My Life with Tracy

My Life With Tracy

A seductive Scheherezade entices Matthew to play her games

Please read the Standard Disclaimer on Alextasy's Bio Page

++++++++++++++++++++++

WHERE WE ARE

++++++++++++++++++++++

Hindsight is not 20/20.

Too often, we find ourselves looking back at a tragedy and wondering how we didn't see it coming. It is only after the painful truth emerges that we have to admit that sight alone was not enough. Each of us has our own hopes, prejudices and expectations that blind us to what is going on right in front of our eyes. We are unwilling to admit that, even among the most innocent, every heart harbors dark secrets invisible to the naked eye.

Still, there was plenty of blame to go around. I could have re-married. Kyle was only seven when Maggie died, and I arrogantly thought I could raise a healthy, responsible son without a mother's loving touch. Maybe some of his teachers or his friends saw the problems with his anger that I ignored. Lord knows he got in enough fights. Boys will be boys, I said to myself.

Even sweet and adorable Tracy bears her small share of responsibility for what happened. Maybe if she hadn't been, you know--the way she is--then things would never have gone as far as they did. If only, just once, she had hinted to me about the shocking depravity that was going on in their house, I might have saved her the trouble and killed my son myself.

In a way, I guess I did. That was after the fact, so I don't know if it counts.

Then again, if I'd taken such a drastic shortcut, I never would have known what an extraordinary life awaited me.

Slanted beams from the low sun of a May morning shine through the blinds. My name is Matt, short for Matthew. This is my forty-fifth year. Tracy sleeps next to me, the slow rise and fall of her chest so peaceful, her young face so sublime, one would never guess at the horrific violence her petite frame has endured. I'm doing what I can to help.

I laugh to myself. Enjoying kinky sex with my former daughter-in-law seems like a strange sort of therapy. She insists that's what she wants, however. She says she trusts me. She tells me I make her feel loved and desired, and that's what she needs right now. I resisted for a long time, but she wore me down. She truly loves to fuck, even more than my dear, departed Maggie ever did.

It's not just fucking. Her mouth is a wonder of nature. She likes it most when I slip into a domineering role and force her to perform acts she insists she doesn't like, but I know she does. That's been tough for me. I'm old-school, taught to cherish and respect women, my mother's words coming at me from deep in my psyche-- "Don't be so rough with the girls, Matthew." Each day with Tracy, those warnings recede a little deeper, and I can barely hear them. I still have my concerns, so my learning curve has been slow, but I'm growing into the role she wants me to play.

Tracy is a different sort of woman than any I've known. I've wrestled with my guilt for all the misfortune she's lived through, and I watch carefully to ensure we don't come close to the horrific situation she got into with my son, but she keeps pushing me beyond my comfort zone, and I ignore my conscience to give her as much as I can. I owe her that much, and more.

Her eyes flutter open. A small, pleased smile lights up her face when she sees me. She knows I've been watching her. I do that a lot. Whenever she's near, my eyes are drawn to her like a compass needle pointing to true north. I know she wants me to be the strong one. We're both aware of who is really in control.

"How shall I please you, sir?"

That is her standard greeting of choice. She loves to say it, well aware of how it causes my body to react, like Pavlov's dogs to the dinner bell. Blood surges into my groin. She hopes I will succumb to her open invitation. After tumbling with her twice last night, I'm in no hurry.

"Show it to me." My gaze travels up and down the rounded form she's hiding under the covers.

When she reaches to her neck to pull back the sheets, I stop her hand and whisper.

"Slower."

Tracy's eyes sparkle. My daughter-in-law is quite the coquette. Hooking her fingers over the edge of the sheets, she draws them down, inch by inch. Watching me constantly with her coy smirk, she gauges my reaction and adjusts the speed for maximum tease.

The first to appear is her graceful neck, flawless but for a small, dark blemish on the left side. Sometimes those erotic stories she reads to me every night incite such passion that I lose control. I should be ashamed, but she seems to enjoy it more when my exuberance runs away with me. My mouth waters, anticipating the chance to add a twin to the other side of her neck.

Her pale, slender shoulders emerge from under the sheets. Tracy appears to be an exhibitionist where her shoulders are concerned. I don't think I've ever seen her in clothes that don't have one, or both, bared. I have also learned they are highly erogenous areas of her body.

The tempo slows as her breasts come into view. Uncovering only the top half of her two, lily-white swells, she pauses. She is a Picasso at the art of temptation. She knows what this is doing to me and tries to suppress a grin. I peer straight into her eyes, fighting back my voyeuristic male urges. I think she is impressed with my willpower, so she rewards me.

One small, sienna nipple pops out, the left one. It is erect. She is excited, too. Stretching the top of the sheet, she uses the taut edge to flip the little pea-sized nub up and down. She covers the first tit back up before revealing the other one, which she twirls between her fingertips.

The blood rushing into my penis swells it to painfully hard rigidity, so I rub it. Her attention is caught by the movement under the sheets. Reflexively, she licks her lips. Her eyes beg me to wait. She swears that she loves my semen, or as she calls it, my 'cum'. It is perhaps the strongest leverage I have over her. She will do anything to feel my creamy spend gushing inside her or splattering her skin. She has told me that her greatest delight is the heat of my cum filling her pussy.

I apologize for my language. Tracy did that to me, too, though I have to admit, I must accept my share of the blame for the debauchery that came after she got me over the first hurdle.

She picks up the pace, anxious to finish before I do. The sheets slide down her soft, flat belly, past the elongated navel.

With a low growl, I remind her. "Slow."

She can't stand it any longer. "Please, sir. Wait for me?"

Her begging is another new aspect of my life that I'm learning to enjoy, perhaps a bit too much. I'm discovering it's wise to temper the strictness at times, but we aren't anywhere near that point, yet.

"Do as I tell you, Tracy."

"Yes, sir."

The meekness of those two words never cease to boost my ego. The effect is immediate. It's like a shot of testosterone straight to my gonads.

The little minx shows me just the top of her sleek, dirty blonde pubes before she hesitates again. I catch myself licking my lips. She sees that, too, and looks smug. Reaching underneath the sheets, she maneuvers her hidden hand in slow, tantalizing motions. Her eyelashes flutter, and the lids narrow seductively. She withdraws two glistening fingers and offers them to my lips. She knows I can't refuse.

Her pussy is intoxicating, and I'm a lush. After her shower, she tastes like a fine Scotch, rich and tangy. When she gets excited, the flavor is more spicy, dark and full-bodied, like bourbon.

As a result of our fuck sessions last night, her fingers smack of a brewer's delight--tart, yeasty, and robust. I decide that, before this morning is over, I will drink straight from her tap until her honeyed mead flows free.

With excruciating restraint, she pushes the sheets further down, letting me soak up the sight of the soft, pubic fur that I love to run my fingers through. When she reaches her clit, she tightens the edge of the sheet again and titillates herself in a similar way as she did with her nipple.

My voice is gruff. "If you want some of what I have in my hand before it's too late, you'll keep going."

She says I turn her on when I sound mean. Sometimes she laughs when I do it, though. I can't help it. I'm just not a mean sort of guy.

When Tracy finally reveals the fullness of her pussy, I see the swollen outer labia already open to show her shiny pink inner lips, ready for me.

"Touch yourself, Tracy. Use your feet to push the sheets away and let me see those lovely legs of yours."

She does as she is told. Little by little, her lean legs appear. The velvety, ivory skin of her inner thighs call to me--Come, kiss us, nibble us, poke our tender flesh with your whiskers until she can't breathe for wanting you.

Meanwhile, her fingers alternate between circling her clit and plunging them into her pussy.

I tell her, "Shut your eyes and tell me what you're thinking."

She smiles as her eyelids slowly close.

"It's you, Matthew. It's always you. My fingers are never enough. I need your masterful cock inside me. I want your weight pressing down on me until I'm nearly suffocating. I need you to make me feel helpless and remind me who I belong to." Kneading her own breast, she says, "My pathetic little titties want your big, rough hands, Matthew. They want you to squeeze them and pinch them, hard as you can. They want your hard fingernails scraping the tender skin to create a beautiful souvenir of this moment that will last me all day." She scratches the sides of her small domes--each of them barely a handful, but no more.

She's been hinting at more painful things that she wants me to do to her. I've gone along with her, to a limit--pinching and biting her nipples, and scratching her back and shoulders as fiercely as she scratches mine. She insists on shaving my face so she can make my beard just right. The short bristles prickling her neck, her breasts, and especially her inner thighs arouse her as much as my tongue on her clit. I get a clear impression that she wants a lot more. It all seems a little crazy to me. I haven't decided how far I'm willing to go.

She thrusts her pubic mound upward repeatedly against her hand, fucking herself. Her breaths grow shorter.

"I need your cum, Matthew. I live for the... warm gush inside... your seed... it makes me... ohgod..."

"Stop!" I shout.

Her eyes fly open, and her sticky fingers jerk away, retreating from between her legs. She whimpers, giving me a forlorn look.

She was right on the edge. Right where I want her. She has read me her stories about orgasm control. This is the first time I've intervened.

Tracy waits. A small grin curls the corner of her mouth. She recognizes that I've taken another big step.

She pleads, playing her part. "Please, sir. Let me come for you?"

Of course I will. That's no secret. But I have my wants, too.

I lie back on my pillow, facing the ceiling. "You may come"--I point to my mouth--"right here."

In a flash, Tracy is astride my shoulders, her beautiful sex suspended over my face. As she lowers herself to my waiting tongue, I grab her by the waist, taking command.

My young lover purrs. "Yes...."

With the tip of my tongue, I trace the edge of her delicate labia, teasing her the way she teases me. She tries to force herself down, but I have a firm grip. She's not getting what she wants until I say so, and she knows that, but she has to test me.

I move her body where I want it, up, down, forward and back. After circling the entrance to her vagina several times, I lick the perineum. She shudders when I flick at her crinkled pink anus--another surprisingly tasty pleasure my daughter-in-law has introduced me to.

My oral assault grows more intense. I tongue-fuck her pussy, with occasional forays further back to poke at her tight asshole, lubricating it for what will come later. A long upward swipe along her gash brushes over her clit, and she jumps. After the near orgasm from her fingers, it shouldn't take much to send her over.

First, I want to play.

I suck and nibble at her inflamed labia, letting my tongue lash out to flutter up and down along the sides of the smooth hood covering her clit. Her little pearl is small, like the rest of her body. She must be highly excited before it will make an appearance.

When I focus in on her tiny bump, she rocks her hips to and fro, moaning.

"Yes, yes! Oh, God, Matthew. So good. So good..."

Her tender thighs close onto my cheeks so she can rub their sensitive skin against my rough bristle. I peer up to see she is clawing at her breasts.

I've studied how her body reacts. I seize the moment when I will push her back, disengaging. That elicits a whined protest. "No!"

Turning my head, I begin again at her luscious inner thighs. They are chafed from my beard, and I kiss and lick the redness, slowly working my way back up. After sucking at her labia, licking her puss and her ass and teasing the tight, slick hood again, she approaches the crest. Once more, I back away. Her frustration is peaking.

"Please, Matthew! Please, sir! Let me come. I need it so bad. I'll do anything! Whatever you want!"

I laugh. "You'll do whatever I want, anyway. Isn't that right?"

She smiles down at me. "I'll do it even better if you let me come."

Setting to my task once again, I'm not playing around. I start at her ass, prodding into the round muscle until the tip of my tongue finally breaks through. Tracy squeals, "Fuck!" Immediately, I replace my tongue with my middle finger, working it inside while reaching up with my other hand to maul her delightful titties.

