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False ID

By: Kathy B



The usual disclaimers apply. If you are underage, read a comic book. If you don't approve, read The National Review. Otherwise, enjoy.

*****

I'm your basic mother, wife and career woman. Pretty much in that order, too. My kids come first, then my husband Brian, then my job. My own needs were ranked a distant fourth, about even with doing housework and regular visits to the dentist.

Pretty gloomy, huh? Actually, for most of my marriage I didn't mind. I ranked things in that order because I wanted to. Nobody forced me. The kids were happy, Brian was happy, I was happy.

Until about three years ago. That's when I looked in the mirror and realized I was approaching forty and I still hadn't experienced much of life. We don't travel a lot, our tastes are simple and Brian was the only man I'd ever made love with. I decided I needed to live a little before I got too old to enjoy it.

I lost weight, got back in shape and rediscovered my sex drive. I had no plans to cheat on Brian but I wanted to rekindle the lust in our marriage. Fat chance. Smokey the Bear would have been proud; that fire was OUT. Brian never even noticed my sexier clothes and any attempts I made to spice up our sex life fell flat.

After humiliating myself a few times with silly clothes, chocolate syrup and one memorable evening out in the garage that nearly required a hospital visit, I gave up trying to arouse him. He liked plain vanilla sex, once a week, nothing else. I retreated into the bedroom to masturbate with fantasy lovers.

It worked for a while but then I just started getting hornier. The more I tried to masturbate and fantasize, the more I thought about everything I was missing. I got more and more frustrated. The kids knew something was wrong, Brian knew something was wrong, but we didn't talk about it. How do you tell your husband that his cock isn't enough any more?

Finally, I sat down and told him I thought we needed to separate for a while. I didn't tell him the truth, I just said I thought I needed some time to myself. Once he got over the shock, he actually took it pretty well; I think he must have known I was unhappy. We agreed to wait until summer, after school was over.

Apparently Brian thought about it and figured out that the only thing wrong with our marriage was my overactive libido. Two months after we agreed to separate, he came to me.

"Kathy, do you remember Connie Sutherland?"

"What about it?" I asked, not sure why he was asking. 'Connie Sutherland' was the name on a fake ID that I used when I was in college. I was almost a year younger than everyone else so I used it to be able to go places with my friends. I threw the ID away on my eighteenth birthday.

"I've been thinking. I know you haven't seen her in a while, but do you think you could give her a call? I was telling one of my vendors about her and he said he'd love to go out with her. I think she'd like him, too."

I had no clue what Brian was talking about. 'Connie Sutherland' was just a name, not a real person. "Brian, I don't..."

"I know what you're going to say, honey. You haven't seen Connie since college and you don't know if she'd even be interested. I did some checking, though. From what I hear, she could use a date. I think she's horny." He grinned.

Dense me, I finally figured out what he was saying. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Not at all. Jack Holgren and I were talking today and I just think he'd be perfect for Connie. He's handsome, witty and a lot of fun. When I described Connie, he got really excited. I think they'd have a great time together. I promised him I'd set him up with her," he finished.

I was in shock. I couldn't believe it. My husband wanted me to go out with another guy! "Brian, are you sure this is a good idea?. I mean, we're already having problems." "I think it's just what everybody needs, Kathy. What do you think?"

Stunned, I nodded. "Ok."

"Perfect. I told Jack I was sure Connie would agree. I made arrangements for him to meet her at Fiddler's bar at eight. Why don't you take a shower and get ready." Before I knew what was happening, Brian herded me into the bathroom.

While I showered, I tried to decide if I should go through with this. Brian was willing to let me go out with another guy but he wanted me to pretend to be someone else. Well, our marriage was almost shot anyway. What difference did it make? Besides, if I didn't like the guy I could always bail out.

When I got out of the shower, Brian had already laid out one of my best outfits, not super sexy but low cut. I quickly dressed, opting at the last minute for heels rather than flats. As I came down the stairs, my son asked where I was going. I started to stammer but Brian interrupted.

