Appearances Can be Deceiving

Wow, she did sound like a mother speaking to a small child... a mother with long shapely gams, and cleavage down to her navel emphasizing a healthy rack made for pleasure, and a sensuous come-fuck-me smile that belied its little-girl look. All under liquid chocolaty bedroom eyes that were locked indelicately on my rising erection.

I was stunned. My slightly shell-shocked body slumped limply on the bed as I hastened to clear the cobwebs from my brain. All the blood had rushed to my cock, and I needed it now about three feet higher. What could she possibly have meant by that statement?

Angel began, "I know this is going to sound odd, but hear me out. Your father came south of the border and found me, I guess about the time your mother was dying."

I cut her off, "Are you telling me that while my mom lay suffering, that bastard was looking for young pussy? Is that what his money bought- you!" I saw the expression on her face collapse and her cocoa-brown eyes winced and teared-up under darkly furrowed brows. I instantly apologized for the crude remark, by now I was wide awake but that mellow buzz became a dull ache. I'm terribly sorry, my anger was aimed at my dear old dad. Please continue. Guilt bubbled up in my throat.

She sniffled a minute, causing those cute dimples to bracket her soft, pink lips. A salty tear slid down her whimpering cheek. Angel collected herself as I apologized again, loose strands of her coal-colored hair clung to her wet cheeks and she combed them back with her lithe fingers. Her skin was the shade of chocolate milk with soft-pink painted nails and lips and her daring black sheath made a confounding image on the day of her husband's funeral. The black, unadorned outfit was obviously worn to display her grief, but there was something undeniably sensual about the alluring Latina woman draped in sheer black linen that hugged her full figure and accentuated every curve as I took a quick perusal of her inviting anatomy.

Should I even be having these thoughts about my step mom, especially after I just made her cry. But we're the same age, I think. And we're not really blood. Is that incest? Is that illegal in this state? Or just immoral? Hey I'm not really religious, maybe its only a little sin... I mean look at those tits. I better grab a hold of myself before I grab a big hold of her.

Angel cleared her throat and took a quick, deep inhale. The front of her dress rose considerably with that gesture and her cheeks expanded until she blew out a deep breath and appeared calmer. Her moist eyes settled on mine. "Yes," she intoned, "Mr. Richard could be a true bastard. Please don't hold that against me. I didn't know at the time, that he had a sick wife, and my family was desperately poor. So we made a deal. I admit that I was far from pure in this situation, I knew what he was buying and what I sold him was wicked. I took his money for my mother and me. He got his money's worth and now I am forced to barter to be allowed to continue. I'm not ashamed- I know that I should be- things were just hopeless and I've become used to some finer things."

I was dumbfounded. Taking this random, crazy information into some sort of order, I had lots of questions. First, "You called him, Mr. Richard?"

"Yes, that's the name I was to use in public. He said it showed respect."

I was hating him all over again. "Public," I stumbled, "what's the difference?"

"In private," she answered haltingly, "I had to call him 'Sir or Master.'" My eyes noticeably flared. "I told you, he could be a bastard with me, too. I was only his wife to strangers. And that was only so that he could paw me in public. In reality I was his slave!"

"I don't understand, are you married or not? What is this 'envelope' all about? And what do you mean slave?" My head was reeling

"Your father bought me... sorry. He made a deal with my mother, (we were desperately poor as I said, I hope you understand) and because I was underage, he was forced to marry me to bring me back to the States." She related this all rather easily. "He even offered extra for my mother! You Americans and your fuck'n money!"

"I'm going to need another drink," I said like a man hearing that his hated mother-in-law just drove his new Ferrari off of a cliff." But there was no time for jokes. Another question hit me. "Underage, you said, just how old are you?" When she said, "Almost Twenty-one," I was floored. That would make me eleven years older than my step mom. "And how could you have been married, he already had a wife... didn't he?" She explained that the "marriage" was mostly to soothe her mother's semi-guilty conscience for selling her daughter to an old man. And because the Federales needed an excuse to permit a girl of my age to cross the border with this Gringo- a little more money smoothed that transaction too." The marriage, she pointed out was only "valid" in Tijuana. She swore that she knew nothing of an American wife, at the time.

