Clare Bares: Sharing is Caring

Clare Bares: Sharing Is Caring

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I: Close To Home

The leather belt cinches around her neck restricting her ability to breathe, the veins in her neck swell, "Please...no...god...no...don't make me...no..." gasps the buxom, red-haired, 23-year-old laying on the floor, in ripped lingerie, being forcibly held by the older man with his pants around his ankles, his erection lodged in the entrance of the woman's vagina. The belt further tightens, the young woman's eyes bulge. Helpless, unable to free her arms or legs, she begins to panic, eyes wide, her face rapidly darkening from pink to red to purple.

"TELL ME, WHORE," bellows the man as he slaps the woman's face and ass several times; red welts the proof of the severity. "Admit it, bitch!" the man demands, cinching the belt dangerously tight, the light in the woman's eyes starts to fade. "Say it. You know you want to!"

****

Clare Olsen was still getting used to her new life as college graduate, wife, and now, homeowner. The past year had been a whirlwind and she had looked forward to things slowing down, but the sudden deceleration took some getting used to. She texted her husband letting him know how work on the living room was progressing. Her husband's career as a pharmaceutical sales representative provided a six-figure income that allowed them to live comfortably even without her equally significant financial contribution. The downside to her husband's job was it required regular, extended travel out of town. This week was one of those times.

Clare watched as a light blueish-gray paint covered the basic white walls in wide, overlapping swaths. As the paint roller moved up and down she couldn't help letting her eyes wander down the long handle to the muscular arms flexing as they applied pressure, stopping every minute or so to reload paint before beginning the up-and-down motion again.

Even though they were inside and the air conditioning was on, the painter's shirt was soaked with perspiration showing his sturdy build. Clare lets her eyes wander over the man's body, his close-cropped hair, hidden under a worn UCF ball cap. His broad chest and thick arms, barely covered by a threadbare, sleeveless Megadeth t-shirt. His sturdy legs sticking out of worn cargo shorts. Not for the first time today, Clare's needy pussy flutters imagining the rugged, muscular, handsome man stopping his work to have his way with her. His strong arms and large hands plying her supple body to his will.

Approaching their first wedding anniversary Clare's husband, Brian, had been gone almost as much as he'd been home. She understood when they started dating that his constant travel came with certain concessions, both agreeing that they were free to do as they pleased when separated. Clare had discovered in her teens that her parents were swingers and after a typically frank discussion with them, she felt relief that their chosen 'leisure activities,' as they put it, didn't mean their marriage was in trouble. Actually, quite the opposite, as she came to understand with age and maturity.

Clare had considered her parent's relationship often over the years and felt fortunate to have found a partner who shared her similar view of love and sex. She was no more jealous of her husband's casual affairs than he was of hers. Often their tales of wanton extramarital liaisons fueled their lovemaking. Of course, traveling and frequenting big city bars and restaurants offered more opportunity for a handsome salesman to find a one-night stand than moving into a new house in her hometown did for the comely newlywed.

Brian Olsen had been set on buying a brand new house for the two of them but Clare had always wanted a fixer-upper, something she could remodel and make her own. Like the home she grew up in. Her dad had found the lakefront property with a small, run-down house on the outskirts of the city. He borrowed all he could to buy it. Over the years, as her dad built his business, the small house transformed, room-by-room, addition-by-addition, into the large, beautiful, one-of-a-kind family home it is today.

When their current home came for sale, Clare would not take no for an answer. It was only minutes from her parent's property and was a house and neighborhood Clare had always loved since she was a kid and would ride her bike up and down the street. An old neighborhood with houses on big, wooded lots, moss hanging from the trees.

Her priority was to make it a home for her and her husband while also planning the addition and remodel she envisioned. When she announced they were buying it, her father, being a contractor, immediately made all his resources available to the couple and asked his daughter when they should start working on the new design he assumed she had already planned. Her mother, Tanya, was equally supportive. Tanya had her own business importing and refinishing furniture. Clare really enjoyed being in daily contact with her Mom and Dad again.

