Stacey and Linnea's parents are upset when Linnea tells them she's a slut
Chapter 8, In which I share too much information
It had been another long trip, but I'd finished up in time to catch the early afternoon flight. I was fired up and eager to be home and share the good news: I'd landed another big contract, and was on the inside track to land salesperson of the year and a stupendous bonus.
Thanks to some coaching from Stacey, I'd learned that a little more T&A went a long way. A modest outlay for edgy outfits, stockings instead of pantyhose, and so forth, had turned into whopping increases in signed business.
Some of my competitors and colleagues had cried foul, but I chalked it up as envy. I mean, what really was the difference between outsourcing to a stripper or escort, and doing it myself?
I hadn't tried really cheating -- with magic -- since the one trip to Texas. It hadn't worked out so well, and Stacey had decided it was too risky to keep trying. Besides, it felt good to know I'd won all the business on my own without any tricks, no matter what the whiners said. If I put out to close a deal -- and honestly, it was as much pleasure as business for me -- why, I was only doing what they'd always accused me of anyway.
Stacey put up with it all as a necessary evil, because I was supporting us and I always came home to her. She'd never asked me, so I felt no compulsion to tell her I was still in regular contact with Jenny, my secret lover.
I pulled out my phone and looked at the latest picture from her. "Creaming for you," she'd texted, along with the close-up of her sexy pussy peeking out from beneath a super-short flouncy miniskirt. She'd kept the hair off, just like I did, and her tan lines had faded almost completely.
"You slut," I typed back. "Maybe next month! XOXOX." I liked to send her creampie shots when I was on the road; if our schedules matched, we'd have phone sex every night I was away. I was really looking forward to my next trip to Texas, and not just because the weather was turning.
I'd come to realize that while Jenny and I were sharers, my roommates -- although I loved them both dearly -- were more self-centered. I could spend hours with my head trapped between Stacey's thighs, giving her a leisurely tongue bath and bringing both of us to one climax after another, but it was the only time she let me touch myself.
Then there was Michael. It was kind of hard to explain, but he used my ass for gay sex. I'd been reluctant at first, but the feel of him sodomizing me really got me off now, and I'd made it clear to Stacey that I had no intention of denying him.
Anyway, it was obvious Stacey was jealous of the time I spent with Michael, even though I was careful to make sure I spent equal time with both of them. I'd tried doing a three-way once, but it hadn't been a success. The sensation of eating out Stacey while getting cornholed by Michael had me cumming so hard I'd actually peed myself, but the two of them had glared at each other the entire time.
Maybe I'd try it again with Jenny, if we could find a willing guy. I laughed, earning a curious look from the cabbie. She and her boyfriend, Daniel, had broken up, but I was pretty sure finding a man we could share wouldn't be a problem.
Part of it was that Jenny was just so easy-going once you got to know her. Stacey wasn't really a bitch, but she had higher expectations. It was hard to listen to complaints about how we didn't have a car, and how the apartment was too small, and so on. The car, anyway, felt like a senseless waste of money for a city girl, but Stacey thought we deserved one. I felt bad about disappointing her, but it had only motivated me to work harder. I was hoping news of my latest successes would help cheer her up.
"I'm home!" I called, guiding my roller bag through the doorway. I took a deep breath, savoring the scent of Stacey's candles. They littered our apartment since she'd moved in, but it smelled like she'd lit more of them than usual. It was a little like a cigar lounge, except it didn't make me want to cough. I inhaled deeply again, and then let my accumulated tension flow away as I exhaled.
"Linnea! We were just talking about you!" Stacey called from the couch. The sound of her voice made my heart take flight and my cunny drip. "Look who came to visit!"
My jaw dropped. I hadn't seen or spoken to my parents in three years, and there they were, sitting on our couch. Thank God I was wearing the skirt without the dried semen on it! "Daddy! Mom! This is such a surprise!" I was happy to see them, but couldn't help feeling a little put out that I'd have to wait awhile longer to get fucked.