That leaves Tracy free to move as she wants. She grabs my hair and settles onto my mouth, grinding her puss against my face the way she likes best. As worked up as she is, it won't take long. I purse my lips to suck on her clit, and that's the clincher. A sharp in-drawn breath, her body rigid, she floods my face with her pure, sweet feminine liqueur. I am becoming as addicted to her cum as she is to mine.

She settles slowly, resting her head on her arms against the headboard to catch her breath. A shiver runs through her. She pushes away and slides down my body, pushing the covers out of the way until her silky pubes are perched on top of my rock-hard cock.

She stares into my eyes. Hers are red. She was crying. She does that a lot. Sometimes she cries with happiness. Other times--I don't know.

From inches away, she gazes at me and whispers. "I love you, Matthew." She gives me a peck on the lips. "I love you so much. Let me fuck you. Let me show you just a little of how much love I have for you."

She angles her head for a deep, passionate kiss. Tilting my hips lands the crown of my penis squarely at her threshold. With no further help, she wiggles backward, giving up a small moan with every inch deeper that I advance.

When we are fully coupled, Tracy sits up. Her hands rest on my shoulders. She sighs. "My pussy was made for your cock."

She moves on me with a serpentine grace, her body weaving with such smooth fluidity that it sometimes appears as though she doesn't have a single bone. With each forward deflection of her hips, her puss contracts, squeezing my erection, tugging at me. She relaxes on the reverse to swallow the shaft before clenching my cock in her velvet glove once again. She is milking me.

The ripe scent of her lust fills my nostrils. Between ragged gasps, she implores my release.

"Give it to me, Matthew. Fill me up until your cum runs out of my ears."

The tempo of her undulations quickens. She closes her eyes, more intent. The way she tilts her pelvis allows the irregularities of my cock to graze her clit on each backward stroke. I can tell she is going to come again. I won't stop her this time. Seconds later, her fingernails bite into my shoulders, and she throws her blonde head back, frozen in ecstasy. Her cunt has my cock in a death grip.

She collapses on top of me, sweaty, panting, satisfied. She kisses my chest, turns her head up and kisses my lips.

"Fuck me, Matthew," she says. "Fuck me hard. Make me yours again."

My arms around her, I roll us over. Tracy pulls her knees up and out, tilting her pussy up toward me. I press my full body weight onto her elfin frame.

"Yes..." she whispers, smiling.

I can't imagine why she enjoys being crushed like this. It is only one of many mysteries about this strange woman that make her so interesting, so enticing. She changed my life. I don't ever want to go back.

Her voice is lustful, low and raspy. "Fuck me." Her sexy, half-lidded eyes gaze into mine.

Cocking my hips, I pause, then slam into her pussy. She shrieks, then laughs. I pound into her, ramming my pelvis brutally against her bottom.

"God, what a man!" Then she growls in sexual fervor. "Fuck me! Make me your bitch! Show me who's the boss. Pump your cum in my pussy. I want to drown in your jizz. Give it to me hard, Matthew!"

Her long hair is stringy and matted with sweat. I wrap my fingers into the strands and pull down to tilt her head back, exposing her slender neck for my taking.

"Yes..." She grins. Just like the woman in the erotic story she read to me last night, she turns her head to the side, inviting my mouth.

I clamp my teeth on the side of the most exquisite neck in the world and gnaw at the muscle. She shivers, and her fingernails dig into my back.

When I fasten my lips onto her and suck, she sniffles, and whimpers through her tears. "I love you, Matthew."

In that instant, my balls ignite. With one final, ruthless lunge, hot semen surges through my cock, glazing the inner passage of Tracy's sex. Euphoria races through every synapse and every muscle in my body tenses up.

"Yes! Yes! Oh, God! Yes!" she cries, shuddering and hugging me tight. I think she actually has an orgasm when she feels my semen spurting inside her.

I roll to the side, carrying her with me. We are both struggling for air. She kisses my chest, my neck. I look down, and she cranes her head up for a long, passionate and loving kiss.

When my cock shrivels and falls out of my former daughter-in-law's pussy, her small hand takes hold of him and she smiles softly. "I love him like this. He's satisfied, and that makes me happy."

"You are truly a strange and wonderful woman, Tracy."

She wiggles her brow. "Strange? Certainly. I don't know about wonderful." She cuddles against my broad chest, twirling the coarse hair with a finger. "I told you I'd do anything for you, Matthew, and I will. Anything. Once you find out what some of those things are, you may change your mind about me."

"I don't think there's anything you could do to make me stop loving you, Tracy."

Then I remember what happened between her and my son, and I know that while I may love her, our relationship could reach a point where I have to step away, for both of our sakes.

She turns her head up, wearing a tight, secretive grin. "I have another story I want to read to you after breakfast."

++++++++++++++++++++++

HOW WE GOT HERE

++++++++++++++++++++++

Brain dead.

That's what the doctor said.

Heartsick, I stared at the husk of what my fine son used to be. Honor roll and athletic star in high school, graduated Cal Tech cum laude, then created a multimillion dollar software startup with one of his college buddies. Married to the most beautiful and loving woman I'd ever known, excepting my dear departed Maggie. Everything was going his way.

Now dozens of tubes and wires ran out of his body to the machines surrounding his bed. The steady wheeze of the ventilator was the only thing separating him from eternity.

How could this be? What happened?

"She nicked the femoral artery when she stabbed his leg," the doctor said. "Neither of them probably knew until it was too late. After he passed out, she didn't call EMS for over ten minutes. By the time they arrived, the blood loss was too great."

"She?" I said, afraid to know the answer. "Who did this?"

"The police report says it was his wife, Mrs. Walton. They have her under sedation upstairs."

Tracy? I couldn't imagine such a sweet and gentle woman would stab anyone, especially the love of her life. She had always seemed so kind and considerate, so easy to get along with. She and Kyle looked and acted in every way as though they were deeply in love. Our relationship was great, too. She laughed and gave hugs freely, often kissing me on the cheek after one of her flirty innuendos that we both knew would never go anywhere. I was proud to call her my daughter.

Although I talked to Matt occasionally on the phone, I realized I hadn't seen Tracy in over a year. They had taken a cruise to St. Martin last Christmas, so we didn't get together for our usual celebration. How could she turn into such a monster, to stab Kyle and then watch him bleed out before calling the paramedics? Not once had I ever seen her angry. Did I miss something? Was she hiding some demonic, homicidal alter-ego?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. She killed my son, my only son. Tracy had taken everything I loved away from me. Now I had nobody. Alone.

I was afraid to see her, afraid of what I might do. I wasn't a violent man, but a hopeless man has nothing to lose. Even so, I was drawn to her room, if nothing more than to see what sort of unholy bitch would do something so terrible.

When I saw her, I was stunned. It looked like my daughter-in-law been worked over by a mobster. Her left eye was black and blue. Cuts and scratches marred her lovely face. Her head was wrapped in bandages. One wrist was handcuffed to the bed, with a police officer stationed outside the room.

When I stepped into the room, her drugged eyes opened halfway.

"Matthew..." Her feeble voice sounded hoarse. A single tear trickled down her cheek. "I... I'm sorry."

I couldn't help but feel for her. What the hell had happened? Did they have a fight? Did my son do that to her?

Her doctor came in.

"I begged him to stop," she said. Her chest shook between sobs. "I told him, 'Don't hurt the baby'." Raising her eyes, she asked, "Is it okay? Is my baby okay?"

Baby? I looked at the doctor. He pinched his lips and shook his head.

In a quiet aside, he told me, "She miscarried right after she arrived."

"My baby?" Tracy asked again, fear beginning to show in her eyes.

"Everything's going to be okay, Tracy." I lied, stroking my fingers lightly across her bruised forehead. There was no reason to upset her. Not here, not now. "Get some rest. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

She saw through my deception. With a note of finality, she said, "The baby's gone." Tears flowed again. "Kyle's gone. I'm all alone."

I held her hand. "I'm here, Tracy. I'm not going anywhere. We'll get through this. You and me. Okay?"

I wasn't sure how. I found it hard to look at her. I still wanted to choke the life from her. How did everything turn to shit so fast?

She gazed up at me, and in those eyes I saw a glimmer of hope. Right now, that was what I needed, too. Something--or someone--to grab on to, a reason to get out of bed tomorrow.

At the doctor's nod, a nurse injected another dose of sedative into her drip. A few seconds later she drifted off again.

Outside the room, I spoke to the policeman seated there. He had been first on the scene and had taken her statement on the way to the hospital.

"What did he do to her?"

"He roughed her up pretty bad. Kept hitting her in the stomach, bruised her kidneys, and cracked a rib. When I busted in, her hands were tied behind her back and her ankles were manacled to a bar that held them apart. She could hardly move and couldn't defend herself. Somehow, she got her fingers on a letter opener on the desk behind her and twisted herself around enough to stick it in his leg, trying to slow him down. After she realized something was wrong, it took her a while to get to a phone and figure out how dial for help."

My son did that? A man who would beat a defenseless woman? A man who would kill his own unborn child? A man like that didn't deserve to be called a man. A miserable cur like that needed to be put down.

I marched back downstairs. Kyle's doctor was waiting with another man.

"This is Reverend Pauly," the doctor said. "We'd like to talk with you about options for your son's care."

"Pull the plug." There was no emotion in my voice.

The reverend said, "This is a big decision, Mr. Walton. Don't you want to--"

"Just pull the goddamn plug." I was not prone to obscenities. These were not normal times. "Give me the papers. I'll sign them right now. After what he did to that woman upstairs, I want that piece of shit in the morgue before I leave."

Both of them gasped.

They brought the papers, I signed them. Within an hour, Kyle was gone.

I stayed at the hospital with Tracy as much as I could. When she was released, I paid her bail and arranged for a decent lawyer. Some S. O. B. district attorney was trying to make a name for himself. The asshole had charged her with second degree murder.

She had no place to go--her father had disappeared long ago, and her mother was a worthless alcoholic with a different lover every night. Who the fuck knew where her vagabond twin sister might be. Germany? Kansas? Maybe Zimbabwe? It seemed to depend on the day of the week. Tracy said they emailed back and forth when she could find Internet service.

She couldn't stand the idea of going back to their house. I had plenty of room, so my daughter-in-law moved into Kyle's old bedroom. Of course, first I'd cleaned out all of his personal stuff and hauled it to the junk pile, then repainted the room. I enlisted the help of some of my coworkers and moved all her things to my home--now our home. I had already gone through everything, made a list, and let her decide what needed to stay or go. All except for one thing.

In Kyle's closet I'd found a large, black wooden box. Inside were an assortment of unfamiliar implements. It took a while to realize what that stuff was for. There were ropes and handcuffs, all manner of whips and paddles, and a bunch of things that I couldn't imagine what they were used for. I bought a couple of concrete blocks and some chain, tied it around the box, and carried it to the middle of the lake before dumping that detestable crap overboard.

Tracy never asked about it. I can't imagine she didn't know it was there. She was tied up when everything went south. He was beating her. Was this some sort of freaky fetish my son was mixed up in? Had she fallen victim to his insanity? Had she married him, only to find out too late what a horrible creature he really was?

I took a six-month sabbatical from work--after nearly twenty-five years, I deserved it. It was weeks before we got her all healed up, at least the physical wounds. Then we started work on the legal issues.

After eighteen years with just me and Kyle, it was different having a woman around the house again. A good different. Breakfast was waiting for me every morning and dinner every evening. The dishes and clothes got washed. The curtains got washed. Even the walls got washed, except the ones she re-painted, usually in more interesting colors that gave the place a much-needed feminine touch without looking frilly. Most nights we stayed home, but we got out of the house for dinner and a movie or a play at least once a week. I hadn't realized how much I missed a woman's touch.

