I come here sometimes. When I’m feeling down. Or just needing to talk to your father.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“No. I suppose you didn’t.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Oh god, Wendy. What kind of question is that? Of course I miss him. I shared almost half my life with him. And with you too.”

“Did he know?”

“Know what, baby?”

“About you. About you being a dyke.”

“Lesbian honey. Please don’t say dyke. Not like that.”

“Did he?”

“How could he have? I didn’t even know.”

“Hm.”

“What about you, sweetheart? You’ve never said anything about it. About him. You two were so close. But you never talk about it. About him.”

Three years ago. Her father died three years ago. Her daddy. Three years ago she was just a little kid who threw up after her first beer, just a little girl who didn’t want to grow up, who didn’t want to do the things you were supposed to want to do. Three years ago Maddy had already had a boy’s tongue in her mouth. Three years. And before that there was her lifetime, her childhood with her father. Not really a big man, he towered over the girl as a toddler, lifting her up suddenly to throw around his shoulders, or toss her on a pile of cushions he made from the sofa.

A childhood of constant attention, of love, of odd toys, weird objects he’d find at work and bring home. Old ceramic power line insulators, coils of wire. Hubcaps found on the side of the road. Highway signs riddled with shot gun blasts. Mary had begged for him to stop bringing those things home, but Wendy loved them.

All those Saturdays at the park, where she played on jungle gyms, or swung high on the swings. Those afternoons spent in the driveway, marking up the concrete with colored chalk, numbering out squares for hopscotch, jumping rope with Maddy. The first time she rode her bike without training wheels. He’d just look at her, and sometimes he’d say wistfully, almost to himself, in the midst of her play, “don’t grow up, baby. Never grow up.”

But she did. She did grow up.

Her eyes watered, and she flung herself at her mother.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry. I miss you so much.”

Mary smoothed Wendy’s back as her daughter rocked in her arms, shaking at weeping.

“I’m so sorry, Mom.”

Wendy’s tears had come at last.

107. Return to the present

They’d had that long talk in the car, they needed to take things down several notches, things had gotten out of hand so fast, no more walking around the house without clothes, no more making out in front of each other, no more loud sex with the doors open.

“But we can still have sex?” Wendy asked, worried. “I mean, Steve can still come over? He and I can still have sex, can’t we?”

Mary repeated her earlier question.

“Honey, are you sure you don’t want someone your own age?”

To be honest, Wendy wasn’t sure. All last week it seemed boys were taking an interest in her, coming up to her in the hall, talking to her between classes, stopping by her locker, lots of flirting, lots of smiling and small talk. She was beginning to get good at it, she thought. Small talk. Flirting. She learned to mention clothes. It came so natural.

“That’s a nice shirt,” she’d say. Or, “I really like your haircut.”

The way they straightened their shoulders after that. So cute.

Even Steve had brought it up.

“You have to at least consider it, Wendy. This. This is so. Amazing. But you’re sixteen. And this can’t last. I’m blown away that your mother puts up with it. To be honest, I’m blown away by your mother totally. I did not see that coming. But I didn’t see you coming either, no pun intended.”

But Wendy didn’t like thinking about the future, didn’t like thinking about anything more distant than tomorrow, and she didn’t even like thinking about that. Today. Today was the only day that mattered. Surely there was a poster for that? She looked across the room, at a huge poster, wider than tall, of a sunrise over a mountain range, with the words “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!” sprawled across the bottom. No, she thought. Today is the only day of your life.

Brad had come up to her that morning, before 3rd Period.

“Hey, Wendy, got a minute?”

Wendy froze at her locker, tense, her hand stuck inside, gripping her Economics book.

“Um.”

“I just want to say how sorry I am. It was so stupid. I never meant it to get spread so wide.”

Wendy grimaced inwardly at his choice of words.

“But it did,” Wendy found the courage to say, “it did get spread so wide.”

Brad grinned.

“But you came up with a good excuse. As soon as I heard about it, I admitted to it right away, everybody believes it was just us playing a prank.”

“Some prank. And everybody but Megan, you mean.”

“Well, you know. She’ll get over it. She’ll find somebody else.”

“You mean?”

“You didn’t know? Yeah, she broke up with me.”

Truth to tell, Wendy had been so caught up in what was happening at home, she had almost completely forgotten about Brad, but now that he stood there, apologizing in his way, those memories flooded her. Not just the pictures and what happened after, but before, before even Sara, how Wendy had secretly thought about him. And then when he asked her out. She had just. And then all that happened.

“So what do you think? Can you forgive me?”

Wendy pulled her book from the locker, looked up at Brad, smiled briefly, and said.

“We’ll see, Brad. I’m still mad at you.”

Then Wendy stepped around the young man, making sure to sway her ass even more than she had begun to after coming back to school. Brad’s gaze followed after her, trailing her shaking bottom in its tight faded jeans, her feet encased in 3-inch heels. Although he couldn’t see them, he could tell she jutted her breasts forward by the way she pulled her shoulders back under a short, white, fluffy knit sweater with a plunging V-neck showing off her cleavage.

108. Return home from River Trail and Bill’s grave

Renee came over soon after after she and her mother returned.

Of course Mary overwhelmed Renee in a huge embrace, closing her arms around her, cradling the back of Renee’s head with one hand while caressing her back from shoulder to ass with the other, running over her hand over Renee’s maroon turtleneck down to the round luscious curve of her jeans covered ass. She also wore a denim skirt. Mary’s pink lips met the mouth of her young lover in a deep and passionate kiss. Wendy wondered if she should leave before they started fingering each other in the kitchen, but she stayed, standing at the counter, staring at her Hipkick. At least Mom let me have that back.

She had accepted the returned phone half-heartedly, expecting a barrage of calls and texts from Sara, messages she wasn’t sure she could respond to. But those texts and calls had never come.

“How did the excursion go?” asked Renee after Mary released her.

“Oh, you know. Sad. But comforting. We visited Wendy’s father’s grave. It was. Emotional.”

Renee slid over to Wendy, reached out and pulled her in, wrapping her in a long hug.

“You miss him, don’t you? I’m so sorry, Wendy.”

Wendy nodded and shook her head at the same time.

“I mean,” she said, not really knowing how to finish that thought.

Sensing her qualms about the way the conversation led, her hesitation to dwell on or talk about her own emotions, Renee changed the topic, even going so far as flirting with Wendy a little.

“Wendy, why don’t you wear makeup?” Renee’s voice came out in a purr, feline, feminine, full of portent. “You really should, you know. You look so amazing. You’d be surprised at how much attention you’ll get from the boys. And girls, too. I mean, if you ever want to go that way.”

All that night Wendy had listened to it. Renee kept up a steady stream of suggestions about makeup and lipstick, and even her mother joined in.

“Come on, Wendy. You should wear makeup. You just tried once and let it go. Anyway, I’ve been meaning to show you how to wear it.”

Eventually Wendy gave up and promised to let them put some on her tomorrow morning before school. Renee actually clapped her hands.

Sitting there in Study Hall, she had to admit Renee had been right. Even the girls stared at her, and the boys, well, when was a boy not a boy? They practically fell out of their chairs, or broke their necks spinning around to stare at her. But she looked good, she knew that, dark eyeliner, mascara, blue shimmer, and luscious pink lipstick. God, she’d missed that feeling. Her lips had burned that morning when Renee applied the lipstick, her mother standing behind her, caressing her shoulders, and oohing and aahing at the striking results of Renee’s careful efforts.

109. Renee puts makeup on Wendy

It had felt so wonderful, so relaxing, so hot, even, to have Renee stand over her, standing between her legs, Renee straddling her left leg between her thick, not exactly pudgy, no, not pudgy, but thick legs, bare and covered in a fine layer of brown hair, her lacy boy shorts tight around her round ass. Wendy couldn’t help but notice Renee’s tights poking through the thin fabric of her light pink camisole, the spaghetti strap on the right fallen past her shoulder, revealing the full slope of her modest breast, the top of the camisole caught on her hard nipple. Wendy fought a sudden urge to yank the top down. She focused her attention on the pits of Renee’s arms instead, unshaven, similar to Steve’s in a softer underarm, a more yielding flesh.

Wendy had recognized the brand immediately, the gold and black on a pink background, the double Ts intwined in a fine, ornate calligraphy. Therapeutic Transformations. A momentary fright seized her, an apprehension, but she dismissed it immediately. After all, her mother wore it. Renee wore it. And they were beautiful, simply beautiful, each in their own way.

Her mother had stood behind her, still dressed in her negligee, really just a G-string, her breasts loose beneath a sheer lace top, loosely tied and exposing almost the entirety of the upper body. Wendy was used to such displays by now, although just yesterday her mother had made up a dress code. Apparently it didn’t apply to mornings. Wendy had bitten her tongue.

The contact of Renee’s bare legs on Wendy’s bare leg sent a low charge of excitement through the girl, but she stayed still, enjoying the moment, Renee using an assortment of pads and brushes to cover Wendy’s face, mouth, eyelids, and lashes. Wendy opened her eyes as Renee applied a layer of the familiar pink lipstick, so glossy, so warm, to Wendy’s lips. Wendy had raised her knee a little during the procedure, bringing her foot inward. Renee’s groin brushed against Wendy’s knee from time to time, and Wendy found herself rhythmically moving her knee into Renee. Renee’s movements caused her camisole, already dangerously low on her breasts, to slip down. Wendy caught her breath. Mary tightened her grip on her daughter’s shoulders, as her girlfriend’s right breast came into full view of the both of them.

“Renee.”

Wendy heard her mother’s voice emerge in a dry, raspy, barely audible whisper.

For a moment, the world stood still. Renee’s tit remained perfectly still in front of Wendy’s face, Mary’s vice grip on her daughter’s shoulders dug into her skin, and Wendy held her breath, waiting. Then Renee lifted the strap of her camisole, Mary released her hold on Wendy, and Wendy breathed.

Renee finished applying the lipstick.

“Ta da!” she said.

Wendy admired the effect in her vanity mirror.

“Get dressed,” Renee piped in, “and we’ll do your hair.”

Renee had used a roller brush, blower, and spray to give Wendy’s already lush hair a buoyant, waving body, reminiscent of an earlier decade, her golden hair seeming to fall in a rolling cascade past her shoulders, rather than simply falling, almost neglectfully, from her head.

Maddy looked at her oddly, not disapprovingly, but somehow alarmed, but not unpleased. But she smiled widely at Wendy, happy to see her, and Wendy put it out of her mind, that strange expression, turning to joke with Trina about how Jennifer Simon, but then she looked over the lunch tables in the Octagon. Nikki bore holes in her with her steady focus, and soon Wendy saw all four faces turned in her direction, Nikki, Melani, Julie, and Laura. Sara sat at the group, too, but avoided looking at Wendy, not noticing, or pretending not to notice, her little group staring with unbroken intent upon a common target.

She remembered Friday, not last Friday, but the Friday before that, the day after she returned to school. Someone had tapped Wendy on the shoulder that day. When she turned around, she faced Nikki, Melani, Julie, and Laura.

“We just want you to know that we’re here for you, Wendy. We understand that you’re probably feeling really embarrassed, but you can always talk to us. If you need to be alone, we understand, but please, sit by us if you’d like the company. We’d love to have you around. We think you’re just you’re…

“Wonderful,” Laura finished.

“Yes,” agreed Julie, “Only, we really love Sara. We really don’t want to see her get hurt. We’d do anything to keep that from happening. Friends shouldn’t hurt each other, Wendy. Ever.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Wendy had stammered, “It’s just that. Things just spun out of control. I just need to. I need to.”

“We understand. All the same,” Julie had said. “Well. Don’t be a stranger to us, Wendy. We mean it. We really like having you around.”

But she had ignored them. A week later, and she still had not sat next to them, or said anything to them, really, except a hello in the hall. She’d even shared a class with Melani, and although she caught Melani looking at her several times last week, Wendy hung back, allowing herself only a quick smile in return. So busy with Steve, so preoccupied by the craziness spilling over at home, all that sex, all that debauchery, really. Somehow she thought hanging around Sara would just push her over an edge she didn’t want to admit she’d already tumbled over.

It all seemed so silly now, her reluctance to join Sara’s table. She’d patched things up with Maddy. She’d even become good friends with Trina Zschwinzscher. To the point of approving of her ever-changing hair colors, odd outfits, and 80s music. I mean, it wasn’t all to her taste, but to each her own. Well, she could change that. She needed to change that. After all, Sara’s friends had made the first move. It was up to her now. She stood up.

