Im Billie My First Story

(Everybody in this story is 18+)

First I created the free Hotmail account, it was a separate one from the other two e-mail accounts that I use all the time for work and to converse with friends. In a perfect world I would not care if anyone knew I was here writing stories, but I have noticed that this world is pretty far from perfect. Then I used the new e-mail to get an account here. I just need to write this, to tell someone. I have previously sent messages back and forth with two other members here. One guy and one gal who have given me much advise that I will probably eventually ignore, that's me, I'm a bit pig-headed.

I filled out the profile, I mean it's just common courtesy, and I am a bit (okay a lot) extroverted. But how hard is it, and its anonymous, I dislike it when I don't know anything about the guy sending me a picture of his dick. (At least I think it's a dick, I'll double check when I find my magnifying glass. You know he should really see a doctor about that lump, it could be serious.)

I'm female, been one all my life. That's a good thing for our kids, because while their dad is a great dad, he really sucked at producing milk. I was born on a Saturday, the very first one of 1964, January 5th to be exact, somewhere in the United States. That means that I am 55 as I write this in 2019. I graduated a year late from high school, because I took about a year and a half off during my school years, but I had a perfect 4.0/4.0 GPA. I went to the same University for my MBA that I received my baccalaureate from.

I mentioned a husband, I married him in my late 20s, that was a little more than 25 years ago. and we had five happy, well adjusted children. All of them are now grown-up, in or have already graduated from college. A couple of them are married. My husband and I are somewhat separated, he sits on his rooftop patio and watches the world go by, fishermen fishing and sailboats sailing and children playing. I still have things to do in this world.

The profile asks about pets, but it won't accept my honest answer. I'll call my husband John, John was very attached to our pet Amy. She was a rescue, and felt such comfort with him, they bonded right after we decided to keep her. She was affectionate to me, but she really loved John, unzipping his fly and fellating him at any and all possible moments. I don't have a penis, but if her cock-sucking was anywhere near as good as her cunt-lapping, well I could understand John's desire to keep her.

Since I was kind and left him our slave-girl when we discontinued our cohabitation, I had to find another for myself. Another rescue, Preeti did not come from as desperate a situation as Amy, but existential pain is like an expanding gas it fills available space completely. Really is her broken finger less of a personal tragedy than Amy's broken leg, philosophically speaking.

Preeti's metal chastity belt is slightly different than Amy's. (Preeti has a heavy leather one too, with nice wrapped leather phalluses used when we fly.) While both Amy's and Preeti's hold a nice big metal plug in their respective vaginas, Amy's had a gate in the back for John to Sodomize her. We could and did put butt plugs in Amy and then lock that door, but there isn't a purpose for the gate on Preeti's belt.

I can put a nice long silicone snake up Preeti's ass, or a big thick butt plug in there and just leave it. I don't have a penis to Sodomize her with. Preeti has an excellent technique when it comes to cunnilingus, but one should not forget she can read Mallanaga Vātsyāyana in Sanskrit. Sometimes she longs for a penis, and we go and find a couple, I will write about that too.

There are those who disparage the young these days, but I find young men in particular to be very kind and generous. While Preeti being in her mid 20s is more their age, they have no problem accepting oral sex from, or even fucking an older gal who is in trim physical form. Sometimes they even point out small drops of semen on or in me that she missed when she uses her tongue to clean me up after they have ejaculated.

Hobbies, well again mine were not on the menu, but don't worry I will talk at length about them in coming stories. There are some constant themes. Number one is my father, yes I was in love with dad, too bad he was married. (That brings up a salient point, the misogyny in daddy-daughter incest stories where mom is a cruel bitch or is killed off as a pretext for hanky panky. Really, why not send mom to the spa or Wal-mart?)

The stories I will write about screwing my dad are all totally fiction, dad was mom's catch I couldn't do that to her (as much as I really wanted to). I will write about fucking my sister, my brother, my cousins, and my mom. But for the record I don't have a sister, and I never ever fucked my dad, my cousins or my mom. Honest... See what I did there.

