Our Daughter's Friendbytoomuchinmyhead©
When we heard the shouting begin from outside at the pool, my wife and I looked at each other, and I rolled my eyes. Things had been so peaceful and fun between our daughter and her friend up to then, but being girls, we knew the trouble from last summer could resurface quickly; girls, even girls who are friends, never forget when they've been wronged, and our daughter Rosie was no exception. When the raised voices started cursing and shrieking, and it was mostly Rosie, we headed outside to split the girls up and try to stop the ruckus. I took Rosie downstairs to the den, and Monica took Desiree up to the bedroom, as far apart as we could get them and still be inside the house.
It was late afternoon and the girls had been hanging out by the pool, trading stories of school and friends and getting along fine, as they had since Desiree had arrived on Wednesday. It was Saturday, and Monica and I had hoped that we'd have some peace and quiet for the weekend; maybe the girls would go out and leave us alone. In the back of my mind that hope still existed, but only faintly now, as the shrieking insults had warned, and my daughter's tears reinforced.
Rosie and Desiree had met in college their first year, and had been roommates for the last two years. They, along with one or two other girls, had been close friends, almost inseparable for those two years. Last summer three of them had arranged a six-week cross country trip, but it had fallen apart after only 4 weeks. The trouble started when the third girl had to go back home after 2 weeks on the road due to a family illness, leaving Desiree and Rosie to travel together alone for the next four. A week and a half later Rosie called the house in tears, begging my wife to fly her home, and she was home two days later.
She wouldn't tell me what happened, but she told some of the story to Monica, who told me. Desiree, it seems, had a slightly more liberal view towards sexual relations than our daughter did, and had managed to meet school friends, guy school friends, in almost every city they stopped in. This hadn't been an issue for the first two weeks while the other girl was still with them, because Rosie hung with the Sara while Desiree executed her 'hook-ups', as she called them.
But once Sara returned home the situation was impossible to overlook. Rosie was the third wheel, and Des didn't seem inclined to forfeit her boy hunts. Several times in the week and a half she had left Rosie alone in a club or bar to find her way home by herself. We had always warned Rosie never to leave her friends alone. The capper was the night she brought a boy back to her room, and wanted to have sex with him in front of Rosie!
Now, Monica and I have been around the block, but we've never heard of such a thing. We know that college kids can get up to some antics, and we had heard that some girls went a little wild in college, but when Monica related the story Rosie told her, we just looked at each other in astonishment. We'd met Desiree when we brought Rosie to school for her second year; she was a boisterous take-charge type, but not obnoxious about it. She expressed her thoughts without being overpowering, was attractive and had a kind of magnetism that drew others to her; a natural leader. Monica seemed quiet around her, but talked about her much of the way home, and we'd seen her several times since: Rosie had talked about her and Sara all the time, but we never heard anything like that! She seemed like a regular girl, just a fun-loving happy kid.
Rosie, to her credit, stood her ground, but there was a huge fight, and she came home. She stayed pissed off for weeks, but as the new school year approached things seemed to settle down. Knowing she would have to live with Desiree for the school year, and time apart, helped heal the wounds and close the rift, and they were talking again before the semester began. There were no repeat events during the school year, and as the year ended Rosie invited her to come visit us over the summer at or house.
But, as I said, girls are girls, and while I had no idea what had started this argument, it seemed to be as heated as the one that had brought Rosie home from her trip in tears. I settled her on the couch, grateful that Monica had taken Desiree, because I knew that if the subject matter was similar, Rosie would have a difficult time discussing it with me, but I certainly preferred that to having to listen to her friend tell me her side!
Rosie was still steaming, but not saying anything. I allowed her to try to calm down, without offering anything, until I saw she wasn't getting any less furious.
"Rosie," I began, "I know you're upset right now, but try to remember that Desiree is your friend." Rosie turned her face away from me, not meeting my eyes. "I'm sure that whatever happened seems terrible, but try and take a few deep breaths." I waited, but she didn't react. "I don't want to push," I began, "but maybe it would help if you tell me what happened."
She turned to face me, briefly, then looked past me, unable to hold my eyes. "No way, Dad," she said without hesitation, "No way. I can't."
"Rosie, is it like what happened when you were away? Your mother told me some of what happened-"
"Dad." She cut me off mid-sentence. "I can't tell you, okay? I can't. You don't understand. You don't know what she's like." Her words were stern, inviting no discussion.