She was still hurting. That much I could tell. Sometimes when she came out of her room, her eyes were red, as though she'd been crying. She always put on a happy face, but she knew she wasn't fooling me. Tracy had endured so much pain, it was hard to figure out what was bothering her the most. I suggested talking to a professional a few times, but she wouldn't consider it. I didn't push further.

* * *

The trial came up. As far as I was concerned, it was a slam dunk. Our defense lawyer said the prosecutor was good. Still, when they started showing the pictures of Tracy--naked, bruised, and beaten--the jury had a hard time looking. Older photos surfaced. Apparently this wasn't the first time he'd sent her to the hospital. The doctors, coroner, and police all seemed to agree with me--self defense was the only answer. Why would the DA waste everybody's time trying to convict her for murder?

Against our lawyer's recommendation, Tracy decided she would not testify. The defense attorney couldn't stop the DA from calling me to the stand, however. That's when I began to figure out where the prosecutor was going.

"Am I correct that Mrs. Walton, your late son's wife, is now living with you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"She's quite an attractive young woman, isn't she?" He seemed to leer at Tracy. If I hadn't already despised him, I would have taken an immediate dislike.

"I think anyone would agree she is a beautiful woman." I clenched my jaw and gritted my teeth to keep from telling him what I thought of him.

He said, "I suppose you know she stands to inherit quite a large sum from your son's estate if she's acquitted."

"Yes, sir." We'd estimated something around five or six million, but I wasn't going to quibble.

"You lost your wife when you were young, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir. Nearly eighteen years ago." What did that have to do with anything?

Then he asked, "What is your relationship with Mrs. Walton?"

Confused, I said, "She's my daughter-in-law."

"Please be more specific, Mr. Walton." He started drilling me. "You've had an admittedly attractive and sexy young woman living in your house for the last few months. How long have you thought of her as more than just your 'daughter-in-law'?"

I felt my face heat up. "What, exactly, are you trying to say?"

"You're the one who decided to remove your son's life support, isn't that right?"

"Yes, but--"

"When did you realize you could have it all? The money and the girl? Was it before your son's untimely death? Was there something else of his you wanted?"

I finally got it. I calmly turned to the judge. "Your honor, the prosecutor is a little too far away for me to hear. Perhaps you could ask him to step closer. I think about arm's length should do it."

The judge tried to look stern, but he was pinching off a chuckle.

The DA jumped in. "Your honor, this witness is displaying aggressive behavior just like his son. This may be where young Kyle acquired his violent tendencies. Prosecution would like the court's permission to treat him as a hostile witness."

I balled my fist and squinted at him, speaking in a calm voice with clear menace. "Just a little closer. Your nose is too big, and a little too straight."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Tracy with her hand over her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking with laughter. The defense attorney's eyes were wide, and he was shaking his head trying to get me to stop.

"Mr. Walton," the judge said, as sternly as he could. I could tell he was amused. "You will refrain from any violent threats or language in this court."

"Yes, your honor."

I sat back, calming myself. I was satisfied that the attorney had gotten the message.

"So, you want to hit me, Mr. Walton. Do you like to hit people?" the prosecutor said, from a decidedly safe distance away.

"I haven't hit anybody--not a single soul--since Jimmy Tucker stole my homework and put his name on it when I was nine years old." That elicited a round of guffaws. "I'd rather not break my record, even for someone as low as you. As for Tracy--Mrs. Walton--I have no amorous feelings toward her whatsoever. She is a lovely and delightfully charming young woman. She's going to make some young man lucky. I just hope he isn't a lawyer."

While snickers echoed through the courtroom, the prosecutor and I eyed each other silently.

Finally, the judge broke in. "Do you have any more questions, Mr. Preston?"

"No, your honor."

That was it. She was acquitted, of course. It took the jury all of ten minutes.

It was then that our lawyer told us that he was just as confused why they would try her for second degree murder. The prosecutor might have won involuntary manslaughter, but not second degree. If they hadn't tried her at all, they could've come back years later and brought her up on charges. Because of the double-jeopardy rule, she was scot-free and could never be tried for Kyle's death again, even if they found new evidence. He didn't understand.

That was the moment of clarity when I understood. I just didn't know why.

Searching through the halls outside the courtroom, I found the prosecutor. When I approached, he tensed as though ready to break into a run.

I held out my open hand. "Thank you."

"You figured it out, huh?" He relaxed, wearing a hint of a smile.

"Our clueless lawyer clued me in. Double jeopardy. You didn't have to do that."

"My cousin went through something similar," he said. "Ten years later, somebody dredged up an old letter and they took her back to court. By then all the facts were hazy. It was a fiasco. She got a black mark on her record and barely made it out with only probation."

"Geez..." I shook my head. "By the way, I'm sorry about the nose thing. It's not too big at all."

He laughed. "I apologize for digging into your relationship. The circumstances were too questionable to ignore. I had to check it out."

"Sure. It's your job."

He glanced over my shoulder, looking at Tracy down the hall. "You were right. She is an adorable woman. I hope she finds someone she can trust after this. I don't want to be pushy, but when she's ready to start dating again, ask her to give me a call. If you'll let her consider a lawyer, that is."

We both laughed, but a curious twinge tightened in my belly. I hadn't felt anything like that for over twenty-five years, not since one of my buddies made a play for Maggie before we were married. I brushed it away, thinking this must be the way a father feels when his daughter starts dating.

There was one more legal matter--a wrongful death suit brought by the insurance company. That lasted even less time than the murder trial. In the end, between selling her house, the health insurance policy, and her share of Matt's business, she came out with over eighteen million. Most of it was tax-free.

At Tracy's insistence, the two of us took a cruise to the Bahamas to relax. She kept trying to hook me up with women on the boat--it didn't matter the age. Many of them seemed eager. It was probably the company I was keeping, but I was particularly surprised by the younger women who took an interest in me.

My heart wasn't in it. My memories of Maggie were so special, I held little hope of finding anyone as beautiful, patient, kind, and sexy as she was. Winning the love lottery once was serendipitous. The odds against winning it twice were astronomical.

When we got home from the trip, I started getting my clothes ready to go back to work the next week.

Tracy took them out of my hand. "You don't have to work. I can take care of both of us for a long time."

I shook my head. "I don't expect you to take care of me, Tracy. You should move somewhere else, start a new life. Go back to school if you want to. Maybe you can travel with your sister for a while. You're free."

"Yeah. Free." She snorted to herself. "I don't want to do any of those things. I like it here. I've always admired you, Matt. Despite what you may think about Kyle, I saw a lot of you in him. When I'm with you, it's... it's sort of like having the best parts of Kyle around."

I hugged her. "If you want to hang with this old goat, it's your choice. I want you to promise me that you'll look for someone special. Somebody who cares for you and will treat you the way you deserve."

"Okay. I promise," she said, with a wink. "In the meantime, you're quitting your job and letting me take care of you for a while. You've been slaving away on my behalf for nearly six months. I would have given up long ago if not for you pushing me. It's time for me to repay you." She took my hand and dragged me to the liquor cabinet. "Let's drink to the easy life!"

That's where it all began to come together. Or fall apart, depending on your perspective.

Our routine was already set. Except now, instead of visiting with the lawyer every day or two, we went on hikes, or went shopping, or visited the library or a gallery, or whatever we felt like at the moment. As I said before, she was easy to get along with.

* * *

We'd been living the 'easy life' for a few weeks. I had just gotten under the hot water for my morning shower when the curtain opened, and Tracy stepped in. She was naked.

"Tracy! What the hell are you--"

"Good morning, Matt." She calmly picked up the shampoo. "If you'll sit on the edge, I'll wash your hair."

"You can't do this." Despite my insistence, I was unable to tear my eyes from her ravishingly youthful body. I'd seen her in the pictures, but in those she looked a mess. This was entirely different. "You need to get out." My anger was rising.

"Are you mad at me?" She looked up with puppy dog eyes.

I calmed myself. "I'm not mad at you, Tracy. You just shouldn't be here. It's wrong."

She shrugged. "Nothing wrong that I can see. I'm just here to bathe you. It's the least I can do after all you've done for me."

"You have to leave, Tracy. Now, please." I pointed toward the door.

"You can try to throw me out." It sounded like a dare. "This shower is really slippery, and somebody might get hurt though. The easiest and safest thing to do would be to let me wash your hair."

I was cornered. Why hadn't I locked the bathroom door? The answer was easy. It wasn't something I had concerned myself with in a long, long time.

With a resigned sigh, I sat on the edge of the tub. She stood next to me, washing my hair and chatting gleefully about this or that--I really don't remember. My thoughts were consumed by the two small mounds with little brown circles that moved up and down in front of my face as she massaged my scalp. It took all my willpower--or won't-power--to keep from latching my lips onto them. I'm sure she couldn't miss my stiff physical reaction. She appeared to ignore it and said nothing.

I'd forgotten what a treat it was to have my hair washed. Maggie had done that for me sometimes. After Tracy was finished with my hair, she insisted on washing the rest of me. I was prepared to get forceful if her hands strayed. She was prudent, however, and didn't come near any of my personal areas. Afterward, she helped to dry me off before drying herself off.

The rest of the day went on as if nothing untoward had occurred. The image of her body was burned into my retinas, however. Those delightful girlish breasts. The soft triangle of sandy-blonde fur. Her exceptional physique, so perfectly proportioned. That night, after I went to bed, I returned to an old habit that I hadn't practiced in years. Despite the guilty knot in my stomach, my fantasy featured my cute daughter-in-law. I captured my seed in my underwear, careful to wash them out myself.

To this day, I still don't know why I didn't lock the bathroom door the next morning. Or the next one. Or any morning after that.

* * *

Tracy continued to bathe me every day. I loosened up, and we talked freely while her tiny hands moved all over my body--except for certain places. I rationalized that it was only a platonic service, like one friend would do for another. Some days, my initial erection on seeing her naked actually relaxed. I never offered to reciprocate--I couldn't trust myself. Each night, I continued my habit of self-pleasure, chagrined at how dirty and lecherous I was. It didn't matter. Where once Maggie was the only one in my thoughts when the shuddering passions overcame me, now it was always Tracy front and center in some pose or another.

The days passed, and she seemed happy for the most part. At least once a day--mostly in the evenings--I caught her coming out of her room with red, swollen eyes. I wanted to help, but I had no idea what the problem was. Whenever I brought it out, she gave the usual non-answer. "It's nothing."

Our bathing routine had gone on for a couple of weeks when she opened up new landscapes in cleanliness. It began when she was scrubbing my back with a washcloth.

"Lean forward, against the wall," she said.

Trusting her, I complied. The next thing I knew, her hand was sideways up and down my butt crack, wrapped in the washcloth, scrubbing my ass.

"Whoa!" I shouted, standing upright with a freshly rejuvenated erection. "What are you doing?"

"I'm cleaning your butt. It's dirty. See?" She showed me the dark line on the washcloth.

"I'll do that," I said, reaching out for the rag.

She pulled it away. "Don't be silly, Matt. I'm almost done. Just gotta rinse."

"Tracy...!" I gave her a warning look.

"Yes, Matthew?" She answered with those innocent puppy dog eyes. That should have been my first clue that she was up to something. "Just turn around. This won't take but a second, and then you'll be squeaky clean."

