Heather Day 32 The Confession

"Better late than never," Edward said as Heather entered the front door. He leaned in for a kiss as he passed. He carried carrying a large yellow drill through the living room.

"Why the drill?" Heather asked.

"I'm going to finally fix that shelf in the basement. Margaret keeps complaining." He winked.

"I have not! I just mentioned it," Margaret called out from the dining room. "I didn't know if you knew or not."

"Pizza's on the table, baby. Pepperoni and mushroom." Edward left, and Heather listened to him descend the stairs to the basement before joining her mom in the dining room.

"Did you have a good day, Heather?" Margaret asked, pulling another slice from the pizza.

"I did. Thanks." Heather joined Margaret, pulling away her own slice of pizza from the pie. "Mostly a standard day, I guess." She suppressed an impulsive grin remembering her day. Hiding things from her mom made her a little uneasy, but Heather knew her mom would be disappointed. Hiding it from Edward would be no less difficult. She hated herself for these lies.

She bemoaned herself, but, at the same time, she couldn't escape joyous visions of giving herself to however he wanted. She stopped wearing panties at Edward's request, but she couldn't blame him for the pasty cum leaking down her thigh as squeezed her thighs together. The squeezing only added pressure to her clit, making it worse. She sighed a little bringing the pizza top her mouth.

Margaret sniffed the air. "What is..?" She looked at Heather with wide eyes. She reached, reflexively, for Heather's skirt, then pulled her hand back. "Where have you been?"

Heather had dreaded this moment. It would be easy to make up something, but she was a horrible liar. She had cheated on her loving husband twice in the past week, but she would never be able to straight up lie about it. She appreciated the irony.

"I drove by the apartments. Lexington Villa." She didn't look at Margaret. She had not lied, technically.

"Why?" Margaret lay her plate on the table and followed Heather around the kitchen as she fixed a drink.

"I was wondering, you know," Heather pulled a glass from the cabinet, "if they had changed anything." She forced a smile to her mom. "They haven't, of course. Those same flowers line the entrance. Oh, Roger and Kurt work there again. I saw Roger while I was there."

"Roger?" Margaret furrowed her brow and shook her head. "Roger?"

"Yeah, Roger." Heather turned quickly to keep her mom behind her. "He parked the cart in the drive. I almost hit it."

"You almost hit it?" Margaret shook her head. "With Roger?"

She thinks I had sex with Roger! Fuck! Heather searched for a reply. If she continued skirting the questions, her mom would think she fucked a balding fat old man. But, if she cleared the air about Roger, her mom would know she fucked a balding fit hot man. "Almost hit it?" She wrinkled her face like she didn't understand. "I almost his his cart, mom, jeez!"

"Did you fuck Roger?" Margaret stamped her foot in the middle of the kitchen.

Direct and to the point. Hether's mom had never beat around any bushes. "What? No, Of course not. What is wrong with you?" Heather knew she protested too much when she forced laughter.

"Who then? You prance in here an hour late smelling like a well-used prom queen." Margaret pointed at Heather's crotch. "Why are you squeezing your legs together so tightly?"

Heather pointed to her mother with the hand holding her fresh glass of water. "You're crazy, Mom." She say at the table, folded a napkin over her lap, and pulled another slice of pizza from the pie. If she just kept a calm face, maybe this interrogation would end.

Margaret sat at the table opposite Heather. "Do you remember Mr. Simpkins?"

"Uncle Gary? Of course." Heather said. Her mom must be dropping her suspicions, good. Gary Simpkins use to come to there house most weekends, like all her parents friends, when she was a child. He was a tall dark-headed man. All Heather's parents' female friends crushed on him. She couldn't remember why she called him Uncle Gary.

"Yeah. Uncle Gary, as you always called him, fucked the holy shit out of me at your fourth birthday." Margaret sipped her soda as Heather choked a bit on her pizza.

"What?" Heather threw both hands, palm-down, on the table.

"That wasn't the first time he fucked me, or the last, or the best." She shrugged. "But for some reason, that time kind of sticks in my memory." She looked up in reverie. "I had just cleaned up a mess one of your friends made on the floor. Your dad had ushered everyone out of the room already." She looked at Heather. "You remember how that house had the large kitchen with that island between the living room and the utility room?"