“Where’re you going?” asked Maddy, interrupted by Wendy’s sudden movement.

“I need to talk to Sara,” she replied. “It won’t take long. It’s just that.”

“Oh, Wendy. I don’t care if you’re friends with Sara and her gang. I’m just glad you’re okay. Take all the time you need.”

Once she got to Sara’s table, she suddenly felt stupid, useless, and intrusive. Why had she even come over? They hadn’t waved at her or anything.

“Wendy!” Laura’s voice chimed like small bells, ringing with delight at new company.

“Hey.”

The girls made room for Wendy, chirping and beaming with happiness to see her after such a long absence. Only Sara remained quiet, looking away at nothing, eyes roaming the tables and faces of the Octagon, alighting on nothing and no one. Wendy pretended not to notice, but inwardly she quailed. Did Sara hate her now? She didn’t know if she could bear it. Not now that she had made this decision, this decision to resume contact with her. With the group.

After the chit-chat and the talk had died down, Julie spoke up.

“So, Wendy, what’s been going on with you? Anything new happen to you?”

Are you kidding, Wendy thought, but she didn’t want to get into any of that. She thought quickly of something to say, and that morning with Brad came to her mind.

“Brad apologized to me this morning. I told him I’d think about it.”

The table exploded in outrage and uproar.

“No,” they all shouted. “You need to teach him a lesson.”

How? asked Wendy. The girls tittered and chirped and offered several suggestions, turning down every suggestion as being impractical, stupid, or illegal.

“You could key his car.”

No, Wendy couldn’t do that. She really couldn’t.

“You could spread rumors he gave you crabs.”

No, that would reflect on her and confirm they’d had sex.

“You could tell everyone what a small dick he has.”

No, for the same reason as above.

The table fell quiet, and Wendy sat as if awaiting a doom long foreseen.

Suddenly Melani spoke up.

“I know,” said.

“What?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll tell you if I like it.”

“Promise to hear me out?”

“I promise to hear you out,” Wendy sighed.

“You could pretend to be gay. You don’t even have to tell anybody. We’ll spread the rumors.”

“Oh, Melani,” Julie interjected. “Knock it off. Be real.”

But Nikki chimed in.

“No, wait, Julie. Wendy, I think that’s a great idea. You don’t have to be gay, just pretend to be a lesbian, is all. Just pretend to like girls.”

“But why?” asked Wendy, confused.

“Well, you could pretend that Brad hurt you so bad, it turned you off men. You could tell everybody that Brad turned you into a lesbian.”

Even Laura thought it was a good idea, joining Melani to egg Wendy on.

“Yeah, Wendy, it’s no big deal. You wouldn’t have to do anything. But it would really mess with Brad’s head. Can you imagine the look on his face when he finds out? He’ll be so sorry, he might even ask you to Homecoming.”

“Oh, Laura,” admonished Julie.

“But if everybody already thinks it was just a prank, why would they think that that would turn me gay?”

“Brad knows it wasn’t a prank, and Brad’s the one you have to pay back.” That last sentence came from Melani, and it made perfect sense, didn’t it?

“But what about my reputation?”

“What reputation?” That one came from Julie, and it stung.

“We’ll have your back, Wendy,” Nikki said soothingly. “And when it’s all over, we’ll let everyone know it was a joke. Just another prank. But no one will mess with you. We promise.”

It seems like a weird idea, thought Wendy, as she pressed her lips, which slipped together in ache of pleasure on her pink gloss. And then she smelled it. She hadn’t smelled that fragrance for ages, she thought, delighting in the scent, the sweet spicy aroma, almost forgetting where she was and what they had been talking about. Cinnamon. Coming from her left, where someone had just pulled a chair out, sat down, and hung an arm around her shoulder.

Sara.

Wendy leaned in closer to her friend, her dear, dear friend, leaning her head against the soft strength of Sara’s right arm, pulling it around her neck and hugging it closer to her with both her hands.

Wendy turned to face her, eyes watering.

“Sara, I’m so.”

Finally Sara spoke.

“Well,” said Sara at last. “If you’re going to do it, you might as well do it right.”

So thankful for Sara’s forgiveness, Wendy agreed, eventually. After a lot of prodding on the part of the whole group, Wendy agreed.

After all, if her own mother was gay, she could at least pretend to be a dyke. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done anything with a woman before.

I mean, Sara could attest to that.

That’s when Sara squeezed her knee.

“Great. Let me take you home after school. I’ve got some ideas we can go over.”

110. Driving Wendy home, stopping at Sara’s house first

Wendy breathed deeply inside Sara’s car, she had forgotten how much she missed riding in her car, the smell of the leather, that cinnamon-scented air freshener, so much like Sara’s perfume, so much like being in a bakery. Her lips tingled, and she felt her center growing moist and warm. God, she missed this car.

Sara leaned over and kissed Wendy on the cheek.

Wendy turned to face her, and Sara’s lips brushed her own. Wendy flinched, but then kept still, waiting for Sara’s next move, not really caring they were still in the parking lot of Kid Lester High School. Not really caring that students milled around the car on the way to their own vehicles, shouting, hooting, running, throwing things at each other.

She had fucked Steve right in front of her own mother.

She had felt her mother’s pussy.

She had made out with her mother’s girlfriend while riding her mother’s ex-boyfriend’s cock.

What did she care about the kids at school, anyway?

She opened her mouth for Sara, and Sara’s tongue entered.

Their kiss lingered, slow, sensual, growing heated, growing hot. Wendy urged her tongue forward, her wet tongue began to frantically wrestle with Sara’s, the contact of Sara’s own pink lipstick on Wendy’s mouth igniting a spark, a fire. Sara’s soft lips, so much softer than Steve’s. So much softer than Brad’s. Sensual, light, urgent, needy, and patient. Sara’s lips moved over Wendy’s lips, and Sara raised an open hand to Wendy’s breasts, caressing her heavy mounds over the fuzzy, white sweater. Sara broke the kiss first.

“You’re so eager to learn. You really want this don’t you? You really want to be a lesbian?”

“Um. It’s just that. It’s just that you get me so bothered. You make me so hot, Sara. I can’t believe how hot you make me.”

“Not just me, you know. From now on all girls have to make you hot. All pretty girls, at least.”

“Um.”

“For you to become a lesbian. After all you promised.”

Sara started the car, backed up, and left the high school behind them.

“Let’s swing by my house. I have some things I want to show you. And give you. To help you become a lesbian.”

“About that. I’m not sure, I mean, I don’t mind. You know, did I tell you? Have you heard about my mom?”

“No, what?”

“Um. She’s one now. A dyke. A lesbian. She turned gay.”

“What?”

“I know, right? That week, the week before last, when that picture got out. I just felt so, I don’t know, wiped out and humiliated, and then Mom just left for a couple of days, four days, I think. And when she came back, she’d turned gay. I mean a real lesbian, with body piercings, a buzz cut and everything. She even has a girlfriend. A girl named Renee. Not much older than me. She’s nice. I like her. A nose ring. She has a freaking nose ring.”

Sara just nodded.

“I see,” she said. “What do you think about all that?”

“I like it. I mean it. I think it suits her. I know it sounds weird, but she seems happier, more open. Relaxed and funny. Although she’s still really serious with me, I can tell she’s not so hung up about things as she used to be. Not so uptight. It’s a huge relief actually. She doesn’t even mind if I’m fucking.”

Wendy suddenly cut herself off. She didn’t know what Sara would think about her and Steve. Somehow she didn’t think she’d like to hear about it.

“What? You’re fucking what, Wendy?”

“Um.”

“Spill.”

Wendy spilled.

Sara of course already knew much of this from Mary herself, who kept Sara up-to-date on all the goings-on in the Love household. To tell the truth, Mary’s adherence to her instructions not to tell Wendy anything about the week before, about her, um, conditioning, took her by surprise. She’d half-expected Mary to blab to her daughter about everything she and the girls made her do, but no. She’d come up with some story, entirely on her own, about her coming out after years of lying to herself. Which might have been true, who knew? Didn’t really matter, because she’d made her gay as hell now. Mary took to pussy like, like a woman possessed.

And she had a distinct craving for her own daughter.

That was a nice touch thought of by Laura.

Who knew the girl had it in her?

Well, she did for one. She’d just known it. Years of training at the Academy had taught her how to use her skills, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter, she was a Craft. And that meant something. Her mother, well, that was a story. But Sara, she had something. Always had. She’d kept it to herself, mostly. The Academy suspected. Oh yes, they suspected, but she was good at hiding. Very good. Good at other things too. Reading. Writing. Or rewriting, that was probably the better word. She could rewrite people. Not all at once of course. No one could do that. No one she’d ever met. Then again, no one she’d ever met could do what she could do.

She could read. Well, not exactly. She could feel, understand, and know. Maybe a little bit of reading minds, maybe she could read minds a little, a lot if she tried, but thoughts were such stupid things. Most of them were so jumbled up, most of them were such utter bullshit, she didn’t even bother. But feeling? That was something. Feelings were harder to lie about. But everybody had more than one feeling. Everybody was a mixed bag. So she just helped them along. Got them to see themselves in a better light, so to speak.

And if that light meant making them lick pussy, well. That was just fine by her.

Boys were harder for her for some reason.

Not really a problem. They could be avoided, worked around, ignored. Dealt with in other ways. As long she could feel girls, that’s what counted. And she could. She could feel them easily.

They were so incredible. So complicated and easy at the same time. Such delicious emotions. So easy to manipulate. Well, not manipulate, really. So easy to help them see themselves. To help them see themselves as the beautiful lesbians they are, so tasty, so good. She helped women. She liked to help women. It just made her feel so. So. It made her feel. That was the important thing.

Girls like Wendy.

God, she could feel it coming from her like heat from asphalt on a hot summer day.

That day Melani pointed her out. Melani shared an art class with Wendy and absolutely gushed about her for a week. The piqued her interest. Those restroom trips in the morning, just putting on that pink lipstick, that Pink Sunshine Spice her mother’s company had developed. God that was so hot. Knowing Wendy couldn’t help but stare, couldn’t help but look, couldn’t take her eyes off her if she’d wanted to.

And Sara wasn’t sure she’d wanted to.

“Whatever happened to your boyfriend, Sara?”

“Hm?” Wendy’s question broke her train of thought.

“When we started to, you know, when we started to mess around, you talked about your boyfriend being gone. You kept saying how lonely that made you.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah, we’re not together anymore. He’s um. He’s from out of town. He was, like, you know. Just a fling. No big deal.”

She turned to Wendy and smiled mischievously.

“Besides, I need to take care of you now. Now that you’re going to be a dyke.”

“Uh. About that. I’ve been thinking about it. It’s just that. Well, for one thing. You know. It’s not like I haven’t fun with you. And god I love kissing you, I mean, I don’t want to deny that. It’s just that. You know. I’m not sure I want everybody thinking I’m a lesbian when I’m not. I definitely like boys. Men. Steve. God, Sara, he’s just so incredible. That dick of his. It’s just so.”

Sara listened and believed her.

That, too, emanated from her. A genuine lust for men, for male bodies and masculine attention. She needed that, wanted that, Sara could tell. It just sizzled off her. The way she shook her ass and stuck out her tits, tossed back her head and smiled at passing boys, how she swayed her hips whenever she noticed some gawky sophomore, some twerpy freshman, lingering behind her, tongue practically hanging out of their mouths.

Not that she could blame them.

God, that ass.

All that makeup she’d started wearing. Not the special kind she given Mary. Not the special kind she’d given Wendy. Not Therapeutic Transformations, but still. But today, she’d worn it. That glossy hot pink. Sara knew then that Wendy was trapped. Hooked. Renee and Mary had done their jobs well.

Any resistance she came up with now was just so much white noise.

She’d see to that. No more games.

Well, almost no more games. Wendy just made it so much fun.

“All the girls came up with it, Wendy. You agreed it was a good plan. You know it will hurt Brad and make him ashamed of himself. You were at lunch. You agreed.”

“Okay,” Wendy sighed, unconvinced. “Whatever. I’ll pretend to be gay. I’ll pretend to be a lesbian.”

“Wendy, when you were little, did you pretend to be anybody? I mean, did you pretend to be a princess, or a doctor, or a pony, or a horse or anything?”

“Well, sometimes I’d pretend to be a cat. I mean, I went a long time pretending to be my own pet cat.”