"I see you're working hard to be as big a disappointment as he was," Daddy groused. I don't think he'd said Peter's name since meeting Michael, except probably to tell his lawyer to stop the trust payments. "Have you no shame?"
"Oh, Edward, we haven't seen Linnea since forever. Can't you withhold judgment for a few minutes?" Mom always was playing the peacemaker. She looked at me closely as we hugged and commented, "You're looking -- cosmopolitan -- dear."
Warned by her tone of voice, I gave myself a quick once-over. I wasn't much wrinkled, and I'd fixed my hair and lipstick in the cab. My sheer blouse showed my breasts to good effect, and my nipples were erect with anticipation as usual. The skirt wasn't my favorite, a little longer than I now preferred, but there was nothing wrong with it. It didn't feel like my stockings or garters had shifted.
I looked quizzically at Stacey and shrugged minutely. She wasn't showing any signs of disapproval, so I just let things slide. "You're looking good," I told Mom, only half-lying. She was still in good shape for her age, but her breasts were sagging and her bush really needed to be cleaned up.
Then I just couldn't wait any longer and moved over to Stacey and gave her a big honey-I'm-home kiss. I clung to her, sucking on her tongue and pressing my tits against hers, until she gently pushed me away. Still arm in arm, I turned back to look at my parents.
Daddy glowered at me while he continued stroking his erection, but it was his usual expression, so I didn't take it personally. "Is it true?" Mom asked. "You're with this girl?"
"Show her," the girl in question urged, so I unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it. Not wanting to wrinkle it, I laid it across the arm of the couch, taking care not to disturb the candles smoking on the side table.
I stepped in front of my audience and spread my legs slightly. Mom squinted at the rings shining in the uneven light of the candles; Stacey casually hooked a pinky through one and pulled me forward so Mom could see better. There were two rings cradling my clit: one in front that ran vertically through my hood, and a second horizontal ring actually set behind it.
Both of them brushed my clit every time I moved. Now that I was fully healed, they made my morning treadmill sessions more pleasurable, and the sensations I felt when somebody fucked me were really intense, although I still liked anal better.
Stacey had seemed a little annoyed when she'd first seen them, but they were a part of me now. "She got them for me," she told my mother, which was true as far as she knew.
"You're so bare," Mom whispered, extending a finger to trace the skin around my leaking pussy. "You haven't looked this way since you were a little girl!" She pulled her hand back like she'd gotten an electric shock, and looked up at my face. "We're so pleased you finally found somebody, Honey," she gushed.
Daddy appeared significantly less impressed. "I--" he snarled, but then the lines on his face eased and he began fisting his erection eagerly. He orgasmed, apparently not for the first time, and relaxed even more. "I knew those things they were saying about you couldn't be true?" His voice sounded uncharacteristically disoriented.
"What things?" I asked, ready to get angry, but Stacey shushed me. I looked to Michael, my other roommate, for support, but he was staring at Daddy and it took forever to get his attention.
"Linnea," Stacey asked, "why don't you and Michael get dinner ready? There are some things waiting in the kitchen." She was truly hopeless when it came to anything domestic. "I'd like to spend a few more minutes getting to know your parents better." She gave me a cheerful smile before plopping back down on the sofa between Daddy and Mom and waving her hand at Michael. "Go on, shoo!"
I hurriedly wheeled my bag into the hall closet and removed my blouse and stockings so I wouldn't get anything on them, before heading back to the kitchen to join Michael. "Is everything okay?" I asked him.
Michael shook himself and grinned sheepishly at me. "I guess I'd just forgotten how good-looking your dad is, Peter; the nut didn't fall far from the tree, eh?"
Most often he used a nickname, but sometimes he still called me by my dead brother's name. Michael had a misguided notion he somehow was responsible for Peter's suicide, and I was just helping him through his grieving process. Somebody seeing it for the first time might have been spooked, although I was beginning to suspect Michael had forgotten I wasn't Peter.
I thought about his observation. Daddy was handsome, I supposed, although I'd never viewed him in that light. "Why is he masturbating?" I whispered, although it probably was unnecessary. "Couldn't he just fuck Mom?"
