0 comments/ 106571 views/ 4 favorites Mea Culpa By: april_memories Not intended for sale or minors... * * * * * I remember it was raining that October afternoon, the dreariness of the day bringing a promise of winter. Sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, I looked down for at least the tenth time at the Polaroid pictures that I held in my hand. One of the young girls in the photos was someone I had never seen before, but the girl that was on her knees in between the strange girl’s legs was very familiar to me. It was my eighteen-year-old daughter Cassandra. Even though in most of the photos Cassie had her face buried into the exposed crotch of the other girl, there was no mistaking who it was. Or what she was doing, either. As shocked as I was by the photos I had discovered hidden away in my daughter’s closet, I was aware of a strange but not unpleasant flutter deep in the pit of my stomach as I looked at them. Sighing, I leaned my head back on the sofa and closed my eyes. It wasn’t as if Cassie didn’t date boys, I thought. The phone we had bought her last Christmas was forever ringing in her room. Most often when I would answer the phone for her, it would be some stuttering boy on the other end asking for her. Of course other girls called her as well, but Cassie has so many friends I never thought much about it. I opened my eyes and looked at the photos once again. The girl that my daughter was performing an act of cunnilingus on was very pretty. Short blonde hair and cute face, she was seated on the edge of a chair with her skirt bunched up about her waist, her legs spread wide. There was the hint of a smile on her face as though she was enjoying what Cassie was doing to her immensely. She had the fingers of one hand entwined in my daughter’s brunette hair as if she were urging her on. I wondered idly who had been the person taking the photos as I unconsciously unfastened the front of my jeans. Only dimly aware of what I was doing, I stared at the revealing photos as I slid my free hand down under the elastic waistband of my panties. Brushing through my pubic hair, my fingers curved into the hollow of my crotch and I began to lightly rub the swollen lips of my vagina. I started to breathe heavier as the tip of my index finger found the nub of my clitoris, then I was suddenly masturbating in earnest. I was so engrossed in the sensations my fingers were giving me that I didn’t even hear the front door open when my daughter came into the house. The first I even became aware of her presence was when she laughed aloud. “Mom?? In the middle of the day?!?” I jerked my hand out of my panties and sat bolt upright on the sofa, trying to fumble my jeans closed again. My eyes were about to pop out of my head as I looked at the blonde girl who stood just inside the door taking her coat off. “Cassandra,” I said weakly, “…what are you doing home?!? You’re supposed to be in school!” I looked at the wall clock. “It’s only twelve-thirty…why aren’t you in school?” “Relax Mom,” she said, the laughter coloring her voice. “They’re having a special teacher’s meeting so we got out early.” Then as she walked toward me, she saw the photographs I still held in my hand. I could actually see her face turn pale and she was no longer laughing. “Oh wow…how did you find those pictures Mom? I thought I had them hidden.” She sat down beside me on the sofa and plucked the photos from my hand. Then a look of understanding filled her eyes. “Oh wow…they turned you on, didn’t they Mom? These pictures of me and Barb turned you on. That’s why you were sitting here doing the old ‘quick finger mambo’, right?” I knew there was no way I could lie myself out of this one. Everything my daughter had said was true. “Yes,” I admitted, feeling a blush spread over my face. “I guess they did turn me on, honey. But Cassie…are you…I mean…do you…” “Am I a lez?” she finished the question for me. “No Mom, I’m just bi-sexual I guess. I like boys too, but I don’t want to get pregnant so I don’t fool around much. Not with boys I mean. Me and Barbara mess around once in a while like in the pictures. Hey! That reminds me! Why were you snooping around in my room anyway?” “I wasn’t snooping, honey!” I protested. “I was looking for some of your old things to give to Goodwill. I stumbled on the pictures by accident.” I suddenly became aware that Cassie was looking at my lap. Glancing down, I saw that I hadn’t had much success closing my jeans. They were gaping open so that my panties were showing, the shadow of the dark triangle of my pubic hair plainly visible. Still, I made no effort to pull my jeans together. “That girl in the pictures,” I heard myself saying. “Barbara? She’s…she’s very pretty.” Even as the words left my mouth, I couldn’t resist letting my eyes fall to the front of my daughter’s sweater. I could see the small hillocks her