God, Wendy. I’ve just never, Sara thought to herself.

“And when you were pretending to be your own pet cat, did you say you were pretending to be your own pet cat, or did you say you were your own pet cat?”

“Well. Mostly I just meowed.”

Stop it.

“But if anyone didn’t understand your meows, what would you say?’

“I’d tell them I was my own pet cat.”

“I see. Did you ever pretend to be something else?”

“Hm hm. Once my mom brought home a Swan Lake video, and afterward, I pretended to be a ballerina. I mean, I twirled around the house in a pillow case trying to be the White Swan.”

“And when you pretended to be the ballerina, did anybody ask what you were doing?”

“Yeah. My dad did.”

“And what did you tell him? Did you say I’m pretending to be the White Swan, or did you say, I’m the White Swan daddy?”

“I said I’m the White Swan.”

“So when you pretend to be a lesbian, do you say I’m pretending to be a lesbian, or do you say I’m a lesbian?”

Pause. The sound of the car engine hummed across the dashboard into the interior.

“I say I’m a lesbian,” Wendy said with quiet resignation.

“Good. Then say it.”

“I’m a lesbian.”

Wendy didn’t sound convincing, but it was a start, Sara thought.

“But how long do I have to be a lesbian?” Wendy asked.

“How long to you get to be a lesbian, you mean. Let’s see. How ’bout we just give it a month, Wendy. If you don’t want to be a lesbian after a month, just tell us. And we’ll stop. You can stop being a lesbian after a month.”

“After a month? I guess I can do that.”

“Then you agree? You’ll be a lesbian for a whole month?”

“Fine. Yes. Whatever.”

“Starting now?”

“Yes. Starting now.”

“Then say it, Wendy. Say what you’re going to be. Say what you agreed to be just now. Say it with conviction.”

Another pause.

“A lesbian. I’m a lesbian.”

That time it sounded a little more genuine. Sara could live with it.

“You know what you can do? Do you have a wall calendar?”

“Yeah.”

“When you get home, write down ‘Lesbo Day’ on every day that you’ll be a lesbian. That way you can keep track of how many days you’ve been gay.”

“But it’s in the kitchen! My mom will see it!”

“She’s going to have to find out some time. You’re going to have to come out to your mother, Wendy. She came out to you.”

“I, I, I can’t do that!”

“Well, don’t say anything unless she asks why you’re writing lesbo day down on the calendar. But you have to tell her the truth. You have to tell her you’re a lesbian. Just like you told her you were your own pet cat. I’ll bring some videos to school tomorrow for you to watch when you get home. And some magazines. They’ll help you be a lesbian.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome, Wendy.”

The Mercedes pulled into the driveway, and Sara eased into the opening garage door. She put the car in park, turned off the ignition, popped something into her mouth, and leaned into Wendy’s ear, brushing her lobes with her pink lips.

“I hope you’re ready for this,” she whispered.

“Ready for what?” Wendy asked.

“Kiss me,” Sara stated. “Open your mouth.”

Wendy opened her mouth and leaned into Sara.

It felt so good to do what Sara told her. It brought back memories of that first week with her.

Sara tongue slipped the red capsule into Wendy’s surprised mouth.

“Swallow it.”

Wendy swallowed it.

“Kiss me some more, and put your hands on my breasts. Feel how soft and warm they are.”

Sara brought Wendy’s hands to her chest, and Wendy ran them over Sara’s full breasts, exploring the feeling of her breasts under the fabric of Sara’s shirt and bra. Sara brought her lips to Wendy’s. Their tongues played with each other, their lips pressed together, and Wendy murmured a rising desire into Sara’s mouth. Sara pressed her hands against Wendy’s breasts, then she lowered her hands, slipped them below the hem of her white sweater and shirt, gliding the flat of her palms over the soft skin of Wendy’s torso, upwards to reach the globes of her breasts, holding her hands over the sides of her cups, gently cupping and squeezing Wendy.

Sara broke the kiss.

“Let’s take this into the house. I’ve got some refreshments for you. Those smoothies you love so much.”

Wendy and Sara got out of the car.

Wendy almost made it the door to the house when Sara stopped.

“Wendy. I don’t think you should wear pants in my house. I really think you’d look much better in just your panties. Don’t you think so? Here. Let me take them off you. I love your heels, by the way. So sexy.”

Wendy stood still while Sara knelt to unstrap her black heels, pulled them carefully from her feet, caressing and stroking each foot in turn. God, there wasn’t an inch on this gorgeous creature that wasn’t simply delicious. Sara stood up.

“Turn around and lean and put your hands against the wall.”

Wendy did as instructed.

Sara reached around Wendy to undo her thin black belt and unbutton the fly of her jeans. She tugged the waist of her jeans slowly across the curving slopes of her hips, trailing her fingers along Wendy’s skin, feeling the warmth and softness of Wendy’s flesh. She let Wendy wear her pink thong underwear for the moment.

“Stay still, but stick your ass out a little more. Yeah. Like that. Good girl.”

Facing Wendy, she wrapped her left arm low over her stomach, just above her hips and moved the palm of her right hand over the cheeks of Wendy’s ass. Wendy shivered and trembled.

“Be still.”

Sara slipped her hand between the crack of Wendy’s ass, running her fingers over and then under the narrow band of panties, feeling the rosebud of Wendy’s anus.

“You’re going to love it when I fuck you in the ass tonight, Wendy girl.”

Wendy groaned, unable to really decipher what was being said or done to her. The chemicals in the red capsule acted swiftly on her system, and her blood began to boil with lust and pleasure, her mind ached for more touching, more pleasure, but Sara moved slow, so slow.

Sara touched the center of Wendy’s asshole with the tip of her middle finger.

“Relax and push your asshole out a little, like you’re going to go. But don’t go!”

Wendy tightened, then relaxed her sphincter, allowing Sara’s finger to penetrate her.

“See? You love being fucked by a woman. You don’t even care which hole she fucks or what she uses, do you? Just as long as a girl is fucking you, doesn’t matter who, how, or where, does it?”

Wendy squirmed and shook her head.

No. It didn’t matter. She just needed a fucking. A good, solid fucking. Steve knew that about her.

“But Steve won’t be fucking you anymore will he? I mean, not after you tell him you’re gay. Not after you realize you prefer women. No, need women. Want women. God, women make you so hot, don’t they, Wendy?”

Sara inched her finger deeper into Wendy’s ass, leaning into Wendy’s ear and whispering statement after statement after statement. All true. All factual.

“God, pussy makes you so wet. You can’t get enough pussy, can you? You’re just a dyke slut like your mother aren’t you? God, you want to fuck Renee right in front of your mother, don’t you? Renee makes you so hot, so wet.”

Wendy nodded. It was true, so true. God Renee made her wet. Her pussy was enflamed now, swollen with heat, wet with her secretions, her juices began to trickle from her pussy until it became almost a steady stream of hot pussy juices, running down her thighs.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight, Wendy. I was going to wait. I really was. I was going to make you beg for it. I was going to make you fuck every girl in school. I was going to make you fuck all the fat, middle-aged teachers at school. I And I might still. I might do that, Wendy, I was going to make you so hot for me you couldn’t stand it, you’d fuck anything just to be with me, but I can’t wait. I’ve got to have you. I’m going to have you in ways you can’t even imagine. I can’t hold back anymore. You got me bad girl. I don’t know how, but you’ve got me bad.”

Wendy groaned.

“I don’t need the makeup, you know. I don’t need the smoothies, or the pills, or the lipstick, or the cinnamon perfume. I can just do it all on my own, you know. I can make you crawl over broken glass to lick my pussy, but I’d never hurt a hair on hear pretty head or let so much as a scratch damage your lovely, lovely skin. You got me bad girl. I’m losing my mind.”

Sara’s middle finger went deeper, second knuckle deep, and Sara pressed her index finger into Wendy’s hole.

“Your asshole, your pussy, your mouth. I’m going to fuck every hole you have. And you’re going to fuck me, Wendy. You’re going to fuck me tonight. I can’t wait. God, I can’t wait. You’re going to lick my pussy as if your life depended on it. You’re going to lick my pussy, and then you’re going to want to lick as much pussy as you can get your mouth on, Wendy. All you’re ever going to want after tonight is pussy. I was going to wait. I promise, Wendy, I was going to wait. But I can’t. You won’t need a month or a week to become a lesbian, because after tonight, baby, you’re going to biggest dyke slut the world has ever seen.”

Sara was talking crazy, and she knew it. She didn’t know where all these words were coming from, and she didn’t care. She just needed Wendy’s pussy. She needed Wendy’s pussy so bad she wanted to cry. She had cried, in fact. She’d spent a week crying, and no one had ever made her cry like that. No one. Not Sara Craft. Sara Craft did not cry. Not a fucking tear. But Wendy made her cry, and she was going to punish her for it. Oh, she was going to punish her so sweetly for it.

“I did it to them, Wendy. Laura, Nikki, Melani, Julie. I made them all my personal sluts, my own pet lesbians. I have another secret, Wendy. Do you want to hear it?”

Wendy nodded.

Sara’s index finger went deeper into Wendy’s asshole, working the girl’s ass with the middle finger, stretching the ring of her ass as both fingers plunged knuckle deep harder and harder and harder. Wendy push her ass harder against Sara’s hand. Sara shifted directly behind Wendy, lowering her left hand until it covered Wendy’s groin. She shoved Wendy’s panties aside with her hand and began stroking Wendy’s soaked, engorged lips with her two fingers, matching the rhythm of the fingers in Wendy’s asshole. Wendy was so hot and slippery, her blond fur matted and soaked with secretions, with vaginal fluids, with the juice from her love box, her pussy.

“I’ll tell you soon. I’m going to make you fuck Maddy, Wendy. Would you like that? Wouldn’t you just love to taste your best friend’s pussy? Wouldn’t that be the best thing in the world. I’m going to turn her gay, too, Wendy. I’m going to make her into a lesbian, a nice goth lesbian. It won’t take much. She wants something new so desperately. And Trina. She’s going to be your first girlfriend, Wendy. You’re going to date her. This weekend. Friday night, I’m going to chaperone you both, and you’re going to take her on a proper date. A movie, maybe? Dinner? And lots of making out, oh god, Wendy, your lips are going to be so sore from making out with Trina.

“I won’t have to change her, Wendy. I won’t have to change her. Can’t you tell how much she wants you? She’s so gay, so lesbian. She dotes on you and Maddy, but she pines for you. But I am going to change her. She’s so modest. She’s so shy. But she won’t be for long, not Trina. Not Maddy. God, they’re going to be such sluts, such lesbo sluts. Your pussy’s so hot. Your cunt is so wet, so steamy, so hot, it’s burning my hand.

“I want you to come before you go inside. I want you to come with my hand up your ass.”

Sara put a third finger in Wendy’s asshole, stretching Wendy’s sphincter ring like a rubber band.

“You like that, don’t you girl? You like that a lot. You can’t get enough of something up your ass, can you? You’re just like your mother. She’s loves to be fucked up the ass.”

Wendy jerked up and turned her head to face Sara.

“Shh. Turn back around. You like to hear that, don’t you? You like to hear about your mother getting fucked up the ass. You like to listen to Renee fuck your mother every night, don’t you? It makes sex so much better, doesn’t it, listening to your own mother groaning in lesbian heat? Shrieking from Renee’s tongue on her hot pussy. God it drives you crazy to listen to all that, doesn’t it? God, it makes you want pussy, doesn’t it? Renee’s pussy. My pussy. Trina’s pussy. Maddy’s pussy. The girls in our group, their pussies. Your mother’s pussy.”

Wendy jerked up again, shaking her head.

“Easy, girl. I was going to take this so slow. I really was. I was going to go so slow with you. You wouldn’t have even known it was happening, a few casual glances and touches from your mom, maybe a shopping spree or two together, dinner at a restaurant, sharing a bottle of wine together, sipping wine from your mother’s glass ’cause you’re too young, but I can’t wait, Wendy. I just can’t wait.

“I made her gay, you know. That was me. Well, the girls too. They helped a lot. They took such good care of your mother, Laura, Nikki, Julie, and Melani did. They took such lovely turns fucking her ass, fucking her pussy, fucking her mouth, making her clean their dirty dildos with her mouth, and she loved it, Wendy. She loved every minute of it.

“I did something else. You want to hear?”

