tagExhibitionist & VoyeurThe Sorority Sisters: Rebecca No. 01a

The Sorority Sisters: Rebecca No. 01a

bySassy Susan©

The Sorority Sisters – Rebecca, No. 1

A psychological threesome with Brandon and Melissa


This is Becka's account of an erotic, almost non-physical affair she had with a married couple whom she met at a Kentucky Derby party earlier this year. Brandon and his wife Melissa pursued her, both together and separately, for some time after. A few pieces of information will make the story more understandable.

Kate is Becka's lover. They live apart, which works well for them. Becka is Rebecca Browning, a writer of erotica who works in a library. Her stories can be found under that name on Literotica. Most of what she has written is biographical (It's My Life) describing parts of her sex life while living with her former husband, Mike, who is referenced briefly here. The story referred to in Part 3 below is chapter 8 in her series. Tony and Carmella are her hosts, who featured in this highly erotic BDSM event.

Becka is a submissive lady who put up with her husband's atrocious behavior and demands for much too long. But she admits that she got off on the humiliation and abuse Mike forced upon her. I recommend her to you, for her self-effacing humor and blunt story telling make these accounts of his domination and her humiliating submission both funny and erotic, if sometimes sad.

I hope you enjoy Rebecca, both here in her reports to me, and when you visit her site.

Susan James

* * * * *

Part One – The Party and Interview

Dear Susan,

Where to start? This will take forever.

Last Saturday I went to a Kentucky Derby party at the house of one of Kate's corporate slugs. I don't play in this crowd, because the house has to be worth a million bucks. Pool in the back, one of these outdoor cooking grills that is as long as a banquet table, and a little hut that served as a bar.

Right away Kate is pissed when I drive over to her place, so she can drive us as a couple to the party house. It's my blouse. One of two rather provocative numbers I bought in hopes of recapturing my youth. I found it in one of those mall chain stores that are dark and have shitty rap music thumping away in them. This is a sleeveless white thing with a little lace on it. Pretty sheer. Too sheer to wear a bra under it, or so I think.

Okay, it was a sunny day and it was more than pretty sheer. Kate rides my ass all the way to this place about my choice of clothing. She's showing plenty of her cannonballs with the scoop-neck thing she's wearing but apparently I must be a puritan. I admit the blouse is probably something that would be more along the line of something girls your age would wear, and maybe I looked silly, but fuck it. Fugg it. If nobody wanted to look they didn't have to.

Great start to the day, huh? Get to the thing at this rich prick's house, and they have a plasma TV out on the deck under cover, but the race isn't for a couple of hours. I say hello to a couple of the people I know from past events and head to the hut. Only about seventy degrees so nobody is swimming, except for the asshole who fell in. I'm a little chilly, and the blouse has points that all can see. Fugg it.

Kate comes over and intros me to the host, who drops his sunglasses down to look at my nipples as he shakes my hand. He didn't complain about my blouse, so I make a face to Kate when he isn't looking. Another couple comes over and the host intros them to me and Kate. Host flees after a while and leaves this couple with us.

The couple are around 30-ish. She is a kinda wall-flowery and plain looking woman who doesn't make eye contact and just nods and sips her mint julep through a swizzle stick. Her hubby is a giant. Seems like seven foot tall (but find out later he's 6'5"). A real Mutt and Jeff couple, but he's kinda cute.

It turns out that Brandon (the guy) is a writer. I recognize the name from the local paper. He's not Bob Woodward or anything but I had heard of him, and had gotten things for him at work on occasion, but I didn't recognize him so maybe he sent somebody to pick up. He writes local governmental stuff, about zoning meetings and city council crap, that sort of thing.

Bigmouth Kate, upon hearing that this guy is a writer, announces that her dear friend Becky is a writer too! You fucking cunt! I look for a way to crawl under the hut while Kate babbles on after he asks who I write for. "She writes pornographic stories!" she proclaims!

I must have turned purple as this couple look at me, and I wanted to die. Brandon and wife find this fascinating, and Kate is having convulsions as she revels in my discomfort. Kate then leaves, presumably to hit on the host's helpless little daughter, who looks like Laurie from the Partridge Family. I am alone.