"But she's your friend, honey," I tried to reason, "sometimes friends disagree."
She stood, now looking down at me, meeting my eyes. "You don't know," she said, "you can't understand, you don't know what she's like. Where is she? Is she with Mom?" She turned then, and began to pace. I watched her, waiting for more information, thinking the pacing might open her up. "Is she with Mom?" she asked again. "What are they doing?"
"I imagine they're talking, or trying to, like we are," I said. "Why don't you just sit, and tell me what happened?"
"Dad," she pleaded insistently, "I can't. I can't tell you. I- I'm so angry, I want to tell you, but I can't. She's- she's so." she stalled, then sat down heavily. "You don't know how she is." She looked around the room, eyes darting nervously, then looked at me. "Is she with Mom?"
"Yes, upstairs, I think. In the bedroom"
She stood again, launching herself from the sofa. "Oh, shit, you don't understand, Dad, you don't know. I can't tell you, it's -- it's --" she stalled again, facing me. "Make sure Mom is okay. I gotta go, I gotta leave. I'm going to Amanda's house." She turned and headed for the door. "Make sure Mom is okay; I gotta go, I gotta..."
And with a whirl she was gone. I sat, listening to the door close, and hearing her car start, wondering. Make sure Mom is okay? What, is Desiree a dangerous killer? That sweet little girl who had been hanging out with my daughter, who LIVES with my daughter and Sara at school? She's just a kid, I reasoned, she can't be more than a hundred and ten pounds, similar build to Rosie, but with dark straight hair. She was friendly, open and relaxed around us, and had taken to calling us Monica and Roy from the beginning. We had always been at ease around her, and she seemed, other than the unnerving tale of her sexual exploits last summer, a perfectly normal college student.
I assumed than that the argument had stemmed from a similar subject, and that Desiree might have suggested or done something that angered or frightened Rosie, something that abraded her sensibilities, made her nervous, or afraid. Monica and I knew that Rosie knew about sex, and we suspected that she had been active with at least one of her boyfriends; she wasn't sheltered, and while she was clearly uncomfortable discussing sexual topics with me, she often discussed them with my wife, who told me the parts she felt I needed to know. I assured myself that Monica could handle whatever Desiree might say, and resigned myself to hearing about it later.
I got up, and went outside, and sat on one of the lounge chairs to enjoy the remains of the setting sun. At some point, I knew, Monica would come out, likely without Des, and tell me enough that I would understand what had happened. And eventually Rosie would return, after venting her spleen to her friend Amanda, and she would come back. Things would be tense between her and Desiree, and they would either cool off and make up, or Des would pack up and return home, and they would cool off apart from each other. I sat back and relaxed, and waited.
After about forty-five minutes I figured that was enough waiting. If there was something to say it had likely already been said, and if Monica was in there holding Des's hand while she cried, well, then there needed to be an end to that, and Monica wouldn't end it; she would feel bad and be too considerate to shut the girl down, I thought. She'd want me to interrupt, and create a stopping point. So I headed back into the house and made my way upstairs to the bedroom.
When I got there the door was open about halfway, and I was careful as I approached in case they were having a girl talk; I didn't want to disturb them, so I peered around the door. Desiree was sitting on the far side of the bed, her back facing me, leaning back on her hands. I didn't see Monica, so I listened to try to get a feel for the conversation before barging in.
"Yeah," Desiree said quietly, and I thought she might be agreeing with some good advice Monica had given her. "Yeah," she repeated, "oh, yeah, like that."
I peered a little further around the corner, to see where my wife was, but didn't see her. But looking at the situation it didn't seem like there was a sensitive discussion going on, so I eased myself into the room and knocked lightly on the door. "Hey, you two," I said, stepping inside, "everything okay?"
Monica turned to look at me over her shoulder. "Oh, hey Roy," she said with just a hint of cunning, "come on in." I stepped fully into the room, looking for my wife, and not seeing her. "Monica is busy," she quipped. I was confused. Had Monica left? Then who was Desiree talking to? "You must really enjoy her," she added with sincerity, "she's so obedient, so willing." She lifted an arm, and leaning on only her left one, moved the free arm in front of her. "Don't stop," she said, "I didn't tell you to stop. There. That's good, Monica, very good. Just like that." I moved toward the foot of the bed, and froze to the spot as my vision cleared Desiree's body. She was naked from the waist down, and my wife had her face between the young girl's legs. Des used her free hand to stroke Monica's hair, petting her like a dog.