My dad was a John W. Barriger III, or a William Deramus for his industry, no not railroads. As a result we moved from town to town dad's last success story to dad's next success story. From Kindergarten to graduation I went to 14 different schools growing up, the longest for two full years and a semester. I graduated at nineteen, a full year late because of the many "vacations" from school I took moving around. I might have been my classes Valedictorian at two different high schools, but fate intervened twice there. That taught me to ignore what I could not affect.

Growing up stability was my grandparents, whom I visited in Florida every summer. When I was 19 I wanted stability, so I did something different, I picked a place and stayed there for over thirty years. I earned my MBA from the same U as my BA, and lived in a suburb of that same city while working for a big corporation. I mentioned being attracted to older successful men like my father. Well I think that most of us, we sow the seeds of our own destruction.

He was plenty "kinky" and adventurous when I met him at 25, he was recently divorced and 45. The irony here is that right now he is his ex-wife back then. She didn't like me, but I know from him she wasn't a bad person, she was a good mother to his two kids with her who had just gone off to college themselves. (I was almost five years older than his oldest.) She wanted to retire early and play shuffleboard and he had things to see and people to do.

I don't find submissive men attractive. My male correspondent here says that sexually dominant men tend to be weak in real life, while men who are strong in real life fantasize about being submissive. I'm not a guy so I can't really say what is in the 5% of their brains that isn't busily figuring out how to get laid tonight, but if you change his wording a little I agree. Strong men (and women) tend to keep their guard up during the business day. It's nice to be able to unwind and not worry about what the ramifications of this that and the other is. Maybe to be a bit vulnerable, not a wimp or a sissy, but to relax.

John was fun, I was willing (hell, I was eager) to do all of the kinky things that he had done with his ex-wife before she stopped being fun, and then we went on to things both of us had only dreamed of. At first my parents were flabbergasted, my boyfriend, come fiancé, come husband, was seven years younger than my father. The tension was broken by a private conversation I had with my dad, which I will relate in a story. I confessed to my father that I was marrying John because I found him to be so much like my father, whom I would bed that instant had he not been married to my mother.

Dad didn't react like he was offended, appalled or turned-on, and I am so glad I spilled the beans. I am sure mom got an edited version of the story, but my parents came to love John just as I (pause, thinking about the right tense to use). I definitely loved John, I still remember and treasure the love I had for him, the love we shared. I wish him well don't want a single bad thing to happen to him. But see, he changed, and I know a lot of it was biology. I'm 55, and he's 75, but he accepted the change, he didn't do one thing to fight it or prolong him being him.

That's what pisses me off, he had a 20 year marriage and divorced his first wife shortly before I met him because she wanted to quit, retire at 48, and he wasn't ready to. Then when he had problems that were likely the result of being 70, he just said "It's been a good run, I'll sit in this rocking chair." He wouldn't see a doctor or discuss options, he never gave up on anything else in life, just me.

So now John and I, we do our own things. I don't plan on remarrying and my being John's wife protects him, so we will never get divorced. Amy is looking after him, loving the "new-but certainly not improved" him in a way that would bring me to tears. Preeti is really good at making me come whenever I need to, she enjoys belonging to me, she enjoys being denied and then being given her release, and she enjoys fellating the nice young men who tell her how pretty she is as she is sucking their cocks.

Preeti is lying on the bed as I type this. It's a nice hotel room, besides the usual it has a refrigerator, a stovetop we used to make crepes this morning and a microwave oven. After work, where she is officially my personal assistant, we stopped and bought some Memphis-style barbecue before we returned here. We saw a couple handsome polite young men, I may let Preeti fellate them both tomorrow before we check-out. For safety we always play the last morning and go.

This evening when we returned I unlocked her and took her metal belt off and placed it in the bathroom sink, it needed to be washed because she pees through the shield. The belt has two substantial metal plugs that go into her vagina and anus, it's about time to order the next size up. When it comes I will place the new larger one in her cunt and move the old cunt plug to her ass, moving both holes up one size.

