Angela has a Shameful Night, or Two

When his cock entered me, his hands holding my hips, my breasts dangling below me, I shivered. This was it. I was now officially a whore! He entered me slowly, as if he was savoring every inch as he slipped further and further into my slippery canal of love. It really felt good!

I hadn't enjoyed doggy style since college, over ten years ago. Shane never did it that way. He was grossed out by seeing my ass while he fucked me. He preferred seeing my face and my boobs. That's what he said, anyway. Somehow doing it doggy style was symbolic of the end of my marriage. It felt good.

I don't know what it was. Was it the thrill of fucking doggy style again? Was it simply that I had been without sex for too long? James was the first since my divorce. Was it the delicious taboo wickedness of fucking for money, or was it finally, finally, fucking my father, even if James was just a father substitute?

Whatever it was, it drove me wild, and I climaxed within the first few thrusts, squeezing James' cock so hard within my pussy I'm surprised he didn't scream with pain. Instead he grunted happily and thrust harder.

James increased both the power and the speed. I began to lose the ability to think. I. just let my body react, to push back to James' thrusts. To my father's thrusts. It felt so good, so very good! Dad kept pumping his cock, and pumping, and pumping some more. I could feel it building. It had been so long since I'd had this feeling. Every thrust upped the feeling until, until, until, oh wow, I really came. I came big time. I really and truly came.

It was a bit surreal. Kind of an out of body, out of mind experience. I heard screaming, cries of Oh My God, and guttural sounds. I only gradually realized those strange and ecstatic noises were emanating from my own mouth!

The walls of my cunt contracted with the orgasm, involuntarily, and I'm sure it once again squeezed Dad's cock. Was he going to cum? Guys always cum, I knew that. I wanted him to cum. I wanted him to fill me with his spunk. I wanted him to cum, so bad! Yet also, I wanted him to take his time, it felt so good. I wanted, I wanted, I wanted. When he finally did squirt his load inside me, I knew it was James and not my Dad. I wasn't that delusional, much as I wanted to be.

Oh, yeah, a detail I should clarify. How is it that I know about the appearance of my Dad's erect cock? Well, let's just say my parents could have been more discreet with their sex lives, when I still lived at home. Now that Mom is gone, may she rest in peace, I wonder if my Dad picks up women in bars, and fucks them silly, pretending that they're me?

I think it was hearing my parents fuck, every single night, and occasionally seeing my Dad's cock, sometimes erect, sometimes flaccid, that helped to create the fantasy of replacing my Mom in my father's bed. Mow Mom was gone, alas, and her side of the bed was vacant, and cold. Could I provide, at least one time, a warm, eager body to take her abandoned place? I shivered at my forbidden thought.

"I said no anal, remember?" I said to James, who had two fingers inside my anus, already, and had come with a tube of lube.

"Yes, I remember. How about another grand for anal, too?" he said.

"For another two grand, you can enjoy my ass all night if you want it, until 7AM," I said.

James took the cheaper option, and gave me an extra grand for one bout of anal.

I wondered what my ex, Shane, would think if he knew? He had never even thought to try anal with me. I had done it in those wild college years, however. Of course I had. I had done everything anyone could think of, except bestiality. Much as I loved doggy style, no way was I having sex with a large dog to feed some guy's perversions. One guy had tried to convince me to do it, too. That's the risk you take when you go to college in a farm state, and at a college that has a prestigious agriculture school. I made it clear, however: No way, no how.

I always kept my sexual activities within the same species. For some of the guys I slept with in college, though, it seemed to be a stretch to consider them as being in the same species. (Just kidding, guys!) I am, however, quite limber, and good at stretching, be it my body, or my species standards. For some reason, guys always liked to see me do the splits, while naked. Then they would use my limber nature to advantage, if you get my drift.

I made James give me the extra thousand dollars, before I sucked him hard so that he could violate my ass. I was considered the fellatio queen of my residence hall, my freshman year of college, although the term "fellatio queen" is a sanitized version of what I actually was called. It rhymed with 'mock ducking witch.' Yes, I was known as the "best cock sucking bitch" of Meredith Hall. Sometimes guys would add the word 'little' before the word bitch, to add just a bit of charm to my disgusting epithet of a title. I lost my title the next year to a preppy freshman with big boobs, from Carmel, Indiana. I didn't mind.