"A friend of Mommy's has a date tonight and your mother is babysitting for her."

"Why are you dressed up?" quizzed my daughter Ashley.

"After her friend gets home, she and Mommy might stop for a drink," Brian smoothly replied. Satisfied, the kids went on their way. Brian gave me a big grin and herded me out the door.

I got to the bar and was surprised to discover that Jack was a tall, well-built black man about five years my junior. I was nervous but he immediately put me at ease, smiling and shaking my hand.

Dinner went quickly. I constructed a life for 'Connie,' close enough to my own to remember the lies, but with a few extra flairs. Jack was very attentive and I realized at the end of the meal that Brian was right; I was very attracted to him.

After dinner, we sat in the bar for a couple of hours, chatting and dancing a little. I had a great time, better than I'd had in years. Despite my attraction to him, I still didn't know what to make of the whole situation so I gently refused when he asked me back to his apartment. He walked me to my car and we kissed for a few minutes, Jack's body pressing me back against the door. I let his hands roam freely over my breasts as he pressed his erection against me. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter as Jack drove his tongue into my mouth and squeezed my nipples through my dress. When he pulled back I was gasping for air.

Finally we said goodbye, setting a date for the following week, and I hurried home. The house was dark but Brian turned over as soon as I got into bed. "Well, do you think she liked him?"

I smiled in the dark. "Yes, I think she did. You never told me he was black. Why did you choose him?"

"I know Connie," Jack replied. "I think she needs a chance to cut loose. I'm just trying to help."

I hugged him in the darkness. "Thank you," I whispered in his ear.

The next night Brian told me he'd been talking to Jack. "He really likes Connie," he said. "He said she has a great body and he loves her tits. I told you they'd be perfect. He can't wait to get her in the sack."

"You talked to him about it? What did he tell you?"

"He told me everything. She was sucking on his tongue and dryhumping him, right in the parking lot! He said her tits were huge, practically falling out of her dress." Brian came up and nuzzled my neck. "He said she was really hot!"

"Is he always going to tell you about their dates?"

"You bet. I made him promise to give me the skinny before I set them up. I thought you'd have fun hearing what a slut your friend is."

The next week went fast. Brian and I were getting along really well. Every night he would talk about 'Connie,' discussing how sexy and horny she always seemed to be. All the talking made me really horny but he never initiated anything. By the time my next date with Jack rolled around, I was climbing the walls.

This time when he asked me back to his apartment, I readily agreed. We were barely inside the door when he peeled my dress off. I moaned as he hefted my breasts through my bra, then quickly pulled it out and let them swing free. He knelt and sucked on first one nipple, then the other as he worked my stockings and panties off. I gasped as I felt a thick finger push deep inside me, then pull out and stroke my clit.

I don't know if it was the arousal from cheating on Brian, the thrill of being with a black man or just great technique, but I was so horny I started thrusting my bottom onto his finger, trying to climax. He teased me, though, pulling out every time I got close. Soon I was whimpering incoherently.

When he stood up it was my turn. I stripped his shirt and ran my hands over his well-muscled chest and flat stomach. When I knelt to pull his pants down, my lips brushed his erection. I kissed it through the cloth, blowing hot breathe onto it. Finally I pulled his underwear down and got my first look at his cock. It was beautiful. The color was a rich, dark, chocolate, the head a slightly lighter shade. It was large and thick, much bigger than Brian's. Bigger even though it was semi-erect, a fat tube arcing out over a large set of testicles and down toward the floor. I slipped a hand over it and lifted it toward my mouth.

I've given Brian lots of blowjobs through the years. Birthdays, Christmas, promotions, each one often was rewarded with oral sex. I never truly enjoyed it, though. It was an obligation. I wanted to suck Jack's cock, though. I wanted to take it as deep in my mouth as I could, I wanted to feel his knees buckle as he groaned in ecstasy and I wanted to feel his nuts tighten as he pumped a load of cum into my stomach.