While she enjoyed sitting on the commode like a person right next to me I carefully washed her belt and placed it on the counter to dry. I do love Preeti, her beautiful brown skin and her seductive eyes. Her demeanor and her heart are second to none. I put her in the bath, and tossed in some salts, while I ran the jacuzzi jets watching her in the bath.

When the belt is off she has permission to touch herself, but she doesn't any more than she has to for hygiene. She will wait until after dinner. We are twelve stories in the air, the curtain was open and we were not clothed, we had dinner, and I took a very quick shower to find Preeti on the bed waiting for me.

I climbed onto the bed and she kissed me, I kissed her breasts. Most of the time she services me, but tonight I just took care of her. I played with her breasts, rolling the nipples in my fingers, then I kissed her chest, I kept my hands on her chest as my mouth traced a line from her neck to her patch of black pubic hair. My mouth returned to her breasts kissing them in circles before sucking on her sensitive erect nipples.

I kissed her pubic hair and her labia, which by now were well lubricated. Hmmm, much better than Masoor Dal. I used my fingers in an inverted "V" to lift and separate her labia and drink her juice from her vaginal opening. I ran my tongue across the visible portion of her stiffening clitoris as I pushed my left hand into her vagina. I was pushing hard at her spots and a funny thought occurred to me.

1400 or so years ago Vātsyāyana discovered that women had a single internal structure that was most highly sensitive and the giver of sexual pleasure. He identified five points at which the clitoris was most sensitive. Manwhile dumb-ass western doctors are still arguing about "different types of orgasms" today.

I pushed hard into Preeti's cunt, and she spasmed as my fist excited her clit's lubricant producing bulbs at her vaginal opening. I was licking the tip of her clitoris as my fist pushed up on her tight spot by her bladder and then the one by her cervix before finally pushing against the back of her cunt and stimulating the legs of her clit.

Pulling my fist back out I stimulated all of those parts in reverse order. I continued licking her clit as I plunged back inside of her, then I pulled out again. The effect was cumulative each thrust and each withdrawal brought her closer. Hearing her pant and babble something I couldn't understand got me hotter and I started going faster. Soon my Preeti screamed as she came.

After days without an orgasm, Preeti is always good for more than one, the second came harder than the first, the third harder and faster than the first two.

"Tie me," she said very clearly, "gag me."

She had a very short respite while I took the straps and the gag from her purse, she had carried it all day, just as she does every day. I pushed the rope part under the mattress and adjusted it for the queen sized bed. (The cute female clerk gave a knowing look when we booked the single Queen suite.) I placed Preeti's wrists and ankles in the padded nylon straps and secured them with the attached velcro strips.

I kissed Preeti on the lips before I gagged her and then I worked her hard, fisting her, licking her, biting her labia, double fisting her. She came, and she came and she came. Seven orgasms by my count before she was a whimpering, quivering mass of jelly. Well I think she was whimpering. To be fair, I asked her several times if she wanted to quit, and she didn't respond verbally once. Nor did she use her safe-word, "pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis," so I know she was really enjoying it.

Eventually my tongue and arm got tired so I untied her and removed the gag. Even then she did not say anything she just took deep breaths and drooled a lot. That's okay, as I said I love her, what's a little drool. After I submit this I will climb into bed with her and snuggle, she is already asleep. Good orgasms will do that, you know.

We live out of suitcases in hotels, I guess with my upbringing I'm just a gypsy at heart (cue Cher, 'I was born in the wagon of a traveling show'). Now I travel the United States (and one trip to Central America) working professionally to turn around failing businesses, a little bit like that Marcus Lemonis guy on television, except that in the real world there are usually already investors who are clamoring, it not my money at risk, and there are reams of paperwork. For me it's much more accounting than marketing, but you know he has his (very successful) thing, and that's great. I love the work, and the travel, but it's certainly not for everyone.