I leaned forward against the wall again. She carefully wiped my ass clean and rinsed off the soap. I hardly flinched when the washcloth brushed against the back of my balls. I'm not sure whether I was more embarrassed by what she did, or by my strangely lewd reaction to the stimulation of my back door. Nobody but me, my mother, and my doctor had ever touched back there. Not even Maggie had ventured into that no-man's land. I had no idea it could incite such--such 'interesting' sensations.

Regardless, once Tracy finished with my ass, she continued scrubbing my legs, albeit with a different washcloth. She continued talking about Jenny, one of her friends from school who had just gotten a divorce and was coming back to town.

She moved around to the front. As usual, I set my foot on the edge of the bath.

Kneeling on the floor of the tub while she cleaned between my toes, she said idly, "Jenny's like a lot of girls. She has a fondness for older men." She turned her face up. "Would you call her? Maybe dinner and a movie like we do? I could spend the night at a hotel if you wanted to come back--"

"No thanks, Tracy. Not interested."

"It would be a favor for me," she said.

"Which part?"

"All of it." She wouldn't look me in the face.

"I'll take her on a date, if that's what you want," I said. "Afterward, your friend will need to find her own fun."

"Is it because of Maggie?"

I nodded with a quiet, "Yes."

Washing my calves, Tracy said, "She must have been a really special woman."

"She was. For about eight years, I was the luckiest man alive."

"Have you ever met anyone who even begins to compare to her?"

If only she hadn't looked up at me. If only she hadn't seen my eyes, those eyes that betrayed the secret hidden in my heart. If only...

Returning to her task, she acted as if everything was normal. We both knew I hadn't replied to her question. We also both knew she had her answer.

"How long has it been?" Her voice was gentle, soothing. Her soapy hands were sliding up and down my thighs. My insubordinate penis was waving in front of her face, but she seemed to ignore it. "How long since, you know, you were with a woman?"

I looked away, thinking back, then shrugged. "Ten years. Maybe twelve. There were a few... Oh! Ohmigod, Tracy! What are you... oh, my God..."

While I was distracted, she had grabbed my prick. I looked down just in time to watch her tiny mouth engulf the whole shaft in a single motion. Her little nose bumped into my tummy. Never in my life had I experienced anything like that. The fantasy from my nightly self-help sessions had become real in an instant. The signals racing between my lower brain and my upper brain were screaming 'This is incredible! Don't stop her! Please!'.

She slowly pulled her mouth back, almost to the rim. Her eyes peered upward. I could see a smile on her face before she dove once more, swallowing my entire erection again.

"Tracy..." I groaned, laying my hand on her long-wet hair. As much as my conscience rebelled, I was powerless under her spell.

Maggie had treated me to mind-blowing oral sex on my birthday and sometimes when I'd been extra good. Nothing she did ever came close to the way Tracy's mouth made me feel. Her blonde head was bobbing back and forth along the full length of my sex, her tongue performing miraculous acrobatics around my foreskin. It was like the world's most perfect vagina. My nuts were already starting to boil.

"Stop, Tracy. You can't... this is... Ohmygod, Tracy. I'm gonna..."

That's all the warning I could give her. I thought she was going to withdraw and let me squirt down the drain the way Maggie would have. Instead, Tracy stroked me with her delicate hand, keeping the head in her mouth. When I moaned and popped my cork, she drank eagerly, pumping me and swallowing every single drop. She even licked up the dribbles that seeped from the corner of her mouth. For the rest of my life, I swore I would remember that day and the magnificent sensations her mouth and tongue created on my pulsing penis.

I was drained. Tracy stood up and hugged me. Our bodies were touching--our wet, naked bodies. The joy she'd just given me didn't come close to the impression of her firm breasts against my chest, or the soft fur pressed to my thigh, or the feel of her cheek leaning on my shoulder.

Then she let me go, and I realized I had forgotten to breathe.

"Feel better now?" she said, as if she'd just kissed a boo-boo.

"Tracy, you can't... I mean, it's not right for us to--"

She pressed a finger to my lips. "Hush, now, Matthew. Nobody else has to know." She turned off the shower and opened the curtain. "Let's get dried off."

She stepped out and waited with an open towel.

I was stunned. The finger--the one she had pressed to my lips--smelled familiar. It was a sultry scent from years before. Until then, I hadn't considered what her hands were doing while her mouth was busy. I licked my lips, only barely able to capture a smidgen of the flavor she'd planted there. Blood was already rushing back into my soft and happy member.

Tracy winked at me. "C'mon, big guy. You'll get cold in there."

* * *

The rest of the day I moved around in a daze. My brain swirled with conflicted emotions. One minute, I was giddy as a lovestruck teenager. Then the guilt swept in. Had I encouraged her? Bouts of pure lust swelled my manhood until it ached with wanting her. Remorse followed--how could I be so degenerate? She could be my daughter. Hell, in a way, she was my daughter.

I tried to find work around the house, anything that would separate me from Tracy. Cutting the grass, cleaning the roof, and fixing a leaky faucet that somehow required four trips to the hardware store. Long trips, they were, with side excursions to Eddie's bar. The whiskey only muddied my thoughts even more. I had to take a late afternoon nap to sleep it off.

At dinner, it was obvious she'd been crying again. She tried to engage me in conversation, but I brushed her off and wolfed down my food so I could excuse myself. I didn't know what to say to her. I had loved what she did for me. I hated myself for loving it. I hated that I might be holding her back, keeping from going out and finding the love of her life, a good man with a good heart who would treat her right.

I quickly retired to my room and turned on the TV. It didn't help. I wasn't even paying attention. My thoughts kept returning to Tracy. I became convinced that my affections for my daughter-in-law were the silly inclinations of a lonely old fool. How could she really want someone like me? It was stupid to even consider. Sure, she'd done me a favor this morning. She would probably do it again if I asked. That's where it would end, though. It was just an act of charity, giving the old fella a little relief.

Shucking my drawers, I tried to give myself a little relief. I couldn't get into it. I thought of all the hot movie stars, the sexiest women where I used to work, and the woman with red lipstick who checked me out at the grocery store. I even conjured up memories of Maggie. Nothing helped. Every thought kept returning to Tracy, and I simply couldn't do that anymore. Maybe it was time she started looking for someplace else. I could go back to work. Let everything settle back to normal again. Yeah, that was a plan. I'd talk to her tomorrow morning.

Exhausted from the stress of the day, I turned out the lights. My brain was on the edge of sleep when I heard my door open.

"Matthew?" Tracy's voice was cracking. She sniffled.

"Uh, Tracy? What are you doing?" About that moment, I realized I hadn't put my drawers back on.

"Are you... mad at me?"

She crawled up on the foot of the bed. This was a dangerous situation.

"It's not you. It's me that I'm angry with."

She sat cross-legged by my feet. "You've been avoiding me all day. I thought maybe what I did--you know, this morning--that you thought I was a bad girl. You acted like you hated me." Her voice started breaking again.

"No! I could never hate you, Tracy," I desperately wanted to go to her, to hug her and make her feel better. Under the circumstances, I decided that being so close to her in only a T-shirt could have disastrous results. "I... I'm just all confused inside. I want you to be happy. Living here with an old goat like me isn't going to help you find the life you deserve."

"Can I talk to you?" she said. "I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to. You don't even have to say anything or do anything. Just listen for a minute to what I have to say? Then I'll go if you want."

The faint glow of the streetlight told me that she appeared to be wrapped in a robe. At least she wasn't naked, and she was a safe distance away.

"Sure, Tracy. I'll listen."

She began, "I'd been dating Kyle only a little while when he first brought me to see you..."

I remembered that day. She was so bright and fresh and funny. From the moment we met, we were like old friends.

"... and that's when I began to notice where he got all the things that I liked most about him. At his best, he was patient and kind, strong and sure. When he wanted to, he could act like a truly good man with a heart of gold. Just like his father."

I was glad it was too dark for her to see me blush.

"Then, after things went so wrong, you let me stay here. Day by day, I began to understand that I had never been in love with Kyle."

Huh?

"What I loved in him were the parts that were you. It was always you, Matthew. It took me a long time to see it. You are the man I wanted him to be. You are the man I fell in love with, Matthew."

I was speechless. The lump in my throat was the size of a grapefruit.

She said, "When I asked you about Maggie this morning, I think you were afraid to tell me something. You couldn't confess your own needs, because you believe I would be throwing my life away if I stayed here with you. Nothing could be further from the truth. I have found everything I need right here. Age doesn't matter. I want you, Matthew. I need you, more than anything. If you will let me, I will be whatever you need me to be."

The fervency of her confession was like kerosene on the long-smoldering coals of my soul. She was right. How many times had I said to myself If only I could find someone like her... I was spending all my time pushing Tracy away when she was the answer.

My wife's death emasculated me, watching her suffering day after day, unable to fix it--that's what a man does, he fixes things--but I couldn't fix Maggie, all I could do was wait and cry while she wasted away. When it happened, when Maggie was no more, all that was left of me was an empty husk, a shell with no soul. For eighteen years I smiled and went through the motions for the sake of my son, giving him everything that hadn't been sucked out of me by Maggie's illness. It hadn't been enough, and we all paid for it.

In the short time Tracy had lived with me, I'd begun to feel alive again. Every day, her irrepressible spirit filled me with her joy, her caring, and her love. Yes, I saw it now. I was just too ashamed of our differences to admit how much I wanted her.

Now, here she was, volunteering her splendid young body to wash away the pain and the loss that had hung like a millstone around my neck for too long. She truly wanted me, not because I was a hot young stud or a successful, well-hung alpha male, or even a nice young boy her own age. She wanted me because she loved me.

The simple truth was, I loved her, too. I think I had loved her since we met.

I had been so wrong, but I couldn't deny it any longer. Life without Tracy was not living. It seemed she felt the same about me.

"Tracy..." I croaked, choking on my tears.

"Wait. Let me say one other thing, Matthew. I'm sort of an old-fashioned girl. Once upon a time, men were in charge, and women did as they were told. That's the way I think it ought to be. Your desire is my pleasure. Any desire you've ever dreamed of. Tell me what you want. No matter what, no matter where or when, say the words and I will make it yours."

I was gaping at her in the dark. Tracy was offering herself to me, carte blanche. Sex with Maggie had been straightforward. We made love often, and it was always great. She was reluctant to venture far beyond that.

The pictures and the strange implements in the toybox told me that Tracy's experience was far beyond anything I'd ever imagined. Some of it was sickening. I had no wish to beat her. Yet, something deep in my disgusting male brain perked up at the thought of being 'in charge'. It wasn't that I would hurt her or force her to perform crude acts for me. Her words inflamed my sense of virility, just knowing that I could.

'Any desire', she had said. I had an immediate desire. We both did.

* * *

"Come closer," I said softly.

"Yes, sir." Her tone carried a barely suppressed glee.

Those two words shocked me with their power. Through the years, I'd grown accustomed to hearing them from younger folks at work, the grocery store, and restaurants. This was different. In the context of what she'd just revealed about herself, the sound of those two syllables was like a blowtorch in a fireworks factory. It ignited an overwhelming sense of power in me. The only other two words with as much tangible significance were "I do." It was silly to even think about that, but I couldn't deny the thrill when I thought, if things worked out, we might even discuss those words someday.

Her shadow crawled on all fours across the bed. She stopped about two feet away.

"This close, sir?"

"Closer."

Tracy crawled another step. "Like this, sir?"

She could be such a tease.

"Closer."

She inched forward, practically making me beg for it.

"Closer." She was near enough that I could see her excited grin. "A little more." She crept closer. "Almost there."