"I still don't understand," (maybe I didn't need another drink.) "So he brought you here after my mother died... for what?" I'm not normally this dense but put yourself in the same situation.

She rolled her big brown eyes and combed her long fingers through her ebon locks. "Let's go down to the work room, maybe that will help" I was now thoroughly lost, what was she, a carpenter's apprentice. As perverted as the whole set-up appeared, drumming into my thick skull, the obvious rationale just never occurred to me. That my very own dad could have the same illicit desires, and acted on his worst, most prurient instincts, backed by a new bundle of Benjamins.

But I dutifully rose from the bed and started for the hallway, I needed to see this through to some logical conclusion. "Not that way," she stopped me, confusing me all the more. She pushed a button cleverly concealed on the carved headboard, and the dark bookcase seemed to fold onto itself, revealing a spiral staircase that led directly down to the basement. I followed tentatively, as if I hadn't grown-up and lived in this house for over twenty years. We alighted in a walled-off section of the cellar that I had never seen, or even imagined. Dad must have been busy in his later years. It was outfitted like an Adult Playground designed by the Marquise De Sade. So the bookcases were just another fascinating, fantastical façade in this house of mirrors!

Here was a skillfully hidden room ornamented with the perverted examples of dear old dad's "Master Craftsmanship." The large cellar had been ingeniously divided, one side housed the washer and dryer and the assorted used parts and junk that would be stored in any old house. But this side, expertly concealed from view and accessed by those secret passages; contained padded benches with shackles, X-shaped racks with attached cuffs, pulleys and chains somehow dangling from the ceiling and assorted shelves and cubbyholes stuffed with whips, dildoes, ointments and various other bondage apparatus that made me wince at their devilish function. And now I wheeled and saw Angel as an entirely new person. She seemed for a second to blush and duck her head to avoid my searching eyes, but again I was fooled by her youthful appearance and what should have been modesty.

The pinkish glow that so seductively colored her cheeks and added fire to the brilliant, dark eyes, was not embarrassment, but an erotic passion yearning to be freed. And the simple explanation for her looking down, was to untie the thin strap that cinched her dress at the waist. She allowed the slinky material to slide from her shoulders and she helped it traverse the soft slope that was her bosom and with a slight shimmy, the black mourning dress eased across her hips and dropped to the floor. She gingerly stepped away from it.

Angel stood proudly before me in only black lingerie that made an entirely different statement than the gloomy bereavement. The sheer, satiny bra was waging a losing battle in its attempt to constrain her D-cups. And a tiny strip of gossamer fabric, pungent now with the aroma of her sex, revealed a closely cropped, arrow-shaped patch of obscenely raven-dark curls that pointed to her most intimate passage.

It was breathtaking to behold and admire. This waif-turned vixen had willingly disrobed before me- her "step son" a man she did not know three hours ago, and with no input from me. I couldn't avert my wide eyes or control the slobber dripping from my mouth. Her smoldering sensuality gave-off a heat of its own. She was inviting me to enjoy her lovely body. She was shockingly desirable and I wanted her badly. Angel packed a ton of dynamite in a tight, sultry package. The full bouncy tits overflowed from the flimsy bra and her long shapely legs led to a nicely rounded plump, rear end. Some women merely trade in sex, Angel radiated with it.

Without saying a word, and leaving me speechless too, she sat demurely on a heavily padded bench and amicably drew me to her side, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary for a complete stranger to be partially nude and sitting with her step son. Then from a wall switch that I hadn't seen, she pushed a button and a large TV monitor descended from the upper wall and flashed to life, drawing my attention from her and to an eerie image onscreen.

As I sat uncomfortably beside her, feeling like a naïve child on a visit to an X-rated amusement park, I saw that the heavy wooden legs of the bench were fitted with leather straps and Velcro cuffs . She deftly brushed those underneath with her pink toenails and bade me relax to watch the video infront of us. And as the scene unfolded, she offered a sexy recitation of the lurid events that were captured and displayed, apparently now for my erotic pleasure.

