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DDM (03/13)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
WARNING!
The following story contains detailed descriptions of sex acts between
family members (incest), and between humans and animals (bestiality).
If you are offended by such material, please stop reading now!
<< Danny Does Mom / Part 3a >>
Chapter 3
At the breakfast table after Dan had left for school, Art suggested
Helen see a psychiatrist. He approached the subject carefully and had her
agreement before she was fully aware of what he'd implied. Even then, she
followed through by making an appointment; a "shrink" ought to understand
what she was putting up with. He would most likely insist Art come in for
treatment.
But Dr. Davis did not. Helen left his office with her ego bruised and her
self-confidence shaken. She went to Vanessa Rush. 'She's the closest
friend
I've got,' she reasoned. 'Even if she does act a little wild.' She shook
her
head and pursed her lips.. 'Come now, Helen. More than a little. And the
way
she talks! But she's always been good to me, and she's never got a mean
thought.'
Vanessa listened closely to Helen's description of the fight and the
subsequent visit to Dr. Davis. Helen wished it were easier to read her
friend's expression - to know whether she was seeing sympathy or
amusement or something else - but she was grateful for the fact that
Vanessa didn't interrupt.
"Oh!" Helen exclaimed as she concluded her account of Dr. Davis'
reaction. "Can you imagine! Telling a married woman she doesn't know
anything about sex! Vanessa, he was terrible! He said things I's never
let Art
say! Ugh!"
"Like what?" Vanessa appeared interested.
"I wouldn't repeat them! Perverted sex things he said I ought to have
Art do! He . . . he . . . Vanessa, he even said I ought to . . . to have
intercourse
with other men! He was awful. I'm never going back to him!"
"Honey, I think you need a drink." Vanessa mixed a double-strength
Screwdriver for Helen. "You sound tight as a drum."
Helen shuddered. The sympathy in Vanessa's voice was almost
disastrous in its effect on Helen's self control. She choked back a sob
and
gulped the orange juice and vodka. "How could such a dirty-minded man get
to be a doctor? Honestly, Van!'
"Did he think your marriage might be in any danger, hon?"
Helen nodded and drained her glass. "The only thing he said that was
right. He agreed there was a real danger."
"You don't want to lose Art, do you?"
"Omigod, no! That would kill me, Van!"
"Even if you knew you weren't going to be able to change him?"
Helen hesitated. "You mean, if he never did get over being . . . well, a
sex fiend?"
"Yes."
"I don't want to lose him." Helen whispered. She held out her empty
glass to Vanessa for a refill. "I love him, Van. No matter what, I love
him! I
won't let him go!"
Vanessa mixed another double. She spoke without looking at Helen.
"What if keeping him meant you had to be something you're not?"
"Change myself?" A sense of relaxed warmth was seeping through
Helen. "Pretend I don't mind him looking at me naked? Let him do all those
things he . . . ?"
Vanessa nodded. "That's the only way."
The image of her grandmother rose in Helen's mind and horror filled
her at the thought she'd been toying with. "No! . . . no! I won't!" 'But
I love
him! I can't lose him!' "Isn't there any other way?"
"Well . . . " Vanessa hesitated. "You might try shocking him. Maybe you
could bring him to his senses that way."
"How?"
"Shock hell out of him! He wants you naked, let him see you naked! In
front of Barry and me!'
"VAN! For God's sake! I'm not that drunk!"
"I'm serious! Start like it's a game - or like we're practicing a skit
for Wednesday Club!"
"I'd dir! I couldn't take my clothes off!"
"Make it a skit. You're a new slave being auctioned off. Costumes.
Think he'd let it go all the way?"
Helen hiccuped. "In front of Barry? No!" She was suddenly excited.
"You're right! It'll work!"
"Tonight then. Call Danny and have him go to the Avery's. Call Art's
office and leave a message, they'll get to him by radio."
"No use. I still can't take off the costume."
"You'd be a slave. Chained." Vanessa laughed. "We'd have to use
clothesline instead of chain, but we could spread-eagle you against the
grate there. "How far do you think Art would let me get?"