I did, too. I couldn't take his whole cock into my mouth, it was just too big. I settled for polishing it until it shone in the dim light, then sucking as much of it in as I could. It didn't take long for him to shudder and start pushing his cock into my mouth as I felt the underside throb. Soon a hot jet hit my tonsils, followed by several more blasts of his thick seed.

Jack never lost his erection. He pushed me down onto my back and pressed his cockhead against my cunt. I was so wet he entered me easily, bottoming out in about four strokes. He grabbed my boobs and lifted them to his lips as he started pounding me hard. His cock was so big it rubbed my clit as it slid in and out. Within minutes I had my first orgasm of the night. I was screaming and thrusting my hips up against him as he drove in deeply. After two more orgasms, I finally felt him stiffen and fill my cunt with his cum.

We eventually moved to the bed where we had sex three more times, ending with him fucking me doggie style, fucking me as hard as he could while my boobs swung wildly beneath my chest. Afterwards, I licked his cock clean.

When I got out of bed my knees were so weak I could hardly stand. I felt like I'd run a marathon. Moving slowly, I dressed and made my way home. After a long hot shower I fell into bed and was instantly asleep.

The next night, Brian could barely wait for the kids to go to bed. As soon as they were tucked in, he told me he'd spoken to Jack that day.

"I told you Connie's a slut, Kathy. Jack says he fucked her silly but she couldn't get enough. She loves his big black cock." Brian went on to describe my previous evening in complete detail. I got wet again, just hearing it. "So what does Connie think of him?"

"I think you're right. I think she needs his big cock. I think she needs a chance to be a slut," I replied, looking at him to see if he flinched.

To my relief, he grinned. "Well, she'll get that chance with Jack. He can't wait to get some more of her pussy. He promised to tell me all the details, too, so I'll let you know how it goes."

I grinned. "I can't wait to hear them."

"There's just one thing," Brian said. "Jack's afraid he might not be able to keep up with her, she's such a cockhungry whore. He's thinking of setting her up with some of her friends, too. Do you think she'd like that?"

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "I think Connie is so horny she could take on anybody he wanted."

"That's what I told him," Brian said. "You wouldn't believe some of the ideas he has for her."

False Imprisonment



Having visited a morning magistrate's court in one in one of the UK's major cities some years ago, I was a little surprised at the way many cases especially of prostitution were pushed through at such high speed. Thinking back on my visit day the bones of this story emerged. I am sure what happened below is surely not possible, or is it?

Tony woke up with a start as the cell door clanged and a police officer walked in with his breakfast. 

"Here you are miss, you had better hurry up and eat, you are in court in fifty minutes." 

Tony sat up slowly, his head was thumping and then he realised that he had a bandage on his arm. He could remember nothing clearly about the previous evening, except that he had drunk an awful lot of wine. He sat up carefully his head thumping and looked down at his clothes and he realised that he was still wearing a skirt and blouse and he still had his black fashion boots which were his pride and joy. On the other bunk were his fur wrap and a handbag which was also part of his female clothes.

Tony struggled to think about how he had got here and realised that the gaoler had called him "Miss" and Tony knew that was definitely wrong. He had a very big and very active 18 year old cock under his skirt constrained by a pair of ladies briefs. He looked at the handbag and realised that it belonged to Rita. It was full of her make-up and her driving licenses with her a photo. Tony had to admit that the photo did look very like him. In fact Tony had always modeled his female appearance on Rita, and they were much the same size. 

Although Tony was a transvestite. He was not gay, but like many men he enjoyed dressing as a woman and last night had been a meeting of like minded chaps of the Beaumont Society. Rita was his girl friend, she was nineteen and a part time prostitute and a neighbour of his. She had a strong interest in the TV community and attended meetings to help and advise members with their make-up and dress. She gave Tony especial attention and in fact they were also casual lovers as well. Quite frequently they would swap clothes and she would help him with his shopping to buy his girls clothes.