"Yeah." Heather wanted to know where this story went, but her stomach was knotted. Her mom just admitted an affair with Uncle-Fucking-Gary.

"Well, I was carrying the dirty rags to the washer, and Mr. Simpkins grabbed me in the kitchen." She smiled. "I had not known him very long then, less than a year, and I had been feeling really guilty, so I tried to bat him off, but he was very insistent." She sighed. "He fucked me against that island in the middle of the kitchen. I could hear your father talking to you and your friends in the next room."

"Why are you telling me this?" Heather asked.

"I know you just had sex with someone. I know you expect me to scorn you." Margaret reached across the table and put her hands over Heather's. "I won't. Whatever you are feeling right now, I know I have felt before, too. I hope you'll talk to me if you need advice or just want to vent."

Heather took another bite, and sat at the table with her mother in silence. She could hear the drill and banging coming from the basement. Edward had never been much of a carpenter; fixing the shelf would probably take him the better part of an hour. She loved her husband. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger.

He started this ball rolling when he satisfied his kinks talking dirty with her. That ball accelerate down the hill. She had already fucked another man, just like Edward's dirty fantasies. She could feel Simon's manhood leaking out of her as she sat eating pizza with her mom. She should feel remorse or at least some level of guilt- the man she loved with all her heart was downstairs fumbling with a broken shelf, while she sat here turned on with another man's semen leaking from her.

"I can still smell you." Her mom looked out the dining room window as she spoke. "Your musk is heavy, Heather." She spun her head and looked Heather in the eyes. "You have to tell him."

"Who? Edward?" She lay her pizza on her plate. "No way. He'd leave." The thought of life without Edward destroyed her. "I can't live without him, Mom."

"Your dad and I had only been married two years, when it happened to me. I was a little younger than you are, now, and I was hoping the legacy skipped you." Margaret reached across the table and took Heather's hands in her own. "I had enjoyed sex with Rick, and I loved him. I had never even looked at another man."

"You don't have to tell me this, Mom," Heather said. She did not like thinking of her mom as anything but a loving wife to her deceased father.

"Yes, I do. Heather. You need to know." Margaret petted Heather's hand a moment before continuing. "The first time was with Frank Greggors."

"Our neighbor? God, Mom." Heather remembered Frank. He was a widower who lived next door to them when she was small.

"My car had a flat one morning. Your father had already left. You were eighteen months, then, and you were not having a good morning. Frank saw the trouble I was having and helped. I held you and grew increasingly horny as I watched him fix my flat. When he finished, I asked him to wait a moment while I put you in your seat.

"After you were buckled, I turned around, and, standing in front of him, I dropped to my knees and pulled down his zipper. He feigned a little resistance at first, but, once his dick was in my mouth, it was all over. It was only the second dick I had ever even seen, and it was already in my mouth. It tasted so good. So beautiful." She looked distant, in reverie.

She shook her head and continued her story. "I had only blown your daddy twice after he begged, and never let him cum in my mouth. But I blew Frank Greggors in search of his reward. I wanted this man to fill my mouth with his cum, and he did. I will never forget. You were screaming in the car, and he tensed. The cum erupted from his tangy velvet helm, and it felt so right, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Blowing Frank became a pretty regular thing."

"Was I in the car screaming every time?" Heather asked snarkily.

"No, not every time," Margaret answered, "Sometimes I held you, or Frank held you, or you just weren't there." She patted Heather's hands. "That doesn't matter, though; I am getting to the important part. So it was only blow jobs for several months. Frank had never even seen me topless. Then Rick had to go to Toledo for a week." Margaret bit her lip. "Frank stayed with you and me while your daddy was away. Frank slept in my marital bed and fucked me so hard every night. I did not love Frank, but I enjoyed giving him whatever he wanted."

"Did dad ever find out?" Heather asked. More drilling could be heard from down stairs. She imagined her loving husband in the basement using all his efforts to fix something for her and her mom while her mom confessed a slutty past, and Heather had another man's cum inside her.

"No- I mean yes, but we're getting there." Margaret walked around the table and at next to Heather. She held Heather's hands in her lap. "So Frank came over nearly every day after that week. He started getting kinky and wanting me to take risks. The risk turned me on as much as anything, I suppose. About three months after our week, I was blowing Frank, and he told me he wanted me to fuck my-brother-in-law."