"All right. That way." Helen pressed her hand to her forehead,
conscious of her giddiness. She knew Art would be indignant - that he'd
stop
them almost before they got started. She wasn't sure how the shock would
make the desired change in Art, but she probably would if she weren't so
drunk; Vanessa obviously did.
Vanessa kept Helen pleasantly lubricated the rest of the afternoon. It
was a time of confused activity, making costumes out of sheets, locating
rope, and making the necessary telephone calls. And Helen was still drunk
when Art arrived. Conversation at the dinner table swirled around her,
confused and trivial, and she continually found herself trying to unravel
one
topic only to discover the others had slipped into another. She ate
little, the
food appealing less to her than her drink, and she giggled at those times
when Art acted as if he ought to be enlightened.
Afterward, when they had settled in the living room with liqueurs, she
nodded owlishly while Vanessa introduced the fiction about their skit for
Wednesday Club. And without quite realizing the time had come, she and
vanessa were on their way to the bedroom.
Helen undressed quickly, glancing at herself in the door-mounted
mirror with satisfaction, and put on the skimpy, wrap-around affair
Vanessa had suggested as a final teaser. 'Like a miniskirt that shrunk,'
Helen told herself. 'But it does cover the hair . . . not that they'll
ever see it.
Art won't let us go that far.'
"Know what?" she said to Vanessa when she had her sheet-gown
fastened at the shoulders and pinned down the side. "Know what, Van? I'm
still drunk." She giggled.
"And pretty relaxed," Vanessa observed. "I thought you'd be all up-
tight by now!"
Helen watched with a sense of detachment while Vanessa tied chunks
of rope to each of her wrists and ankles. She held her hands behind her,
resting against her ass, when Vanessa gathered the free rope ends in her
hand.
"Let's go, slave-girl," remarked Vanessa with a hint of excitement in
her voice.
Helen was startled at the sudden gleam in Art's eyes when he saw her
costume. Glancing at herself in the brighter light of the living room, she
realized the sheet was anything but shadow-proof; the relative darkness of
her nipples showed clearly, and even with the brief "teaser skirt" there
was a faint shadow at her crotch. She shivered and let Vanessa guide her
to
the grating.
"This one's rebellious," commented Vanessa, going into the act. She
made Helen turn with her back to the bars. "Okay, honey," she whispered.
"Do your stuff. Arms first, I guess."
Helen extended her arms over her head and held them patiently while
Vanessa secured her wrists to one of the cross-bars. And at a prod of
Vanessa's finger and a curt order, she spread her feet. Vanessa tied the
ankle ropes, tugging at them to pull Helen's legs still further apart.
Helen gasped. "Oooh! That stretches me!" She squirmed helplessly.
Vanessa straightened. "You look great, honey!" she said in a low tone.
"It's going to work!"
Helen glanced at her husband's face. His eyes were wide and he stared
at her without blinking. 'So far,' she thought, 'he's himself. Nothing on
his
mind but how sexy it looks.'
'Observe, gentlemen," Vanessa was saying. "One of the loveliest of our
captive princesses! No submissive peasant, this one." She paused and gazed
at Helen. "But she'll bring hours of pleasure to the lucky one who buys
her.
Do I hear an offer? What, no bid?"
Helen saw Barry start to speak and caught the quick shake of
Vanessa's head. 'That's right,' she thought. 'Don't let them forget we're
practicing a skit.'
Vanessa smiled. "Of course! A discerning group like you would
hesitate. 'What about damage?' you ask yourselves. 'A beautiful face.' you
say, 'but what about the body?' I assure you the flesh is flawless." She
paused. "What? You doubt? The exaggeration of the marketplace you say?
I'm wounded. Wait! See for yourselves!"
Helen tensed at the avid interest she saw in both men's faces. And she
quivered while Vanessa unfastened the safety pin that held the costume
together at her left shoulder. The material fell free, slipping away from
her
shoulder and dropping against her body. She looked down in sudden panic to
see how much of her had been exposed. 'Good God!' she thought. 'Another
half
inch and they could have seen my nipple!' The creamy flesh of her breast
swelled boldly in clear view, the fold of the sheet lying across the upper
edge of the pink aureole. A wave of giddiness swept over her. 'Oooh! How
wicked!' she thought.