Tony knew Rita had been in court for soliciting a few times and she had a young daughter of three, who he was very fond of, so if she went to Jail her daughter would be taken into care by Social Services and he knew Rita would do anything to avoid that. Tony began to remember now that when the police had arrived on the scene of the fight, she had pushed her bag into his hand and snatched his bag.

They had got a sort of loose arrangement, that one day they would perhaps marry. She had for a long time had a key to his apartment and Tony guessed that was where she would be hiding now. After a few moments and a cup of nearly cold tea his memory of the night before started to become clearer. He remembered, how that they had both been arrested and the police had taken them to casualty to have their slight injuries dressed after they had been attacked by a bunch of young thugs and a fight had developed. At the hospital, Rita had pleaded with him to keep the change of identities with her as she could not afford to go to prison and have her young daughter placed into care. 

The hospital had been busy and the change of identity was no problem as they had their injuries treated. Rita had used his femme name of Jane and had produced his credit card with his feminine name on as proof of her identity. It was one of those cards with a photo on which was not terribly clear. As Tony's name was not known to the police she had been released with a warning and Tony now impersonating her, was being charged and prosecuted as a common prostitute.

It seemed terribly unjust when the fight had been deliberately started by trouble makers, none of them had been arrested and Rita or Tony having being charged as a prostitute, when she was not soliciting, or had even been the subject of a complaint by a member of the public.

Tony vaguely remembers later being charged as Rita Stubbs and being brought to this cell. He presumed that very soon his real identity would be discovered and they would have to release him, but he was almost sure the police could not charge Rita after making such a big mistake over his identity when he was arrested. So in fact she would be in the clear. Tony was a little surprised that his true sex had not been discovered last night, either by the hospital, or here at the police station. 

As he was pulling himself together the cell door opened and a policeman came in with a bag of clothes and toilet gear. 

"Your sister brought these in for you." he said, as he dumped the bag on the floor.

That must have been Rita, bless her she had sent him changes of clothes and toilet gear and make-up, together with some safety razors, so Tony quickly washed and renewed his make up, changed his blouse and skirt into something more modest and waited for his court appearance. 

Tony stood no chance in court, the lady magistrate in summing up said after Tony had pleaded "Not Guilty"

"You are a menace to the people of this city. You have had plenty of warnings in the past, Rita Malloy and you even lie about your identity, therefore, I have no hesitation in sentencing you to three months in prison and one year's suspended sentence. Let us hope that it will teach you a lesson. If you offend again then you will be rearrested and returned to prison to serve the full term."

Tony had been given no real chance to speak at all and so here he was now at Parkgate open prison for ladies, with three other girls also sentenced for soliciting at the same court. One girl looked at him and said.

"You ain't Rita Stubbs." 

Tony put his finger to his lips and went "shhh."

She smiled and guessed Tony was up to something and had a little giggle as she whispered to the other girls. 

Tony whispered to her "I am a bloke in drag." 

He explained what had happened and they thought it was a big giggle. They were not going to shop him for certain and were obviously looking forward to the fireworks when it was discovered that Tony was a man. They were taken inside to face two middle aged aggressive lady warders and a male warder. They were told the prison rules and were told they could keep their own clothes as this was an open prison. Their entire personal luggage was searched.

Then came the command "Strip off girl's time for your search." 

The first girl went into a cubicle with a female prison officer and came out looking a little flustered her face all red "the fucking cow" she murmured.

The second girl went and Tony knew that soon the game would be up for him because as soon as he was undressed they would soon know that Tony had an eight inch cock where there should be something much more feminine.

Then came his turn as Tony started to slowly undress in the cubicle the woman prison officer stood impatiently muttering "come on girl". Then suddenly a loud bell sounded "stop there" she said and went rushing out. Tony finished undressing, but after about five minutes he decided to dress and went back into the reception room. The girls were grinning as they guessed Tony had not been searched. 