Wendy nodded between sobs of delirium and ecstasy.

“I made her want to fuck you. God, she wants you so badly now. Can’t you tell? I made your own mother want your pussy more than anything in the world. She thinks about your body night and day. I can’t believe she hasn’t made a move on you yet. You make her so hot.”

A low moan, deep and earthly, escaped Wendy’s lips.

“I could have made you fuck each other. I could have made you both go skinny dipping, right here, in my pool, both of you watching the glistening water cascade down your hot, feminine bodies, shyly avoiding each other’s glances but not able to fight against the growing arousal, the rising need, the absolute need to touch each other, to kiss each other, to taste each other in the most intimate way possible, your bodies practically becoming one.”

Sara rubbed Wendy harder, faster, the girl trembled in her grip, her knees shook, threatening to collapse but Sara held her up, wrapping a leg between her two legs, thrusting her own denim clad pussy against the back of Wendy’s thigh. She leaned again into her ear, kissing and nibbling her lobe, licking and sucking on her lobe, the hair behind her ear, the bare skin of her neck.

“God you want it so bad, don’t you? Renee between your thighs, licking your hot cunt, your mother straddling your face, ramming her pussy into your mouth. You couldn’t get enough of that could you?”

A strange cry, the wail of a tormented animal, began to rise from the depths of Wendy’s person. At once guttural and high-pitched, it built up like steam in a tea kettle until it whistled out of her mouth, a shriek, a scream, a cry of agony and pleasure.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, just fuck me Sara, just fuck me harder. I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Wendy exploded in an orgasm of fire and fluid, her pussy exploded like a volcano, spraying her secretions in shock wave of hot release over Sara’s hands, flooding the cement floor of the garage.

She spun around, causing the hand in her ass to slip out, but Sara clung to Wendy’s pussy. Wendy devoured Sara’s mouth with her own, her tongue, her lips, her mouth a feverish hunger for the woman who said such things to her.

Finally she pulled away.

“You’re not going to fuck me, Sara. You’re not going to fuck me. Because I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked in this life. You get your goddam jeans off right now.”

Wendy was already tearing at Sara’s shirt.

Sara recoiled in astonished awe at the sudden vision before her.

111. Brief vision of Wendy’s Warp ’Gasm

For it was no longer Wendy who stood before her, but another thing entirely, a Wendy altered, strangely and marvelously transformed. She seemed to have grown in height and stature, a looming luminescence, titan-like. Her hair swirled above her head, glowing terribly, a golden storm-cloud charged with pink lightning. Her eyes flashed blue and bright as gleaming steel, ringed in a pink fire, large and fierce, her lips swelled to monstrous proportions, full, lustrous, wet like dripping cunts, pink beyond the gauge of mortal vision. Clad only in a sheer babydoll, her breasts bulged forward, nipples hard and extended, bullet-like, dark areolas capping her peaks like a dark snow atop the mountains of her breasts.

Sara looked down and trembled.

A golden fire raged in the midst of Wendy’s groin, glowing hot as coals, but golden yellow in its fierceness, as bright as a thousand suns, a waving and flowing flame of desire and passion, charged, like the storm-cloud of her head, with a pink and flashing lightning. Sara closed her eyes against the brightness of the fire and backed away, shrinking away from the terrible beauty towering over her. For a moment the entire garage overflowed with the power of her beauty, the brightness of Wendy’s being. And then it passed. The moment passed, and Wendy became Wendy again, reduced, diminished, a simple teenager among other teenagers, a girl making out with her friend in her friend’s garage.

But she saw the look of fear on Sara’s face.

“Sara? What’s wrong? What is it?”

For several long seconds, Sara said nothing. Tears welled in her eyes, and her lips trembled and shook, on the verge of weeping. At last Sara spoke.

“I, I, I saw you, Wendy. I saw you. You.”

Wendy bit her lip, waiting for clarification.

“My god. It was so wonderful. You, you’re so wonderful.”

Then Sara unbuttoned her jeans, pushed them to her feet, and stepped out of them, struggling to pull off her shoes before she did so. Then she stood in front of Wendy, nude from the waist down, except for a pair of tiny blue satin panties.

After all, Wendy told her to strip them off.

Wendy embraced Sara tightly, cupping her ass in her palms and leaning forward for another long and passionate kiss, Wendy’s hands running up and down Sara’s back and lingering on the fleshy globes, the soft curves and contours of her ass, roaming her hands over and over Sara’s behind.

“Let’s go inside now,” Sara said after the kiss ended.

Sara too was Sara again. The image of Wendy in splendor didn’t fade, nor did the vision lose any of its awe. But Sara was a child of the moment, she lived in the moment, thrived in it, and the past, however recent, remained for her already and irrecoverably gone, unalterable, distant, powerless. Sara lived in the moment, and each moment she lived, she lived as Sara: commanding and in charge.

“Come on,” she said, pulling Wendy’s arm. “There’s so much for us to do.”

112. What happened to Mary

The giant dildo kept ramming her ass, splitting her asshole with its huge girth while Mary intermittently howled and resumed pleasuring the pussy in front of her with her mouth, one moment lovingly sucking on the woman’s pussy with her open mouth, the next raising her head to yell and scream ecstatic profanities.

“Oh god yeah, fuck me. Fuck me harder. Fuck that ass.”

The woman behind reached down, slipped her hand between Mary’s legs and rubbed the mother’s hard and throbbing pierced clit.

“You like that baby, don’t you? Are you going to come for me, whore? Are you? Are you going to come for your baby girl, you fucking lesbo slut?”

Mary howled an orgasm in response, plunged her face into the other woman’s open snatch, gluing her lips to the woman’s vagina as the woman in front of her, lying on her back on the studio sofa, legs spread, Mary kneeling at the edge, on the floor, her ass open to the short-haired brunet behind her, ramming the large strap-on into her shit hole, began to shake with a climax of her own, spraying her juices over Mary’s face as Mary tried swallowing and sucking down as much of the woman’s fluids as she could.

The woman behind her pulled her fake cock out from Mary’s ass, and the three women, their passion and lust extinguished, satisfied, fell to the carpeted floor, where they caressed, smiled, laughed and kissed each other slowly and softly, reveling in the afterglow of their orgasm.

“Cut.”

Sheila, the director, was pleased with the work so far, but the day was long and tiring, and she just wanted to go home.

“Let’s wrap it up for the day, people.”

A half an hour later, Mary sat in her dressing room, staring at herself in the mirror with a mixture of disbelief and pride.

Her first movie. She was half-way through her first movie, and she had never even imagined herself as an actress before last week, before Sara had so altered her life.

Wiping her makeup off with moist toilettes until her face emerged clear, fresh, plain, and radiant.

Was it her imagination, or had those lines, so noticeable only a few days ago, begun to disappear, to fade, to actually vanish, leaving only a few stray wrinkles, a few stray crow’s feet, to remind her that her youth had passed.

Sara had hinted that something as much might happen when she gave her that pink skin cleanser.

“It works wonders,” she had said then. “You’ll see. It really will change you. I mean,” she’d added, grinning wickedly at Wendy’s mother, “even more than we already have changed you.”

Mary, bound, gagged and pierced at the time, couldn’t respond with clear words. But Sara took her muffled screams of orgasm as an acknowledgment.

“Good girl.”

Sara rubbed the exposed labia of the bound woman, clad in black latex from head to foot, with zippered opening open only at her tits, groin, and mouth. A long dildo at the end of a metal rod attached to an electric motor kept its constant pumping in and out of Mary Love’s cunt, by now a red, swollen, ragged mess of juice, lotion, and sweat. The machine had been going for hours. Mary had been hanging on that X the whole time.

That had been on Friday. That morning the girls had locked her in a small cage, a dog crate, her hands, knees, and ankles chained to the floor. Her neck had been bound to the top of the crate by a dog collar around her neck locked to the crate, preventing her from lowering her head. Hands kept apart from hands, and ankles kept apart from ankles by a steel bar apiece. They had also bound her waist to the top of the crate by a wide belt encircling her waist just above her hips. She had been nude, fully nude then, and the girls had stuck a vibrator in her dripping and ravaged cunt, a wired vibrator plugged into a socket, turned it on, and left to go to school.

Between the red capsules and the pink smoothies they had plied her with that morning, and the non-stop ministrations of the machine, she had come, over and over again, until each orgasm was a torment of unbearable pleasure. She screamed and begged for release, but no one heard her, and no one came to release her. Unable to collapse or move, she had finally fallen into a kind of torpor, moaning almost unconsciously as the vibrator relentlessly drove her to one climax after another.

At lunch they had come back, released her from the crate. It felt good to stretch her legs, but they soon clothed her in latex, bound her to the X, and put the dildo machine under her, between her spread legs, positioning it inside her pussy. Then they turned it on.

Making sure everything worked safely and correctly, they kissed her exposed mouth, pinched her swollen nipples, gave her two more red capsules, and gagged her. Then they returned to school.

When they came back they found a bound Mary, crying into her ball gag, her hips thrusting against the unstopping machine. A small puddle of vaginal fluids pooled on the floor and on the machine beneath her dripping pussy.

“Somebody had a good day,” Julie quipped.

Mary’s mind went back to that first night, when Sara called the girls over.

They plied her continually with aphrodisiacs and smoothies. They took turns fucking her ass with an enormous dildo, not less than twelve inches and almost as thick in girth as a baseball bat. They weren’t kind about it, either, but they did lube her up. Using some kind of pink lotion that swelled her asshole, sending it into a haze of erotic sensitivity. They’d put that lotion on her mouth and on her pussy too. Until all she could think about was having someone fuck her in every hole she had, she didn’t care which, all three of them at the same time. And they did. They did.

One after another, each girl took turns ramming her ass, plunging that giant dildo into her ass all the way to the end. And Mary had screamed, but whether from pain or from euphoria she could not tell. They fucked her with another dildo, another strap-on, forcing Mary to kneel over one girl, her pussy impaled on the fake cock at the girl’s hips, while another stood behind her, pumping the other cock into her ass. Another girl knelt in front of her, jamming another long and wide hand held cock into her mouth, deep throating her with it, choking her, gagging her, until she’d almost gotten used to the thing poking and rubbing the back of her throat raw.

The movies they made her watch that night, one lesbian orgy after another, one image after another of beautiful, overheated women, nude or nearly nude, fucking, caressing, stroking, kissing, licking, over and over and over again. The cries, moans, murmurs, groans, and howls of pleasure they made. And that sound, that music. She swore it had changed her brain. She’d swear that it put thoughts into her head. And not thoughts. Thoughts could be changed. Thoughts could be discarded. This sound, this music, changed her, changed the way she saw things. Changed the way she saw women. God women were so hot now, their curves, their smiles, their lips, their voices, the way they moved, danced, talked, laughed, kissed, touched, their fingers, their legs, their feet, their asses. Everything. Changed the way she felt.

And Wendy. Those images of Wendy. God, they had made her want to fuck her daughter. Oh, she’d tried to resist. She really did. But she wanted it. She wanted it so bad. Wendy’s creamy pussy. Wendy’s full and beautiful breasts, her lovely smile, her hair, her golden blond hair, the way it just wave, whirled and tossed around her head, her gorgeous head, that nose. Those lips. Her eyes. My god, she realized at the end of it. I’m in love with my daughter.

And Renee.

I’m in love with her too.

I’m in love with women.

That video of Wendy and Sara, of Sara just pumping that dildo in and out of Wendy’s splayed legs, Wendy, dressed only in a see-through babydoll, lips smeared with that wonderful, gorgeous, amazing pink lipstick.

All night Wednesday night, all day Thursday and Thursday, skipping school to derange her, to drug her, to force video upon video upon video on her, those red capsules, those pink smoothies, until she shook and quivered from climax after climax, driving her pussy backward against whoever stood behind her fucking her. Kissing and licking and biting whatever pussy was put in front of her. Watching women give oral sex to other women and then repeating the same acts on the girls, on all the girls, all under the direction of Sara, who wouldn’t stop talking.

And everything Sara said, she believed. It became true.

“You’re such a hot dyke whore, aren’t you Mary?”

Mary whimpered her agreement. She was. She was a hot dyke whore.

“You wish Wendy could see you right now, don’t you?”

God, she wished Wendy were here.

“You like nothing better than to parade around your daughter half-naked, don’t you? No bra, no panties. Even nude, fully nude. God, you want her to look at you, don’t you?”

And she did. She wanted Wendy to look at her. To see how sexy she was.