"Absolutely without a flaw!" repeated Vanessa. And then, "You still
wonder? What skeptics! Come now!" She shrugged and turned with an air of
resignation to fumble with the pin at Helen's other shoulder.
"No!" whispered Helen. "He'll stop us now!" But she saw no startled
objection in Art's expression. His lips were parted and he appeared to be
breathing hard, but he made no move to stop Vanessa.
Vanessa pulled the pin free and stepped back. The top of the costume
folded slowly downward, clinging momentarily to Helen's globes and then
sliding free and tumbling about her waist, where it hung from the belt
cord.
"Oh! . . . Oh! . . . " Helen gasped with horror as she gazed at her
nakedness. Her breasts strained, drawn taut by the tension in her arms.
The
nipples stood out, quivering and beginning to pucker with her sudden
fright.
'Why doesn't he stop us?' she asked herself.
Vanessa faced the men confidently. "You see? You see, gentlemen?
Perfection from conquered Minoa! Perfection! Note the ripe fullness . . .
the
luscious texture . . . the proud erectness! Where have you ever seen such
succulent-looking raisins as these?"
To Helen's horrified amazement, Vanessa brushed each of the
darkening nipples with her fingertips.
"Oh!" she cried impulsively. "OoH! No!" She squirmed, her shoulders
pressed against the bars. "Don't!" She winced at the jolt of pleasure the
touch sent through her.
Vanessa winked at her and turned back to the men. "I don't know," she
said, pretending distress. "I don't know what the market's coming to these
days. An honest owner shouldn't have to put up with this kind of
skepticism,
Goodness! Can't you what an opportunity you have!" She sighed. "Ah, well.
All in a day's work." She unfastened the three pins holding the costume
together at the side and let the sheet drape from the cord.
Helen shuddered at the taut boldness of her exposed left thigh. The
tiny miniskirt Vanessa had designed was shockingly overtaxed by the wide
angle of Helen's legs and a sick tremor seized her stomach at the thought
some of her pubic hairs might be visible beneath the ragged edge. Only the
fact that the sheet covered most of it served as consolation. 'He'll stop
us
now,' she assured herself. 'He won't let us go any further; he surely sees
what we're ready to do!' She studied Art's expression and felt a burst of
terror at the fascination that appeared to grip him. His gaze met hers
and he
smiled as if awed.
Vanessa bent and ran her fingers down Helen's bare thigh. Helen felt
goose flesh pop out and saw the flesh twitch. She had a moment of fright
at
the abrupt convulsion in her pussy. 'No!' she thought. 'I;m not like
that, still!
Oh, no!'
"See the seductive taper," said Vanessa huskily. "Observe how smooth
the line is from that dainty knee to this girl's playground! Gentlemen!
Have
you no imagination? Gods above!'
Helen had avoided looking at Barry. Now, she glanced without thinking.
He sprawled in his easychair, legs extended and chin on chest, a great
bulge
showing in the front of his trousers. She looked quickly at her husband
and
discovered his fly was tented. The fact sent a surge of excitement through
her and she writhed with guilty awareness of the pleasure she felt in
their
attention. 'I'm terrible! Oh, dear! I like having them excited!'
She realized belatedly that Vanessa was untying the waist cord. The
sheet collapsed to the floor, leaving only the skimpy, improvised
miniskirt
to hide Helen's nakedness. She stared at herself, hypnotized by the sight
of
her elongated navel. 'I didn't know my navel would show! It didn't in the
bedroom! And this thing's so terribly short! I know they can see hair!
Art!
Art, what are you waiting for?!'
Helen tugged at the ankle ropes, suddenly remembering she'd forgotten
to remove her high-heeled sandals. But there was no slack in the loop and
no
way to relieve the pressure that held the bottom of the skirt so high.
"Vanessa!" Helen whispered. "Van, we can't go any further!"
Vanessa leaned close. "Honey, we can't stop now! Look how shocked
Art is already. Only he still doesn't believe we'll go all the way. That's
what'll clinch it!"