"The one girl whispered "You lucky bastard, saved by the bell." 

Tony was also thinking that if he could gain a little time it would give Rita a better chance to get away if that was what she wanted to do. Tony noticed that the girls were treating him like a hero and one of the girls whispered that this was the normal weekly fire drill and each officer had to go to a predetermined fire station. Tony stood waiting and eventually one officer came back smiling to herself. 

A senior warden came in and asked "Do you need any help Mary?" No Liz thanks, we are all ready to take them to their rooms, we have done the searches as she initialed their record sheets and they can have the medical with the others tomorrow."

After a few moments having been read the rules of the establishment again which showed the chaos of the prison that day? The three other women Liz, Mandy and Lee were put in the same room as him. The door clanged shut and Liz obviously the leader closed in on him. She kissed him boldly on the lips and as she did so she was feeling under his short skirt. Her hand embraced his cock which was now well and truly excited.

She turned to the other two "Wow girls we have something very special here."

She turned to Tony "The one thing we miss here is a little bit of cock now and then, so darling you are going to be kept very busy."

She pushed him back on the bed stripped his girlie panties off and took his cock between her lips, stretching her mouth wide. It was incredible, so hot and wet; she ran her tongue around the head of his cock. It felt good but he wanted more of his cock in her mouth. He could hear the other girls giggling and laughing as they waited their turn with him. Tony knew that he was probably in for an exhausting time. As Liz started sucking, with just the head in her mouth her mouth seemed stretched to extreme. Her cheeks hollowed as Liz increased suction around the tip. Still the need to push deeper in her mouth was overwhelming. 

That is when he snapped, with his hands gripping her hair, Tony pushed his hips forward. At first he was not very forceful and only a half inch more of his penis slipped past her lips. Liz was resisting further intrusion causing him great pleasure. It was a chain reaction, the harder Liz resisted him the harder Tony pushed and the deeper he got. To his mind Liz looked beautiful as she did with him trying to cram his cock down her throat. As hard as Tony was trying though, he barely had two inches in her mouth. As it was, her mouth looked impossibly stretched. 

His orgasm started to boil and when Liz looked up at him with her gray eyes, Tony started to spurt. "Oh Liz!" was all that Tony could moan as Tony let loose. Tony not sure if Liz tried to retreat from his cock, his hands were straining to pull her face even closer to his groin. The orgasm shattered his brain, each spurt of cum rang through his spine sending him to oblivion. Tony felt Liz swallow each load Tony was giving her. He was in heaven; he never wanted it to end. But it did.

His senses slowly returned to him, yet Liz continued to milk the last drops from his spent cock. Tony was in love with Liz's mouth. Finally, Tony released his fingers from Liz's hair. She gingerly slid her lips off his cock, causing another tremor to hit his body. 

"You are going to be a real joy with that thing aren't you," she said with surprisingly little malice. "You mean if I get past the medical somehow tomorrow."

"We will get you past that - no problem." Liz replied, "But you have to understand that favours have to be paid for and one cock between about 300 women - wow are you going to be busy"

Liz giggled at her statement. While she had been talking Liz was now spread eagled herself in front of him. Tony was between Liz's legs and his still hard prick was banging against her wet panties in an instant. He did not want to kiss her because he did not want to taste his own sperm. So Tony went for her neck and ears. Tony continued to push against her panties covered pussy while Tony bit her neck and nibbled her ear, for a short time. 

Then Liz whispered, "You're a bastard." 

But her hands spoke a different message and not only moved her panties to clear his entry; they also guided his cock to her wet hole. Even just the tip sliding inside of Liz's pussy was amazing. So warm and wet, not to mention she was incredibly tight. Instincts over took him and Tony continued to press his hips forward. Liz's pussy was tighter than her mouth but gave way much easier to penetration. Liz was panting so loud in his ear that Tony could hear nothing else.

It seemed Liz yelled in his ear. "Wow you are big you are stretching me too much." 

