A Slow Spiral Ch. 02

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.

"Morgan, hey baby," he said with a lustful, predatory gleam in his eyes.

Feeling like a trapped animal with nowhere to run, I asked, "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

He didn't answer me, just smiled (leered) and pushed into the house.

He bent forward, kissed me, and I shivered as his hands slipped under my shirt and caressed my breasts. I don't quite know how it happened; I certainly hadn't planned it; perhaps it was out of my loneliness or the still powerful attraction I felt at seeing him. My legs began to tremble when he moved his hand between my legs, and all too quickly, I could feel the growing dampness. Shamefully, I did not resist when he pulled me to the floor.

"No, no . . . pleeease don't," I mumbled in weak protest, more to myself than to Justin. It had been months, and God help me I wanted him. My legs spread for him and Justin mounted me, his hot leaking cock pressing against my opening that had instinctively tightened. When he entered me, I held my breath. I moaned as he forcefully teased my velvety enclosure coaxing my pussy to soften and relax as it accommodated his increasing length and girth. I could feel his cock twitch and jerk inside me when my pussy contracted around him. I couldn't help but whimper with pleasure when he pushed the last inch of his hard length inside me and then lay motionless for a few seconds before he began to slowly stroke. I lay beneath him, crying quietly as my hips instinctively rose and fell in rhythm with his thrusting.

I soon began to buck and gyrate in the throes of orgasm. My arms encircled Justin's neck, and his erection seemed to harden even more. I pulled him to me, holding him close to my soft, welcoming body as he came and came inside me. That night, I watched him as he slept and knew that what had happened wasn't just a quick fuck and that he had expertly pulled me back into his web, his world.

*****

Justin awoke during the night, surprised that in his excitement and after a session of long-delayed lovemaking, he had been able to sleep in the first place.

In the dark quiet of the room, he thought about Morgan, and his hand absently caressed the wood between his legs. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to earlier that afternoon. His cock jerked hard in his hand remembering how Morgan had lain pinned under him on the floor. He'd spread himself on top of her small frame, with his arms extend out on each side of her and his fingers interlaced between hers, and he had begun pumping into her.

Justin almost laughed aloud thinking of a few days prior when he had unexpectedly spotted her at the gym. For a long time, at least since he had married Morgan's mother, he had thought about being with Morgan, fucking her, impaling her with his cock and making the girl cum over and over for him. Justin had bided his time, and eventually saw the opportunity he had been waiting for. Granted she didn't come to him willingly at first, but after her initial reluctance, he convinced himself that she wanted it as much as he did. It was like this for almost two years. Two years of sweet, beautiful, young pussy whenever he wanted it or took it.

After she upped and moved out, just the thought that he might not be able to have her again made his dick and balls so hard and congested they would physically hurt. His desire to plunge his throbbing hardness into her was sometimes overwhelming; Once when the thought of her made him masturbate, he had been gripped by a fleeting fear and anger that he wouldn't find her . . . he had to find her.

He had been livid when she left home. He had searched everywhere he could think but hadn't been able to find her. It was her mother, who in her excitement had told him about the phone call with Morgan. It was then a simple matter with the help of a friend at the phone company to find and trace her number and get her new address.

Justin hadn't meant to go by her house; all he remembered was driving around aimlessly, and when he finally stopped and looked around, he saw he was parked in front of her house. He had gotten out of the car and walked up on to the porch where he began loudly knocking on the door, calling her name.

"Morgan! Morgan! I know you're in there," he had shouted, oblivious to the woman walking her dog across the street or the old man peeking out of his window from the house next door. It seemed to take her forever to answer the door. When she finally opened the door, seeing her up close, smelling her perfume made him as hard as a rock. Without thinking, he suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her down on to the floor. She had halfheartedly struggled against him, but rolling on top of her, he'd spread her legs wide with his knees and quickly freeing himself, pushed his aching cock inside her. He had gotten his wish and with the front door still cracked opened, he had ridden his stepdaughter's young, supple pussy hard and deep. Morgan's eyes had opened wide in frightened surprise, but reconciled to what inevitably was going to happen, she relaxed, and her eyes fluttered closed when Justin's insistent stroking brought her to a quick orgasm just as he erupted, spraying cum deep inside her.

Justin grinned broadly and said softly to himself, "this pussy is mine . . . "

*****

Morgan still had no clue Justin was her obscene caller.

Justin knew he had been neglecting his business, and really should have been at his office, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Now parked in front of her small house, phone in hand, Justin watched Morgan as she got out of her car and carried a large bag of groceries into the house.

*****

Just as I placed the heavy bag of groceries on the kitchen counter, I heard the demanding ring of my phone. Pulling it from my pocket, I hesitantly answered it.

"Hello . . . Hello . . . who is this?" I asked, my voice trailing away to a whisper. "Please, please stop calling here."

It was obvious the calls frightened Morgan and in a perverse way, this pleased and aroused Justin; he could feel his dick jerk hard in his jeans, hell, just the breathy sound of her voice gave him an immediate hard-on. Reveling in her easy intimidation, there in the driver's seat of the car, in broad daylight, he unzipped, pulled his cock out and began to slowly stroke himself; he could tell from her silence that she knew he was masturbating on the other end and that she was listening intently. Justin began to groan as he came into a pair of Morgan's crumpled panties he had stolen them from her dresser months before and now frequently used them to masturbate with.

"Stop calling here," I shouted into the phone and ended the call. I knew this would anger the caller, but I didn't care.

I stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen shaking and staring at the phone. Finally gathering my wits about me, as if sleepwalking I put away my grocery, checked and locked the door and went upstairs to bed trying to ignore the damp, stickiness between my legs.

*****

The calls continued with growing intensity and obscenity. Making matters worse, I began to feel that the caller was watching me, stalking me; leaving me with an oppressive feeling of being controlled.

Of course, I went to the police again, but they were just as ineffective and unsupportive as before.

Unsettled by the phone calls, I unwittingly turned to Justin for reassurance. Despite our history together, and considering everything that was going on in my life, I found his controlling, dominating nature strangely comforting.

One night, my phone began to ring and knowing who it was, I refused to answer it. The caller kept calling back, and my resolve weakening, I finally answered his call.

"Hello, Morgan. You know I don't like it when you don't answer my calls," he said in an angry but measured voice.

"I was asleep," I said defensively.

"Don't do that again or I'll make you sorry . . . do you understand Morgan?"

"Yes . . . yes," I replied submissively.

I could hear the caller breathing during a long heavy pause. I had just begun to think that he would end the call when he said, "Get up and go over to the window, open the drapes and take your nightshirt off."

"No . . . I can't do that. My window faces the street, someone might see," I said meekly, not wanting to upset the caller for some reason.

"Do as I say, Morgan."

Warm tears of shame trailed down my face when I stood naked in front of the window on display for not only him but also anyone who might pass the window. My hands instinctively rose to cover my breasts.

"No! Don't, I want to see your breasts and those sweet dark nipples."

I stood there in the window as he spoke into the phone, describing my body, my hair and how he would pleasure himself with me.

How was he able to see me? How did he know what I was doing?