This is a multi-part story of how Amanda was transformed from being a respectably married woman and mother into bisexual femme getting off on being abused and humiliated.
Although each 'Take' is a stand alone story, it hangs together better if you start at the beginning.
*
"What do you mean you want to take me out?" I said to Sammi when she phoned a disappointingly long ten days after that last incredible session.
"What I said, I want us to go on a date."
"Oh Sammi don't be silly."
"It's not silly and I want to do it. You'll like it."
"Sammi its crazy, you're young enough to be my daughter and we are both women."
"Yes Amanda I am aware of that, I know full well that you are a woman, I've fucked you enough times, haven't I?"
I didn't reply.
"Haven't I Missus W? I have fucked you enough, fucked my best friend Sara's mum enough times haven't I? Heard from her lately?" She said referring to my daughter. They had been at school together and had just completed their final exams and celebrated their eighteenth birthdays. Sara had gone travelling in Asia and Oz on a gap year, but Sammi was trying to break into professional soccer and was working with the Arsenal ladies squad at their training complex just north of London in London Colney.
"Yes, I hear most days," I replied becoming a little worried as I always did when she brought Sara into the conversation.
Sammi had always been a loose canon at school and since she had seduced me and introduced me to lesbian sex some six weeks ago I had been enormously concerned about two things.
First that she would tell Sara and second that she may have seduced my daughter.
"I'll be talking to her tonight, she's gonna call me."
That worried me. It also sent me a message.
"What sort of date did you mean?" I diplomatically asked. I could almost hear the young woman's self-satisfied smile down the phone.
"Oh a few drinks, dinner, a club, that sort of stuff."
"I really don't know."
"Amanda, you do know, you know full well you want me to keep fucking you and to get that you have to come on this fucking date, for that's what will also happen."
"What?" I naively asked.
"I will fuck you, several times probably."
She was always pretty blunt, but this was extreme. Extreme, rude really, impolite, but enormously arousing.
Since our second session, she had begun to dominate me. At first, it was rather subtle, but recently it was becoming more overt. Yes, as Sammi saw me reacting positively to her humiliating, demeaning and abusing me, so she did it all the more. I just didn't understand what was really happening or why I went along with it. Other than, that is, I enjoyed it. It turned me on to be used, directed and controlled by her.
"And we'd better do it when Kevin's away as I might want to keep you all night."
"So where will we go?" I asked thinking of a local restaurant.
"Oh we'll have a few drinks in Soho, have dinner somewhere then I want to take you to a club in Notting Hill, funnily quite near that blue door that was made famous in the film."
"What sort of club?" I asked.
"You don't need to bother your pretty little airhead about that, I'll arrange everything."
She could be so bloody rude, I thought, but somehow her way of insulting and demeaning me did something to me. Just what the fuck it was I didn't know, but the other night it had caused me to lick her pussy for ages as she sat on the arm of my sofa.
In the end I agreed to go. We set a date in a few days time on a Thursday evening. Kevin would be away so I had the whole night.
Although, inevitably, quite nervous about many aspects of this: going on a 'date' with a female, her being eighteen and me forty three and what would happen on the date, as that Thursday approached I became more and more excited.
"Wear something really girly," she had instructed me on one of our many phone calls before the date.
"What do you mean?"
"Something really very fem, don't try looking butch."
I didn't really understand why she said that or what might be behind her command for, as far as I was concerned, I never wore anything butch. It wasn't worth asking her, though, for I knew I would just get a real mouthful if I did.
As she was coming from north of London, probably the Arsenal training ground, and I would be travelling from Chigwell to the east of London, we agreed to meet at Liverpool Street Station, by W H Smiths. I had suggested that we used the executive car company that Kevin had an account with.
"We could have a nice Merc or BM," I'd said.
"Don't be such a fucking snob, what's wrong with the tube, be like normal people," she had snarled down the phone. So I had.
Something really girly had been my instruction.
Underwear was easy, I smiled either, none or, frilly, lacy white stuff. See through, low cut, front opening bra and a thong, a tiny one, what else? With lacy topped white hold ups, what could be more girly?
On top was more difficult. I'm forty three for fuck's sake, I don't really do girly. Trousers or a skirt? If a skirt should that actually be a skirt or a dress, if a skirt what above the waist and if a frock what sort. Bollocks it wasn't that easy.
Bearing in mind her 'nothing butch' command I rejected trousers. So a skirt or dress I thought morbidly looking through my wardrobe knowing that I was unlikely to find anything that girly. Then I had a brainwave. If I wanted girly why not look in a girly's wardrobe, after all I did have a girly didn't I in my eighteen year old daughter.