Instead of slowing he down her words spurred him on. Liz's pussy stretched to fit all of him. 

"You are my slut now aren't you Liz," Tony asked.

"Always Rita dear anytime... you want," Liz rasped. 

Tony pounded that pussy hard then. His only concern to relieve his self the burden of his orgasm. It did not take long before Tony started shooting again. Tony pushed himself as deep as he could, spraying the depth of Liz's pleasure channel.

Liz yelled at him. "Don't cum in my pussy you bastard." 

Of course it was too late, so Tony said," It's too late now and I'm filling you up slut!" 

Both Liz and Tony were breathing heavily with his thick cock still deep in her stretched pussy. Tony was not finished though, his penis was still erect and he began to once again slide back and forth inside her tight pussy. Liz was trying to push him off but Tony continued to pound as deep as he could.

Liz's eyes rolled back in her head, her body started to shake and "Bastard" was the only intelligible thing that came from her mouth. Liz's body was arching against him, giving him better access to continue. Tony was not in a hurry now that he had already blown his load twice. Liz's pussy was grabbing his cock tightly and Tony could feel every part of her love tunnel running along his cock. 

Then Liz stopped moving under him as her body tensed for a moment and then relaxed and then tensed back up. Tony knew that she had orgasmed. His orgasm started to build in him, unlike before when his body just reacted. His slow pace was no longer enough and Tony again began to pump his cock faster into Liz's sloppy pussy. Liz was so wet that it sounded like waves slapping against a dock every time Tony rammed into her.

That is when Tony came again for the third time, a jolt of pleasure went through him and he lost consciousness in sleep. When he awoke Mandy was lying by his side, whispering, "You little bastard. It's my turn now and you are all shagged out but I can wait." 

Mandy smiled at him and without using her hands took his slick cock into her mouth. Tony slid up enough so that she could get at him. But he knew that it would be some time before he could be ready again. Eventually Tony managed to satisfy all the girls although Lee had to wait until after the evening meal. Then they talked and Tony explained his situation. The girls thought it was all fun and then Tony said.

"Yes but "But how about the medical tomorrow?

"Don't worry honey that can all been fixed." Liz said.

Tony began to realise that the girls had a vested interest in keeping him well hidden. They were the keepers of his identity and they could control and use him to get favours for themselves.

The medical next morning went quicker and easier than expected. The list for medical inspection was twelve girls of which three of them including Tony were blondes. The doctor was a local retired GP who acted as prison doctor part time. He was assisted by two qualified nurses who were also inmates and who very efficiently organized the deception. One girl named Sybil had two inspections one posing as Tony and the whole procedure went quite smoothly.

Sybil and both nurses came for payment in kind that evening and during the next day, Tony began to realise now that being a stud in a female prison had its down side and even the girls began to worry how long it would be before someone snitched his identity to the Governor. It would be a miracle if someone did not tell. However, the girls kept Tony well occupied and for some six weeks the secret held, until one day a new warder arrived at the prison.

Tony saw Miss Tina Robins the new senior warder looking intently at him one day and he felt a little uneasy. His suspicions were confirmed when the following day she followed him back to his room.

"Who are you girl?" she asked quite aggressively. "I know you ain't Rita Stubbs. I know her from way back."

Tony having decided that the game was up and beginning to think a rest from the continual demands on his services would be welcome. 

"No, you are right I am her boyfriend. I told the courts that I wasn't Rita but they would not listen." 

So then Tony told the whole story to Tina. Tina saw the funny side of the story and said with a wry laugh. "Well I guess we are going to have a few surprise pregnancies round here shortly." that should really piss off that cow of a governor."

Tina was a nice looking mousy blonde girl of about 26 years, nice features and a good body. She thought for a moment." I will do a deal with you. Look after me properly and I will keep quiet Rita." She said with a smile.

He looked at her and quickly got the message. She stood on tip toe and kissed Tony on the lips and at the same time had a quick feel of his groin. She had a big smile on her face when she stepped back.