When accelerated clouds of warm breath fell on my face, I laid a finger under her chin. Only the slightest pressure was needed to convince her to keep her face moving forward. Our lips pressed together for the first time. It felt so perfect, so--right. All my worries evaporated.

It had been too long. I'd forgotten the magic of a first kiss. The initial touch, so soft, tentative, and at the same time so full of promise. Discovering the way her flesh feels, the thick pout of her lips, the scent of her breath and the way her mouth moves. Our arousal smoldered, pressing more firmly, needing each other. Her lips parted, her hand behind my head, and my tongue penetrated her body for the first time. She sucked on it gently, then opened wider, inviting. At first contact with her tongue, my heart nearly stopped.

I wanted to touch her. I needed to know, is this real? Can it be true? Could this incredibly graceful and exquisite young thing really want an over-the-hill codger like me?

Venturing a wandering hand, I found her slim waist. Her robe was sleek, satiny, and my palm rubbed up and down, but not too far up. She didn't back away. I had enough experience with women to know how quick their finicky whims could change course.

As though sensing my hesitancy, Tracy held the back of my hand and moved it under her robe, planting my nervous palm square on the warmth of her bare breast.

What a wondrous little mound of flesh that was! Its gentle swell fit so perfectly in my hand. The heel of my palm rested on her breastbone, and I hooked my fingertips neatly into the shallow dimple at the outside edge. I pressed lightly and received an appreciative moan into my mouth.

With the utmost care, I swiped my hand over her tits, delighting in the way her tiny, hard peaks poked at my big paw. Her body squirmed, little whimpers rising from her throat as we kissed.

She clasped her hand onto the back of mine again. I was afraid I'd crossed a line, that she was having second thoughts. I couldn't have been more wrong. She squeezed my hand. I could tell she was throwing every bit of her strength into it. In response, I clutched her little round breast. The intensity of her muted moans escalated. She kept squeezing, harder and harder, and I did, too. The more I crushed her tit, the louder her enthusiasm, and the more heated her kiss. I felt her body moving, rolling back and forth in a sensual dance.

Abruptly, she pulled back from our first kiss. From the moment of our original contact, we had not separated. Her breaths were short, labored.

"My pussy," Tracy gasped. "Touch me, Matthew. Touch my pussy, please!"

How could I argue with that? The thrill of such nasty words coming from such a beautiful mouth excited me beyond measure. Maggie had never talked dirty.

Extending my hand between Tracy's legs, I found her sex all syrupy and swollen. She lurched at the first brush of my fingers across her tender lips and leaned forward, capturing my mouth again. Laying the middle finger into her slick crevice, I pushed it further down along the depression. Curling my fingertip, I pushed into her slick heat, then twirled my finger slowly. Her hips swayed forward and back, fucking my finger.

"Yes," she whispered, "Oh, fuck, Matthew."

Using my thumb, I caressed her clit the way Maggie liked me to do. Tracy broke our kiss again and rested her head on my shoulder.

"Oh, my God! That's so... so good. Yes... yes... right there... just like... oh! Oh! Oh, my G...!"

Her voice caught with a sharp, indrawn breath. Tracy tensed, transfixed in her joy. She shivered, and her fingernails dug into my upper arm. I continued to pleasure her and was suddenly coated with a gush of wetness. At the scent of her feminine fragrance, my mouth watered. I wanted to taste her. It had been so long since my tongue had enjoyed the pleasure of a woman.

Gradually, I sensed the relaxing of her body as she unwound. She tilted her head up and gave me a short, tender kiss. Then she came up on her knees and shed her satin robe, letting it fall back from her shoulders. Lying back, her head by the foot of the bed, she spread her raised knees and held her arms out to me.

"Please, sir? Come fuck me now?"

It was the most lascivious and generous offer of my life. I was suddenly reminded of something important that I'd forgotten, and my heart sank.

"Uh, I... I don't have any protection, Tracy."

She laughed, a bright and tinkly giggle. "We don't need anything, Matthew. I don't want anything between us. I just want your wonderful cum in my pussy. Please, mark me with your scent and make me yours forever."

Forever... With that word, the heavens opened, and everything was clear. This wasn't a mercy fuck for the doddering old man. This wasn't a one-night stand for a horny young girl. She wanted me. She really wanted me. Only me. Just like she said.

As I crawled above her, my cock felt ready to burst.

"Tracy, I'm so excited, I don't think I'm going to last very long."

"Don't apologize, Matthew. Don't ever apologize to me, okay? Fill my pussy up as fast as you can. That's what I want tonight. It's what you need. We have the rest of our lives to make it last."

The rest of our lives... Until that moment, I hadn't realized how little the future meant to me before Tracy. Now I had a reason to get up tomorrow. And the next day, and the next.

Poised above her on my hands and knees, I lowered my penis and pressed it to her opening.

"Put it in," she whispered. "Stick that big cock in my needy pussy, Matthew. Yes, oh, yes, just like that. It's perfect. My pussy was made for your cock. Mmm... so good."

How can I describe the heavenly experience of entering her for the first time? She was right. The heat of her, the tightness, the slippery smoothness, the fit between us was cozy and welcoming. I felt as though her body had been created just for me.

When I could push in no further, Tracy whimpered, "Yes..." Then she surprised me. "Come down here, Matthew. I want you to lay your whole body on top of me."

"Are you sure?" I was nearly twice her weight.

"Yes, I'm sure. I want all of you on me. Don't hold anything back. Just lie on me, press me into the mattress, and take me. Fuck me hard. Empty those big balls of yours in my hot little pussy."

Little by little, I settled my body onto her tiny frame, just as she asked. She adjusted herself a few times, then seemed to be satisfied. When I finally relaxed, letting my heaviness cover her, she sighed, "Yes..."

I moved inside her, and it was wondrous. She locked her ankles behind my butt, and her vaginal muscles contracted around my penis--my 'cock' as she called it. The feeling was so incredible that I hardly lasted a minute before the ecstasy overcame me and I was squirting my semen deep inside my little daughter-in-law.

She moaned, "Oh, God, yes! It's so..." She sniffled, her body shuddering underneath me.

Before I became dead weight on her, I had the presence of mind to roll off. I held her to me and kissed her tear-lined cheeks.

"Are you okay, Tracy?" I was deeply concerned.

"Okay?" she said, with surprise in her voice. "Okay doesn't come close. It was... you are so much more than I even hoped for. I love you, Matthew!" She hugged me tight, burying her face into my neck and sobbing. I silently prayed her tears were those of happiness.

When she calmed, we crawled under the covers together, cuddling and caressing each other. In minutes, I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When I awoke the next morning, I was alone. The events of the previous night came crashing down on me. What was I thinking? Betraying my precious daughter-in-law? I figured that she'd awoken in the night, realized my treachery, and she was already packed and gone. How the hell could I have been such a bastard?

The door opened and a grinning, naked Tracy came bouncing across the room to leap into my bed. She clambered across the mattress and lay on top of me, kissing me and holding me tight. She smelled fresh, soapy and clean.

"Are you alright?" I said, unsure if she still felt the same way.

"I'm great, Matthew. I've never felt so... so complete. It's all because of you. Last night was simply amazing."

I finally allowed myself to breathe. It wasn't a dream. It was all real. She was still here, and she still loved me. It was almost too much to believe.

She got a serious look on her face. "Uh, Matthew. I want you to tell me if I make you uncomfortable. There's something I'd like you to do."

"What is it, Tracy?" I would do anything for this sweet, little morsel of wonder.

"Um, have you ever, I mean," she faltered. "Have you ever used your mouth between a girl's legs?"

After recovering from a laugh attack, I rolled her over and enjoyed the first of many pussy feasts. She was responsive, sexy, and the flavor of her abundant juices was like pure, warm ambrosia. Looking up through the dark blonde hairs that glistened in the morning sun, watching her girlish body as she arched and quaked through orgasm after orgasm, made me hard as ten-pound hammer. The next fuck lasted considerably longer. When I was done, we both needed a shower, where she sucked me off again.

The rest of the day, we could hardly keep our hands off of each other. My balls were empty, but I devoured her pussy again, and we fucked until she enjoyed an orgasm on my penis, even though I didn't touch her sensitive nub. That had never happened with Maggie.

That night, cuddled up on the sofa under a light blanket, Tracy produced several sheets of paper. She read me a story. It was an erotic story about a couple, an older man and a younger woman. In the story, the man held the girl's arms down above her head while he made love with her.

After she finished the story, Tracy said, "I like to struggle against something when I come. Without some sort of resistance, it's sort of like trying to swim without water, or riding a bicycle without a chain, and the pedals just spin freely. It's the tension that's makes it satisfying." She looked up at me. "Will you do that for me? Will you hold me down and fuck me hard?"

That night, I pinned her arms to the mattress while we made love. She squirmed and wriggled in my grasp. After she came on my cock again, she grinned through her tears and covered my face, my chest, and my wilted penis with thankful kisses.

Every day after that, she read me a new story featuring something different she wanted me to do with her. I had no idea where the stories kept coming from, but it was a constant source of excitement and thrills. Using the ideas from those stories, she sucked me off in the dressing room of a department store and I fingered her to a shivering, silent climax in a back booth at a coffee shop.

During one of our showers--we always showered together now--she teased my anus with her tongue while jacking me off. It was one of the most mind-blowing orgasms I'd ever known. I returned the favor that night and learned of the spicy flavors and enticing delights of tonguing her little pink pucker.

Little by little, I found out that she genuinely enjoyed it more when I pretended to be in control, just as she'd told me our first night together. Of course, I only made her do the things I knew she already wanted to do. She would get a big grin on her face when I growled at her to lie on the kitchen table so I could lick her puss, or commanded her to get on her knees and swallow my cum--she giggled when I called it semen, which changed the mood, but that didn't stop her from sucking me dry. Sometimes she would pretend to fuss. I would put on a gruff manner, and she would back down. When we were alone, she frequently called me 'sir'.

After one of her stories, she convinced me to tie her to the bed. It was like the tension of having me hold her arms down, she said. I agreed only if she were capable of untying the knots herself, should something go wrong. I wouldn't put her in a position where she was unable to protect herself, like what happened with my son.

The intensity of her desires kept climbing, and I grew more concerned. I'd thought Maggie's sexy, black lace underwear was adventurous. Tracy's kinkiness was from a different planet. I had to wonder if she was some sort of freak, or did other people do these sorts of things? After spending a few afternoons on the computer, I discovered her inclinations weren't so unique as I'd thought. That still didn't make it any easier for me.

We slept with each other every night and were together nearly constantly. She kept her own room, however, and each day she spent a little time by herself. I still caught her sometimes coming out with red, puffy eyes. She was a forthright woman. I figured that when she was ready, she would tell me what was bothering her.

* * *

One day, we went on a hike in the big park on Craggy Mt. When we stopped near the top of the mountain for a snack, she pulled out a couple of papers with a sneaky grin. She read me a new, even more suggestive story, and wanted to do what the couple in the story did. After a long discussion, I relented.

She got naked, and I tied her arms around a big oak tree, face first. I didn't like that the bark was rough and scratched her skin, especially her tender breasts, but Tracy insisted that she was okay. I had already learned that she absolutely loved to have her breasts mistreated--pinched, scratched, sucked, bitten, and squeezed unmercifully.

The little minx had brought along a bottle of lube. The week before, she had convinced me--via one of her stories--to take her ass. I prepped both of us well, as she'd shown me, then pressed my rigid erection to her asshole.

As usual, she was tight. She screeched when my dick broke through her resistance and popped into the narrow, blazing furnace of her ass. Tracy tightened up and made painful sounds as I shoved deeper, but she kept encouraging me. Little by little, I felt her relax.