“You’re such a fucking bad mother.”

Tears rolled down Mary’s face. Yes. Such a bad mother.

“But that means you can do bad things, doesn’t it?”

Mary smiled at that thought. Yes. Bad things. Very bad things.

Friday night it continued.

They’d let her down for a while. Walked her around the second floor, let her stretch her legs, rub her neck.

Then they put her back on the rack, on the X, shoved that monster dildo machine back in her, crammed her full of drugs and aphrodisiacs, and turned on lesbian incest porn on the giant flat screen. A constant stream of mothers and daughters having sex played out in front of her, accompanied by that horrible sound, that wonderful music that changed her, she just knew it, because she hadn’t always wanted to fuck her own daughter, had she? I mean, had she?

Then Sara brought out those pincers and needles, and before she could even register what was a happening, a ring had gone through her nose, a stud in her tongue, each nipple was pierced, her navel, her clit, and both sides of her pussy. God the pain was something awful. She howled then, all right. And the girls just laughed at her.

“But you’ll look so pretty now, Mrs. Love,” they said. “You’ll look like such a hot little lesbian mother.”

Sara pierced a line of studs on each lobe.

Then she opened a small, shallow jar, and, scooping a glob of a glimmering pink cream, she rubbed her nipples, her pussy, her nose, and her ears with the substance. Immediately the pain subsided, replaced by a prolonged and electric tingling that lasted the entire night.

“I’ll put some on your tongue, too. But it probably won’t do as much good. Try not to lick it off. Try to let it set, if you can, baby. You’ll see, girl. This works wonders. It really helps with the healing process.”

Sara spoke kindly, gently, soothingly. She scooped another glob of the pink cream and spread it over the stud in her tongue, making sure the holes on both sides of her tongue were covered with it.

Then they left her like that to go to their little football game. They were cheerleaders, after all.

The next day, in the morning, Sara cut her hair off, dyeing what remained a pale, almost white, platinum blond.

“It’s time to go home now, love. You look so hot, I can hardly bear to let you leave. Let’s get you made up and dressed, and then you can go home to Wendy. I’ll bet she’ll love the new you.”

Sara drove Mary to her car, still parked in the parking lot of Adamatic Paper. Sara made her call that Thursday to quit work, and Mary half-expected to discover that her car had been towed. But it remained in the parking lot, a lone vehicle that Saturday morning.

The following week had been the hardest week of Mary’s life. Just being in the same house as Wendy, not being able to touch her, not being able to hold her like a lover, to kiss her like a lover, to fuck her like lover, sent a miserable thrill of unrequited desire through her nerves. Renee understood, bless her heart, and she helped out as much as possible, encouraging her to show her body off. Still, parading around Wendy half-nude kept her in a constant state of derangement, of barely repressible urges. She was wet all the time now. And the way Wendy dressed. God. And all that fucking they did now, she and Steve. Surely she should have put an end to it? Surely she should have said something?

Mary grew to endure the tension. The change that had taken place within her, deep and fundamental as it was, could not dislodge one thing at least. As bad as a mother as she was, she would never, absolutely never, make a move on her daughter. No matter how much it killed her not to.

Then Saturday happened, and Mary hated herself.

She tried to tell herself it was Renee’s fault. Or that Wendy had made the first move by touching her, her mother, on the one place a daughter probably should not touch her mother.

But she knew otherwise.

She knew she had fucked Wendy’s hand and had fucked it hard.

She knew she had said those terrible things to her.

Did she really think that? Did she really think that Wendy was a whore?

No!

But it had felt so good to say it. So good. So hot. Such a whore. Such a whore-face. My whore daughter.

Renee talked her through her depression. All that Saturday, Wendy had gone of god only knew where, but Renee stayed, just soothed her with a constant stream of encouragement, of telling her not to get so upset, not judge herself, it’s okay honey, she kept saying over and over. She liked it. She loved it. She loves you. You, Mary. Your daughter loves you. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.

All day long.

Talking’s not all they’d done. God, she was always horny now. She couldn’t get enough of Renee. Couldn’t get enough pussy when you thought about it. Get enough of Renee just ramming her cunt and asshole with that strap-on of hers, just plowing into her from behind. For hours it seemed, talking to her, encouraging her, giving her instructions.

And this morning, god. She’d almost broken down. The way Renee’s breast just slipped out, right there in front of Wendy. She thought the girl was going to grab it in her mouth she had looked at it so hungrily. She knew about Wendy. She knew Wendy bent that way. She’d seen that video of her and Sara.

So Wendy liked girls, eh?

Mary had dressed by this time, a short brown leather skirt, sleeveless T-shirt, denim jacket. But she sat down again in front of her mirror, spread her legs so she could see her own cunt, and slipped two fingers inside her by now wet folds. She had time to rub one out before she left, a quick one thinking about Wendy, her precious little girl Wendy.

When Mary got home, she logged into her lesbian chat room, her webcam modeling site for dykes, exclusively women, presumably lesbian women. She adjusted the camera, poured lubrication over her dildo, spread her legs wide, and gave her audience a good show. The tips came pouring in.

That night Renee and she engaged in a heated, rough, and vigorous fuck session using Wendy’s double-headed dildo. They’d put it back when they were done. They might even clean it.

“Soon,” Renee cooed into Mary’s ear. “Soon. We’ll get her. You’ll see. Just a little longer now.”

113. Wendy and Sara on sofa, watching lesbian porn

Wendy and Sara sat on the sofa in Sara’s entertainment room. Wendy had immediately noticed the huge screen opposite the sofa. A few weeks ago, when she had first spent the night, the flat screen, though huge, did not cover the entire wall. This one did. Two large empty plastic cups of the pink smoothies stood on the coffee table in front of the sofa, one cup tumbled on its side, spilling a tiny remnant of the contents onto the top of the polished wood. The wall adjacent, an exterior wall made mostly of glass and luminium framing, featured a mirrored tint, reflecting the unclothed and well-developed bodies of the two adolescent girls.

Sara had forced two more red capsules into Wendy’s mouth, and the teenager, dazed and horny now beyond any ability to control herself, beyond any thought of inhibition, not caring what she did or why, openly sat on the couch, entirely nude, legs spread as she ran her fingers through the lips of her blond and swollen pussy, gliding her fingers into her center with ease between the folds of her hot, her scalding hot, snatch. Sara sat beside her, and Wendy turned her head from the lesbian erotica playing on the screen in front of her to renew a vigorous kiss with her companion.

Sara, too, sat with her legs spreads, her right leg hooked over Wendy’s left leg, her hand caressing her own pussy slowly, deliberately, with less urgency than Wendy. Her lips touched Wendy’s lips, delighting in the contact of Wendy’s soft, full lips, Wendy’s tongue, wide and long, darting her own tongue into Wendy’s mouth, her wet warm mouth, passionate and needy. A soft murmur of excitement, of rising sexual intensity, trebled from her throat, and her mouth covered Wendy’s mouth, then she broke the kiss to lick along Wendy’s cheek, pressing her lips against her skin at times, to nuzzle the corner of Wendy’s ear, where she nibbled her lobe and whispered, “you make me so hot for you, Wendy. Feel me. Feel how wet I am.”

114. Subliminals alter Wendy’s consciousness

But Wendy stared at the images on the screen, on whose giant flat surface three women, long hair styled in a swirl around their heads, heavily made up in dark mascara, glittering eyeshadow, and red lipstick, clad only in the skimpiest of lacy lingerie, sat on white plushy sofa, softly touching each other, open mouths kissing open mouth, wet tongues extended, breasts touching breasts, hands groping leg, thigh, ass, face, legs spread, bare pussies displayed.

A panorama of luscious, Sapphic eroticism, of wanton femininity turned in on itself, folding in on itself in rich feminine layers, multiplying, reverberating, and resonating in female heat, a lesbian joy of woman without end or measure.

Wendy watched in fixed amazement as one of the woman, a blonde in pink lacy panties, knelt in front of the spread legs of a red head, holding the lips of her pussy open and spread with two fingers, waiting for the blonde’s mouth to touch her shaven, dark, and trembling snatch.

And the video continued, the women’s behavior grew hotter, more active, less gentle, full of need, filled with a furious and reckless need. Three more women entered from out of nowhere, coming in from somewhere offscreen, Wendy couldn’t tell, barely dressed and soon not dressed at all, until all was bare skin, revealed body, spread limb and mouth on mouth, mouth on cunt, finger in ass, pussy, and mouth.

Then she heard it, or thought she heard it, blending in and out of the continuous moans, groans, sighs, murmurs, squeals, and shrieks surrounding her on all sides, a low, rhythmic cadence intruding in her mind like words without form or sound, heavy with intent, portent, and meaning. Sparks and sparkles flew past her mind, her consciousness, whipping by her as she tried to snatch a meaning, a sense. Lesbian whore, dyke slut, you need pussy wailed by her head, dried leaves of words driven by demented winds, ghosts from an enchanter fleeing. She managed to snatch a few, a child playing in an autumn gust, catching a few wild leaves as they flew by.

Wendy moved a hand to touch Sara, moved a hand to caress Sara’s breast.

“That’s good, Wendy. That’s so sweet. You’re so sweet, Wendy. So caring. So giving. So hot.”

Wendy’s hand quickened its pace, she felt and squeezed Sara’s tit, a good flesh, with increasing desperation, aching for more, her fingers rubbing Sara’s nipple to a rock, her palm sliding over and over the wonderfully soft globe, desperate and yearning for female flesh, the contact of a woman, sizzling. Sara burned bright in her lust-addled mind, Sara and all the ways she had fucked herself listening to her over the phone. Sara, who had fucked her silly in her bed, who had watched in wonder as she squirted her orgasm all over her passenger seat, Sara, who had listened in mute wonder as Wendy told her about the woman at the bookstore. The woman at the bookstore.

She was a lesbian. At the very least she loved both male and female. Wendy understood it now. A teenaged lesbian who sometimes fucked men. A new wave of sexual euphoria rolled over Wendy as the drugs renewed their assault on Wendy’s consciousness, her nervous system, her libido. The sonal tsunamai flooded her mind.

Steve’s cock is good, Wendy seemed to hear or think, thoughts coming from inside her, mixing with her own thoughts, becoming her own thoughts, but wouldn’t a strap-on be better? Would it be much better to be fucked by a woman, your lover, using a strap-on dildo to slam into your hot, steaming pussy? Or even your ass? Wouldn’t it be better to have your lover, or any woman at all, fuck your wet cunt and hot ass with a ten-inch dildo? Wouldn’t that be so hot, so nice?

Wendy whimpered an agreement.

Good girl.

115. Wendy touches Sara’s pussy

Wendy squeezed her thighs together and whined. She lifted her left hand and placed it between Sara’s thighs, feeling the soaked and swollen labia of Sara’s boiling pussy, shaved, smooth, wet with the juices of Sara’s excitement, the intensity of her pleasure. She reached for a plastic squeeze bottle, a pink bottle with a black and gold label, a Therapeutic Transformations bottle of vaginal fisting lube. She turned the bottle over her groin and squeezed out a generous amount over her pubic region.

She smiled at Wendy.

“You make me so wet, baby, I don’t even need to use this. But it’s so warm, it tingles so hot. When you try it, you’ll see.”

Wendy slipped a finger inside Sara, and Sara turned her hips.

“More, Wendy, use more fingers. Put another finger in me. Don’t worry,” she smiled at her friend, “you won’t hurt me.”

Wendy slipped a second finger inside Sara.

“Kiss my tits, Wendy. Bite my nipples and put another finger in me. I want you to learn how to fist a woman. Women like that. Lesbians like that a lot.”

Wendy pulled her legs out from under Sara’s leg and turned to face her. She slowly slipped a third finger into Sara’s pussy, looking down in wonder as the opening of Sara’s vagina expanded and tightened around her third finger. She’d seen how her own pussy opened to welcome the pink double-headed dildo she’d fucked herself with so many weeks ago, when Sara would call her to talk her into masturbating, into screwing herself with her hand, cooing into the phone about pussy, about hot pussy, about other women, about her mother listening to hear come.

Wendy’s mouth hovered, lips slightly parted, over Sara’s generous breasts, nipples hard and brown, saliva dripped from her lip onto the inner swell of her lover’s tits. Wendy watched the trail of saliva, of spit, trickle down the breast and drip along the flat valley, stopping to cling to the shiny, chrome double Venus symbol of lesbian solidarity hanging on a necklace, a necklace nearly identical to the one her mother wore. Wendy’s mind went back to those early days, just a few weeks ago, of her encounter with Sara, of kissing in the restroom at school.