"It's a Stacey thing," Michael replied. "I've got to hand it to her; she's really slick. You should have seen them when they first got here; I think it was worse than when you introduced me that first time! He barged in the door, already pissed off, looked around, and went ballistic. I thought he was going to kill her!"
Stacey was an indifferent housekeeper, but a quick glance around didn't suggest anything worth getting worked up over. The candles cluttering every horizontal surface made the apartment look smaller than it was, but it was homey. I knew there were paint spots on the carpeting from when we'd redone the walls and ceiling, but even the nearly black pigment didn't show clearly in the dim lighting. "Why?" I finally asked, stumped.
"Who cares?" sighed Michael. "But you know Stacey; she can talk anybody into anything." I smiled in silent agreement. "She finally convinced them to sit down, but he was interrupting nearly every sentence she got out."
I'd never won an argument with Daddy that didn't involve walking out on him, so I could sympathize. "What did she do?"
He gestured expansively. "She finally screamed at him that if he didn't agree with something, he should just jerk off instead of being such a jerk about it." Michael paused a moment, letting my suspense build. "I thought he was going to slap her senseless, but then he got this funny look on his face and started pulling on his dong, and wham! He's blowing all over the place."
"Speaking of which," I said suggestively, and slipped my hand past the elastic waistband of Michael's pajama bottoms to find him more than half ready. I had a lot more experience now than when he'd taken me the first time, and there was still something about Michael's cock that felt better than any of the others I'd tried.
He looked in the direction of the front room. "Do you think that's smart, with your parents here?"
"Who cares?" I asked, mostly meaning it. Feeling frustrated, I reached out and yanked down his pants, revealing his ruddy cock. I gave it a little squeeze and twist at the top, something I'd learned Peter used to do all the time.
Michael rewarded me with an indrawn breath and a big drop of precum. "What if your dad catches us?" he asked, but perversely his organ got even stiffer. He shuddered as I continued stroking him, collecting more of his precum and slicking it back along his hard shaft.
"Just fuck me," I pleaded, turning so he could see my ass. "C'mon, Batman -- to the Bat Cave!"
The old joke, together with the familiar stimulation, finally got him moving in the right direction. I sighed with satisfaction and braced myself against the table as Michael began working himself into my heinie. "Fuck, yeah," I grunted, bucking back against him. "Pound me, Michael!"
"Do you need any help, Dear?" Mom called from the front room.
"No!" I shouted, chastised. Just because I was a slut didn't mean I needed my parents watching me. Daddy would probably try to ground me for life, even if I didn't live with them any longer! I giggled involuntarily, imagining how I would explain that to Jenny.
"This is so wrong," Michael panted in my ear, but I felt him swelling inside me, and I had a death grip on his arm that prevented him from escaping. My free hand teased a nipple, bringing me closer to release, but I eased up, riding the edge of my incipient orgasm.
As had been the case before, the arousal seemed to fuel my brain and I found myself connecting the dots I hadn't even realized were in front of my eyes. My mind's eye imagined Stacey talking to my parents -- ordering them to subvert their resistance into physical self-gratification.
I remembered the way I'd felt when Jenny and I had experimented on each other, and the feedback cycle of desire and arousal that had sucked us down to the primal cores of ourselves. "Orgasm" was too pedestrian a word to describe the sensations I'd felt when the two of us inadvertently mindfucked each other into the sluts we were now.
Just the echo of that memory was sufficient to leave me shuddering and screaming beneath Michael's thrusting body. "Don't stop!" I screamed, when I felt him hesitate.
"He'll kill us!" Michael objected, but he kept going.
"Maybe he'll thank us," I quipped. If arguing with Stacey made Daddy masturbate, what would happen if he caught Michael screwing me in the ass? Wow, that was an exciting thought. "Fill me up! I want to feel you leaking out of me all night!" I fingered my rings, teasing my excited clit until it was nearly unbearable. I didn't think Michael could hold out much longer, either.
"Linnea Grace," Daddy's voice boomed in well-remembered tones of infinite disapproval, "what are you doing?"