Since we were in a remote area, she squealed and cried out like a wild animal while I rammed my cock up into her tight, hot ass. It was raw and filthy. It was awesome!

When I finally bellowed with joy and pumped my cum into her bowels, applause broke out. I whipped my head around. A young couple was seated on rocks, watching our performance. They had been camping nearby and came to see what all the commotion was about. The girl camper asked if they could borrow our ropes and lube. We enjoyed our lunch and watched while they performed the same act for us. All four of us went skinny-dipping at the base of a nearby waterfall, and Tracy and the camper girl both talked excitedly about what they liked about getting their asses reamed. The whole concept was strange to me, but I decided that maybe her ideas weren't so extreme after all. We left the other couple fucking on a big rock at the edge of the swimming hole.

On the way, home, Tracy said, "She was pretty wasn't she, sir?"

I nodded. The camper girl had a natural, earthy way about her. Her deep tan contrasted with Tracy's ivory skin. She was more filled out and curvier, and her tits were much bigger. I liked the way they swayed freely.

Tracy feigned an aside. "You could have had her, you know."

"Why would I want to do that?" I was stunned. "I have the most wonderful woman in the world."

I wouldn't dare admit that I'd entertained thoughts of what the other girl would be like, especially while I watched her fucking her boyfriend.

Tracy said, "It's okay, Matthew. I saw the way you looked at her. You got hard as soon as she took her clothes off. If you want another woman, I don't mind. She told me she wanted you."

I pulled over onto the shoulder. Turning to Tracy, I said, "She was pretty. Yes, I got hard. Men do that around pretty, naked women. But you are more than enough for me, Tracy. I have no serious interest in any other woman."

She shrugged. "It doesn't have to be serious. I just want you to know, if the opportunity ever comes up, don't even ask if it's alright with me. I want you to enjoy yourself, sir. If you'll let me, I might even join in."

I gasped, staring at her. She looked away with a thin-lipped smile. What the hell was she suggesting? Did she like women, too?

I put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. "She told you?" I said.

"Yep," Tracy said. "She just met that guy a couple of days ago on the trail. It's not working out. She said she'd always liked older guys and asked if we would be back tomorrow. She was sure that her friend would be gone by then."

We were both quiet for a while, watching the scenery go by.

She tilted her head, smirking. "We going on another hike tomorrow?"

I glanced over at her, then looked back at the road. "I don't think I'm ready for that."

"Okay," she said, followed by a deep sigh.

I thought the subject was closed. Silly me.

* * *

Over time, we settled into something resembling a routine, if anything about Tracy could be considered 'routine'. In my abundant spare time as a "kept man," I had studied how to trade stocks and bonds and spent an hour or so each day managing her millions. Neither of us were flamboyant, so we continued living in my little house. We shared cooking duties like a normal household and ate out two or three times a week--maybe hot dogs, maybe lobster at Les Magnione, whatever we felt like. Tracy splurged on a fire-engine red, Ferrari convertible coupe, but we used that only for special occasions. Our life together was simple and easy, but she continually found new ways to introduce sexual tension into our daily lives.

Around the house, clothing became an art form. For a while we often went about naked. Flirty Tracy began wearing teasing little strips of cloth. I discovered that a hint of skin could be far more tantalizing than full frontal.

She would stop at nothing. One day she applied duct tape over herself like a silver bikini. She moaned delightedly when I slowly pulled it off her tits. When it came time to remove it from her bottom, she begged me to do it fast. I told her it was going to hurt. She smiled and said, "I know." She screamed as dozens of her pubic hairs ripped from their follicles. Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she smiled.

"Fuck me," she demanded, her voice low and husky. I was standing above her, and she leapt up on me, her legs wrapped around my waist, glaring into my eyes and reaching down to steer my cock. "Fuck me hard, Matt. Now!"

I pinned her body to the nearest wall. Her cunt was soaking wet, and I embedded my cock with a single thrust. "Harder! Harder!" she insisted. Her fingernails dug into my shoulder blades to emphasize her strange desire. The sharp pain stirred me to new heights of ferocity, growling like a feral tomcat and ramming my raging cock into her poor little pussy, banging her back into the wall with no thought of mercy and driven only by the imperative to fill her with my potent seed.

Tracy's fingers clutched tighter, her head bent over my shoulder. Then I felt her teeth fasten onto my trapezius. Releasing a tense, strangled cry, she trembled violently, and in her rapture, she bit down hard, sending a thousand tingles dancing across my skin and triggering my own release. I slammed my penis up into her with a savage roar, and my balls contracted, firing waves of semen into her body.

My knees felt rubbery. Slowly, Tracy slid down the wall as I collapsed to my knees. After a few seconds to catch our breaths, she giggled. I couldn't resist. Holding each other, we laughed until our bellies hurt. Then, when we disengaged, I saw the blood smeared on her belly and on her fingers. My back stung like hell.

"Tracy...?" I said, trying to make some sense out of what had just happened. The pictures from the trial kept coming back to me, the things my son had done to her, and the blood all over her after she stabbed him.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" She grinned, and I was ashamed to admit she was right. My disgusting brain had enjoyed every second. My cock hadn't complained, either. Neither of those quieted that worrisome in my head, however.

She cupped my chin and gave me a kiss, then took my hand and led me to the bathroom. While she cleaned and dressed the claw marks on my back, she consoled me. "It's okay, Matthew. It's just a little blood. I spill more than this with my period."

I nodded, but that didn't assuage my guilt. I wondered how much further this could go before I would say 'Stop!'.

Like a salacious Scheherazade, Tracy's nightly readings of erotic tales continued. Each night she sat in my lap, reading from one or two sheets of paper. Although she teased me, holding the paper so I couldn't read along, occasionally I managed to sneak a peek. Sometimes a complete story was printed on the paper, and other times it was a list of highlights which she fleshed out from her own imagination. A few times I discovered that the paper was blank. Those were often the darkest stories of all.

* * *

I was reluctant to act out some of the scenes exactly the way she wanted. I steadfastly refused to hit her. Still, it was painful and humiliating to discover that even the most brutal of her inventive, exotic, and decadent stories never failed to excite an erection, filling me with strange desires that I was ashamed to admit. Even more embarrassing, she knew that I was aroused. I'm only a man, and the evidence stood up on its own. Little by little, she wore me down. Gradually, I found myself increasingly inured to sexual behaviors such as I had never imagined.

We had just returned from the grocery store. While I found a place for perishables in the fridge, Tracy put away the dry goods. I turned around as she stood on her tiptoes to reach up to a shelf. The hem of her thigh-length midi-dress hiked halfway up her ass... her bare ass.

"No panties?" I exclaimed with feigned shock. "I ought to spank you!"

It was intended as a joke, but I immediately regretted my words. A look of panic came over her face. Panic with a playful glint in her eyes.

"Please, Matthew, don't spank me!" Her begging sounded almost earnest.

I chuckled nervously. "I was just kidding, Tracy. You know I would never--"

With a heavy, resigned sigh, she grouched, "Okay. If you have to." She laid herself over the edge of the kitchen table and flipped the back of her dress up.

As much as I admired the rest of her body, I idolized her backside. Her buns were sublime. Smooth, powdery white globes beckoned me closer, to touch, to kiss, to do anything except mar their beauty or cause them pain. My fingertips grazed over the velvety curves, admiring their feminine perfection.

"Show my butt how much you love me, Matthew," Tracy urged gently.

"I love you, Tracy." For a thousand reasons--or maybe they were only excuses--I had never before allowed myself to speak those words. "I love you," I repeated, marveling at a sudden lightness in my heart.

"I love you, Matthew. It's okay. You can do it. You need to show me how much you love me."

Tears gathered in my eyes with the swell of emotion. I lost control. Guided solely by my intense adoration, my arm reared back, then swung its open hand to crash down with full force on Tracy's glorious, upturned bottom.

She screeched. "Yes!" Stretching her arms across the table, she gripped the far edge.

"I love you, Tracy." I said as I swung again and again. I pelted her adorable buns, repeating the mantra of my affections and releasing feelings that I'd pent up inside for nearly a year.

She lurched with each blow, weeping and wailing but always encouraging me onward with sincere cries of "Yes!" and "I love you!" and "Again!"

In the haze of my emotional frenzy, I lost count of how many times I struck her. More than ten. Perhaps twenty. Maybe fifty, for all I know. My blurry eyes were entranced by the gradual blossoming of her bottom from a plain white hydrangea to a vibrant, rosy bouquet of hand prints.

Tracy's body had long since stopped jerking around under my onslaught. She shuddered, weeping quietly. I recognized the sensual weave of her glowing ass. Even before she said anything, I knew what she wanted.

"Touch me." Her thighs opened wide as she begged weakly between sniffles.

I caressed her bloated labia with my fingertips. She arched back, her body tensed in rapture. Whimpers came up from her throat when I pressed a pair of fingers into her pussy. Her sweltry pussy was as aroused as I'd ever seen her. I'd barely touched her clit when she shook violently, muttering "Fuck-fuck-fuck...". After only a few more swipes over the nub, she came hard, convulsing and thrashing about.

The orgasm subsided. Her butt cheeks had darkened from the brilliant shades of pink to an angry red. She gasped, then moaned softly at the coolness of my still-stinging hand when I laid it on her blazing hot flesh. Guilt and self-reproach returned. A line had been crossed. If I knew Tracy, we would never go back. Tears came to my eyes. What had I done?

Tracy rolled onto her back, setting her heels on the edge of the table, her legs spread. Her tear-lined cheeks brightened as she grinned beatifically.

Filled with angst, I said, "I'm sorry, Tracy. I don't know what--"

"Hush," she whispered. "That was beautiful, Matthew. You did good."

"No, Tracy. I shouldn't hit you. It was wrong."

"No, it wasn't, Matthew. It was perfect. It was exactly what I've wanted. No, that's not right--it was what I've needed for so long. I want you to do that for me every week, or twice if I've been a really bad girl." she teased.

"I... I don't know if I can."

"Do you love me, Matthew?"

"Yes. I do love you. I love you more than I ever imagined I could love someone again."

She held her arms open to me. "Come here. Let me show you how much I love you."

My testosterone-fueled dick was raging hard. Tracy's scarlet gash called to me like a siren. She knew I couldn't resist.

When my cock glided into her slick pussy, she shuddered and arched as though another orgasm had hit.

"Yes..." she whined. "Oh, fuck, Matthew, I love what your cock does to me. Give it to me hard!"

I lifted her legs over my shoulders and clasped my arms around her thighs. Using the leverage, I drilled her pussy, stroking fast and furious to her enthusiastic entreaties.

"Yes! Fuck me! God damn, Matthew, so fucking good. Give it to me! Don't stop... give me your cum!"

My cock rammed fiercely into her, hell bent on spilling my balls into her sweet pussy. She beat me to it.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Matthew! I... Hoh..." She whimpered, her head rolled back and her white knuckles clasping the edge of the table. The muscles in her cunt convulsed around my cock, and I yelled as my balls seized up.

"Fuck!" Semen pulsed through my cock, and Tracy purred as it coated her vaginal walls.

I collapsed on top of her, my head lying on her chest between her boobs.

Tracy whispered, "Do you hear that, Matthew? Do you hear the heartbeat?"

"Yes," I nodded, listening to the steady thump-thump.

"That's your heart, Matthew. It beats for you. It's happiest when you make it go fast."

Lifting my head, I told her straight out. "I don't want to hurt you any more, Tracy."