"See you later Rita."She said with a smile as she left.

It was about 3.00pm that day when Tina sent for him. The working parties in the garden had finished for the day and the tool store was locked and empty. She had arranged a bed in the corner from old potato sacks and covered it with a sheet. Locking the door from the inside she turned to Tony. Her hands went under his blouse and up his chest, feeling him and removing his false breasts. Their lips came together and they were soon kissing passionately. 

"Take me, Tony. Right here. Right now. I need you to, to, uhh, uhhh, so good, that feels sooooo good." 

Tony quickly had released her bra from behind and it slipped down to the floor. He unbuttoned her blouse and her nipples were already hard and distended. She moaned as she leaned against him. 

"Get undressed, Tony. Now!" 

As he unbuttoned his blouse he felt her undoing the belt on his skirt, his skirt dropped to the floor quickly followed by his panties releasing his cock into full view. He kicked his shoes into the corner to face a fully nude Tina who wrapped her body tightly round his. After a minute she dragged him by the hand to the makeshift bed in the corner. They lay down close to one another enjoying the warm feel of each others body 

Tony then moved down and started to suck and nibble on her breasts. "Oh, Tony! That's lovely she muttered." As her body started to respond." She let out a low pitched moan of pleasure and started squirming. He lowered his body to suck her "Oh My God!" Tina exclaimed as she felt Tony's hot breath, soon followed by his mouth, on her cunt She began shaking and groaning in excitement as he got to work in earnest..

Tina was no virgin; she had been dumped by her long term boyfriend also a prison officer and she had asked for a transfer. She had in the past had several lovers, but none had treated her like this or given her this level of pleasure. She was receiving more pleasure from Tony, than she had ever received before. Soon her body was bucking and thrashing wildly, her pelvis rising up to keep in contact with the lips and tongue of her new lover. Soon the pleasure became almost unbearable and she could feel her orgasm building...

Tina's body became stiff, her legs wrapping round his head to try and keep him there, "Yes, yes! I'm coming, Tony, I'm coming!" but he worked loose and was able to watch her as she came down from her high. He bent over and started to smother her face in kisses, followed by her breasts which he nibbled, eventually moving to her neck. She opened her eyes and stared at him. She now realised that she had never before had a proper orgasm. Now she knew what an orgasm was. 

Then Tina started to fondle his cock, she was amazed as it grew to full size as she masturbated him Tony pulled away from her and pushed her back on the makeshift bed. She became even more excited as she knew what was coming. Tony knelt between her parted legs guiding his massive cock to her love tunnel. When he made contact, he rubbed the head up and down her wet slit, teasing her, just a little. He knew he could not hold out himself much longer.




False Imprisonment



Tina began begging him softly, her eyes looking up at him expectantly. "Put it in me, Tony, 

Please. I need it, I need you." He shifted his weight forward and the head of his large cock pushed gently into Tina. She sighed loudly and then began to gasp as he pushed gently but firmly inside her. He was soon fully inside her and for a moment he rested as he felt her muscles expanding and contracting round his large cock, reveling in the sensations. 

Her legs crossed around his back, holding him in place. She looked up at him again with a look of 

lust in her eyes. Tony looked down at her. For a moment he felt as though he might come straight away and he desperately hoped he could hold out for a while. Her legs relaxed a bit, allowing him to begin to move in and out of her gradually building up speed and within a few moments he was fucking her with a great deal of vigor. 

All of a sudden her body began to stiffen up, she started to groan and moan uttering incoherent words. She threw her buttocks up slammed her crotch at his cock, making sure she had him all inside her cunt to the bottom. "I'm coming, Tony. You're making me come again. Oh my GOD!"

He could feel her muscles spasm round his cock almost as though she was milking him; the sensations overwhelmed him, as he too came deep inside her. She was hyperventilating again as Tony withdrew his cock from her, lifted her into his arms, and held her close, kissing her gently on the mouth as her body gradually came to rest in his arms. 