My gape fell on a thin dark haired girl who it appeared should have been playing with dolls or selling lemonade on the corner, but I'm guessing that won't be happening. She was bare-footed and sitting with one coltish leg under her butt, on a bench remarkably like this one. She looked grade school age and I felt ashamed to be ogling her like this, as if I were peeping through the keyhole of a child's room at bath time. Her two long black braids bracketed her young face and the ribbon-tied ends seemed to point wantonly at her pert breasts. She wore a thin cottony tee seemingly two sizes too small , even for her girlish frame. But still the outline of her dark, pointy nipples were clearly plain to see, against a rather flat chest. And she had on the shortest pair of "Daisy Dukes" that emphasized her long, gangly legs. Her hand was tucked inside the waist band of her shorts, where it idly strummed the pubic area, as she was apparently directed to, from off-camera. She squirmed erotically in her seat as her fingers made insistent circles. The whites of her eyes flashed and her supple pink lips parted enticingly as she received her cues.

There was obviously an X-rated story here, but Angel didn't appear ready to tell it all at once, while the image on screen continued to follow her silent instructions. Something about this wicked performance was telling me to look away, but I was helpless to do so. Beside me, Angel continued to describe the activities in vulgar, explicit detail, noting particularly the seductive charms of the young temptress. A "Lolita" vision crossed my mind. Was she being manipulated, or acting-out a well-rehearsed scene like a spider spinning a fine silk web designed to ensnare an unsuspecting victim? With Angel sidling against my sweaty torso, and grinding her body lustfully on mine, I watched enthralled as she added little descriptive touches that further filled-out my constricting pants. I felt that I was in a seedy little private booth, disturbingly so.

The temperature in the room was rising. Our bodies were glistening with sweat, hers had an enticing sheen. My clothes were damp and sticking to me. I found it hard to swallow, my tongue seemed too big for my mouth, and my lips were dry and parched. Her hands were massaging my shoulders and she tussled my hair with her fingers. I anxiously inquired of Angel if that was her younger sister, for the resemblance was striking. Or if she were merely a test subject that preceded her, I guessed that my father may have had a penchant for young Latinas. She showed a melancholy smile and explained the scene before my bewildered eyes. "That was your father filming- before he added sound- and he was standing right about where you are. And relax, the girl was eighteen and though she may not have been used to this level of debauchery at this time, she was willing and accepting of the situation, I should know... it was me."

I hated myself for my reaction, but my eyes veered to angel and traveled up and down her curvy form as if I needed to memorize every alluring inch of her. I loved the nonchalant manner that she watched me, her eyes following me as I gawked. And the lurid way that her sultry orbs gauged my expressions, when she narrated the obscene behavior taking place on the screen. "I know what you're thinking," she giggled in the first light moment that passed between us, "I must have hit my growth spurt right after this." (More smiles) then, "Maybe it was the steroids in all the American food."

"Anyway, I filled-out and your father liked it, and it seems that you do too." There was an enigmatic approach to her recital, almost as if she were bragging and making excuses at the same time. Angel directed my attention away from her luscious tits and again to the TV, assuring me that my questions would be answered. "Just watch," she added. Her warm hand was resting uneasily on the prodigious bulge rapidly growing in my suit-pants. As it gently glided back and forth, causing an exciting friction, I considered moving her hand aside. But I fought-off that ridiculous notion, since it seemed appropriate to the story-telling accompanying the video.

My heart went out to her, despite the fact that she was unclothed and pawing at my hardening cock, as she described in exquisite, erotic detail, what was happening onscreen. "But you were so young?" I stuttered.

"Don't let the age fool you," she replied, "men were using my body long before this," she stated matter-of-factly, "even my father." She added, "I watched my mother go through this too, right infront of me. Your father's money actually allowed her to stop, you see in my country, you could live well on that amount. But I didn't want to live there. So I agreed to "the marriage." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I told you before, I've chosen this. If you aren't interested, I'll call Sam for my money and leave." Somehow, she was making me feel bad.

I felt dirty, like a Peeping Tom who had been spotted and confronted by the half-nude subject. And yet, my eyes stayed focused on the sleazy image of a young girl degrading herself for my father. The physical and psychological changes taking hold of my body also served to expose my inner fetishes and perversions. Sweat engulfed me. My trousers suddenly seemed too tight. I was wriggling in my seat, and my hand was forced to relieve the constriction cutting off the blood to my rapidly enlarging package. I caught her sly smile from the corner of my eye, and her calming tone, "Relax and enjoy it. I told you its me, and I wouldn't be showing you this if I wasn't okay with it." Angel's curvaceous frame was undulating next to me, the video excited her too. Her every move and facial gesture seemed designed to entice me forward. Even sitting almost motionless, she displayed her femaleness in a blatant, lustful manner. The vision on the TV looked child-like, but every subtle movement was presented in a vibrant, electric pattern intended for ultimate arousal. Angel was good at this, and she liked it.