Brandon, a real writer, begins peppering me with questions about my "writing." I get inside the hut bar and make myself a rum and coke in a small pitcher and stick a straw in it. I fully intend to get very drunk, but Brandon was very nice about it and so I start talking.

I won't tell him where I write, or the name I use, but I admit that I use my real first name and a famous writer's last name. He tells me that he knows of several such sites and has always wanted to try his hand at it. I tell him that people seem to like my stuff, and so they would go crazy over a real writer. He wants to know where I write but I can't tell him. He asks why and I say that so far I haven't written fiction, but instead have written about real life, and that it would be very embarrassing for me to have people know who I am.

At this point I look at his wife, who is still sipping her drink out of the swizzle stick and is still not making eye contact, but instead is staring at my nipples which are tearing through the fabric by now. I ask this girl her name. She glances up for a brief second and ays "Melissa", and then promptly goes back to staring at my titties. I suggest that maybe Brandon could write a story about some of their experiences and she says, "That would be great."

I end up talking to these two for most of the afternoon, and almost miss the Derby. We stumble up to the deck and watch with the mob. Brandon can see fine because he's a cute Herman Munster but Melissa and I have to peek through the crowd. Brandon has his arm around his wife and asks me who I want to win.

"Steppenwolfer!" I say, and fish out the ticket that I got at the off track betting parlor on the way. He kisses my forehead and wishes me luck, putting his other arm around me. Isn't this cozy? He's got very large and very soft hands, and they feel warm on my arm. I am getting very turned on over this relatively benign behavior.

Oh yeah, the race. Steppenwolfer came in third, which made me seem intelligent. My two bucks across the board nets me a cool $1.60 profit. We go back to the hut to celebrate, and the party has split into many small parties. Mine has Melissa and Brandon and the bar, with the occasional intruder making drinks.

I slow down my drinking, because I want to remember this in case something happens. We chit chat more, and the conversation keeps coming back to my frigging writing. I am evasive when it comes to giving many details, but that doesn't seem to bother Brandon or Melissa. Brandon goes inside to the bathroom and that leaves us girls. Melissa is still quiet, but has opened her mouth a few times since the race. Still staring at my nipples. Although the woman doesn't excite me particularly, I am a little tipsy, somewhat horny, and still very pissed at Kate, who has her host and his daughter cornered and is probably trying to convince him to let her at the poor girl or something.

I look down and discover I have dribbled a little drink on the front of my blouse. As I dab at it I tell Melissa that I didn't realize how revealing it was going to be when I bought it. She tells me she loves the blouse, that I look very attractive in it, and she wishes she had the nerve to wear something like that. I tell her that with my body I should have less nerve than I do. "No, you look very sexy in it," she says, looking down and blushing.

I'm going out of my mind at this point, and Brandon returns with a plate of cheese and crackers. They are starting to cook at last on that grill, and the smell of death fills the air. I start to look at this Melissa in a different way. Hey, all it takes is a couple of compliments and everybody looks different.

As we wait for real food, Brandon starts interrogating me in earnest. How old am I? Fifty. They both express shock at this, and since I'm buzzed I tell them to cut the shit. No, Brandon says he is serious, and that when they first saw me, Melissa had guessed that I was 40.

"You guess people's ages when you look around the place?" I asked him with a laugh. "Do you work at carnivals part time?" This strikes me as being far funnier then than now, but I think that was because of you and your circus going through my mind.

"No, it was just that you caught our eye when you arrived," says my man Brandon, who is so frigging tall that the next day my neck was stiff from staring up at him all this time. "Is that Kate really your girlfriend?"

"She was when we got here," I tell him. He then asks how serious we are and on and on it goes. He's a good reporter, because I am trying not to tell him too much, but more and more leaks out.

Susan, I have been typing forever, and I haven't gotten to the good part yet, which happened this last Saturday night. I just found this whole interplay fascinating between the three of us, and when the party broke up I figured that was the end of it. I spent the rest of the night getting the business from Kate about my odd couple until we made up.

I will tell you about the other part tomorrow night. Trust me when I tell you that it is nowhere near as graphic as your other chums, so don't get your hopes up.