"That looks so much better already," says Clare, acknowledging the immediate change a simple coat of paint can make, watching as the last corner succumbs to its new latex veneer. "There's beer in the garage fridge," she offers as the man stands the paint roller up in the large bucket.

"I guess it's five o'clock somewhere," he smiles. The man can't help but admire the form of the 23-year-old as he walks by and Clare's pussy trembles catching his inspection. She blows out a breath as the man leaves the room, her nipples hard, her pussy drooling into her shorts. 'Maybe I should have worn panties,' she thinks, feeling the growing damp patch of her ultra-tight cotton shorts. The equally tight cut-off t-shirt tied under her braless 36C breasts does even less to hide her painfully swollen nipples. 'God, I really need to get fucked.' she thinks. Her phone interrupts her lusty thoughts, her husband finally responding, she hopes.

Brian: "has he said anything?"

Clare: "no but he's definitely been looking OMG"

Brian: "and you're wearing what we agreed?"

Clare: "yes sir"

Brian: "good girl"

Clare: "(smiley face) "

Brian: "how does it feel after all this time?"

Clare: "I'm so nervous but soooo horny. I'm trying not to be weird lol"

Brian: "Do you think he knows you're teasing him?"

Clare "idk i mean hes checking me out but not acting weird or anything"

Brian: "have you invited him over for Saturday yet?"

Clare: "no"

Brian: "why not?"

Clare: "it feels too real"

Brian: "it is real. its what you want. invite him, if you can't go through with it on Saturday, then it's just harmless fun. But you won't know unless he's actually there"

Brian: "DO IT! or ill never let you have another orgasm (tongue out)"

Clare: "meany (tongue out)"

Claire: "gtg love you (various love emojis)"

Claire picks up her small bucket and brush and resumes cutting in. She hears the garage to house door and then footsteps approach. She can feel eyes on her backside. Clare bends over as she paints down the inside corner, keeping her legs straight, blatantly showing herself, feeling the material of her already skin tight shorts stretch even further, molding to every crease. She pretends to be focused on her task. "Looks great," the man observes. Clare can't help but snicker, wondering which he's referring to, the walls, or her barely covered butt.

Finishing the corner, Clare rises and turns, "Hey, Dad," she begins, trying to act normal despite the hurricane of feelings and emotions swirling inside her, "Brian, and I were wondering if you'd want to come over Saturday to watch football and cookout?"

Taking another drag of his longneck, Kevin Taylor responds, "You don't have to do that Sweetie, you have your hands full already."

"I know but I thought it would be nice, and with Mom out of town... I figured it'll keep you from working all weekend," Clare smiles hopefully. Her father smiles back, "You drive a hard bargain Clare Bear, food and beer and sports with my favorite girl. What time?"

****

II: Clare Bear

Clare Taylor had grown up tagging along to jobs with her father. Kevin Taylor had built his painting and finishing company from the ground up. Starting by working out of his only vehicle at 19 to now; having four crews working year-round. He built a reputation for reliability, craftsmanship, and skill in a profession known for attracting people looking for no-questions employment and a quick buck.

Clare learned how to paint houses with her dad and interior painting was her specialty. As a young teenager, the act of painting a room would give her a sense of purpose and accomplishment that she subconsciously responded to. She enjoyed doing it and quickly became good enough that, during the summers, her father would take her to jobs a few days each week. During the school year, he would 'save rooms' for her to paint whenever her school schedule allowed.

During these years, Clare was the only person her age she knew who had money from 'a job.' Her father would pay her $200 a room, giving her $100 a week and putting the rest in a savings account. Most of her friends were lucky if they had $20 from an allowance, Clare regularly had $100 in her pocket, which she was usually more than happy to spend on her friends.

Like her dad, the physical labor kept Clare fit and strong. Always physically mature for her age and a naturally pretty girl, but a bit of a tomboy, she suddenly developed an incredibly tight, curvy 24-36-24 figure around the beginning of High School. This did not go unnoticed, not only by boys her age, but also by older men, and especially by those working at her father's jobs. Clare subconsciously responded to the way MEN looked at her, unashamed and confident as opposed to the nervous and crude stares she got from her classmates.

