This story captures situations and events that illustrate the sexual power one person can have over another. A young, inexperienced girl; a jaded sex driven man, and a docile, emotionally hungry woman. Three's not always a crowd. . .
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After another restless night filled with inner guilt and recriminations, I found myself at the kitchen table drinking a strong, hot cup of coffee and realizing that I had reached the bottom and needed help.
It had been just Mama and me until she met and married Justin Michael Bennard. My Mama had always had a man to admire, protect and support her; after my Daddy died, she was alone for the first time in her life.
Mama was a tall, slim, beautiful strawberry blond who appreciated her attractiveness to men and thought she knew how to use it to her advantage. With my grandparent's blessings and encouragement, she had started "dating" forty-something Matthew Thomason the same week she began working for his real estate company. Young, stupid and eager to impress the attentive older man, she found herself being fucked on the roomy back seat of his new Lincoln Continental on more than one occasion. Within five weeks, he had knocked her up, and within two more months, married her.
Mama had been barely twenty years old when I was born.
I remember once when Mama had had a little too much to drink, out of the blue, she had started talking about Daddy. She said she had been a silly girl who fancied herself in love with a man old enough to be her father. She said the first time she was with Daddy he had made her get in the back seat of his car, pulled down her panties and tried to stick his thing in her.
"I had only been with two other people, my boyfriend the night of my high school graduation, and my brother's best friend one afternoon when he had come over, and we were alone in the house," she said with a slight slur in her voice.
Laughing she added, "neither of them knew what they were doing, they came, but I sure as hell didn't."
She looked up at me, her eyes sleepy and glazed over with alcohol. When your Daddy was climbing on top of me, I started yelling at him, "Get off me, get off me," but he wasn't having any of that. He was my first man. He was so big I think it scared me when I saw him erect for the first time.
"He told me to shut up, because he was going to fuck me, he'd waited long enough." He seemed different, and being a little frightened, I lay there under him and tried to stop whimpering.
"After a few minutes of him sliding in and out of me, I started to tremble and felt this warm, wetness explode between my legs. I had never experienced anything like the feelings that washed over me. . . your Daddy had given me my first orgasm."
"His cock was huge, so thick and red; a man's cock, not a boy's," she said with a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Mama grew quiet, and I could see a wistful, sad look in her eyes. Without another word, she got up, walked across the hall to her bedroom, and closed the door.
*****
As I grew older, the more physically alike we became. By my eighteen birthday, though I wasn't as tall as she had been at that age, I had small, but well-shaped breasts made more memorable by their long, sensitive nipples that came alive at the feel of a man's warm moist mouth. Thick dark blonde hair that fell below my shoulders, wide-set blue eyes highlighted by long, dark eyelashes, a slim waist with full womanly hips, and a firm, rounded behind; I was a younger version of Mama.
I sat stoically holding the cup in my hand, the tears freely falling as I thought back to that last night with Justin Bennard . . . my stepfather and lover.
I hadn't known Justin that well, but I was familiar with the rumors and his unsavory reputation. I felt uncomfortable around Justin and could sense the growing tension between Mama and me because of him. Despite my words of caution and well-intended warnings about him, Mama married Justin. It proved to be a horrible mistake for her and me.
To anyone on the outside looking in, we appeared to be a loving family, but emotional and psychological intimidation, inappropriate sexual couplings, and a dominating, sex-obsessed male figure, complicated our relationships. Despite unwillingly having sex with my stepfather within just a few months of him marrying my Mama, I eventually found myself naively excited by and foolishly infatuated with Justin and the sexual awakening that he opened my eyes to.
The three of us lived together for close to two years. In that short period, my life was thrown into turmoil; I had grown to feel as if my very sanity depended on my breaking away from them. Now, as my twentieth birthday fast approached I struggled for the courage to end the affair with Justin and to finally leave and start a life of my own. The situation was made more difficult because we lived in the same house and he was forever making overtures to me and still trying to make his way into my bed and between my legs. Finally, the opportunity to leave presented itself and I had managed to save enough money to move into a small house of my own. Wanting to make a clean start, I did not divulge my new address to anyone.
It had been almost three months since ending my relationship with Justin.
After the move, though I was anxious and lonely, I think my anonymity gave me time to think and take stock of my past and my future. I sighed as I remembered how innocent I had been, how in the beginning the sex was so new and wonderful, like an irresistible magnet drawing me to Justin; but the subjugation, and sexual submission that he demanded from me had become more and more upsetting as his mask of civility slipped away.