nipples were making and realized that she wasn’t wearing a bra. “She’s very pretty,” I said, repeating myself, a shiver racing up and down my spine as I reluctantly lifted my eyes again. “Yes,” Cassie said softly, her eyes locking with mine now. “She is.” She slid herself closer to me on the sofa, casually resting her hand on my denim-clad knee. “I could give her a call if you wanted me to, Mom. She only lives a few blocks away from us. Would you like me to call her and invite her over?” My heart was hammering in my chest and I could barely speak. “It’s still raining outside. She would get all wet. Besides, I…I….” Whatever I was going to say died aborning because Cassie suddenly leaned over and kissed me, taking me by such surprise that I didn’t offer the slightest resistance. Instead I found myself returning the kiss, parting my lips to allow her tongue to spear into my mouth. I mewed kitten-like as I felt her hand move from my knee to slide down inside my opened jeans, her fingers rubbing lightly against the sensitive and swollen lips of my pussy, only the thin material of my panties between our flesh. Then with an expertise that astonished me, Cassie wormed her hand inside the crotch of my panties and a finger sank deep inside my pussy. I could hear myself moaning in pleasure as my daughter began to finger fuck me and I sucked even more desperately on her tongue... To Be Continued... Mea Culpa It's not my fault, it really isn't. I know that it's not my fault but there is a wide chasm between knowing something and feeling something. It's something that people who've never experienced that gap between reality and realization can never truly relate to but that doesn't make it any less true. Saying that it's not my fault, looking at the facts none of it helps because I should have been better. I guess now would be when I tell you what's not my fault and what a horrible human being I am. I didn't even realize how horrible I was until a few moments ago when I realized I don't really care that ther was a life lost to the world I only care that I lost someone that I loved. How selfish is that? It's not my fault that Nikki's in jail. It isn't, she was the one who was under more stress than she could handle, she was the one who failed to ask anybody for help, she was the one who snapped and killed her own infant son. It's not my fault and if it is my fault then it is also her father and fiancée's faults. I mean they were living in the same house with her any sign that I should have seen through the internet they should have seen more clearly in person. None of us saw it coming, nobody at all saw it. The thing is that I should have seen it. She'd been one of my best friends for over a decade and for a man of twenty five years of age that is a rather impressive boast. She'd been my friend nearly half of my life and my entire adult life. We'd always joked about finally meeting face to face but it never actually materialized. Suddenly three months after she's given premature birth to twins she decides seemingly on a whim that now would be the perfect time to come meet me. How much of a sign did I need before I would realize that my friend was in trouble and needed help. Needed my help and came to me looking for me to fix her because that's what I was supposed to do. When she was here the entire time she was testy and annoyed like there was something bothering her. She mentioned at least once that she really didn't care if I came around of not it was just nice to be away from her family. I imagine being a twenty five year old woman with four kids, two of them premature twins, one of which has never even left the hospital might be stressful. It's probably only compounded when your fiancée randomly doesn't come home at night and turns off his cell phone. Living at home with your father probably sucks at that point too. You see how this is my fault for not seeing the writing on the wall? We spent nearly an entire weekend almost in silence. The most talking was when she got together with my now Ex and they took turns telling me what a horrible person I am. I've never denied that if there is a worse human being drawing breath than me I've yet to meet him. I am a bad person but I don't want to change. I love who I am and what I am and I've found that there are plenty of people who seem to appreciate that I am efficient, easy to work with and brutally honest. I think the only thing that I was pissed about what that threesome I had been promised by my then fresh ex and best friend forever deteriorated into the difference between what people say and what people mean. At least drinks at Gameworks was a blast and watching her flirt with the waiter. She left on Monday morning without so much as a call though supposedly it was my fault. Of course, why wouldn't it be. Everything else that has ever gone wrong is my fault in