“Sara?” Wendy’s voice came out lightly, almost in a whisper, laced with a gentle taunt.

“Yes, baby?” Sara’s hips wriggled against Wendy’s thrusting fingers. The pink lube rolled from the stretched lips of her pussy down to the rosebud of her ass, dripping warm and wet through the crack between her cheeks. Wendy ran her other hand under Sara’s bottom, lifting her hips up slightly, to cradle the girl’s full pelvis in both her hands, one hand fingering Sara’s cunt, the other prodding at Sara’s quivering asshole, spreading lube mixed with fluids from her frantic pussy onto Sara’ puffy rosebud.

“Whatever happened to your boyfriend?”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Your boyfriend. Whatever happened to your boyfriend? You used to get so horny without him. That’s what you told me. That’s what you said, that’s the reason you gave me for why you just needed to, well, fuck yourself in front of me in the girls restroom at school. Remember, baby?”

“Oh, that boyfriend.”

Wendy poked the tip of her middle finger into Sara’s asshole and smiled.

“Yeah, that boyfriend. You didn’t really have one did you?”

Her finger dipped to the first knuckle.

Sara inched her ass forward on the sofa, widening her legs and holding them up against the sides of her chest.

“No,” Sara admitted. “I made him up. I just needed to have you. I just had to, you know, come up with a reason.”

“But you didn’t need a reason, did you, Sara? You didn’t need a reason. You could have just had me then and there, couldn’t’ve you?”

Wendy’s middle finger dug deeper, going in up to the second knuckle. She pressed the tip of her index finger into the swollen ring of Sara’s shit hole.

Sara closed her eyes, gasped, and nodded quickly.

“Cause you could have just turned me into your own private lesbian whore right then and there, couldn’t’ve you? You didn’t need all that, well, sneakiness, did you? You could have just said, ‘Wendy, lick my pussy cause you’re a dyke now,’ and I would have done it, wouldn’t’ve I?”

Sara squirmed and nodded.

“Oh, god, Wendy. What are doing to me?”

The index finger slipped in up to the first knuckle, a fourth finger, the pinky, entered Sara’s flowing twat.

“Cause that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You’re turning me into a lesbian, aren’t you? You’re going to make me into your own hot little pet dyke, aren’t you? All am ever going to do from now on is lick that hot little pussy of yours, right? And any other pussy you tell me to lick. I won’t say no, how could I? How could I ever tell you no when you own me completely, possess me wholly, fully?”

Sara moaned and trembled, her eyes popped open wide, gazing at Wendy in shocked wonder, pupils wide and dilated.

The index and middle fingers plunged fully into Sara’s asshole, and Wendy pressed the tip of her third finger against the ring of Sara’s sphincter muscle.

“I’m going to kiss your tits now, Sara. Because you told me to. I have to, don’t I?”

Wendy didn’t wait for an answer.

She circled the tip of her tongue around the hard, rock hard erect nipple of Sara’s right breast, dabbing the tip with the tip of her tongue before swiping the width of her long tongue over the entirety of Sara’s nipple. She opened her mouth to swallow the tit, sucking the nipple and much of the fleshy mound into her mouth before letting it go with a pop. Sara heaved and thrust her bosom at Wendy’s greedy mouth, a long, low sigh escaping from her open mouth.

“Oh Wendy.”

Wendy continued to nibble, lick, and kiss Sara’s breasts, a fourth finger, her pinky, entered Sara’s asshole, the ring finger having already plunged as far as it could go up into Sara’s ass. Then Wend tucked her thumb into her hand and slowly inched the entirety of her hand into Sara’s pussy, pumping it in slowly, gently, inexorably. Soon, Sara was rocking her pussy against Wendy as Wendy clutched her ass with her other hand, now urging the other hand into Sara’s expanded asshole. Before long, Wendy’s two pistons alternately plunged in and out of Sara’s two holes, working the ecstatic girl over and over as Wendy covered her breasts in kisses, teeth marks, and spit. Sara had never felt so full, so complete, as she did then, with Wendy’s two hands fully inside of her, each one fucking her pussy, fucking her ass. Sara trembled and shook, on the verge of a climax she knew couldn’t be far off.

“You’re going to make me fuck my mother, aren’t you, Sara?”

Sara squealed.

“Oh, god, Wendy, how are you doing this? What are you doing to me? I’m going to come, Wendy, I’m going to come so hard.”

“Because you’re a lesbian, Sara. You’re a lesbian just like I am.”

Sara’s mind reeled. Ever since that moment in the garage, then sitting next to Wendy on the sofa, turning on the lesbian porno, the porno still playing on the large screen in front of them, the sighs and cries of the women on the screen filling the room, adding their voices to those of Sara’s and Wendy’s, then having Wendy finger her, ever since that precise moment of Wendy fucking her with her fingers, that precise moment of Wendy entering her, Sara had felt it. A strange and terrible power emanating from the blonde above filled her, almost overwhelmed her, did overwhelm her. It coursed through her body, sending vibrations and tingles trilling through her nerves, swelling her mind, overthrowing her mind.

A million voices of Wendy shrieked and screamed in her ears, a million feelings and thoughts assaulted her brain, her mind. Sara had never experienced anything like it in her life. She could feel Wendy in her entirety, and her entirety seemed infinite, endless, immense, and fathomlessly deep. Sara struggled to regain herself, she knew she could slip, and if she slipped she would get lost forever in the storm, the infinite tempest of feelings, emotions, voices, and cries swirling around her. But how could she regain herself? How could she not let go? She would let go, she did let go, there were too many voices not to let go, too many emotions not to get lost. Sara vanished, tumbling into the endless void, tumbling and wheeling head over heels forever into the abyss of her own self, a self lost in a whirlwind lightyears wide.

Suddenly she heard Wendy calling her, a soft and lovely voice, so lovely, so soft, asking about her boyfriend. Sara clawed her way back to the surface, clinging to the sound of Wendy’s voice, fearing it would vanish, fade, disappear before she reached safety. And when she reached the surface, she breathed in relief. But Wendy was not done. Not Wendy. Wendy could do anything. Wendy played her like a violin, both hands inside her, manipulating her like a puppet, a ventriloquist’s dummy, making her speak and dance to the tune of Wendy’s lust, tying her lesbian conversion to Sara’s own love of women, of girls, of the feminine.

Sara closed her eyes and whimpered.

“You can come for me now, Sara. You can come for your good girl, your sweet, sweet pet.”

And Sara came.

Her pussy exploded in a cascade of hot fluids, flooding and washing over Wendy’s arms as the blonde continued pumping her arms piston-like into her lover.

And on the screen in front of her the raven-haired woman, squatting over the head of her own lover, screaming in release, sent a spray of pussy liquids over the delirious face of the red-haired woman below her, cherry red lips opened wide to swallow everything pouring down upon her.

And Wendy, feeling Sara’s orgasm, pulled her hands out of Sara’s holes, raised one of Sara’s legs abruptly and roughly, twisted Sara’s body to one side, raised a leg over her so that she straddled Sara’s groin, and thrust her pussy into Sara’s pussy, grinding the lips of her cunt into Sara’s cunt while holding Sara’s legs spread with both her hands as she exploded in a furious and fierce orgasm, her pussy juice spraying against Sara and the brown leather of Sara’s couch.

Her climax ended, Wendy collapsed backward on the sofa, her legs still entwined with Sara’s. Then she curled around on the sofa, slipped between the back of the couch and Sara’s body, hugged her lover against her body, and kissed Sara lovingly on the neck. Sara lay trembling in the aftershock of her orgasm. Everything had changed so fast. She pressed herself against Wendy’s nude form and wrapped Wendy’s arms across her breasts.

Sara furled her brows and bit her lips, struggling against an interior resolve. Finally she could resist no longer.

“I love you, Wendy,” she said and sighed, smiling and snuggling against Wendy’s naked breasts.

“I know you do, Sara. How could you not?”

They both closed their eyes and fell into a light sleep, infiltrated only by the lesbian murmurs and Sapphic cries coming from the screen facing them.

116. Wendy’s dream

The cries of women in the throes of ecstatic orgasm faded. A pink nebula, a ring of pink clouds, surrounded Wendy, and the noise of many voices, many far-off voices, buzzed around her like the droning of a vast hive, an immense bee-hive, lightyears wide, lightyears upon lightyears wide. Then the pink nebula receded, and the faint buzz grew fainter until it too vanished in the emptiness.

If there were faces of multitudinous Wendy, they could not be seen.

She stood in the midst of an illuminated darkness, a darkness made visible, seeing without seeing because nothing could be seen. Darkness surrounded her above and below, and when she looked for her body she could not find it. Bodiless she existed and bodiless she trembled and bodiless she stood there, not there, and breathed.

A murmur rose again, far-off, a faint voice, a voice of one and not many, a familiar voice never heard before, a voice reminding her of Sara, or of her father, or of her mother, or of all three, a soft whispering voice saying, “before the womb I knew you.”

Then Wendy felt a stirring in her groin, and she looked, and she saw her body, resplendent, beautiful, nude except for a strap-on dildo, hooked against her pelvis by belts and straps, waving lewdly, a long, thick glittering pink cock protruding from her groin, its only purpose to plunge into the love-hole of other girls. Wendy felt herself a slut, a lesbian slut with an artificial phallus strapped around her hips, a whorish, girl-fucking slut, like she had always been meant to be. There was no way around it. Wendy ran her fingers along the huge phallus, squeezing it, admiring its firmness and size, its girth, the slick texture of its surface, its sheer excitement, its pure sexual power.

Then Wendy woke up. Confused, she felt her groin, but only found her damp pubic hair.

She ran her open palm along the sides of Sara’s ass and hips, over the smooth side of her soft body, roaming her hands over the front of her magnificent breasts. Wendy squeezed Sara against her and kissed her earlobe.

Then she noticed the huge screen in front of her. Her mouth gaped open at what she saw in front of her. Her mother crouched on all fours, Laura, Julie, Melani, Nikki, and Sara all taking turns fucking the groaning and sweating woman with enormous phalluses swinging at their hips.

117. Incest subliminals

And still that sound poured out from the screen, that strange rhythmic, hypnotic sound, almost like music, almost like words, almost beyond hearing, she wasn’t sure she did hear them, she wasn’t sure she understood them, she wasn’t sure, Wendy was not sure she could accept them, her mind lurched and lunged, sought refuge in sensation, refuge in pleasure, refuge in feeling. But the rhythm continued inescapable. The rhythm beat on and on and on, slowly forming thoughts, words, realizations, and Wendy trembled, and Wendy believed, staring at her mother’s naked body, used and assaulted by young, feminine, and shapely flesh.

Love is sex, sex is love, you love your mother.

I love my mother.

Sex is love, sex is the form of love.

Sex is love, Wendy repeated to herself.

Lesbians love women. Lesbians have sex with women. You love women. You have sex with women. You are a lesbian.

I am a lesbian, Wendy thought to herself mechanically, recognizing the truth to the cadence of the barely audible tones, accompanied to the rhythm of her beating heart, the pulse of her rushing blood, and the rise and fall of her suspiring lungs.

You love your mother.

I love my mother, Wendy agreed.

Love is sex, and sex is love.

Incest is sex.

Incest is sex, replied Wendy silently.

Incest is love, and you love your mother.

Then Wendy knew what she wanted.

Sara stirred, rubbed her eyes, saw the video, and laughed, happy and content.

“Oh god, Wendy. I wish you could have been there. Your mother is so fucking hot.”

“Are you going to do that to me, Sara? Are you going to fuck with a strap-on?”

Sara turned and kissed Wendy lightly on the lips.

“First,” she said, “I’m going to do something I’ve been wanting to do ever since I started putting on lipstick in the girls room with you.”

With that, Sara slipped off the couch, pulled Wendy’s legs over to the front, swung them open, and licked in long slow movements the salty flesh of Wendy’s thighs. Wendy stretched her legs out and spread her thighs wider, enticing Sara to continue, and to go further in. She wanted her friend’s mouth on her pussy, and she wanted it there soon.

