Charley Torn Pt. 01

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Imo wasn't finished with me. The riding crop dealt a stinging blow to my swollen pussy lips, which almost made me come again. I was untied and made to stand, with my hands tied behind my back. Imo sat on one of the straight-backed kitchen chairs, her big freckled breasts, rising and falling, the little pink plastic phallus poking incongruously upwards between her thighs. She tapped her open hand, with the crop, and eyed me cruelly.

"Come and lick your vile shit off my little cock. Then mount it with your virgin pussy."

This proved hard, without the help of my hands, and I slid down the plastic shaft much quicker than I would have liked. It hurt and I think I started to cry. This was soon subsumed by Imogen's delightfully talented tongue. She held me tight and set the rhythm. I was a quick learner. Mike was soon stiff again, and was squirting a whole tube of lubricant up my bottom; followed quickly by his tumescent tool. I think I took five inches before the pain was too much for my inexperienced pelvis. Imo considerately withdrew and let Mike pound me to a magnificent anal orgasm. The first of many.

The next 24 hours was a blur of fucking, and I was, I think, taken in every position known to man. My pussy and anal ring were so swollen that I could not walk properly for days. I counted 24 love bites. I think that, in retrospect, we would have done things differently. Mike would have worn condoms, for a start. We would not have made a video, or at least made better efforts to hide it from Mum. Imogen and I had our abortions on the same day, at the same clinic. That was our first and only threesome. Mike was soon back at Law school. Imo was warm, soft and delicious, but was not really that into women. It was more power play for her, and I didn't much like being restrained and spanked. I soon fell in love with one of my teachers, and learnt the ups and especially the downs of true lesbian love.

One day I came home early, to find my dad wanking off to a porn video. By the time he had noticed my presence I was rubbing his shaft, with my own small hands. He was a bit shorter than Mike but thicker and meatier; too big for my little fist. But not too big for my mouth. I didn't spill a drop as I drank down his salty jism.

"Am I as good as Imo?" I asked coyly.

"No, but she's had so much more practice."

Next day, he collected me from school, and shafted me on the back seat of the BMW. I told him he was my first. I am a practiced liar. It took Daddy six months to get me pregnant.

Back to the evening after the trial. My dusky starfish was out of practice, not having been properly stretched since my last indiscretion with Mike. Charley would dutifully rim me, and finger fuck my arse, but she did it out of duty rather than desire. Her own delicate back door remained firmly locked. I gasped as Mike's great bell end barged past my powerful, anal guardian. I felt a pop as it slipped in, then that intense pleasurable pain, as I filled up. He did not thrust until I had slid the whole way down, then back up again. He could not resist, and stood up, holding me tight, then laid me on my back. With my hips flexed and my legs straight, he pushed my feet up until they nearly touched my ears. Charley could cross her feet behind her ears, even when pregnant. In that position Mike was able to pound me hard, deep and quick. A Banshee seemed to have let herself into the room and she was bawling at the devil, as I came and came, and Mike finally filled my rectum with his hot seed.

That was when we should have gone to bed and held each other tenderly. And in the morning, we should have enjoyed breakfast together. I should not have, on waking to find Mike asleep, but stiff as a board, started riding him, waking him with my loud shrieks. We should have used a condom.

We should have used a condom when we celebrated Charley's first pregnancy, eighteen months previously. That time too, Charley had thought my weeks of vomiting strange.

In fairness, I have only fucked Mike three times in the last five years. Charley, bless her, was sexually pretty conservative, and I have my needs. I was quite a catch for her, after all. She never really refused me sex, but it was limited to tongues, fingers and tribbing. I once tried using a banana (unpeeled) and she had one of her flashbacks. Maybe if she cared a bit more, she would try harder. After all, we all get tired, and I don't think that being pregnant is an adequate excuse. She'd let herself go a bit, as well. Then there's her vile mother!

When I first met Charley, I had three other girlfriends on the go. I am popular. I like variety. I had barely touched a woman, in the last three years, and they have all been escorts; strictly no commitments. I have needs. I have given a few blow jobs to further my career, but who hasn't. And who paid the lion's share of the mortgage, especially since Charley insisted on going part time?

It's not like we were married.

The selfish fat bitch.

So rested the case for the defence. The prosecution barely needed to cross-examine. I stood condemned by my own words. A selfish, hedonistic pervert. The judge donned her black cap.

Mum was precisely right. How could I? Charley called me a goddess. As cruel as any from mythology, it turned out. Charley was more like Mother Earth, nurturing everything, and everyone she touched. She moved water for a living; albeit very dirty water. She was as intelligent as I, with an amazingly analytical mind. I had met all her colleagues; they did not just respect her; they loved her. I came home one day to find an attractive blonde woman, sitting in the kitchen. Charley was bouncing a chubby little girl on her knee. Charley is the girl's genetic mother. The woman had come to thank Charley for her egg donation. She will probably donate again. Kind, loyal, loving, compassionate, tolerant, witty. In fact there are few superlatives that could not be applied to my imminently former lover. Almost forgot; she was still pretty and had great legs.

Oh, and we had entered into a civil partnership, so it was like we were married. Moreover, we had a son. He called us both mummy, and other babbly words. Charley has always insisted that Thomas would grow up with two mothers. In fairness, she did most of the work, but never complained. I love the little chap dearly. I love Charley.

I had chosen. A night's pleasure, instead of a lifetime's love.

Then she arrived, dishevelled and shaky; her face white as a sheet, her eyes bloodshot. The ward sister had a protective arm around Charley's shoulder and looked at me with daggers.

"I will stay, Ms Clarke. Dr Matthews has already fainted in reception, and looks fit to go again."

"Oh, Gorgeous, I thought you were dead. How could you?" Charley sobbed. Then she came over and kissed me lightly on the forehead, and sat on the corner of the bed, gently holding my hand.

"I know about you and Mike. It's wrong Georgia. I could have coped if it was another woman. How am I going to survive without you?"

Her face was contorted with pain. Build my gallows high.

"I need to collect Thomas from your mum's. How will I explain it to him? Oh Georgia. Why?"

Then she was gone.

CHAPTER3:CHARLEY

"Oh, Georgia. Why?"

She looked so small in the bed. Lost. And contrite. I didn't want to lose her. I hated turning and walking out of that room. I couldn't say goodbye. My lips and fingers had started to go numb, which meant I was hyperventilating again. The kindly nurse got me a paper bag to breathe into, whilst Gordon went to get the car. I so needed to see Thomas again. Little Tarquin, I think, sensed my agitation and performed a drum tattoo on the inside of my belly.

I thought of Gone with the Wind.

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AnonymousAnonymousover 9 years ago
Downward spiral

The first three Charley stories were quite enjoyable. Sadly, I found this story very unpleasant, not because of the incest theme but because I don't particularly like anal and I find violence within sex utterly repugnant. Of the main characters, Charley is the only one who comes out of this story as decent---the others were all quite loathsome.

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