Part two – The first phone call

Hi Susan,

Conked out last night, but I wanted to tell you about what happened last Saturday night as a follow-up to the party play.

I went out to garden Saturday after chatting with you, and in between raindrops got some weeding done. I was a mess, soggy and sweaty, so I was going to take a shower when the phone rings. Can't be Kate because she won't be calling until much later, after her conference is over.

I pick up the phone. It's Brandon. WTF? I guess he remembered my last name and looked me up. Hello Brandon. What's up?

He wanted to tell me how much they had enjoyed talking to me last week. Melissa and Brandon found Becky to be a fascinating conversationalist and an interesting person.

I tell Brandon that I was just heading into the shower. He asks if I had plans for the evening, and I tell him no, because Kate is in Canada and won't be home until tomorrow morning.

Would I like to get together later?

Uh, no. I don't think that's a good idea.

Too bad says he, because he would like to talk. Would I mind if he called me back after I took a shower.

Uh okay. He tells me he'll call back later.

I take a shower. A long warm one, until the hot water is gone. I'm lingering in certain places. I am nervous and horny. I swear that a thought went through my mind... What would Susan do?

Out of the shower and I linger around in a robe. No sense getting dressed, because I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE! This guy wants to screw around on his wife, and he was a cute giant, but it is not going to happen.

He gives me a little over an hour, and just when I think that maybe he said to hell with it, or his wife got home, the phone rings. I dread the phone ringing, but I am excited.

Brandon. He wants to know how the shower was. I tell him it was great, leaving out the details.

He reaffirms that I am fascinating, and he was especially interested about my writing. He wants to read some of it, and would like to know where to find it.

I can't do it. I tell him I want to keep that part of me separate from my real life, and besides, it isn't like this is fiction. This is the real me, or at least was the real me. Since we have met, and may meet again, it would be too embarrassing. Besides, it's not like it's real writing, like he does. I have no real literary skills.

That's what's interesting about it, he tells me. He thinks that real life people in real life situations are far more sensual than anything Hollywood conjures up, and he and Melissa thought it was very exciting when we talked about it.

"Your wife didn't seem all that talkative when we were together," I mention, omitting the part about her staring at my titties, but even thinking about it has made my nipples blossom once again.

Melissa is funny, he tells me. She's very shy and quiet around people she doesn't know, but she's a whole 'nother person once you get to know her. You would not recognize her BEHIND CLOSED DOORS (emphasis mine).

"Oh, really?" I ask. "Is she away for the weekend?"

Oh no, Brandon says. She's right here, and would I like to talk to her?

I pass on that for now, and Brandon goes back to the writing. He says he Googled my name but couldn't find anything interesting.


He has an idea. Why don't I read him something I've written? As a matter of fact, he says, that would be even more exciting than reading it off a computer screen. Hearing from the author herself!

I'm not going to read any of my smut to a guy on the phone, that much I am sure of.

Pick out something that you're most proud of and read it to me, he asks. He will not critique it. He finds erotic literature fascinating, and mentions writers he enjoys. He throws out a bunch of names, but only Henry Miller rings a bell.

No, I can't read a story to him.

Ten minutes later I am out in the kitchen, making a giant Lemka. [Lemonade and vodka, Ed.] Brandon is on the phone, which is sitting in front of my computer. I am about to read Becky's Scene From an Italian Restaurant to Brandon.

My knees are shaking, and the shower is a distant memory, because sweat is rolling down my sides in sheets. He's waiting for me, as I told him I needed to get a drink first. He said he's going to get more comfortable too. Good God.

I get back to the computer and pick up the phone like it was radioactive.

Susan, I have to go to work. I will continue later.

Bye love, Becky

[I won't report here how I reacted to this sudden interruption at such a crucial point in the story. I won't relate the language I used or the names I screamed at this rotten, teasing, slutty, selfish bitch for leaving me in the lurch like this. No, I won't behave in such childish rage. No, I won't. I won't. See? I have self control. I do... Sure. Ed.]


Part Three – The phone call (continued)

Susan, as you wished/demanded... here is the end of my phone call with Brandon and Melissa. I'm sorry I left you hanging like that. [Sure.]