She combed her fingers through my hair. "My first period was like somebody punched me in the stomach, and kept punching me, on and on, for days. My boobies ached, and I bled from my pussy. I cried because I was afraid it would never stop. Then it came a few weeks later. And then the next month. And the next."

I slid down and kissed her belly, and she stroked my head.

"Losing my virginity made me feel like somebody sliced me open from the inside," she said. "He kept fucking me even when I begged him to quit. Every time he thrust into me, it was like pouring alcohol onto a paper cut."

"I'm sorry, Tracy. He must have been an asshole."

She shrugged. "Someday I hope to have babies. Imagine shitting a watermelon. It's gonna hurt like fuck."

A baby. She wants a baby. It's crazy. With me? I'd be old enough to be the grandfather. A father again? I remember how awesome that felt. A baby... Wait--did she say 'babies'?

She continued her meandering monologue. I was beginning to see a pattern.

"Pain and sex are the same thing for me," she said, summing my thoughts. "Pinch my titties, and my pussy weeps. Pull my hair, and I'm covered with chills. Slap my butt, and the blood pouring in to ease the pain also swells my pussy and my clit. They get ultra-sensitive. Even your whiskers scraping my thigh gives me incredible thrills when you eat my pussy."

I couldn't stop the tears that came to my eyes. I hugged her because I didn't know what else to do.

She caressed my head patiently. "I understand if the things I want to do bother you, Matthew. There are all sorts of pain, though. I can't tell you how much it hurts my heart to love someone like you and not share all the wonderful pleasures that life has to offer."

"I couldn't live with myself if I really hurt you, Tracy."

With a laugh, she said, "Don't worry. I'll let you know if I think I'm in any danger."

"Like you did with my son?" The hurtful words came out before I realized what I'd said. Stupid! Stupid!

Tracy remained calm. "Your son was an ass. I'm sorry to tell you, Matthew. He turned into a mean and spiteful man. I know you tried, but he learned nothing about love from you. You're so sensitive and careful, I don't think there's any way you would ever seriously hurt me."

She continued stroking my hair. I kissed her belly.

"I'll try to keep up with you, Tracy. No promises. Let me know what you want, and I'll do what I can."

"I know you will, Matthew. You love me."

I turned my head up and smiled. "Yes. I do. It's just..."

"I love you more than life," she said. "So, if the time comes when you think I'm getting too wild, just tell me. I'll be glad to lie real still and spread my legs while I do my nails, then I'll suffer quietly, watching the clock while you put your dirty thing in my--"

"Don't you dare!" I objected, laughing.

She rolled her eyes and feigned a supremely bored, "Is it in yet?"

"One more of those, and you'll find yourself over my knee, young lady," I warned playfully.

"Really?" She wiggled her delighted brows.

So, I was seduced into Tracy's mad, alternate universe where pain was pleasure and cruelty was love. She got her regular spankings. I was surprised that I began to enjoy them as well. It was easy to gauge the power of my blows because my palm stung nearly equally to her ass. A testosterone rush came over me each time I took her under my hand. I grew achingly hard. As she had described, the blood pouring into her derrière also engorged her sex, and all it took was a touch and she would come in seconds. The only thing that seemed to cool her lust was when I finally emptied my balls deep inside her.

* * *

I thought that we had finally settled on a happy compromise. Once again, I was fooling myself.

Her mysterious nightly stories continued, but I still balked at following through with imitating some of the scenes. Especially difficult were the one that contained harsh, sometimes brutal depictions of forced sex.

Regardless of how much I might try to follow my moral compass, however, listening to her excitement grow as she read to me about women taken against their will incited a visceral response. It didn't help that they never failed to bring me to full erection which my amazing lover was more than happy to take advantage of. In retrospect, I realized she was slowly building connections between my brutal, Neanderthal genes and the pleasure synapses in my brain.

So, it was odd when I realized she hadn't read a story the last few nights. Upon further contemplation, I couldn't recall having sex with her in several days. We normally enjoyed some sort of sexual play at least once a day, if not two or three times, although occasionally we found ourselves taking a casual, unspoken break for a day or two. This was different. When I awoke in the morning, she was downstairs making breakfast. She was already asleep when I went to bed.

Except for the sex, none of that was particularly unusual. We had both agreed that we didn't want to let Tracy's vast hoard of money make us lazy. We liked being productive and didn't want to get bored. We decided to have full lives outside of each other. In addition to my weekly sailing jaunts and poker nights with a few friends, I was learning woodworking. She built me a well-outfitted shop in the back yard.

For her part, Tracy was taking classes at the local community college. Whatever suited her fancy--nursing, finger painting, and child psychology were some she chose. We also elected to tend to housework ourselves rather than hire a housekeeper and a cook, although she could certainly have afforded those. I devoted my extra time to hand-carving an oak rail for the staircase. Tracy spent nearly every evening painting and redecorating the two extra bedrooms we never used. She was often exhausted--but happy--by the time we sat down for her sexy evening story and the games that inevitably followed.

But that hadn't happened.

The next time I saw her, I said, "Is everything going okay?"

Her response was flat. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Without another word, she turned away and grabbed her paint and brush to start on the trim in the far room. As she passed by me, she threw out her shoulder, bumping my arm. It was clearly intentional.

I let it pass. Passive-aggressive was not Tracy's style, though. Something was up. Briefly, I considered whether it might be related to her cycle. Her period had finished about a week before, and she didn't seem to suffer with cramps as bad as Maggie had. As kinky as she was, for all I knew she looked forward to them.

As the day went on, I noticed little things. She wasn't smiling--Tracy always smiled. She didn't start any conversations. When I asked about something, her answers were curt, single syllables. When I touched her--a hand on her shoulder or stroking her back--she pulled away.

I was stymied. She had never acted like this. Had I done something wrong without knowing? My worst fears crept into the forefront of my thoughts. Did she meet someone, maybe a man her own age at school? Was the honeymoon finally over?

That night, there was no story. Instead of cuddling next to me, she moved to the far side of the bed. When I reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, she brushed it off.

"What do you want?" Her tone was bland and dry.

"I want to know what's wrong, Tracy."

"Nothing's wrong with me. Do you want something else?"

"I guess not." I sighed then rolled over and went to sleep.

It was a fitful night. I had grown accustomed to her warm body. When I awoke in the middle of the night and she was gone, my heart felt like it had been pierced by a dagger. She had her own room, of course, but she hadn't slept there in nearly a year. I dared not go looking for her. I was afraid I might not find her there.

I slumped downstairs in the morning to the sound of Tracy working in the kitchen. She set a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. Her face wore that same dull expression. She hadn't said a word--not 'Good morning' or even 'Go to hell'. I think I would have settled for the latter, just to know where I stood.

Half asleep, I took a bite of my eggs.

"What the hell?" I yelled, spitting everything back on the plate and gasping for breath. My mouth was on fire! I needed something to drink, fast. Tracy handed me a cup of coffee and I chugged it. After about two seconds, that was spewing out of my mouth, too. I ran to the sink and gargled. The goddamned coffee was full of salt!

"Wasn't that what you wanted?" Tracy asked, looking on with innocent blue eyes. There was no teasing smile. Nothing but that same unemotional expression.

"You know damn well that wasn't what I wanted!" I snapped at her.

She shrugged. "No, I don't know what you want, Matthew. You tell me a lot of things you don't want. I'm tired of guessing. If there's something you want, you know where to find it."

So that was her game.

I laid my hand on her shoulder. She twisted away.

"Don't touch me." She sounded firm, but not angry.

"Tracy..." I came closer.

Tracy took a step back towards the hall door. "Leave me alone," she said. Her hard stare challenged me.

Fatigued from the restless night, I was tired and frustrated with her attitude over the last few days. Truthfully, a little anger was seeping through at the thought of her continual manipulation, persuading me to do things that violated my conscience.

If she wanted to play, however, I decided to go along for a while.

When I took a step toward her, she moved back again.

"Tracy..." My tone was gruff, my face stern. "Do you need a spanking?" It was an olive branch that she was usually eager to take.

"Don't you dare." She growled indignantly, backing into the hall.

Now I knew I was on the right track. I followed and grabbed her arm. She snatched it away.

"Fuck you." She spat at me.

A tightness formed in my stomach. I was sure she was playing, but a voice in the back of my head kept telling me that I'd had enough of this crap.

She kept moving away. She seemed to be edging towards the front door. Where was she going?

When I was close enough, I seized both of her arms.

"Let go of me, you slimy old bastard!" she yelled, shocking me.

I wasn't prepared for the violence of her struggles. She freed one hand. I never saw it coming. My face erupted in stinging pain. She'd slapped me! Hard!

Blindsided, I let her go. She didn't retreat, but stood her ground with a scornful smile.

She sneered, "Do you think Maggie ever had a real orgasm? I'll bet she faked it every time like I do. She must have been sorry she ever married such a pathetic excuse for a man."

Rage swept over me. I went at her. She stepped back, too late, and swung at me again. I snatched her wrist in mid-air. She shrieked as I spun her around, twisting her arm up behind her back.

"Fuck! Stop it, you asshole!" she squealed.

With her arm twisted in a hammerlock and one hand pinching her nape, I marched her into the living room. I saw my target. She had splurged on a gilded, carved 18th C. Louis XIV armchair. In some deep, dark corner of my soul, a sadistic plan hatched.

"Let me go!" Tracy yelled, squirming and jerking at her arm to get it free. It almost seemed like she was actually trying to get away. When she saw where I was leading her, the struggles became more furious. "No! You sonofabitch! Don't you fucking... No! Not there!"

Recalling the way men got access to the women in her stories, I wedged my knee up between her legs and I lifted her onto her most prized chair with her chin hanging over the cushioned back. She struggled and cursed me, but my firm grip held her in place while I dropped my slacks.

"Please, Matthew!" she begged. "Don't do it here!"

"Shut up, bitch!" I growled, twisting her arm harder and lifting her t-shirt to find--as I expected--nothing else underneath. "You want it hard, cunt?" She screeched again when I drove my steel-rigid cock into her dripping sex. "What a worthless, sloppy pussy."

Freeing my animal lust, I held Tracy steady while I violated her brutally, taking my pleasure from her body without remorse or care for her wishes. Yes, she enjoyed it, especially when I snatched her hair and pulled it back. Her ass gyrated, fucking me back as my cock impaled her. Slamming my hips forward, my pelvis banged into her swollen vulva again and again.

She muttered threats and heated expletives, the pitch of her voice getting higher, weaker, until her body tensed, and she emitted a long, pitiful wail. The powerful contractions in her pussy were like a milking machine. With a thunderous growl, I gave in to the ecstasy that spiraled up my spine and spread under my skin. Days worth of cum flooded her pussy. Tracy mewled softly.

She didn't complain when I held her there, kneeling on her priceless chair, until semen dripped onto the gold fabric. When I released her, she didn't move. More cream spilled onto the seat.

I planted a row of kisses up her spine. When I came near her ear, I whispered, "Are you okay?"

With her head still hanging over the back of the chair, she held up two fingers. "Twice a year, Matthew. Just like that."

I laughed. "Okay. You win."

She looked back over her shoulder. "Enjoyed yourself, didn't you?"

"Except for the part about Maggie."

Tracy lowered her eyes, ashamed. "Yeah, sorry about that. I couldn't think of many things that would rile you up enough."

Twisting around, she plopped her naked butt down in the chair. I knew my cum was drizzling out onto the three-hundred-year-old fabric, but she didn't seem to mind. It was almost as if she wanted it to.

She said, "Before you ask, I lied. I've never faked an orgasm with you. Never needed to." She held my cheeks and kissed me.

"How much more?" I asked frankly. "I need to know how much further you expect me to go."