"Oh fuck!" Michael shouted, and then he unloaded what felt like a gallon of scalding semen into my clutching ass.
I rode that wave, literally, and a twist of a ring was enough to have me screaming and seeing stars. I really hadn't been looking forward to having my parents see me this way, but after the way it had set Michael off, I couldn't complain.
"I see the reports of your sluttish behavior are not overblown, after all!" Daddy was saying when I could concentrate on him again. Paradoxically, he was jerking furiously on his erect organ. When Michael unsteadily pulled out, and they could see where his cock had been, Daddy's face turned red for a moment and his cock spurted onto the floor.
Mom's hands fluttered uselessly at her sides, but I could see the gleam of moisture on her inner thighs. She gaped at me like she'd never seen me naked before. Had their orgasms felt as great as mine?
Michael stared at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. "Linnea? Fuck me!" He sat down heavily.
"I thought you were going to set the table, not serve yourself as the main course," Stacey commented, her voice a bit on the cool side. She set a pair of black pillar candles on the table with the others, and relit one that had gone out.
"Only an appetizer," I giggled, rolling to my feet and feeling curiously unchastened. Still riding my endorphin high, I abruptly decided to see how many times I could get the others to climax. Everybody should have as much fun as I was.
I didn't know what, if anything, Stacey had planned, but I realized everybody would be happier if we all could get along. Maybe after a few more orgasms, they'd even loosen up! If it weren't for the fact of my existence, I'd think neither of my parents had ever done it. I giggled again.
Singing "I Kissed a Girl" to myself, I started examining dinner. Of course, Stacey hadn't cooked. The counter overflowed with delivery boxes from the high-end catering outfit a couple blocks over -- she'd probably spent more than if we'd just gone out somewhere nice, although it felt more intimate being able to eat at home. There was a pair of wine bottles that were both dusty and French, a nice touch.
Stacey was way overdressed, no matter how I looked at it. I hadn't seen that blue dress before, but it probably was expensive couture, judging by the way it looked on her. Everybody else was naked; that made it easy to tell what they were thinking.
I'd thought I might feel uncomfortable around my parents, but the opposite was true. I felt free, totally uninhibited, and unaccountably excited. Usually I thought in terms of maneuvering people into doing what I wanted, or satisfying my own personal urges. This time I was just trying to arouse them, albeit in a backhanded way, and it was a blast. I wondered if Jenny felt that way when she performed, and resolved to ask.
Our small table was strained beyond capacity, so like a good hostess I got the others arranged around it and set a place for myself at the end of the counter. I'd thought perhaps to sit on Stacey's lap, but apparently she wasn't in a cuddling mood that night. It made it easier for me to ferry food back and forth between the kitchen counter and the table, anyway.
I took every opportunity to touch them as I served. Nothing gratuitous, but the swell of a breast against a shoulder, a nipple in the back, or the swell of my butt at their side. When I sat on my bar chair at the counter, I kept one heel propped on the top crossbar, giving everybody a clear view of my drooling sex and the rings decorating it.
Stacey watched through narrowed eyes, and Daddy was eating one-handed by the time I'd cleared away the salad course. Michael had started out really stiff, but relaxed after I flashed my butt at him a few times; he still looked a little disoriented and said hardly anything.
The only light came from the smoky candles flickering in the center of the table, giving everything an intimate, womb-like ambiance. Conversation flagged until Mom, having dropped her second fork, asked me about my trip.
"I closed the deal!" I answered with understandable pride. "I don't think Alan can catch up, even if he kisses the ass of every CEO in New York. I'll have the best sales year in the company's history!"
"We're worried about you, Linnea," Daddy said, trying to keep his eyes on my face. "The grapevine says you're making a lot of waves at the office." He was trying hard to sound like a concerned parent, but he didn't have a lot of experience. The way I was slowly teasing a nipple probably didn't help, but he deserved it.
"Ha!" I contemptuously laughed. "You know as well as I do all those chauvinist dinosaurs care about is money -- and getting laid, usually not by their wives!"
