Did my story imitate life or was life imitating my story.
Fbailey story number 375
I rented the old farmhouse for the summer so that I could become a hermit for three months and write my book.
It was perfect. It was out in the middle of nowhere and miles from anyone. The nearest neighbor was at least three miles away. There was electricity, running water, and even a flush toilet. Other than that the place was pretty sparse. There was a fireplace and plenty of wood stacked out back. The best part was no television, no telephone, and no Internet to distract me.
I plugged in my computer and started my latest romance novel. My hero was a cowboy set in the late eighteen hundreds, working his farm, and taking care of the ladies on the next farm. In my story there were three women living alone without a man. There was the mother and her two teenage daughters. They were starved for sexual attention and kept coming to my hero for sex, lots of sex, and all kinds of sex. He could do just about anything to any of them at any time of the day or night. He never had to go to them because they were always coming to him.
In the first few days I had a pretty good start on my story and I was happy. That evening before it got dark I decided to build a fire in the fireplace and relax with a bottle of wine.
An hour later a pickup truck came flying up the road with a big cloud of dust behind it. It came to a stop and three women got out of it and rushed to my door. They opened it and rushed in without even knocking. They didn’t know that I was there and were concerned about the place burning down. My car was in the barn so they never saw it.
Anyway after a brief discussion we introduced ourselves. Bobbie Jo was the thirty-four-year-old mother, Penelope was her sixteen-year-old daughter, and Marguerite was her fifteen-year-old daughter. I told them that I was thirty-six, single, and a writer. Bobbie Jo had actually read one of my book, in paperback, but at least she had read one.
I offered her a glass of wine and she asked if she could read my latest story. I didn’t normally let anyone read my stories until I was happy with them and they were published, however Bobbie Jo was something special…and she reminded me of the woman in my story with the two daughters.
She read a couple of pages and told me to give her daughters some wine too. Then she sent us all outside to talk while she read my story.
Penelope and Marguerite were wearing tight blue jeans and button shirts. They talked about boys constantly but not in a childish way. They were quite mature for their ages and interested in finding a really nice man and settling down like their mother had. Then they told me about their father dying several years ago in an accident.
About an hour later Bobbie Jo came out with another bottle of my wine. The bottle was half-empty. She filled our glasses and we drank them dry. A few minutes later she sent the girls into the house for another bottle of wine saying that she was heading into town in the morning and that she would pick up some more wine for me.
Just as soon as the girls were out of sight Bobbie Jo pulled her T-shirt up over her head to reveal a perfectly rounded and tanned set of breasts. She stood there topless and said, “I haven’t had sex in quite awhile, you can have me any time you want, and my daughters too.” It was a line from my book that she was reciting. Then she put her T-shirt back on before her girls returned. We finished that bottle of wine too and we were all feeling pretty good. It was getting late when Bobbie Jo said, “I can spend the night if you like, my girls can find their own way home.” Again it was a line from my story. I was tempted to say yes but like my character in the story I said no the first time that she asked me. I got a kiss on the cheek as she pressed her breasts into my chest…just like her character did in the story. Then they left.
That night I lay in bed thinking about the possibilities for my story and those same possibilities in real life. Did my story imitate life or was life imitating my story. I fell asleep dreaming of the possibilities.
In the morning I jumped out of bed and started typing into my computer with a new zeal. My mind was full of all the sexual things that I wanted to do to that woman and her two daughters. I typed nonstop for probably ten hours before I heard her pickup truck pull up out front. I stopped typing and ran to her, she was alone as she had been in my story, and I kissed her. Bobbie Jo responded by kissing me back. She said, “I told the girls not to wait up for me.” Again another line from the story that she had read the day before. I wondered if I should let her read what I had written that day.
She begged me to let her read it while I unloaded her truck. She had two cases of assorted wine bottles, a few bottles of assorted alcohol, and some food. I opened up a bottle, poured two glasses, and handed her one. I sat down near her as she read. I watched her massage her breasts through her clothes, harden her nipples under that T-shirt, and then slip her fingers down into her tight blue jeans. She could not reach what she had desired. She paused from reading just long enough to open her jeans and slip then down past her crotch. She then went back to reading and slipped her fingers down into her panties. She fingered herself the whole time she read my story and she shuddered in orgasm several times throughout. Apparently I had a real winner in the story that I was writing. I also had a real winner in the woman sitting before me.