*****
I think for the first time in a very long while, I was beginning to understand why I had done some of the things I had and why I had been so easily attracted to Justin, despite him being Mama's husband.
More and more I felt the urge to call Mama and one day, I called her. Our relationship had been strained for a while, but that day we talked for a long time. I didn't tell Mama everything that had been happening, and definitely not about my having become Justin's young slut. Nor did I tell her that out of fear, intimidation and a sick love for him I had done things that I was ashamed of and regretted.
Between my loud, wet sobs, I tried to explain how my life had been in chaos and that I needed her help. At the end of that conversation, in her blind ignorance, not knowing that Justin, her beloved husband had been fucking his stepdaughter nonstop for at least the last two years, Mama told me to come home.
She said she and Justin both wanted me to come home. She said Justin had been surly and angry since I had left, but she knew his attitude would change when he knew that I was safe and coming home. Horrified at the thought of being anywhere near him, I thanked her and said I would think about it but I didn't think that moving back would be the right thing for me to do right then. She was not happy with my decision but said she understood and for me to take all the time I needed to decide what was right for me. Surprised by Mama's uncharacteristically caring and thoughtful attitude I hung up the phone strangely calmed and hopeful about my future.
*****
The phone calls began a few days after speaking with Mama.
I had a new phone number, and at first didn't think anything about the calls that would come in randomly throughout the day and night, assuming they were from people innocently trying to reach the previous subscriber. I soon figured out the calls weren't so innocent, the heavy breathing, the groans, the grunting followed by the undeniable sound of a man achieving release was enough to make me turn the phone off and cower under the covers.
I had no idea who was calling, but it seemed the caller knew when I was at home because the calls started almost as soon as I came through my front door. The calls became even more upsetting when the caller would want to talk and ask me questions as he masturbated on the other end. Once when he called in the middle of the night, waking me out of a sound sleep, I impulsively decided to play along with him. Thinking my feigned interest would dampen his desire to shock me, I foolishly indulged him. Unfortunately, I realized too late that my urging him to "cum for me," to "cover me with his cum," to "let me milk his cock until he was drained," accomplished the opposite goal. After that night, when he called, he would be more insistent, actually becoming upset if I didn't talk nasty or masturbate with him. My being silent and simply listening as he talked or pleasured himself was no longer enough.
I deeply regretted my foolish bravado and finally went to the police who could do very little to stop the calls. Though the voice sounded disguised, once or twice I thought I recognized it, but quickly dismissed that idea because . . . because at that point, no one had my new number or knew where I now lived, not even my Mama. Disheartened, I changed my number (for the second time), but whoever the caller was somehow got the new number, and the calls continued.
After a while, I think I grew used to the calls, in a sick, pathetic way maybe even looked forward to them. Sometimes the phone would start ringing after I had gone to bed and when I answered, the calls would always start the same way:
"Hello, hello," I would say sleepily, closing my eyes in anticipation of the inevitable warm, tingling sensation I would soon feel between my legs.
"Hey, Morgan . . . it's me."
I never spoke or at least seldom spoke. I would lie there under the covers rubbing myself as the caller described what he was going to do to me, with me. Eventually, we would both masturbate to orgasm, and the call would end. I would feel self-disgust afterward, and I'd swear I would not do it again, but I did.
Once or twice, he had brought up the subject of our meeting that would throw me into a panic.
"No, no . . . I don't want to meet you. No!" I would shout into the phone. The caller would back off, saying that he would let it go this time, but when he was ready for us to meet, we would.
*****
One day while at the gym, I glanced up and from the corner of my eye, saw a man intently staring at me. He was tall, with a nice body, greying hair and still attractive for a man of his age that I guessed to be mid-forties . . . and he looked like Justin. Impulsively, I ran, I didn't stop to pick up my gym bag, or towel, I just ran to my car gunned the engine and headed home. I slammed the door behind me, poured myself a stiff drink and sat huddling on the sofa waiting for the knock on the door. The knock did not come; I talked myself into believing it had all been a mistake and put it out of my mind. Maybe a week later, after arriving home from work, I had just begun changing out of my work clothes, when a persistent knocking at my front door startled me. I opened it, and there stood Justin.