Mom shot me a stricken look and started rocking slowly in her seat, while Daddy just frowned. I belatedly realized that shot might have landed unintentionally close to home.
"Sorry, Mom," I said, genuinely apologetic, "but, Daddy, you know it's true!" I set down my own fork, thoughts of provocation temporarily forgotten. "Look, last week I got a query from a client about some 'followup paperwork' we'd sent out. I wrote better in fifth grade!"
"I followed up and found out it had been done by Alan's 'Marketing Assistant'. It turns out this girl is barely 19, doesn't even have a GED, and gets paid nearly as much as my base salary last year!"
"Well, I'm sure--" Daddy started.
"She's qualified?" I dryly finished his sentence. "Her qualifications are that she's had more work done than Barbie. And she breathes." I stood up and let them look at me again. "Alan figured he could swap her in for me, and nobody would notice because we both have tits and long legs and put out. That's the way they all think!"
There was an appalled silence. "So what did you do?" asked Michael, who was the best listener of everybody there, even in his unnaturally subdued state.
I absently touched myself in fond memory and smiled. "I told her -- Candi, with an 'I', if you can believe it -- that I knew she was fucking Alan, and that she was going to fuck me, too."
"Then I bent her over my leg and spanked her once for every screw-up in that contract; that was a lot. I told her I had higher standards than Alan and if she made more mistakes, she was going to get spanked again. And if she ever sent something to one of my clients before I reviewed it, she wouldn't be able to sit down for a month!"
I looked around at the audience. Daddy's hand clearly was at work under the table, and it was Stacey's turn to be frowning darkly. "You know, it's sad," I reflected. "I don't think Candi ever had a mentor before me."
"Some of your coworkers are accusing you of sexual harassment," Daddy said.
"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" I jerked straight upright. "Do I look like I need to harass anybody to get laid?"
Michael snorted. "Linnea, you sound like your father." He sighed. "Don't you see anything wrong with forcing Candi to have sex?"
"And why did you do it in the first place?" Stacey venomously hissed. "Cheating, on me?"
"I wasn't cheating!" I objected, stung. "It was just business; everybody does it -- she doesn't mean anything to me!"
Mom made the tiniest little squeak and dropped her fork again.
Daddy smiled thinly. "Perhaps you have a better grasp of realities than I've given you credit for." I saw he was stroking himself again, which meant it wasn't exactly unqualified approval.
"Then there's no reason to not to give Linnea access to her trust fund, is there?" Stacey's smile was all saccharine sweetness.
Was that all this was about? Money? Wasn't I doing well enough on my own? I looked back and forth between the pair of them, reading Daddy's answer in the frenzied motion of his hand, and felt my temper getting out of control.
"What?" I snarled at him. "When y'all fuck every woman who'll spread for you, you're Giants of Industry, but if I do the same thing, it makes me a slut? Well, I have news for you -- I am a slut, and I like it!"
I caressed myself lasciviously and relaxed my sphincter enough to release some of Michael's sticky load. Turning enough to be sure they could see it leaking down my thigh, I collected a generous amount on a fingertip and brought it to my mouth, licking it clean before continuing.
"A slut! I like getting fucked, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Not for you, Daddy, and not for anyone else. If I have to fuck and suck to get an even break, I'm happy to do it, and at least I'm doing it to get ahead instead of just to hold people under my thumb." I glared at all of them. "And whom I choose to sleep with is my own business -- so get over it!"
Michael alone looked supportive. Mom was jerking spasmodically and pulling on the tablecloth. A jet of Daddy's sperm arced from his lap and landed across one of the candles and the edge of Michael's plate.
Stacey was preternaturally still in her seat at the head of the table, but abruptly rose and beckoned to me. "Linnea and I need a moment alone. Come!"
I was moving before I could even think about it, and followed her into her bedroom.
"Perhaps I'll start some coffee," Michael said behind us.
Stacey turned and scrutinized me carefully. "What's wrong with you, Linnea? You can tell me."
"Nothing's wrong," I objected. "You know I love you, Stacey." I leaned in to kiss her, but she pushed me away.