Clare now found herself excited picking out what to wear to work with her dad, often choosing her oldest, tightest shorts and t-shirts that still plausibly 'fit.' When she started her final year of high school her father all but stopped asking Clare to help out on his jobs, telling her she needed to concentrate on school. Being a teenager with many things competing for her attention, she accepted her father's explanation without question. Though she did soon realize part of her dearly missed the attention, smiles, and compliments of the tradesmen. This was the first time Clare Taylor fully acknowledged that she enjoyed the attention of older men more than those her own age.

To go with her luscious body Clare had also developed a very healthy sex drive. Having taken to sexual pleasure with unabashed enthusiasm, she was constantly aroused and thinking about sex, and couldn't keep her hands off herself, needing to masturbate multiple times a day. She used to wonder if she was "normal." She got her answer when she began dating and every one of her boyfriends let her know she was the horniest girl they knew. Her parents had taken the direct route with Clare's sex education, explaining things as simply and as comprehensively as possible. Clare had always been a good student and their trust in her had been rewarded with no drama except for a couple of heartbroken suitors showing up at their door, begging for a second chance.

Clare had also always been a "daddy's girl." Almost everything she did was based on getting her father's attention and approval. Her father loved that they had that kind of bond and her mother never did anything to discourage it. In fact, Tanya would often use telling Clare what she thought her father would think about something as leverage or persuasion. Clare was certain neither of her parents knew that her feelings for her dad ran much deeper than a normal child and parent.

After High School Clare went to college only 90 miles away, but with traffic, it could be a two and a half hour drive, so she suddenly went from being around her Mom and Dad daily to seeing them only on occasional weekends and holidays. Her parents were paying for her tuition and dorm room and her dad had made her a deal when she turned 16; she could use the savings account from her work with him to buy a car she wanted or he would buy her a practical used car and she could keep the savings account for spending money while she was in college. Clare not only took the second deal but she went one step further asking her dad if she could have his Tacoma pickup when he announced he was getting a full-sized Tundra. Her father was surprised but happily agreed, even continuing to pay the insurance on the Tacoma for Clare. Men of all ages seemed to love watching Clare hop down out of the truck in her usual attire of short shorts, tank top or t-shirt, and flip-flops. It was a toss up which was a more vivid red, the trucks well-maintained paint, or her naturally scarlet mane.

Clare dove headfirst into the first two semesters of college life in Central Florida. Classes in the morning, going to the gym, or hanging out by the pool most afternoons. Parties several nights a week. The initial excitement of college life, namely the newfound freedom, relaxed schedule and abundant casual sex, wore off quickly for the structured and goal orientated teenager. And halfway through her freshman year, Clare grew bored and despite having no bills except food, gas, and clothes; and barely having touched her savings account, she decided to look for a part-time job. Her dorm mate, Amber, worked at Hooters two nights a week and every Saturday. She assured Clare she'd have no trouble getting hired or getting as many hours as she wanted. Clare had never had a 'real job' let alone waited tables, but she liked the idea of the skimpy uniform and the attention she would get. She started working the same schedule as her roommate and had a blast. She worked there for the next nine months until fate intervened.

Clare was performing arts major, aspiring to a career in theatre. One weekend early in her sophomore year she was at a theme park with her friends and was approached by a talent manager for the park who asked if Clare was interested in auditioning for a role as one of the park performers, the ones who walk the park portraying real-life versions of famous animated characters. It was explained that she was approached because of her resemblance to a certain well-known mermaid character and if interested, Claire could audition at the next open call in a few weeks. Clare knew this meant sitting around all day with dozens, if not hundreds, of other hopefuls, waiting to audition for some middle manager and was indecisive. It came up in their conversation that Clare was a performing arts major and the talent manager became quite excited and offered Clare an individual audition with the head of casting instead of the "cattle call" audition.