118. Lothlorien

Sara tried to hold back, tried to linger, tried to drive Wendy to an anguished pleading for release, but she just couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t wait. She’d wanted that pussy, that juicy cunt for so long. For so long. She kissed and licked around the mons, pouring butterfly kisses on the top her mound, moving towards her belly button, then down again, around her spread thighs, tendons now taut like cables as Wendy quivered and moaned. She ran the tip and flat of her tongue in the valley between her thighs and furry cleft in her lips, her mouth and tongue just touching the soft fur of Wendy’s golden thatch, moving her mouth and tongue over and over again on the flesh below her cunt, from the rim of her rosebud to the top of her mons, encircling Wendy’s sizzling and pungent twat in a continual oral pleasure, but Sara couldn’t resist any longer.

Just as she was about to taste Wendy’s golden treasure, she half-rose, half-slid her body across the warmth of her lover’s landscape, moving her breasts over Wendy’s naked body, touching her nipples, her hard nipples against the soft skin of Wendy’s belly and Wendy’s breasts, until she brushed her lips close to Wendy’s ear and whispered, “Laurelindórenan lindelorendor malinornélion ornemalin!”

Sara pulled her head away and fixed Wendy with a stare, her face inches from Wendy’s.

“But I might just call you Dreamflower.”

Then Sara swept down to plunge her face between Wendy’s thighs, ministering with her tongue and mouth to Wendy increasingly feverish screams.

Every nerve ending in Wendy’s body sang.

She had never, could never, imagine such a sensation. Sara’s wet tongue on her wet pussy sent a vibrating thrill of pleasure straight into her brain, until she swelled with the need to come. And still Sara licked her pussy, edging her clit with the tip of her tongue, pulling her labia with her lips tight against her teeth, spreading her lips with two fingers to plunge her tongue deeper and deeper into Wendy’s pulsating, dripping cunt, tart, sharp, and viscous on Sara’s industrious and skillful tongue.

Sara licked on.

Pausing only momentarily to pull a pube from her mouth, she fastened her mouth against Wendy’s furry snatch with lust’s deliberate and practiced labor.

“Oh, god, Sara, there. Oh yeah. There.”

Wendy whimpered an inchoate, incoherent stream of pleading and longing, words without any clear meaning beyond the expression of more and now. Now she brought her hand to her mouth, stifling her exclamations with the back of her hand, now she caressed and pinched the nipples of her breasts as she squirmed her pussy into Sara’s working mouth. She tossed her head back and forth, closing her eyes against the rising need, the sizzling and burning sensation rising from her groin, her cunt, rising from the profoundest depths of her pussy and dancing on the very edges of her labia. Strange utterances and desperate appeals burst from Wendy without avail.

“Oh god, Sara. Please, Sara. Please”

Sara licked on.

Sara swallowed the hot juices beginning to flow from Wendy, knowing her orgasm couldn’t be far off now. She tickled the tip of Wendy’s hard and hooded clitoris with the tip of tongue and Wendy groaned, shivered, and tossed her hips. She slid her tongue to the side of Wendy’s snatch, once again slowing the onset of her climax to lick along the fat flesh close to the inner thigh, lightly tonguing the salt, sweat, and secretion of Wendy’s vexed and feverish vagina. Wendy moved her hands to touch the top of Sara’s soft and luxurious auburn hair, running her fingers lightly through her hair, touching the lobes of her ears, caressing the sides of her temples. Deep, guttural noises broke from Wendy’s throat. Sara covered the full area of Wendy’s pussy with her mouth, sucking on her clitoris and jutting her lower jaw against the entrance of Wendy’s love hole in a rapid tattoo.

Suddenly Wendy’s hips rocked and spasmed, she grabbed Sara’s head with both hands and tightened her thighs against her lover’s face, squeezing Sara in the intense outpouring of her orgasm, ejaculating a thin, whitish fluid from her shaking cunt in an orgasm beyond words or even sound, until finally Wendy fell back and groaned in a low, tectonic rumble of satisfaction.

Sara finished swallowing the fluids emitted by Wendy. Slowly she rose from her kneeling position and climbed onto the sofa beside the still recuperating Wendy.

She gently but firmly pressed Wendy down, down to the carpeted floor.

“Your turn,” she teased. Then she spread her legs and welcomed Wendy to her first taste of pussy.

Wendy looked up at Sara. She wore a seduction on her face, running the tip of her tongue over her lips, still pink and glossy even after Wendy’s tremendous orgasm, in a slow, sensuous movement. Wendy lowered her eyes. Sara parted the folds of her lips and teased the edges with the tip of her index finger in long, slow circular motions. Wendy’s mouth hung open in awe at the eroticism before her, the sheer sensuality of Sara’s voluptuous body.

“Come on, Wendy, I know you want it.”

The last few words resounded in Wendy’s mind. She did want it.

Wendy brought her head closer to Sara’s center. Her eyes drifted again to Sara’s face, smiling encouragement. Wendy moved her face to Sara’s pussy. Its tantalizing aroma filled her nostrils. She stuck her tongue out and gradually bridged the remaining distance to the warm cunt in front of her.

A strange feeling erupted in Wendy once her lips finally came in contact. Something snapped it in her mind and any remaining inhibition disappeared. Her tongue and lips worked against Sarah’s pussy. Wendy’s actions were slow at first, but soon picked up,

“Oh, Wendy, that’s it, baby. You’re so good. You really know how to eat a girl out. Oh god, you’re so hot. You’re so good. So good.”

Wendy hummed into Sara’s groin.

“You just love licking pussy, don’t you girl? You just can’t stand it when a pretty girl comes along, can you? You just can’t stand it until you have your mouth on her hot cunt, her steamy pussy, can you? Oh, god, Wendy. You’re going to be the best and hottest pussy licker. Wait till the girls spread their legs for you. You’ll see. You won’t be able to get enough of them.”

And on and on and on, each word driving home a new truth for Wendy.

Then Sara reached with her left arm to a remote lying on a nearby end table next to the arm of the sofa.

“Your friend Trina turned me on to this song,” she said. “You know how she likes those old bands. Ever hear of The Osiris Jar? Me neither. But I love this song.”

Sara pushed a button on the remote to mute the video on the screen. Then she pushed another button on the remote and a thick, densely layered music floated through the speakers set all throughout the room, filling the room with a wall of sound, richly textured and distorted.

Wendy’s mind concentrated on the task at hand. From her first taste of Sara her mind altered to accept the new paradigm, the new regime, her new person. This, she thought. This. Sara’s vagina secretions filled Wendy’s mouth, her wonderful and rich aroma filled her nostrils, she felt fairly intoxicated by the taste and scent of something she could barely describe it was so wonderful, so. Good. So. Female. So. This is it, she thought. This is what it means to be a woman. To taste other women.

The sound of the music washed over her, drenching her mind and confirming her new conviction. Then the words began to filter through, and she recognized them though she’d never heard them before, and she understood the truth of everything they said.

Listen to the girl

As she takes on half the world

Moving up and so alive

In her honey-dripping beehive

It’s good, it’s good, it’s so good

So good…

I’ll be your plastic toy

I’ll be your plastic toy for you…

Just like honey

Sara’s hips started to move, gently humping Wendy’s face. In response, Wendy’s tongue went deeper into Sara’s love canal. Sara’s vaginal fluids now coated her entire tongue. Wendy’s hands grabbed Sara’s knees and slowly slid up her thighs before moving around to cup the sides of her ass. Gently and eagerly, she kneaded the sides of Sara’s smooth ass. It felt wonderful.

Sara tossed her hair back as the feelings of pleasure increased.

She grunted.

Sara’s groaning affected Wendy. She released one hand from Sara’s ass to touch her own pussy, but Sara forbade it.

“Don’t touch yourself, Wendy. I’ll do it for you, but you’ll have to finish licking me first. You have to please the other woman before you can please yourself. Learn to give. Like I pleased you. I did, didn’t I?”

A muffled whimper came of Wendy’s mouth, and she looked up into Sara’s eyes, obeying her order. Her hand went back to the sides of Sara’s bottom. Expecting Wendy’s hand to move away again, Sara grasped and held it firmly. Sara reached for Wendy’s head with her other hand. Wendy rubbed her thighs together to ease her sexual torment, a cup of water for a forest fire.

Then, too, Sara’s hips began to shudder.

Wendy, sensing the climax, mimicked Sara’s gestures and covered her lover’s mound with her mouth, licking the nub of her hard and erect clit with the flat of her tongue while biting at Sara’s vulva with her bottom jaw. Sara, too, used both hands to smash her pussy against Wendy’s face, grinding her thighs in a vice against Wendy’s blond head. Sara shrieked as she sprayed an orgasm against Wendy’s mouth, which overflowed with Sara’s juices. She bent her head to look down at Wendy, lips locked on her flooding snatch.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god, I’m fucking spraying all over your face Wendy, all over your beautiful angelic whore face.”

Wendy held her mouth open and glued to Sara’s raging pussy, gulping as much of Sara’s fluids as possible, the rest overflowing her lips and pouring down her chin in a glistening cascade of feminine passion. At last Sara stopped shaking, she released her hand from the back of Wendy’s head and pulled her legs up, falling against the arm of the sofa as she turned on her side, her left leg bent at the knee while her right leg stretched across the flat cushions, displaying her wet and nude groin to Wendy, who leaned forward an kissed it softly before leaning back on her haunches to smile lovingly at her new lover, her Sara.

“Are you going to fuck me now, Sara? Are you going to fuck with that strap-on like you fucked my mother?”

Sara groaned.

“Oh. My. God. Wendy.”

Sara rose from the sofa, tossing her flowing auburn hair back from her face.

“I am. I am going to fuck you.”

Sara walked over to a tall, wooden cabinet, richly carved and ornate, standing in the corner of the room, against the same wall as the sofa. She came back holding a huge, neon pink glittering dildo hanging from black straps and steel buckles.

A few minutes later, Wendy faced the huge television screen filled with the moving images of her mother’s beautiful round ass, stuffed in asshole above and pussy below by Laura and Melani, each sporting a neon pink dildo strapped to their groins, at least ten inches long each, of huge and impossible girth. Wendy grunted as she drooled at the vision of her mother’s stretched cunt, the rim of her ass straining against the intrusion of the glittering pink dildo stuffing each maternal hole. Sara had turned the volume up, leaving Wendy to groan, grunt, and squeal to every sound of her mother, her own mother, pleading for more, pleading to be fucked without mercy or let up.

She heard Renee’s voice over the cries of her mother.

“You wish one of the girls were Wendy, don’t you, you little dyke slut? You want your own daughter to fuck you in the ass so bad, don’t you Mary? God you’re such a filthy incest whore.”

“Oh god yes, Renee. Make me fuck her. Make me fuck my daughter like the whore she is. Make me fuck Wendy.”

Mary heaved her ass against the double thrusts of the cocks behind her.

“I just want to fuck her so bad. I just want her to fuck me so bad.”

Wendy heard Sara’s voice next.

“Good girl.”

Sara slapped the right side of Wendy’s ass, a quick, hard slap on the red mark that had been formed from earlier blows. Wendy squealed in delighted pain.

“You didn’t know about Renee, did you girl? You didn’t know Renee had been part of this from the start, did you? You just thought your mother had met her at a coffee shop somewhere, didn’t you? No, not Renee. She held the camera, and gave directions. She plays softball, too. A pitcher. She’s really good.”

Sara pulled the dildo almost fully from Wendy’s ass, leaving just the tip to linger at the swollen ring of her asshole.

That made sense to Wendy. She had the body of a ballplayer. Explained the lack of shaving too. Not that Wendy was one to talk. Not with her golden bush.

Lothlórien.

Sara poured more pink lubrication over the shaft of the phallus. Then she jammed the cock in as far as it would go in one shove. Wendy grunted and mewed.

“Oh god, Sara. You’re really fucking me. You’ve got me on my hands and knees and you’re fucking me in the ass just like the girls fucked Mom.”

Wendy stared into her mother’s ass, boring into each hole with her eyes, going from Mary’s expanded asshole to the shining lips of her pussy, visually hooked onto her mother’s debauchery while her own mind clouded in the steam of a rising climax. Dizzy and aching with lust, she groaned and mewled.

Sara reached a hand down to caress Wendy’s hot, dripping and ravaged quim.

“Hm hm, baby. And you’re going to fuck her too.”

She dipped two fingers into Wendy’s wet, slippery sex, fucking the girl to the rhythm of the shaft pummeling her pussy, in out, in out, in out. Wendy’s arms gave out, and her front collapsed against the carpet, sending her ass higher and wider against Sara’s hammering.