"I'm proud of you, Matthew. I know it's been difficult for someone as sweet as you to let the bad man out to play. I like your bad man." She kissed me again. "We'll take a break for a while. Just promise me you'll surprise me sometimes. I like surprises."

"Deal," I agreed, deciding that I should pick up a calendar to plan some periodic 'special events' for her benefit.

In a cautious tone, she said, "There is one more thing I want you to try. It's not violent or depraved, or anything like that."

Her timid manner worried me. "What is it, Tracy?"

She uttered the two words that instill fear into every man's heart.

"Dance lessons."

++++++++++++++++++++++

THE FUTURE ARRIVES

++++++++++++++++++++++

It's a splendid morning. I don't know what day of the week it is. Fuck, I'm not even sure what month it is. The leaves are golden and there's a fresh chill in the air outside. A low sun streaming through the window shades lights up dancing dust motes, and the heater is keeping our naked bodies warm. At the moment, that's all that matters.

I'm staring at one of the most enchanting sights I've ever known. Tracy's pink, wet puss is poised above my chin. Her pale rosy pucker sits a little higher. She shudders when my tongue flicks lightly at one, then the other.

Her moans are muted by the cock in her mouth. She is toying with it. I've told her where to spray my cum. If she obeys, fine.

If not, then more fun ensues. I've become more strict with her. She's learned to be careful what she asks for. The rules I finally laid down appear to keep her satisfied. She's practically glowing all the time, and I haven't noticed any private crying jags in weeks.

Back and forth, my mouth dances from ass to pussy and back to her ass again. My hands have a firm grip on her hips to put her where I want her, but she keeps struggling against me, desperate to find my tongue with her clit. She's such a needy slut.

That's another change. I'm calling her names. In the big scheme of things, it's a relatively harmless form of abuse. I'm sometimes surprised by the intensity of her reaction. Even a casual insult--"Stupid cunt"--brings a delightful color to her cheeks and gets her body rubbing against me. A harsh threat, like bringing another woman here to show her how a real woman sucks my cock, will make her cry and beg me to let her prove how good she is. I have no need for another woman, of course, and would never force her to watch me fuck someone else.

Then again, I've learned to never say 'never' around Tracy.

Riding my face, she is cranked up, her motor revving when my lips close around her tight hood to suck rhythmically. In seconds my young lover is bucking and screaming, bunching the sheets in her hands. Then all is still. The delicious nectar of her joy gushes into my mouth. She whimpers, her body trembling in ecstasy. Finally satisfied, she deflates, draping herself on me.

That lasts for only a few seconds before she's scrambling to straddle my thighs, facing my feet. Quickly mounting my cock, she fucks me like the good little slut she is, rotating her ass as she glides to and fro. Wetting my middle finger in my mouth, I take advantage of the tiny pink flower in her crack that's begging for more attention. My finger screws into her ass, slowly pumping in and out.

She gasps. "Oh! Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!" This is her favorite thing about the backward cowboy way. It is only a short while later that she's exclaiming, "Oh! oh! Oh, God, Matthew! I'm... Ohh, fuck..."

As her orgasm subsides, I push her forward onto her hands, then head-down, ass-high. She whines at the loss of my cock as I pull my legs out from underneath, but I'm quickly on my knees, slamming back into her juicy cunt from behind, fucking her hard and fast. My broad hand covers the side of her head, and I lean on it, shoving her down into the mattress. My balls slap her clit a few times, then they find their exultation. It's my turn to bellow with the cum rushing up through my shaft to fill my sweet, young lover.

I fall back on the bed, shivering with bliss while Tracy sucks my hyper-sensitized cock clean. She slides up beside me, I pull the blanket over us, and we cuddle and kiss. Soon, we agree we're both hungry. While Tracy goes down to the kitchen to start the coffee, I slip on a pair of slacks and pee.

About the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, the doorbell rings. I don't know the exact time, but it's too early in the morning for anybody we know to come calling.

When I open the door, I'm stunned. Tracy is waiting on the porch. How did she get dressed so quick? I've never seen that calf-length, suede skirt or the loose billowing blouse. Where the hell did she get that godawful black wig with purple streaks? And when did she have time to scribble all that crap on her arms that looks like real tattoos?

A scream comes from behind me.

"Crystal!"

The real Tracy rushes past to embrace the Goth Tracy. The two women kiss. It's not like any kiss I've ever seen between sisters. Tongues. Moans. Hands wandering and bodies rubbing together like they're ready to do it right there on our front porch. Crystal's hands cup Tracy's butt and squeeze. My little feller is rising to attention again.

Tracy pulls her doppelganger into the house.

"Crys, this is Matthew. The guy I told you about."

Giving my lover a questioning look, I hold out my hand to the woman, who can't be anything but her twin sister.

Crystal yanks my handshake, using the leverage to spin her firm young body into me, still holding my hand with her arm curled tight around her waist and mine around her back. How the fuck did she do that?

Angling her head up, she curls a slender arm around my neck to pull me down for a scorching kiss. Her belly rubs my erection, and I feel her leg rising, caressing up the back of my thigh. Higher it goes, over my buns, until it wraps around my waist. I'm amazed. It must be nearly chest level on her!

"Glad to meet you, Matthew." She coos seductively when she finally breaks the kiss.

I'm gasping for breath. I want her. How could I not? She's a mirror image of the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Apparently, the similarities are more than skin-deep.

Embarrassed at my obvious lust, I look sheepishly at Tracy. She's grinning ear-to-ear.

"C'mon, Crys," she says, heading toward the kitchen. "You're just in time for breakfast."

"Do you need me to get your bags from the car?" I ask.

"This is all I brought." She grabs a small backpack from the porch and slings it over her shoulder. With come-hither eyes and a suggestive grin, she says, "I don't expect I'll be needing a lot of clothes." She saunters along behind Tracy with a swing of her hips that makes me want to take her down right there on the hall carpet.

Like an obedient puppy, I follow along behind.

"You're early," Tracy says, pouring coffee all around. "I wasn't expecting you for a couple of days."

"The job in Mumbai wrapped up quicker than expected. I got lucky with only two short layovers, then a seat came open on the red-eye last night. I made it here in twenty-two hours."

"What job were you working on?" I ask. From the scanty info that Tracy had shared, I'd always thought Crystal was just a drifter.

"Crys teaches dance," Tracy says, with a twinkle in her eye.

Uh, oh.

Crystal says, "The last few weeks were just a small choreography job for a Bollywood flick."

She takes the first drink of her coffee and looks like she's having an orgasm.

"Damn, Trace. No matter where I go, nobody makes a cup of coffee like you." She turns to me. "You're a lucky guy, Matt. A blonde slut who makes coffee this good would go for a cool five mil in Qatar."

"She's worth a thousand times that," I say, turning my adoring eyes on my incredible lover. "She satisfies my every desire and hundreds I never thought of, thanks to those incredibly exotic stories she makes up for me every night."

The two girls look at each other, sputter, and break out in gales of laughter.

Annoyed, I ask, "What so funny?"

When Tracy is able to catch her breath, she admits, "I didn't make those up. Crys wrote them."

Astounded, I gape at one, then the other. "All of them?"

Crystal nods, still chuckling. "Well, most of them. Trace told me about a few she made up on her own."

Tracy confesses, "She sells dirty stories for a little extra cash. You were her fuck-meter. I told her what you liked and didn't like and how much each one turned you on."

My jaw tightens. I feel so... used.

Tracy sees my anger simmering and throws her arms around my waist, squeezing my butt. "I promise we'll make it up to you."

Did she say 'we'?

"Yeah, Matt," Crystal says. "I'm gonna' teach you to dance better than fuckin' Fred Astaire. Salsa. Swing. Waltz. Tango. The works. After I whip your butt around the dance floor, you get to whip my butt any way you like." She winks.

My pants are suddenly a lot tighter. So far, I've been able to make excuses that keep me away from the local ballroom. I'm afraid my luck has run out.

She says, "For the next year, I expect you and I are going to be joined at the hips full time. As well as other places. If you're as good as she says, I might stick around longer." She wiggles her brows.

"A year?"

I aim a questioning look at Tracy. She is shaking her head anxiously at Crystal and glancing back at me in obvious distress, but Crystal doesn't seem to notice Tracy's concern.

"Yeah. I'm supposed to be your private fuck toy until momma here spits out that baby and gets back on her feet."

My chin drops to my chest. I stare at Tracy. "How long?"

"About six weeks," she says, in a near whisper. Her eyes are glistening. "I think it was that time you raped me on my antique chair."

Crystal interrupts. "Hold on a minute. You didn't tell him yet?"

"I didn't expect you'd be here for another day or two. I planned to tell him tonight." She gazes up at me, her worried expression asking if it's okay.

My joyful eyes blur as they stare at Tracy. Before I can take my love in my arms and squeeze her, Crystal jumps into action.

"You deceitful bitch!" She grabs Tracy's arm and twists it behind her. Tracy shrieks as her sister spins her around to bend her over the table and pin her down. She lifts Tracy's long T-shirt to display a beautiful white butt. Only a few blemishes remain on her baby-soft behind from her last spanking a couple of days ago.

Baby-soft... A baby. My baby.

Crystal orders me, "Get over here, Matt. This stupid cunt needs her ass burnt up. Can you believe she didn't ask permission to get pregnant? Then she hid it from you? Teach her what happens to scheming bitches."

Tracy's giving me a baby.

And a fuck toy...

Reaching over Tracy's back, I take gentle hold of Crystal's tattooed wrist. She is forced to release Tracy's arm as I turn it over, ever so slowly, increasing the strength in my grip. Her attention shifts immediately to me. The dark expression on my face tells her everything she needs to know. As I gradually twist her arm further, she acquiesces with a neat pirouette. In moments, her forearm is in a hammerlock, and she is my willing--or should I say eager--prisoner.

Crystal's free hand rises back behind my head to run her fingers through the hair at my nape. She gyrates her tight dancer's butt against my erection and whispers heatedly. "I can't fuckin' wait to tango naked with you."

The end of my index finger spins into the black hair at her nape, then pulls, tilting her head back onto my shoulder.

She whines, wincing. "Fuck."

"So, you're going to be my surrogate Tracy, huh?" My whispery voice is deep and menacingly playful.

"Uh, yeah. Sort of." Her answer is tentative.

"So, if my sweet pregnant Tracy is a bad girl, who do you think is going to get punished?"

"Crystal?"

"You're a smart woman."

I release her arm, and she whimpers when I tug downward on the wisp of hair. She spins toward me as she goes to her knees. Her eyes are bouncing up and down between my face and the bulge in my slacks.

Tracy is beaming. She comes to my side, kissing my cheek while she unzips me then releases the snap. "I love you." Then she adds, "Fuck her good. No mercy."

Those words prompt a fresh effusion of blood into my cock as my slacks fall to my ankles. I'm commando.

Crystal licks her lips.

"We have a few simple rules here," I tell her, holding her near enough that she should smell her sister's recent stickiness on my cock. "First, I own you. Head to toe. Inside and out. I decide who gets a red butt. I decide who gets my cock, and which hole it goes into. I decide when you get fucked and when you get to watch. I decide who comes, and when. Any questions?"

"What would my stupid sister have to do to get you to rape me?"

With a hand behind her head, I pull her open mouth just close enough to my dick that she can't quite reach it with her tongue.

"Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a mean, ugly ogre who became enchanted by a sweet, innocent young girl. We'll call her Tracy."

Crystal peeks up and snickers. "Innocent?"

"It's a fairy tale."

Just like the rest of my happily-ever-after life with Tracy.