Clare had accepted that offer and gotten the job and her life changed rather drastically and in unexpected ways. Firstly, her weekends became work time. She would spend two hours every Saturday and Sunday morning in make-up and wardrobe being transformed from a wholesome, pretty college student into a glamorous mermaid. She would then spend the next six hours outside posing for pictures, giving and receiving hugs, kisses, marriage proposals, indecent proposals, you name it, from guests and their children. The result was she was exhausted by Sunday night and then had her week of classes to look forward to.

Clare had been assured that the job would lead to other opportunities and they had, somewhat. She was in a few commercials and scored bit parts in two films. One, a low-budget independent; and the other, a big-budget action movie. She had a small speaking role in each, but neither did much to launch her career.

The second unexpected aspect of her job was she gained a dedicated online following. Two actually. One celebrated her as the character she helped bring to life. There were pages and boards dedicated to when she was scheduled to work. Families planned their trips to make sure they saw 'Clare.' The other celebrated her looks. As you might imagine this ran the spectrum from wholesome to pornographic. There were pages dedicated to posting pictures of her in her costume. There were also pages dedicated to photo shopping her head onto the bodies of nude models and porn stars.

None of the online attention bothered Clare in the least. She got a kick out of all of it. She found the wholesomeness of the young fans sweet, sincere, and moving. She found the others mostly amusing and some actually titillating. Clare had long since admitted to herself that she was an 'attention whore.' She lived to be noticed and admired. It filled her. The older she got the more she liked being appreciated for her looks. The naughty comments and photo shopped pictures had the same effect on her as an admiring glance or compliment in real life. Often she wondered what the reaction would be if she posted an actual nude picture of herself on one of these pages. Would anyone believe it was real? The thought always made her laugh. It also excited her.

Clare had long found excitement in the notion of exhibitionism. This was often combined with her single greatest fantasy, her father. Clare has long envisioned her father in her sexual fantasies; most involved him either spying on her or accompanying her in public and instructing her how to expose herself to strangers. Many a night she spent in her bed, vigorously pumping her fingers, or a toy, in and out of her heated opening, imagining her dad was somehow watching her. Over time her fantasies of her father watching her evolved into far more explicit interactions between the two.

Clare couldn't explain to herself why her father was the focus of her sexual thoughts. He had certainly never acted inappropriately with her in any way. She often felt ashamed of her secret desires and her inability to refrain from indulging in them. Despite her parent's liberal sex education, they certainly never talked about incest, so Clare turned to the Internet and was shocked to learn that she was not alone in her sexual desire for a family member.

Learning that she wasn't the only person with dirty thoughts about their own parent both eased her guilt and further inflamed her fantasies. No longer ashamed, she lustily indulged in pretend sexual encounters with her father. As her sexual experiences grew and evolved so did her fantasies. Her need to be appreciated and her desire for her father's approval merged. One of her most effecting fantasies involved her father escorting her to an adult sex store; she imagined the back rooms and fantasized about servicing strangers while her father watched approvingly before fucking her while strangers gathered to watch their sinful, incestual coupling.

****

III: Not Until You Tell Me

The leather belt cinches around her neck restricting her ability to breathe, the veins in her neck swell, "Please...no...god...no...don't make me...no" gasps the buxom, red-haired, 23-year-old laying on the floor, in ripped lingerie, being forcibly held by the older man with his pants around his ankles, his erection lodged in the entrance of the woman's vagina. The belt further tightens, the young woman's eyes bulge. Helpless, unable to free her arms or legs, she begins to panic, eyes wide, her face rapidly darkening from pink to red to purple.

"TELL ME, WHORE," bellows the man as he slaps the woman's face and ass several times; red welts the proof of the severity. "Admit it, bitch!" the man demands, cinching the belt dangerously tight, the light in the woman's eyes starts to fade. "Say it. You know you want to!"

The belt loosens and 23-year-old Clare Olsen gasps, sucking in huge breaths before coughing forcefully. She lies on her side on the rug, regaining her breath. She whimpers as her 35-year-old husband, Brian pinches her swollen nipple. She bucks her hips back against his stationary pelvis, trying to force his hard penis back into her depths. Her husband, lying on his side behind her, positions his leg to keep his wife from closing the gap between them.