one way or another. I've got someone working on why it was my fault that the dinosaurs went extinct but everything else to include the rise of Hitler has been successfully and conclusively blamed on me so why not this? I should have called her oh well. I was pissed because I'd spent a few hundred bucks being treated like shit by the two women who meant, who mean, the most to me. Nikki got home and we had a few brief internet conversations but we used to spend the entire day online. At the time I had a job that allowed me to spend basically the entire day online and with brief breaks for work. It's the glory of retail when you are your own boss. There is often nothing at all to do all day so you pass the time how you please. She wrote me an email about how she was afraid she didn't love her youngest child, that she only held him when she had to and too feed him but never any other time. Any idiot could tell she was suffering from Post Partum Depression, hell even my ex did. To be fair Karrin considering she can be a complete idiot about a huge plethora of things particularly how to read people and what to say she seems to have a gift for medical diagnosis. She would make a stunning doctor, like House but beautiful. Considering any idiot would have known what was wrong with Nikki and how dangerous that situation was I didn't. I guess that's the disadvantage of not being an idiot, sometimes you can't see what's staring you in the face. She called me late at night, later than is polite to tell me that her child was dead. Truth be told other than I was sorry for her I didn't care, not really. I mean how many people die everyday, how many times do you hear that some family member you had no contact with and wouldn't even have recognized if they walked past you died? It was like that, just a number harmless save for the fact that it hurt someone close to me. She told me then that the police were going to be back to ask her questions later and I didn't even think about it. I should have told her to keep her mouth shut. She ended up convicted for murder and it's my fault. If I'd seen the signs I could have done something. Said something that would have made her ask for help, or gone up and helped her myself or something. At the least I could have told her the ancient mantra of anybody who's ever been in trouble. Admit nothing. Deny everything. Demand proof. The world would still have lost a life but I wouldn't have lost her. You see how silly this all is though. It's not my fault. Its her fault. No matter what we know about PPD and its power to overwhelm the rational we are human beings and it is our duty to rise above this. I guess it's fitting that I'm in love with a monster being one myself. Mea Culpa 6th of February, 1996 It was snowing lightly. I remember the way the frost gripped the masonry at the west of the church, making it slanted in the morning shadows. The birds never sung in this sort of cold; it was as if God had silenced them until he saw fit to warmth the earth and their dry throats. The east of the graveyard overlooked the fields, flat and slate grey under the light snowfall. No one was working there, no one could see me crossing the path into the church. Not the early in the morning. Some crows landed and watched me unlock the ancient doors. I enjoyed the privacy, away from my ever clucking flock in their worn felt hats and desperate painted faces. Just for a few moments each day, I was free of the vulgar licentiousness of the ignorant congregation. I lit some candles upon entry, and prayed a little, my mind wandering as the soft light filled the glass windows, sending an array of coloured luminance across the steps. I shut my eyes, shutting out the distraction from my God. Beauty is a great temptation away from purity of thought, even for those as focused on spiritual cleanliness as I. But still, knowing the warm pallor of Eve's skin fell on my own hands left me with frustration and guilt. Nowhere is free of temptation. A shadow past the window, a small silhouette at some distance, ten foot or so from the wall of the church. I felt the light change around my eyelids and opened them in surprise. It was unlike any of the sinners to creep in here before nine in the morning at least, after a large meal and a globulous helping of powder to their aging faces. I stood and left the church, crossing the graveyard, searching for the intruder amongst the gravestones. A rather young woman, with hair blacker than soot tinged a faint auburn in the sunlight stood facing one of the old victorian graves. I would have dismissed her as some gothic fantasist and shooed her on, but her clothing stopped me. She wasn't dressed like other women her age; a plain blue velvet dress fell covertly to her knees under a beige coat, legs clad in slightly worn grey tights, a modest pair of heeled white shoes on her small