My Life With Tracy
A seductive Scheherezade entices Matthew to play her games
Please read the Standard Disclaimer on Alextasy's Bio Page
++++++++++++++++++++++
WHERE WE ARE
++++++++++++++++++++++
Hindsight is not 20/20.
Too often, we find ourselves looking back at a tragedy and wondering how we didn't see it coming. It is only after the painful truth emerges that we have to admit that sight alone was not enough. Each of us has our own hopes, prejudices and expectations that blind us to what is going on right in front of our eyes. We are unwilling to admit that, even among the most innocent, every heart harbors dark secrets invisible to the naked eye.
Still, there was plenty of blame to go around. I could have re-married. Kyle was only seven when Maggie died, and I arrogantly thought I could raise a healthy, responsible son without a mother's loving touch. Maybe some of his teachers or his friends saw the problems with his anger that I ignored. Lord knows he got in enough fights. Boys will be boys, I said to myself.
Even sweet and adorable Tracy bears her small share of responsibility for what happened. Maybe if she hadn't been, you know--the way she is--then things would never have gone as far as they did. If only, just once, she had hinted to me about the shocking depravity that was going on in their house, I might have saved her the trouble and killed my son myself.
In a way, I guess I did. That was after the fact, so I don't know if it counts.
Then again, if I'd taken such a drastic shortcut, I never would have known what an extraordinary life awaited me.
Slanted beams from the low sun of a May morning shine through the blinds. My name is Matt, short for Matthew. This is my forty-fifth year. Tracy sleeps next to me, the slow rise and fall of her chest so peaceful, her young face so sublime, one would never guess at the horrific violence her petite frame has endured. I'm doing what I can to help.
I laugh to myself. Enjoying kinky sex with my former daughter-in-law seems like a strange sort of therapy. She insists that's what she wants, however. She says she trusts me. She tells me I make her feel loved and desired, and that's what she needs right now. I resisted for a long time, but she wore me down. She truly loves to fuck, even more than my dear, departed Maggie ever did.
It's not just fucking. Her mouth is a wonder of nature. She likes it most when I slip into a domineering role and force her to perform acts she insists she doesn't like, but I know she does. That's been tough for me. I'm old-school, taught to cherish and respect women, my mother's words coming at me from deep in my psyche-- "Don't be so rough with the girls, Matthew." Each day with Tracy, those warnings recede a little deeper, and I can barely hear them. I still have my concerns, so my learning curve has been slow, but I'm growing into the role she wants me to play.
Tracy is a different sort of woman than any I've known. I've wrestled with my guilt for all the misfortune she's lived through, and I watch carefully to ensure we don't come close to the horrific situation she got into with my son, but she keeps pushing me beyond my comfort zone, and I ignore my conscience to give her as much as I can. I owe her that much, and more.
Her eyes flutter open. A small, pleased smile lights up her face when she sees me. She knows I've been watching her. I do that a lot. Whenever she's near, my eyes are drawn to her like a compass needle pointing to true north. I know she wants me to be the strong one. We're both aware of who is really in control.
"How shall I please you, sir?"
That is her standard greeting of choice. She loves to say it, well aware of how it causes my body to react, like Pavlov's dogs to the dinner bell. Blood surges into my groin. She hopes I will succumb to her open invitation. After tumbling with her twice last night, I'm in no hurry.
"Show it to me." My gaze travels up and down the rounded form she's hiding under the covers.
When she reaches to her neck to pull back the sheets, I stop her hand and whisper.
"Slower."
Tracy's eyes sparkle. My daughter-in-law is quite the coquette. Hooking her fingers over the edge of the sheets, she draws them down, inch by inch. Watching me constantly with her coy smirk, she gauges my reaction and adjusts the speed for maximum tease.
The first to appear is her graceful neck, flawless but for a small, dark blemish on the left side. Sometimes those erotic stories she reads to me every night incite such passion that I lose control. I should be ashamed, but she seems to enjoy it more when my exuberance runs away with me. My mouth waters, anticipating the chance to add a twin to the other side of her neck.
Her pale, slender shoulders emerge from under the sheets. Tracy appears to be an exhibitionist where her shoulders are concerned. I don't think I've ever seen her in clothes that don't have one, or both, bared. I have also learned they are highly erogenous areas of her body.
The tempo slows as her breasts come into view. Uncovering only the top half of her two, lily-white swells, she pauses. She is a Picasso at the art of temptation. She knows what this is doing to me and tries to suppress a grin. I peer straight into her eyes, fighting back my voyeuristic male urges. I think she is impressed with my willpower, so she rewards me.
One small, sienna nipple pops out, the left one. It is erect. She is excited, too. Stretching the top of the sheet, she uses the taut edge to flip the little pea-sized nub up and down. She covers the first tit back up before revealing the other one, which she twirls between her fingertips.
The blood rushing into my penis swells it to painfully hard rigidity, so I rub it. Her attention is caught by the movement under the sheets. Reflexively, she licks her lips. Her eyes beg me to wait. She swears that she loves my semen, or as she calls it, my 'cum'. It is perhaps the strongest leverage I have over her. She will do anything to feel my creamy spend gushing inside her or splattering her skin. She has told me that her greatest delight is the heat of my cum filling her pussy.
I apologize for my language. Tracy did that to me, too, though I have to admit, I must accept my share of the blame for the debauchery that came after she got me over the first hurdle.
She picks up the pace, anxious to finish before I do. The sheets slide down her soft, flat belly, past the elongated navel.
With a low growl, I remind her. "Slow."
She can't stand it any longer. "Please, sir. Wait for me?"
Her begging is another new aspect of my life that I'm learning to enjoy, perhaps a bit too much. I'm discovering it's wise to temper the strictness at times, but we aren't anywhere near that point, yet.
"Do as I tell you, Tracy."
"Yes, sir."
The meekness of those two words never cease to boost my ego. The effect is immediate. It's like a shot of testosterone straight to my gonads.
The little minx shows me just the top of her sleek, dirty blonde pubes before she hesitates again. I catch myself licking my lips. She sees that, too, and looks smug. Reaching underneath the sheets, she maneuvers her hidden hand in slow, tantalizing motions. Her eyelashes flutter, and the lids narrow seductively. She withdraws two glistening fingers and offers them to my lips. She knows I can't refuse.
Her pussy is intoxicating, and I'm a lush. After her shower, she tastes like a fine Scotch, rich and tangy. When she gets excited, the flavor is more spicy, dark and full-bodied, like bourbon.