I come back from the kitchen, and my hands are shaking even more than usual. The ice cubes in my drink sound like a wind chime as I sit down in front of the computer. "It's My Life, Chapter 8" is staring right at me and the phone is on the mouse pad. I hate phones. Loathe phones. I don't have a cell phone and am determined to be the last person on earth without one, and that might occur by the end of the year.

I pick up the phone and say hello. My voice sounds tinny in a weird way, but Brandon is there and welcomes me back. My heart is beyond racing as I try to start reading this smut. I clear my throat a couple of times, and Brandon apparently senses my discomfort. He tells me about an article he wrote early in his career about possible corruption with the city's parking meters. After he read it to the editor, the guy ripped practically every line to shreds, criticizing something in every paragraph. He tells me that after that, he became very compassionate towards the efforts of others, and has no intention on doing that to me. Besides, this isn't work, he reminds me. This is fun.

Okay, I feel a little better and start reading. The first part is easy, because it's clean. I hear him chuckle early on, and this gives me confidence. I get through several paragraphs before my throat gets dry and I need a drink. Brandon takes the time to dig at some background information, my age and what my marriage was like at that point. I tell him the truth, and this seems to please him. Had I been with other girls before this night? Oh yes indeed.

I continue reading. Tony and Carmella are feeling me up under the table and I can hear odd noises on the phone, and my voice seems to be echoing in my ear. I stop for another sip and ask Brandon if he can hear me okay, because my voice sounds funny. His does now too. Oh my gawd! He tells me that he put me on the speaker phone and hopes I didn't mind.

"Oh, need the hands free?" I say, getting bold and wiseass.

No, he says his hands are on the arms of his chair. Actually, he says they are gripping the arms of the chair. Brandon jokes that he hasn't touched himself once yet. He said it might sound funny at my end because he put it on the speaker phone. Brandon apologizes and says he should have told me that. He said he wanted to share it with Melissa but he wasn't sure how I would react to that.

I feel like there's an ice cube being rolled up and down my spine. My skin is covered with goose bumps. I guess that's how I would react to that.

I say hello to Melissa, and after a second I hear her faintly return my greeting, and then she says she likes the story so far.

This is very stupid. I am still shaking but my pussy is practically dripping. I continue. Tony is playing with my arm in the restaurant. I am quivering in my chair while I read. My throat keeps getting dry. I'm embarrassed to read the part when Tony starts playing with the hair under my arm and I stop to take another drink.

Brandon, in a very strained voice, tells me that he was born too late. Tells me how sexy it is to see a woman with hairy armpits and has always wanted Melissa to let hers go, and is sorry it's out of favor these days. I tell him that I can understand why Melissa was reluctant, because it's a whole different world today, and I doubt that even Mike could get me to do that now.

"You have such beautiful arms," Brandon says to me. He tells me that at the party I was talking with them over by the drink hut and I was hanging on the brace of the awning above me with my hands (Oh brother - how bombed was I?). He thought I had such incredibly beautiful arms, and they are so shapely and smooth, and Melissa thought so too.

Hey, the arms are pretty good, and I am getting so hot I have a rain forest between my legs.

He tells me about a Ben Stiller movie where a character talks about what beautiful arms and armpits this woman had, and he thought it was funny that the guy was saying things that he had always felt were true, and he had always thought that a woman's arms were one of the sexiest parts of her body. I confess to not seeing that movie but I agreed with him and tell him that I am incredibly aroused by any affection around the shoulders.

"I'll bet you are," says he, and he says that he would love to see that, and could think of a number of things that I might have loved to have had him do.

I tell Brandon to stop it, while not wanting him to stop a bit, and then he says that my arms must be something to have distracted him from looking at my breasts. He tells me that he didn't know if I knew how revealing that blouse was, but it hid very little. I told him that I really hadn't thought that it was as bad as it was, especially in the daylight, and would never have intentionally wanted to advertise my shortcomings so blatantly.

He tells me that they were very pleased with the view, and that they would love to have seen even more. He finds small breasts incredibly arousing. As a matter of fact, they both do.

"Where was I?" I say, and I go back to the story. I start again at a part I already had read, but who gives a shit. I get to the part where I tell Mike what I want Tony and Carmella to do to me. Fuck me. Anything they want to do.

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