"I thought we'd worked through this," she sighed. "The feelings those men in Texas forced on you are wrong, Linnea. You are not some plaything for men to use. None of those urges have come back, have they? Tell me the truth."
"I don't think about them at all," I said, smiling. It was the truth, as far as it went. By the time Stacey had been satisified that I no longer cared what Big Bill wanted, it had taken my hair months to regain its former length.
"That's good," she said, loosening up and stroking my hair. "But I thought we had a special relationship. I was very hurt to hear you slept with that Candi girl, Linnea. Are there others you've been with?"
"Dozens, maybe a hundred by now." I laughed nervously, uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed. "You know that. But none of them will ever change the way I feel about you, Stacey; I love you."
"I know," she sighed. "Give me a little lick?"
Smiling happily, I collapsed to my knees and helped her lift the hem of her dress above her hips. I kissed her gently, almost reverently, and then caressed her folds with my tongue before settling in to milk the juices from her body. As Stacey's taste intensified in my mouth and her fingers ran through my hair, I finally felt like I was home again.
She stepped back before orgasming. Looking up, I realized she'd snipped a small lock of my hair while I'd been distracted. While I continued to kneel before her, she performed the now-familiar ritual of doubly-coating the hairs and holding them to the candle on the nearby dresser.
What happened next surprised me. Instead of dropping the lock in the candle, Stacey held it over the flame until it was burning steadily, and transferred it -- still alight -- to her mouth. I heard a hiss and she grimaced in pain before swallowing, and then a wave of warmth flooded my body.
I gazed happily up at Stacey, lost in her beauty, as her voice floated down to me like pronouncements from Heaven. Every syllable squeezed moisture from my pussy.
"You love me absolutely, Linnea," she whispered. Crooned? Sang? The movement of her dress rustled in the room like wings of angels. "You'd do anything for me, because helping me makes you feel so good, doesn't it?"
"Oh, yes," I moaned, nearly orgasming just from the feel of being able to answer her question.
"And you'd never keep secrets from me, would you? You'll always tell me everything."
I nodded eagerly, desperate to please her.
"Why do you call yourself a slut? Who told you to do that?"
"Nobody! It's what I am," I explained. "I love the feel of people using my body for sex." The faint annoyance on Stacey's face brought tears to my eyes. "I can't help it!" I waited, holding my breath, for her to say something.
The silence stretched while she just looked at me. Finally Stacey sighed. "You are a slut," she agreed, and I heaved a deep breath of relief. "But you're my slut, Linnea. From now on, you won't do anything with anybody else -- or yourself -- unless I tell you to. I know it will it be hard on you, but being obedient when you want to be bad will show me how much you love me."
"Yes!" I gasped urgently. I was dripping on the carpet, and realized I'd been about to touch myself. Jerkily I pulled my hands to my sides and sat on them, feeling another rush as I denied myself as Stacey had asked.
"Have you been with other sluts?"
"Several!" I answered eagerly, thinking maybe she wanted some of them. "Candi is--"
"No," Stacey said, and I cringed. "Have you been with other sluts who were just like you? Who got off on exactly the same things you do?"
My throat seized up and I hesitated, torn by indecision. The moment I'd dreaded for months was upon me. My heart felt as if it were being torn in two, and Stacey's eyes narrowed. "Yes," I moaned, and swayed as heat built inside me, but still my subconscious fought to remain silent.
"Who?" Stacey knelt to look me straight in the face. "Telling me will make me very happy." She ran a finger teasingly down my body, raising goosebumps on my arms and legs. "Tell me who it is, Linnea." She pressed lightly on my rings.
I was crying without remembering why. I brokenly whispered, "Jenny," and screamed as Stacey smiled and a massive orgasm rolled my eyes back in my head. I lost my balance and slumped bonelessly to one side, but Stacey caught me in her arms.
Eternity passed, but it must have been shorter because nobody had come looking for us yet. Stacey held me, gently stroking me like a cat, and my flesh felt like it was on fire everywhere it touched hers.