"Timmy?" Heather asked. Her dad's little brother was still in highschool when Heather was born. "Was he even eighteen, yet?

"Of course!" Margaret slapped Heather's hand. "I think he was nineteen then, but I was only twenty-five, remember. Anyway, I came a little bit when he said that. Crazy, huh? I was fully dressed with our neighbor's dick in my mouth, and I came when he told me to fuck my loving husband's little brother."

"Did you?"

"Did I cum?" Margaret smiled. "Oh yes."

"No, did you fuck Timmy?"

"It was a few months later. Timmy and his girlfriend stayed with us a while. We all got drunk, and after your daddy passed out, I had a threesome with Timmy and his girl." She tapped her finger. "I can't remember her name."

"Jeez! Mom! You are such a slut!" Everything Heather knew about her parents was being turned upside down.

"It was that tryst with Timmy that made me confess to Rick. I cried in his arms and confessed. He was mad, very mad, at first. He bent me over the table spanked me." She touched the table's edge. "It was this table, and I was bent over right here." She smiled at the memory. "He spanked me til I cried, Heather. When he was satisfied with my punishment, he fucked me harder than he ever had before.."

"Are you trying to tell me, you guys just fucked and made up? Daddy was not that lame," Heather said.

"I loved your father, Heather, and I know you do not want to think of him as some beta male cuckold, but that is exactly what he was after that day. That is when the parties started. At first it was just Frank. Your dad loved to watch Frank fuck me. There were a few more times with Timmy- not threesomes again, just Timmy. Rick enjoyed that, too, but after just a few times he made a rule against family." She shrugged. "Soon, though, a lot of couples and men hung at our house."

"You were fucking them all?"

"Of course not," Margaret said, "Only a few. Most of the people that partied with us had no idea."

Heather looked away processing this new information. Her childhood had been tossed in a box and shaken. A noise down stairs jolted Heather back to the present. Edward was climbing the stairs.

"That is what I am trying to say, Heather," Margaret said, "You have to tell Edward. You are going to keep fucking other men, you carry Pandora's pussy, you inherited it from me, and me from my mom."

"Gran?" Would this ever end?

"You don't even know, but that is besides the point. Your desires are only going to get worse. Edward will know eventually, your only chance of saving your marriage is full confession."

The basement door swung open. "All fixed," Edward said. He kissed Heather's head and lay the drill on the table beside the pizza.

"That is not where the drill goes, Edward," Margaret said.

"Sorry," Edward grabbed the drill and headed to the garage to put it away.

"Go get in the shower," Margaret told Heather. "And work out how you plan to confess."

***

Heather tested the water with her small hand before stepping into the shower. The shower was aimed at the top of her head. Why can't Edward just lower it before he gets out. She stood on her tip-toes and reached as high as she could to adjust the shower head. Edward called her shorty adoringly, and Simon liked short girls, too, but sometimes she was envious of taller and stronger women.

She stood beneath the streamy water. She made the water a little too hot on purpose for self punishment. It scalded her as it caressed and bit her skin. She splashed the water into her gooey pussy, giving it a good pre-rinse. After scrunching the soap and suds into her loofa, she turned with her head tilted back into the shower. The water heated her scalp and stretched her black hair down her back.

She soaped herself, paying special attention to her open pussy. Rinsed. Soaped again. The mixed fluids inside her rinsed down her leg and spiralled around the drain. She watched Simon's the last of Simon's cum drain away with regret. "I am such a slut," she whispered, shaking her head. She had meant the words as an admonishment, but the admission excited her body in strange ways. She froze for a moment in the steam. "I am such a," she spoke the next word with purpose. "Slut," Her pussy pulsed a bit.

"I am a married woman. I love my husband." She laced her words with love and desire, and her pussy remained steady. "Today another man-" she put her finger over her clit and at the edge of her opening- "put his dick in here."

A wave of pleasure trickled through her, weakening her knees. She dropped the loofa to the shower floor and placed that hand on the wall to steady herself. The other hand stayed on her pussy. The fallen loofa spun in the tub over the drain, and its bubbles covered the surface of the water. Heather's feet vanished in the suds-covered water.

She circled her growing clit the the edge of her finger. "I am a slut." She spoke matter-of-factly this time. Her clit hardened to its limits. "I enjoy being a slut." Her pussy clenched at nothing as a tiny orgasm spread through her.