I felt myself swoon, and my breath caught as panic and rage flooded me; my chest tightened and blood pounded in my head. I couldn't move, couldn't speak; I just stared at the top of my wife's head, buried in the pussy of our daughter's friend. I heard a sound, a muffled cry, and Des wrapped her fingers in Monica's hair and pulled her face up.
My wife was crying as she looked up at me, tears running down her face, her expression filled with fear, and shame and self-loathing. "Oh, Roy, I..." she whimpered.
"Monica!" I shouted, finally finding my voice, "What are you doing? What the fuck is... What the fuck is going on here?!" I took a step closer, but was stopped by Desiree's upraised hand.
"Hold it there, Roy." For some reason I did, frozen again, and watched as Desiree put her hand back to my wife's head. "Come on, baby," she said softly, "get back to my pussy." I stared at my wife's face.
"I'm sorry, Roy," she sobbed, "I- I couldn't..." Her face was desperate and pleading, but with a hint of something else. Resignation? Surrender? "I'm sorry," she repeated. And as I watched, Desiree moved her hand back behind herself, adjusting her weight, and I watched my wife's mouth open, her tongue slip out tenderly, and she moved her head, unbidden, to orally pleasure this young girl's vagina. I saw Monica's eyes close, and her expression change from fear and shame to satisfaction and wonder. Desiree sighed, and then looked up at me with a look of sly satisfaction, almost gloating.
"You didn't know, did you, Roy?" My mouth opened, but no words came out as I watched my wife licking a college girl's pussy, which was, I noticed now, shaved completely bare. Despite my anger and horror, I felt a stirring in my pants. My eyes darted from my wife to Desiree and back again several times as unintelligible grunts come out of me. "Really? You had no idea that your sweet little Monica was a submissive?" Desiree grinned at me, victorious and pleased. "It's hard to believe. I knew the first time I met her; I could see it in her eyes, the way she looked at me, the way she deferred to me." She lowered herself to her elbows, and lifted her feet to the edge of the bed, exposing more of herself, and allowing me to see my wife's tongue licking between her wet, shaved lips with adoration and devotion.
"Did you know she liked pussy, Roy?" Desiree teased, and then her voice changed, and she sounded astonished. "Or is this her first?" She looked down at my wife. "Is that true, Monica? You've never licked a pussy before, baby?" She laughed, and threw herself back onto the bed, laying flat on her back, her knees raised and spread. "Oh, I can't believe it, this is too delicious!" She turned to me, her eyes glittering with delight, her expression smugly diabolical. "You didn't know, and she has never done this before," she cooed sweetly, but with devilish undertone. "It's perfect," she said, looking directly into my eyes. "I am really going to enjoy this." Her eyes narrowed. "You seem shocked, Roy. Let me help you out."
She propped herself up on her elbow and grabbed Monica's hair with one hand, pulling her head from between her legs. My wife's face glistened wetly and her mouth hung open. "Monica," she told her, "go suck Roy's cock." Monica turned to look at me, and dropped her eyes. "Well?" Desiree goaded, "what are you waiting for?"
I watched in shock as my wife obediently pulled away and crawled to me on her hands and knees. She looked up at me, sorrow and regret in her eyes, and reached up to undo my pants. I stammered an objection, but couldn't form the words.
"Relax, Roy," Desiree said, rolling onto her side. "Don't pretend you're not excited, I can see your pants bulging." It was true; despite my shock and horror I had grown an erection, and it popped out shamefully as my wife dutifully pulled my pants and briefs down. I tried to speak again but was distracted by Monica's mouth enveloping the swollen head of my dick with her mouth, and began stroking me with her lips, tongue and hands.
"That's it, sweetie, suck his cock good for me, like the nasty slut you are," she chirped with seductive glee. I felt Monica work harder, sucking me as she never had before. With horror and delight I tried to resist, but the sensations shooting through my cock won the battle for my attention. She'd used her mouth on me before, but never like this. She was bobbing her head up and down, luring my climax faster than ever before. She had never let me come in her mouth; insisted she hated it, but here she was, bobbing her head and stroking my shaft like a woman possessed. I groaned.