feet. At first, I thought she was wearing gloves, for her hands were as pale as her heels, but as she turned I realised her face was the same luminous white as her thin hands. I could describe that face until the end of my days; deep, wide pupils that shone green and deep brown at the same time, thick dark brows and a delicate small mouth; all her features moved with a melodrama of surprise and friendliness that lit up the warmth in her soft features and blinded me with her extraordinary, striking beauty; no feature could be called exquisite in itself but the overall effect was ungodly. She was ageless, still young and fresh with youth, untouched by man and still gleaming in her features. She was around eighteen, perhaps a little older. She smiled, her eyes widening, her lips parted to reveal small white teeth. Her figure pleased me. She wasn't tall or thinly boned; her small waist contrasted with her elegant wide shoulders and long skirts. I didn't speak, nodding in response to her warm smile. I had to leave. I felt flames in my very being, warning me with a cruel intensity to run, run far from this woman whose hair alone burnt with satan's flames before me. I forced myself to turn on my heel, walking back briskly but at a pace that would not appear rude. Who was she, my mind raced. She was not one of my flock. "Are you John Callahan?" Her voice rang again, unexpected in its aristocratic, deep nature, warming my skin in the cold air. I had not been called that in many years. I turned, stiffly. "Father. Father Callahan, yes." Her eyes lit again, and she beamed at me as a lamb bleats to a wolf. She walked closer, passing the graves in an eerie billow of mist, as if it were smoke from hell. I wanted to back away, resist her presence, her sharp, unnatural beauty. "Forgive me, I'm a Quaker, we don't use titles. I'm sorry if I appeared rude." Her voice echoed slightly in the clear air, as if calling me like a siren. Oh she was Lucifer, alright. A non-believer to match. "I was wondering if I may join the service, Father. I'm trying to understand more about the way this community religion thing works, especially with my exams so soon." She was still smiling, unaware of the burning, torturous fear that was forming in my mind. The thought of her, before me, burning among the ancients, their plump flesh contaminating her youth repulsed me. "It's Tuesday.We don't have service until Sunday." My voice sounded normal, if a little deep after so long in silence. I was relieved to have thought so far. Perhaps, being so young, she would be bored of the idea by then. "Well, Sunday it is then." She pulled her hair out of her collar, the ripe curls falling to frame her doll-like face. I felt my lungs harden at the sight of her pale neck. I shut my eyes briefly, convincing myself it was the cold. God forgive me, lusting any woman, let alone one so much younger than myself. I was aging faster and faster each day. Perhaps it would do her soul good, and mine, to allow her into the scholarship of God. "Indeed, Miss?" "Cassie. Cassie Morley." "I look forward to you seeing the light of the lord." She looked down briefly, unable to make eye contact over the remark, smiling again. Her eyelashes were as dark and as wild as her hair, her wide eyes shaded a soft brown. I normally despise women in cosmetics, but the effect was mesmerising. She crossed the courtyard, her hips swaying, not with eroticsm but with confidence. In a way, it repulsed me more. A woman should have modesty in her walk, and a humble nature. These things Cassie did not possess in her character. Still, I could not break my gaze away until the last of the crows fluttered away in her wake. It was then I noticed her perfume. It was almost lilacs, with a subtle musk, refreshing after a long flowerless winter. I waited until the scent faded, savouring every moment of it. God help me, temptation was seeking me that day. Lucifer had pulled my strings with the ease of a falling cliff in a storm. I returned to my prayers at the front of St Mary's. Eve's breasts hung beneath painted dark branches, a red apple and her hand shielding her modesty. But no longer did I see an image of an ancient, fallen woman. In her full, nymph figure, I saw Cassie, her eyes burning my own into hell with her innocent smile. An obsession was born in me that day. And how it would come to consume me. And how that girl would haunt me forever. Mea Culpa Ch. 2 Oh, trust me, I knew how wrong it was. But there was no way on Earth that I would try to stop what was happening. As Cassie inserted yet a second finger into my cunt, I fumbled my hand up under her sweater to cup my palm over her youthful breast. I could feel my stomach turn a somersault when I felt her nipple blossom against the palm of my hand. My fingers squeezed gently, then I grunted in disappointment as she suddenly pulled her hand