"No! No, Van! I just can't!"
"Sure you can, hon. You're splendid! Anyhow, I won't let you go it by
yourself. I'll take mine off, too. Think how that'll hit them!" Vanessa
stepped toward the men. "Come now, good sirs! How stubborn are you going
to be? Have you ever gazed at greater beauty? Look again at those
marvelous globes! Imagine one of those saucy nipples tickling the arch of
your throat!" She cupped her palm under on of Helen's breasts, then
tenderly
rolled the nipple between her fingertips. of delight shook Helen and she
drew a deep, audible breath.
"Just meditate on the daintiness of this dear waist!" Vanessa
continued. "Think of it! You could easily encircle it with your two
hands! The
thighs - the hips - please, gentlemen!" She paused panting. "What? Still
skeptical? Oh, God! What cynic! You demand the last bit, don't you!"
"No-no-no . . . !" Helen moaned softly when Vanessa reached for the pin
in the waistband of the tiny skirt. "Nonono . . . ! Oh, Van!" The flesh
at her
waist writhed at the pressure of Vaness'a fingers, and abruptly the skirt
loosened. "NO!" Helen cried out sharply. She felt the soft cloth being
dragged
across her belly and looked down with a sense of disbelief.
Van held the material as if it were a matador's cape, twitching it
away from Helen's body but using it to screen her pussy from view. While
Helen watched, the quick hands swished the skirt aside and them back in
place, offering the men a tantalizing glimpse of her red-haired snatch.
Helen pressed her ass against the bars and whimpered. She saw her husband
start from his chair.
'Now!' she thought with a surge of relief. 'Now he's sure! He'll make us
stop!'
But Art merely came closer, and Barry joined him. Both of them licked
their lips.
Vanessa sighed and shook her head. "You win," she said. She whipped
the skirt away and dropped it to the floor.
Helen sagged in her bonds, her flesh crawling and the heat welling at
her core. Art and Barry devoured her with their stares, and she imagined
she
could feel a physical impact wherever their glances fell. 'Like when Tony
look at me this way!' she thought wildly, reminding herself this was the
first time any man but the obstetrician had looked at her naked pussy
since
that day. 'It can't be! I'm not really here! Not naked and spread-eagled
with
men gawking at me! Oh, Mother-in-Heaven, they're raping me with their
eyes! And, Helen! You bitch! You're all excited!' Her cunt throbbed and
she
tingled. "Van! Oh, please, Van!" She felt hysteria edging into her.
Vanessa whispered. "It's working, hon! It's sinking in! Art's beginning
to realize what we've done!"
Helen shook her head, rolling it against one of the bars. "I can't stand
it any longer! Oh, Van, i can't!"
"Just a little more, honey! Let me get you another drink real quick!"
"I'm already dizzy! If I drink another one I won't know what I'm
doing!"
But Vanessa ran to the bar and poured Vodka into a glass, bringing it
to Helen without pausing to cut it with orange juice. Helen gauged the
tumblerful of clear liquid with her eye and a reckless impulse jarred her.
"Quick!' she panted. "Quick! I need it!'
Vanessa tilted the glass at Helen's lips and Helen gulped. She gasped
and coughed, then captured the rim with her lips and drank again. "I'll be
drunk now!" she exclaimed. "Oh, God, how drunk I'll be!"
She noticed that Barry and her husband were drawing nearer. The
Vodka burned in her stomach and she imagined it was already killing her
inhibitions. "Come on," she muttered thickly. "Come on, you lecherous
bastards. Get a good look."
Art stared into her eyes. He grinned uncertainly and touched her waist.
She flinched. Needles of excitement pricked her. She pouted with a longing
like the one she'd felt that day years before. 'I'm wet!' she thought. 'My
pussy's all wet! Christ, it's hot in here!'
Art stooped and kissed the bulge of her breast. She twisted her
shoulders against the bars and watched her breasts swing. Art's lips
parted
and closed on her nipple.
'I can't stop him!' she told herself wildly. 'Omigod! Omigod! I never
felt
anything like that!' She cried out, aloud. "Art! Oh, honey! Ooooh!"
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