Onscreen, the avatar of Angel received more instructions from the unseen master directing her to rise from her seat and wrestle the tight shorts down her long, skinny legs. Then with her thumbs hooked beneath the elastic of her damp panties, she shimmied her shockingly-red undies to her ankles, where she kicked her laundry aside. The slight smile on her nearly innocent face as she looked up was puzzling, as if the Mona Lisa was secretly diddling her own clit.

I sneaked a peek at my bench mate and discovered that she had unhooked her lacy bra and pinched the erect nipple of her plump left breast between her thumb and finger, and was rolling it slightly as she tugged. Her eyes were closed and her pink tongue lulled gently across her pouty lips in a seductive fashion baring her white teeth and bringing a sexy shine to those delicious lips, in a startling display of wanton sensuality. A throaty purr escaped from deep in her throat and I followed with an urgent moan of desperation. Her sexy mahogany eyes fluttered open and she flashed a beguiling smile.

My jittery hand stole towards my pelvis and I felt justified unbuckling my belt and pants and working them down past my knees. My cock unfolded from its strict confines and as if spring-loaded, rose sharply to a reddened veiny column of throbbing flesh, and danced hungrily to catch her attention. Angel giggled in a delightfully charming way and replaced my hand with hers. Her small palm wrapped and stroked my engorged pillar. She smiled approvingly as her grip tightened and pumped my firm shaft, then she slowly let it glide the length and circumference of my yearning pole. I watched in awe, my breath coming in short puffs, and felt the tension build. In a raspy voice she whispered, "Watch this part, its one of my favorites. I'll take care of this big cock."

I tore my vision from the immediate pleasure and spotted the screen performance. The girl... I mean Angel, was apparently told to strip the tiny shirt from her slim torso. She was then ordered to drop to her knees and I held my breath as she crawled right at me, or rather right at the camera. I could make out just a pair of bare, hairy legs running down the sides planted on large feet at the bottom of the frame. She slowly made her way forward on hands and knees. Then the looming presence of a thick, large but limp cock made an appearance, hovering over head. Her visage was aimed high and she nodded to another unheard command. On all fours, amazingly the two strands of twined, black hair masked her pert nipples, but now looking up her twin points stood proudly against her small bust. The dark areolae were quarter-sized, and she was compelled to lick her fingers and rub the saliva along the outer rim of her pointy nubs. The darker skin grew slick and shiny, then she was told to resume her approach. She moved like a lioness, hungry but guarded. Now she stopped between his thighs and gazed straight into my (I mean my father's) eyes. She was on her knees, back straight, legs slightly spread and both hands cupping her pert breasts.

Her big, brown orbs sparkled with excitement, a line of watery drool ran from her chin and hung in a thin strand almost to her pussy. Nodding again, her pink lips formed a soft, inviting oval and a hand reached down to steady her chin. I looked to my right and saw the same expression as my real life Angel knelt on the bench, her own mouth just puckering to kiss the rubbery tip of my mushroomed shaft. I moaned again and thrust my hips upward into her warm mouth and she let the thick, helmeted head slide between her puffy lips. I could feel the suction instantly as my straining cock was drawn into her hungry mouth.

In time with the character on the monitor, she inhaled the proffered shaft. Her tongue worked furiously around the solid column and tiny kisses moved up, down and around the big stem. Then it disappeared down her throat once more, and she bobbed her head and sucked violently urging the sticky fluid she desired, from the balls, up the shaft into the head and trembling to erupt. I watched the screen and held the ears of my own siren, then the shaking and rumbling took effect. I saw the TV. My father and I were getting our cocks devoured by the same woman at the same time. It took twenty years, and the aid of video technology, but we were experiencing a thrilling, obscene father/son moment. A virtual threesome. the kind of bonding activity that only a truly perverted, incestuous clan could appreciate. Hallmark just doesn't have a card to celebrate this warped ritual!