She loved her husband, though. With the way he'd been talking lately, maybe he really would enjoy her confession. Women are supposed to favor men like their daddy. If her daddy had really loved her mom being such a slut, maybe Edward would, too. She imagined Simon fucking her while Edward watched. Edward could kiss her and comfort her while Simon made her cum. The steam carried the musk of her wet pussy thickly to her nostrils. She inhaled deep and smiled..

She thought of going out with Edward. Maybe they could go to a club. "I am a slut." she whispered with a smile. Her pussy begged for her fingers. While at the club, maybe Edward could pick out a guy or two for her to play with. She would do whatever the men wanted because Edward would tell her to. She plunged her fingers inside her, and imagined it was the cock of one of these faceless strangers.

"My husband wants me to be a slut." She thought of a way to end the guilt. She could still be a perfect wife. "I am Edward's slut." Her pussy immediately turned off. "What?" She slapped her mound. "What the fuck?"

She had never before gone from nearing an orgasm to nothing so fast in her life. Her mind was still set on cumming, but her body no longer willed it. "I am a slut." The blood flowed to her spots again, and she continued rubbing her clit. "I am a slut. - Oh God - I love dick. - Fuck!" She fell to one knees, splashing the hot, soapy water into the steam.

Every slutty thought gave her more pleasure except when she imagined being her husband's slut. That made no sense. She loved Edward. She loved everything about Edward. He was her husband, and, until a few days ago, he was the only man she'd ever been with. He had cared for her in ways no man would ever be able to match.

"I am just a slut." she plunged the fingers back inside her needy pussy. "I am a filthy, dirty slut." Her orgasm approached. She loved her husband. She wanted to be his. "I am Edward's slut." She whispered those words quickly as her orgasm peaked, and it crashed around her empty. "No, no, no!" She slapped her pussy awake again. "No, I am a slut. I am a slut." She sighed thankfully when her fluids returned.

Why can't I be Edward's slut? She thought. Heather was committed to an orgam and was scared to speak the question aloud. What about Simon? "I am Simon's slut." Just like with Edward, her pussy shut off again. "No damn it, No." She slapped her clit. "Not Simon's slut. I am my own slut. No one owns me." Those words felt wrong to her, and her pussy agreed. Her clit softened and withdrew.

Unsatisfied and exhausted, Heather stood again in the shower. "Fuck you then." She slapped her pussy once more for emphasis. She lathered her hair and smelled the strawberries from the shampoo.

These changes in her body confused her. Her impulses were beyond control, now. Her pussy screamed for attention all the time. Except now, she thought. She rubbed a lathered finger over between her folds. Who owns you? she thought.

"Dr. Spencer." She whispered that name from nowhere, and her pussy smiled. Heather had been trying to shift blame for her indecretoins to her husband's growing perversion, but Dr. Spencer is really who started this descent.

'Return when you can accept being my slut,' Dr. Spencer had said. She thought she had misheard him, and she had no intention of ever seeing that strange man again. Her pussy seemed to like him, though, and, at that moment, that was all Heather needed.

"I am Dr. Spencer's slut." She exploded into orgasm immediately, falling to her knees in the shower.

"You ok, Heather?" Edward asked from outside the bathroom. He must be waiting for her in the bedroom.

"Yes, baby, I am fine. Just tripped a bit," she answered quickly. He said something else, but Heathe was distracted by her own pleasure.

"I am Dr. Pierce Spencer's slut." Her pussy gripped her fingers as the stroked in and out. "I am his. Whatever he wants." She wondered what his dick would look like. She closed her eyes and smiled thinking of him ordering her to suck his dick in that clean and sterile office. Would he let her taste his cum? Would he cover her face? Would he fill her dirty little pussy? Heather asked herself those questions and rode out the orgasm.

"Oh God!" She pinched a nipple. Jolts of pleasure coursed through her and her pussy convulsed on her fingers. Her cum covered her hand and flowed down her thighs. "Oh God! I am a slut. I am a slut and I belong to Pierce Spencer." Her eyes rolled back and guttural noises escaped her lungs as the climax folded through her. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. When it finally subsided, she hung her head and let the water rinse the shampoo from her hair.

Poor Edward, she thought. Her fidelity was shattered. She was a slut, but she was not her husband's slut. "Mom is right," she whispered. "I need to confess."