“Oh god, Sara. Make me come. Make me come so hard. Baby. Please. Make me come.”

Sara picked up the pace, hammering Wendy’s ass and rubbing her enflamed vagina, labia engorged, swollen, soaked with her secretion, plunging her fingers in and out, then frantically rubbing her clit at a dizzying speed, her fingers and hands a blur over the teenage girl’s organ. Then Wendy tensed and stiffened. Sara rammed the cock into her asshole one last time while shoving three fingers into Wendy’s gaping fuck hole. Wendy shoved her backside hard against Sara’s hips and, well, made a sound. A kind of low rumble that rose in pitch but not in volume to a sort of soft, whispered shriek, the long and plaintive squeal of a kettle, before dropping again to an even more prolonged sigh of pure contentment. She held her ass pressed against Sara’s artificial schlong, whimpering a protest as Sara slowly withdrew the phallus from Wendy’s anus, which gaped and closed, seeming to grasp at the sudden emptiness.

“Stop whining,” Sara said and grabbed Wendy’s by her long blond hair, pulling her harshly around to face her. She slapped Wendy’s face in a quick, lightning strike of a blow. Tears formed in Wendy’s eyes, and the struck girl rubbed the side of her face. She looked up at Sara confused.

“Don’t speak.”

She held out her hand covered in the juices of Wendy’s orgasm.

“Lick. Lick my hand clean.”

Sara gazed down in affection at Wendy, loving the way the girl patiently and thoughtfully licked the juices from each of Sara’s fingers, sucking in thumb, index, middle, ring, and pinky fingers in a slow succession of carnal hand worship. When she finished, Sara swung the phallus to Wendy’s lips.

“Clean this too.”

Wendy grinned, opened her mouth and swallowed the dildo’s tip. Her experience with Steve’s cock had quickly taught her how to orally handle a dick, and Sara marveled at Wendy’s ability to deep-throat the monstrous sex toy. Her dominant mood instantly vanished, replaced by raw admiration.

“Oh god, Wendy. That’s so fucking hot. Suck it, suck that cock all the way down, baby. I can’t believe you can do that. God you’re so incredible.”

119. Through the door

Wendy basked in the praise, glowing inwardly with joy. She ran her hands around Sara’s ass to cup each fleshy cheek in her palms, blissfully enjoying the smoothness of the woman’s, the girl’s flesh, her skin, her warmth. Her fingers moved towards Sara’s asshole, exploring the warm crevice leading to her rosebud, and Sara, feeling Wendy’s desire, shuddered and moved her ass into Wendy’s wonderful hands. Wendy’s fingers reached Sara’s ass and hesitated just an instant. Then Wendy poked the tips of her two middle fingers into rippled sphincter ring of Sara’s hole.

Wendy pulled her mouth away from the dildo, leaving a trail of saliva running from her bottom lip to the bulbous tip of the sex toy. She grinned wickedly at the auburn-haired girl above her.

“I’m getting you ready, Sara. For when I fuck your hot little ass. Undo your dick, baby. I got next.”

Sara’s hands fumbled for the buckles and straps of her neon pink glittering dildo. The strap-on fell to the floor with a dull thud on plush carpet, and Wendy brought her lips to Sara’s puffy labia. God, I can’t get enough of her pussy, she thought, as she plunged her two fingers fully into Sara’s hot backside. Caught between the stabbing of Wendy’s fingers and the fire of Wendy’s hungry mouth, Sara writhed and squirmed, thrusting her pussy into Wendy’s mouth one moment only to push back on Wendy’s fingers, holding her in a vice of pleasure, fixed, caught in the double trap of Wendy’s desire, the next. She steadied herself by squeezing her knees against Wendy, holding both hands on the top of Wendy’s head.

But Wendy wasn’t going to take her time. No. She meant to bring Sara to orgasm and bring Sara to orgasm quick. Her tongue flicked against the rock hard nub of Sara’s clit, and licked in rapid movements the wet and tangy cleft of her vagina, tracing the folds and edges of Sara’s labia, fully extended from her vagina, wings unfolded in the full magnificence of her climactic flight. You’re going to soar girl, Wendy thought, I’m going to fling you to the sky.

And then she did. She jammed two more fingers into Sara’s spasming ass while lightly biting Sara’s clitoris, catching it in her teeth, lightly, ever so lightly, the letting go to flick it her tongue. She covered the top of Sara’s pussy with her mouth, opened, and tightened her jaw against the top of her vagina, against her sentinel of pleasure, protruding from her hood.

Sara came and came and came.

She turned to fall against the sofa.

Suddenly the sound of Wendy’s mother in the throes of another orgasm rolled over the room.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming. Fuck me, Nikki, fuck me like a whore.”

Sara knelt against the sofa, her head sideways on her arms crossed in front of her, the peach of her ass and pussy open to Wendy’s renewed attack, as the teenager fastened the strap-on to her hips. She knelt behind Sara, sliding the tip of the dildo in a continuous motion over the ring of her ass and the valley of her cunt, exhausted, but gaping open, hungry and ready for more lesbian bliss. This is what she wanted. This is who she was. And had been. Ever since the Academy.

Wendy seized the nearby bottle of pink lubricant and squeezed a blob of pink substance onto the artificial cock. Sara was so wet, she wouldn’t need it, but the lubrication felt so good. Felt so right, made her so hot. So hot and tingly. So ready for this. So ready for more pussy. Wendy ran her fingers along the huge phallus, squeezing it, admiring its firmness and size, the slick surface, the sheer excitement of its pure sexual power.

I’m such a lesbian now, Wendy thought. How could I ever not have been? She looked back at her the video of her mother, now on her back, legs spread and knees up, cradling Melani’s hips as the high school girl now took her turn to fuck her, almost missionary style on the carpet of this very floor, maybe even this very spot.

Just like Mom. I’m so going to fuck her when I get home.

Wendy touched the tip of the pink dildo against Sara’s open lips.

Such a dyke, she thought. I’m such a dyke now.

“Get ready, baby. I’m going to fuck you now.”

She shoved it hard into her lover’s pussy.

She caressed the soft flesh above Sara’s hips, along her sides, feeling, caressing and stroking the warm smooth skin of her back, the flesh of her shoulders, the valley between her shoulder blades, tracing her spine, running her fingers up through the soft, silky luxury of Sara’s hair. She leaned over the girl, breathing her scent deeply, kissing along her neck and earlobes. She whispered into her lover’s ear.

“God I’m so in love with you, Sara. I really am. But I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked in your life.”

Then she pushed Sara’s head into the sofa as she leaned back to her knees, torso, head and shoulders erect, behind the knealing body of Sara Craft.

Sara whined and whimpered, thrilling inside to Wendy’s promise.

“God, Wendy. How are you like this?”

Wendy pumped her dildo in and out of Sara’s cunt in answer.

“Sara?” Wendy asked.

“Yes, Wendy?”

“Make me spend the night tonight.”

“Yes, Wendy.”

Wendy turned her head again to watch her mother’s violation. She bent over to lick Sara from her armpit to her shoulder in a slow, lingering trail of affection, sliding the palms of her hands over the soft, yielding curves of Sara’s body. She ended the lick at her ear.

“And call the girls when I’m done with you,” she whispered.

“God, Wendy. Really?”

But Wendy glanced at their reflection in the mirrored wall, breathless and lust-crazed at the intensely erotic, strikingly sensual, highly obscene, and very carnal image of her bearing a manufactured phallus and using it to pound her lesbian friend from behind, standing behind her on her knees while thrusting slowly but emphatically against the round peach-like ass of Sara Craft. She was a beautiful lesbian. Wendy watched her hands move to squeeze each cheek. Then she raised her right hand aloft, held it in mid-air for a moment, then brought it down with a sharp and blistering slap against Sara’s ass.

Sara yelped.

“Good girl,” said Wendy, slipping her right hand into the crevice of Sara’s ass and dipping the tip of her thumb into the rosebud of Sara’s hole before stabbing it fully inside.

And it was a beautiful image, sultry, hot, charged with erotic energy. Wendy’s blond hair, styled and blown to a bouquet of golden waves, had by now been reduced to a wild, misshapened mass, crushed on one side, piled up on the other, but her striking makeup, her glittering blue eyeshadow accented by black mascara and black eyeliner, her face contoured and highlighted to bring out her already well-defined cheeks, her glorious, shining pink lipstick, all that had marvelously held up.

Her shoulders, wide without being masculine, sloped into fleshy arms of slightly defined muscle, her back, long and feminine, not quite slender, not quite willowy, ran to a swell at her hips, hips which framed the round, oval, heart-shape of her ass. Her thighs, parted now as she pummeled Sara from behind, were fleshy and feminine, neither thin nor thick, a soft muscle, strong without being athletic or pronounced, coiled beneath the surface of her soft, soft skin, the soft muscle of her calves led in a womanly curve to the arches of her long and lovely feet, toes curled and cute against the plush carpet.

And did the mythology of this cosmos permit some fairy, allow some light and impish sprite, a lost and errant Puck, coltish and carefree, to sprinkle mischief and love’s playful mayhem upon a gray and somber world, surely he would alight upon the ankle of Wendy’s left foot and, kissing the red, irregular birthmark there, thrice bless the comely limb with luck and fortune’s grace.

“Hush, baby,” Wendy added. “I’m going to make your hot little body sing.”

Wendy kneaded Sara’s ass with her left hand while fucking her hole with her right hand’s thumb. Her mind tingled with the love of Sara’s body, the touch and texture of Sara’s skin, her woman’s skin, her girlhood’s body, so close to womanhood now, her female body, athletic, strong, raw, powerful. An electric heat surged through her being. She longed for the feel of womanly hands on her own body, longed for the touch of feminine fingers and feminine lips, mouths kissing and licking her body, all over, all over, caressing, kneading, and pinching her flesh, her breasts, her aching and erect nipples, cupping her mound, fingering her aching and overflowing pussy, she closed her eyes to the need, suddenly and inexorably rising within her, of lesbian, no, beyond lesbian, of an ecstasy beyond lesbian sex and sexuality, a burst and celebration of the female, of the female folded upon female, of an endless chain of lesbian, Sapphic, female being.

Then she felt them. Mouth upon mouth, lip upon lip, hand upon hand, so soft, so feminine, so strong and delicate, so kind and merciless, pinching her, petting her, cupping her, feeling her, all over, all over, from ass to cunt, from cunt to mouth, from mouth to forehead and forehead to foot, hundreds of mouths, hundreds of hands, thousands. Numberless. Wendy shivered and rocked to overwhelming heat, the overwhelming play of woman upon her body, the relentless assault of feminine fingers, of feminie touch, and she rocked and she hummed and she fucked Sara’s gaping pussy without mercy, without restraint, shoving Sara hard against the sofa, smashing her ass. She raised her hand and pushed Sara’s head hard against the cushion of the sofa before yanking her head back by her glorious, luxurious, shining auburn hair.

Sara yelped and whimpered, hurled headlong into an abyss of pleasure, her mind evaporated into a mist of pink electricity sending shock after shock into her brain, every nerve ending taut to the brink of snapping, as Wendy hammered her pussy, her bent ass, a little rounder and smaller than Wendy’s, bounced up at each new thrust, and Sara’s breasts, so large and plentiful, were smashed wide against the top of the sofa cushion as Wendy held the Craft girl down, pushing her harshly against the couch.

The dildo felt alive to Wendy. She seemed to feel it, not quite a living being in its own right, and not quite as a living extension of her own sex, but as something wonderfully existent and attached to her, her own self almost but not quite. She could almost feel the heat of Sara’s love, the hot wetness of her sex, surrounding the surface of the artificial cock. And feeling it, she so much understood Steve. So much understood Brad. They couldn’t help it of course. How could any man?

“Do you like it, baby? Do you like me fucking you like this? Do you like the feeling of my hard cock in your dirty hot cunt?”

Steve had taught her that one.

But she wouldn’t be needing him anymore.

Sara whined and nodded her head held down by Wendy’s left hand, hair auburn hair a knot in Wendy’s fist. Sara felt a pure sexual energy flowing from the dildo stabbing her pussy relentlessly, jackhammering her raw cunt, flooding her with a pleasure beyond pleasure.

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl.”

And Sara Craft, some ten minutes later, broke into song, her mind and body uplifted in a chorus of soprano and alto cries of an impassioned, climactic release of her anguished body’s joy.

Such a dyke now.