As for the cash, yes, I did wonder why James had so much cash on his person. $4k is a lot of cash to carry around on a trip. He later told me he thought he'd need it for something he wanted to buy, and he'd hoped that he'd get a discount for paying in cash, involving avoiding taxes. However, there was no cash discount as it turned out, and whoever it was took credit cards, so he paid that way, instead.

James didn't stay the night. He left at 3AM, and I figured I could enjoy a few hours of sleep.

I had to wonder. Were my orgasms so intense, and frequent, because I was doing it for money, or because I was pretending he was my Dad, or because it was all about the fucking, and he was good enough to drive me to multiple climaxes?

I decided it was due to all three reasons, but some more than others.

Next, I wondered who James actually was? I had seen his face before. He was someone famous, but who? It wasn't from TV, or the movies. I could see the picture of him in my mind. Yes, it was from a newspaper story.

Shane sent me the answer. He had realized, from the picture I sent him, that my john was a congressman from Texas. The line about Cincinnati was just so much bullshit. As I reflected, I had been the one waxing enthusiastic about Cincinnati. He had just agreed, letting me ramble on and on. I was nervous, and I talk too much when I'm nervous.

I realized that "James" was one of those true believers. He was a real prick of an evangelical. He was also one of those gung-ho January 6 guys. That explained his southwestern accent, anyway.

I thought about it. I had a new claim to fame: I was a whore for Congressman Shithead. Lucky me. I remembered the quote of Andy Warhol: "In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes." Well, here were my 15 minutes: I was a whore to a famous congressman. Oh, goody.

I thought quietly to myself. I like the way he fucks, and I loved submitting to him. I'm seeing him again tomorrow night. We're going on a date! It's to be the whole shebang: a Broadway play, an elegant dinner, and then back to the Sofitel for an all-you-can-eat buffet of sex, with my body being the main course. He extended his stay for a day, presumably just for another blow-out good time with his favorite whore. I told him, though, I won't do it for money this time, just for fun. And no anal.

"Sounds good. Maybe we can discuss anal later. I visited the ATM today," he said.

"Maybe," I replied. I ended up going to Saks for the sexy nightgown, and I also bought an evening dress for the play and the elegant dinner, some perfume, and some new jewelry. Clothing at Saks is so expensive! There was barely enough money left for a driveway. Maybe it's a good thing James visited the ATM again?

I went with the new style: a long skirt, with a slit to show off my right leg. The slit goes all the way up to my hip. I'm going commando, too. I think my Dad would like it if I were to wear it for him back home, and I think James will eat it up. I'm hoping, too, James will take the dress off me when we return to the Sofitel, and he'll eat me out!

Maybe at the play, if he sits on my right, he'll slip his hand under the long skirt, via the slit, and discover my commando state? Hee, hee; I'm so wicked. How many girls ever get fingered at a play on Broadway? I wonder if dear old Dad would do something like that? Maybe if he found the right bimbo, in the right bar?

I wonder if my Dad likes anal as much as James does? I could always ask Mom, if she were still alive. I guess I'll never know, right? Maybe there's another way to find out, however...ooo, what a wicked thought. What a very wicked thought. I should send Dad a postcard from New York. I can write on it, 'Thinking of you.' I saw some postcards with topless women on them, for sale in Times Square, with the Empire State Building rising up like the giant phallic symbol it is, behind them. It's not that subtle, but then, Dad was never one for nuance. Just like James.

When James finally left, disappearing into the ether that envelops congressmen from Texas, I felt relieved, but also completely exhausted, and actually quite lonely. I was not, however, going to call Shane. It's long past time to stop leaning on that broken relationship. I felt like calling someone, however. I needed to hear the voice of someone who loved me, uncritically.

I thought about calling my BFF Joanie, who is always wise. Alternatively, I could call my brother? He would understand, I think, as long as I didn't mention the money. I picked up my phone, scrolling through the contacts. I clicked. It rang. "Hello, Dad?" I said into the phone. "I'm in New York.... Yes, I'll send you a postcard..."