"Take it deeper, baby, choke yourself on his cock," I heard Desiree say, "and look at him." My wife's eyes turned up, and I watched her push her mouth down, feeling my cockhead touch the back of her mouth, and she coughed as tears formed in her eyes. "Yeah, that's it, push it into your throat, you whore!" I glared at Desiree. Who was this girl, calling my wife these awful names? Then I felt my dick push into my wife's throat, heard her gag, and cough, and I looked down at her, tears running down her cheeks and thick saliva blowing out past her lips. "Yes!" Desiree cheered. "Choke on his cock!" She looked up at me with unabashed victory as Monica pulled her head back, gasping for air, a string of spittle hanging from her mouth to my cock. "You like that, don't you, Roy? It feels good, doesn't it?" She sneered. "Does it shock you? Are you embarrassed? Does your wife's behavior shame you?"
She sat up and began peeling her top off, a skimpy shirt she wore over her bathing suit. "Let me tell you how this is going to play out, Roy," she began sternly, and after pulling off her swimsuit top, swung her legs to the end of the bed, her knees facing Monica. She reached for Monica's head and pulled her towards her, directing her face to her own chest. "Here, baby," she cooed, lowering her voice, softening it the way you would speak to a loving pet. "Suck my nipples, sweetie, love them for me." I watched my wife dutifully lean in and take a nipple into her mouth and begin to lavish loving strokes of her tongue around the hardening bud before taking it into her mouth and sucking gently.
"Your wife," she continued to me, sternly again, but grinning now, "needed no coercion to do what I say. She came to me, willingly, because she is compelled to be submissive. You on the other hand," she arched an eyebrow, "seem like you need might some extra motivation. So I'll give you these two thoughts to consider." She wrapped a hand around the back of my wife's head, and held her face to her breast.
"First, if you don't do everything I say, I will tell your sweet, innocent daughter that you attacked me and forced yourself on me. She SO looks up to you two, she adores you both, and she'll be SO disillusioned, so disappointed to have her beliefs betrayed." She smiled with her cunning.
"You- you can't -" I managed. I felt foolish, standing there with my hard cock sticking out at her, still wet with Monica's saliva. "You wouldn't -" I tried, but I knew it was true. And I knew I wouldn't be able to face my daughter in this lie. Who would believe the truth?
"I would, and you know I would, and you know how it would turn out."
"But I haven't- I haven't had sex with you."
"Not yet, but you will," she grinned. "You certainly will. And you'll love it," she added seductively, "I assure you, sticking your cock in my tight young pussy will be the best fuck you've ever had." She moved Monica to the other breast. "But that's not all I offer you, oh, no." Her face took on a malicious grin, eyes sparkling. "I will also give you control over your lovely, submissive wife. The way she is obeying me? She will obey you, willingly and enthusiastically." She pulled my wife's face up to meet her eyes. "Or else," she said to Monica, "she will never have me again. And she doesn't want that, now, does she?"
"N-no, Mistress Desiree," my wife answered.
Des looked back up at me. "So, Roy? What do you think?" She cocked her head. "You want to give it a test run, see how it feels?" One side of her mouth curled up in a half smile. "Go ahead. You have my permission to give her an order. What's your fantasy, Walt? What have you ever wanted my little pet to do that you've never had the balls to ask?"
My brain swirled with the combination of the outrageous developments, the horny vision of all I'd seen, the luscious body of the naked young girl sitting on my bed, and my repressed dirty desires. "I- I don't know," I stammered, then blurted, "I want her to play with herself."
"Don't tell me," Desiree admonished, "tell your wife." She pulled Monica's head away from her, turning her to face me. "Say it. Go ahead, don't be afraid."
"Monica," I began.
"Call her Slut."
I screwed up my courage. I had never spoken to my wife that way, and never been adamant about sexual demands. "Take off your pants, slut, and play with yourself." The words felt strange coming from my mouth.
"Too timid, Roy," Desiree advised, "you need practice. Try again, more determined, more specific."
"Slut," I said, more loudly, "get those pants off, and let us see you finger your pussy." It sounded like someone else when I said it, but then, instantly, my wife reached for the waist of her pants, opening them and pulling them off her hips. She wriggled out of them, sitting back in her ass to get them off her legs, along with her panties. Then she sat obediently on the floor, and spread her legs wide, and I watched, shocked and elated as her hands travelled between her legs, and she began toying with her lips, gently rubbing them, her eyes downcast and shamed.