When she stopped reading she turned to me and said, “That was good. My daughters and I can help you fulfill it and maybe give you enough ideas for two more books after this one.”
She stood up allowing her jeans to fall to her ankles then she stepped out of them. Her T-shirt went up over head again and she stood before me in just her moist panties. She was a fine figure of a woman and very desirable. Her structure was solid, she had nice curves, and she was willing.
The fact that she was willing to fulfill my story line was more than enough reason for me to keep writing. If for nothing else just to see how far she and her daughters were willing to go. I knew from past experience that my mind had no limit.
Bobbie Jo kissed me like she had the night before and pressed her breasts into my chest. In my story, the first time my characters made love it was on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire on a cold winter’s night. We didn’t have a fire, it wasn’t cold, and I didn’t have a bearskin rug either. However, Bobbie Jo was willing to pretend that my house was a cabin set in the eighteen hundreds.
Together our minds pretended, as our bodies acted it out. Bobbie Jo and I melted to the floor with a passion that neither of us had know for quite some time. Our limbs intertwined, our bodies meshed together, and our lust grew. Hell, my cock grew in size, it seeked out her pussy, and it crawled in all by itself. The first time I realized where it was, was when Bobbie Jo said, “Oh God that feels so good. I haven’t had a man inside me in ages.” It was another quote from my story.
From there on it was just wanton lust that carried us through the passion that was building in us. We made love, we fucked, and we had sex for hours. I could not get enough of her and she could not get enough of me either. Bobbie Jo was everything that I had ever dreamed of as the main woman in all of my stories. It was as if my mind had created the perfect woman, given birth to her, and then put her before me. That evening we only had vaginal sex but we had it in several positions. I liked being in control but I also liked it when she got on top. I enjoyed her breasts as she fucked me, then she turned around to face my feet, and I enjoyed her ass then.
In the morning she fixed breakfast for us and climbed in bed with me to eat it. Then we talked about the previous night, future nights to come, and her daughters. Bobbie Jo was willing to bring her two daughters into our relationship and into the story that I was writing. She was sincere and even gave me suggestions as to what I could do to the three of them and have them do to one another.
We made love one more time in the bed of her pickup truck before she left. She promised to drop off one of her daughters later to spend the night with me. She said that it would probably be Penelope and that she was a virgin but that she had been using a dildo for about a year. I kissed her and she drove off.
I then wondered how I could get a dildo in my story. I considered the possibility of drying out a bull’s dick, stuffing a donkey’s dick, or just letting a dog fuck them. What about carving one out of wood, making one out of clay and baking it, or just using veggies like corn on the cob, carrots, or cucumbers. All of my thoughts were plausible but what would a horny woman in the eighteen hundreds use as a dildo. I would have to ask Bobbie Jo when she arrived.
After dinner Penelope came clomping up to the porch on a horse. She was wearing a dress right out of the pioneer movies. She reminded me of Laura on ‘Little House on the Prairie’ that I used to watch...only much prettier. She got down and tied the horse to my railing. Penelope then quoted another passage from my story, “Momma sent me over. She said that it was time that I became a woman. She said that you would know what to do.” I smiled and told her that we should put her horse in the barn first, so we did.
In my story it was springtime when I took the oldest daughter’s virginity near a pond after she had been bathing. Penelope knew of a pond not too far away and walked me there. Along the way she told me that her mother had had a long talk with her and her sister Marguerite. She told them about my book, how sexually exciting it had been, and that the three of them were going to help me live it out and possible a few more books too. She was excite to help and she was excited about loosing her virginity too. Then I asked her what a young girl in the eighteen hundreds would do about a dildo. She didn’t hesitate to said, “I would use the handle on my father’s leather horse whip, the carved handle on my mother’s silver hair brush that she had received as a wedding present, or I might use the handle on the butter churn like my mother does.”
Wow! Penelope was certainly into roll playing. She was stimulating my mind and my body with her sweet innocents. When we got to the pond she simply undressed and went into the rather chilly water. When she turned around her nipples were hard, her small breasts glistened in the sun, and her pubic patch looked divine. I was impressed that she had worn a bodice that tied in the front like a shoelace. Her pantaloons were crotchless, as they would have been in the old days.