away from my vagina and rose to her feet to stand facing me. Her face was flushed and there was a glazed look in her eyes. "Mom," she said hoarsely, "…let’s take our clothes off! I wanna go down on you!" Even as a tiny voice somewhere inside my head screamed no, I weakly stood up and began to literally rip my blouse and bra off, then skimmed jeans and panties down my legs and off my feet in one fluid motion. It was only moments before my daughter was as naked as I was. I could only stand there and stare at her naked body in awe. She had shaved herself and her pussy looked as pristine to me as it did when she was an infant. Then Cassie moved forward and gently pushed me down onto the sofa, using her hands to urge my legs apart. Kneeling onto the carpeted floor, she placed a hand on each of my knees then looked up at me, that glazed look still in her eyes. "You want me to go down on you, Mommy? You want me to lick your pussy for you? You have to say it. If you want me to do it, you have to order me to do it!" Everything seemed so surreal and dreamlike at that moment in time. Yet in a burst of clarity, I understood what my daughter was asking. What she was pleading for. The words came easily to my lips. "Yes, you little bitch!! I want you to eat my pussy for me!! I want you to stick your tongue in my cunt! Do it!! Do it now!" Her eyelids fluttered and she groaned loudly as she dipped her head forward and buried her entire face into the hollow of my crotch. She began to lick me and fuck me with her tongue and I surrendered myself to the incredible sensations that her mouth and tongue were creating in my body. I draped my legs over her slender shoulders, and putting my hands on the back of her head, I pulled her mouth even harder into my crotch and ground my pussy against her face, my heels beating a tattoo on her back as an intense and nerve-shattering orgasm caused my insides to convulse rhythmically... Still naked, we sat side by side on the sofa, my arm around my daughter and her head nestled against my shoulder. Speaking softly, but with concern in my voice, I turned to kiss Cassie on the temple. "What about you, honey? I mean…do you want me to…to return the favor? You must still be…shook up." She chuckled softly and tilted her head to give me a fleeting kiss on the lips. "I’m okay, Mom. Doing you was enough to get me off! Wow!! I thought you were going to smother me there for a minute, you know?" I could feel my face flush with embarrassment. "I’m sorry, honey. I don’t know what came over me! I’ve never felt like that before. Not ever! But I want to ask you something, darling…and please be honest with me. You said that you wanted me to order you to…to do what you did. Were you trying to tell me to be dominant with you or what?" Cassie sighed and nestled her head against my shoulder again, as if embarrassed to look me in the eyes. "Yeah," she said, hesitancy in her voice. "That’s what really turns me on, Mom. I know it sounds weird and all, but it’s what I like. I don’t mean I like pain or anything like that, you know? I mean I wouldn’t want anyone to really hurt me, like burn me with cigarettes and stuff like I read about on the Internet. I just like sexy stuff, you know? I mean…heck…I guess I’d do almost anything as long as it didn’t hurt! I can remember when I was just a kid and you’d get mad at me and yell at me and make me go to my room and stuff. I liked it. Lot’s of times I’d go to my room and play with myself." As if remembering it was titillating her, she languidly reached over and began to play with my breast. "You got really great tits mom, you know?" I think this was the very first time that my daughter and I had ever really talked to one another. I was seeing a side of her that I never knew even existed. Then a sudden thought struck me. "Cassie? Who took those pictures of you and your friend Barbara?" Her hand paused in its exploration of my breast and I heard the tiny intake of breath she made. "I..I can’t remember," she said, the lie obvious in her voice. I waited a long moment, then raised my voice. "Don’t you lie to me, you little slut!!" I said, forcing harshness into my words that I really wasn’t feeling. "You tell me right now who took those pictures and don’t you dare lie to me ever again!!!" She jerked away from me as though I had slapped her, then a pouty look came over her face. "It was Uncle Roger," she said after a few seconds. "Uncle Roger took the pictures." My heart lurched as I realized what she was saying. She was telling me that my brother Roger was the one who took the photographs. I tried to keep my voice under control. "Is that all your Uncle Roger did, honey? Just take the pictures of you and Barbara having sex together?" "Heck no," she giggled, squirming herself around on the sofa so she could bend down to suck my nipple. "He fucked us too…" To Be Continued...