Shortly Penelope was walking out of the water and toward me. She was shivering and goose bumps had risen on her arms. She walked into my arms pressing her cold breasts into my warm chest leaving two round wet spots on my shirt. She said, “Take me right here in the grass with the birds singing and the clouds floating in the sky.” Again a line from my current book.
Penelope asked, “Did it hurt when Murphy took Clementine’s virginity? I just want to know if I should scream out just a little as you penetrate me.”
I laughed and replied, “I hardly think that will be necessary. After all you have been fucking yourself with your father’s bullwhip, your mother’s hairbrush, and the butter churn handle. Just enjoy it was if it were your first time to have a man’s cock in you pussy.”
Penelope said, “It will be.”
I laid her down in the grass and let her look at the sky while I started to lick her pussy. She reacted just like her mother had the night before when I had licked her pussy too. Penelope shivered and grabbed a hold of my head forcing me tighter into her crotch as she raised her legs up around my ears. After her first orgasm I started working on her nipples as I stimulated her clit with my fingers. After her second orgasm I inserted my cock into her virgin pussy. It was tighter than her mother’s pussy had been the day before and if felt nice. Hell, it felt wonderful. I had never had a virgin before. I knew that Penelope would remember her first time for the rest of her life, so I tried to make it a good memory.
As I fucked into that young teenage woman’s body my thoughts went back to the eighteen hundreds and my book. I could see Clementine lying there under Murphy loosing her virginity too. Then as her third orgasm took her over and I started pumping my semen into her body as she cried out softly, “Oh God, I needed that. Thank you Murphy. Thank you. Oh thank you.” I had not written that in my book I would certainly add it. I had to smile as she too had thought of me as Murphy from my book.
Penelope then asked me if she could walk back to the house with me, naked. She said that she didn’t want to wash me off from her either. She wanted me to stay in there as long as possible as a memory. I assured her that I could replace it from time to time but she wanted to keep it in there anyway.
We walked back to the house carrying our clothes. I fixed us some dinner and then we settled in for the evening. While we were gone Bobbie Jo had placed a bearskin rug on the floor in front of the fireplace. Penelope just curled up on it and I cuddled into her. We talked about her dreams of an education, a husband, and a career. Then we made love on that rug and fell asleep in front of the fireplace with a down comforter over us.
The following day belonged to Marguerite. She already knew what her mother and her sister had gone through. She also knew what I had written about her alter-self Mary Jane in my book about our first time. However, she had something else in mind that she wanted to happen.
Marguerite had long blonde hair past her waits but not long enough to sit on. We had her horse and she had read about Lady Godiva. So obviously she wanted to ride around nude with me on the horse behind her. I was required to be naked too. I could fondle her small breasts and her juicy virgin pussy as we rode around the nearby countryside. She slipped forward so that she could rub her clit against the saddle horn and let the horse masturbate her. I acted like her living bra from behind. She had two orgasms when she decided that it was time for us to have sex.
She stopped the horse and let it graze as she swung around in the saddle in front of me. She struggled to get in a position to be able to get her pussy over my cock but she finally managed to get the job done. Then she had a change of thought and had me slip forward with her still attached until I was sitting in the saddle and had the reins in my hands. She giggled about the saddle horn rubbing her asshole instead of her clit…then we were off. That time the horse did most of the work as we made love. Marguerite bounced as if she were alone on the horse. It was a very nice feeling and her hard little nipples kept brushing against my nipples as she bounced up and down on my cock. After a while she cringed, wrapped her legs around my back, and started to orgasm. That was enough for me to climax in her. It was good for us both but it was a sticky ride home for her in that saddle with our combined juices flowing out of her abused pussy and coating it. That night we slept before the fireplace too.
For the next three days the three women let me work on my book. It was so easy to write. I had enough thoughts to finish it and did. Then I wanted Bobbie Jo to read it over before I sent it to my publisher.
So in less than two weeks into my three-month stay I was done. It was simply miraculous. However, Bobbie Jo had said something about me having enough material for two more books. Why not! I certainly had my three women for inspiration.
They suggested that I just do two more books about the excursions of Murphy, Clementine, Mary Jane, and their mother whom Murphy would marry.
Once again life would imitate my book and Bobbie Jo would become my wife. Penelope and Marguerite stayed with us for several years and I wrote several more books about my three women. Making love to my stepdaughters was always a pleasure but making love to Bobbie Jo was even better. Life was good.