"So where do we go from here?" He asked Tina. "If I had my way I would give you life darling as long as I was your prison officer, but we have to be realistic. Your sentence is up in a couple of weeks and you will be released on parole. I could be in big trouble if this ever came out that we have been fucking. I suspect that you may have made a few babies while you have been here. In which case the shit will really hit the fan. But if you can keep my name out of it I would be obliged."

The two weeks passed quickly and most days Tony managed to meet Tina in the garden shed. Strangely his absence caused little comment and he learned that several of the girls had missed periods. There however seemed to be a consensus that they would not report to the doctor until Tony had left the prison. When he left he was a little bemused to see a dark haired girl running to meet him. It was Rita having dyed her hair and with her arms outstretched.

A week later there were big headlines in two Sunday Newspapers.

"Parkgate open prison reports 23 inmates pregnant"

The paper went on to report on the mysterious pregnancies. The Home Office said a full investigation was taking place. However within a few days someone in the prison gleefully told the prison authorities how they had all been fooled. The Governor resigned and three prison officers were suspended including the prison doctor.

Later this was followed by two police officers who were disciplined and a magistrate who was forced to resign. Miss Tina Roberts was promoted to Acting Governor but maintained her pregnancy had nothing to do with events at the prison.

Within a few days the police came to interview Rita. Tony was present and told the police the whole story. This was followed by national Newspapers one of whom bought the full story for an excessive amount of money. Together with photographs of Tony dressed as a woman and Rita. Following the wedding Rita and Tony decided to immigrate to Australia.



False Innocence



It was our first week in college, and the life of a college student was extremely different for two small town girls. Although we were complete opposites, we were instantly friends in middle school. Now, the relationship bloomed into a mature and very close one. I grew up in a strict home, but rebelled in high school, becoming very experimental with sex and all forms of pleasure. I, Melinda, was a beautiful young girl with bright green eyes, dark hair and a womanly form.

My best friend, Lauren, was my antithesis. She grew up in an open home, but maintained a very sheltered lifestyle, preferring to live her life through me and my mistakes. She was a little spitfire though, with piercing blue eyes, and shiny blonde tresses. We admired and loved one another as only two best and completely trusting friends would. But, the college atmosphere would soon change all of our views. 

One morning when I was finished up in the shower, I walked into our tiny dorm room to find my roommate, Lauren with her nose to the screen of her laptop. What was on the screen is what caught my attention, and completely shocked me. 

There were all sorts of flashing figures, most of them women, alone, completely naked, and spread eagle fingering their cunts and making obscene noises. I had quite frequently looked at porn and pleasured myself, but I had never known my roommate to ever be interested in it. She glanced up when she noticed my presence and tried to hide the screen. 

"No need," I said matter of factly, "I already saw what you were looking at." I walked over to the mirrored vanity with the towel wrapped around my still dripping body. We had become pretty open with each other over the past few years. So, the embarrassment she must have felt at first noticing my presence soon dissipated. 

"I was just bored," She said with a sort of sigh. I slipped on some panties under my towel and then let it fall to the ground. Topless, and unabashed, I started reaching up to my tangled hair to comb through it, knowing that holding my arms up like that, created a perfect profile of my buxom breasts. 

Having lived together in a confined space for several months now, made both of us rather lacking shyness about our nudity. Still, knowing this, I looked over my shoulder to gauge a reaction from her. She was openly staring at me, and stuck out her bottom lip quite becomingly. 

"Its not fair," she said breathlessly again, "I wish my breasts would grow."

I chuckled at that, noting that it made my breasts jiggle slightly. "Your breasts are perfect. Stop complaining. These big old things just get in the way." I finished combing through my hair and wrapped it back up into the towel to dry some more. Then I sauntered over to the bottom of the bunk beds and sat on Lauren's comforter. 

Her eyes followed me the entire way. "How come if you're looking at porn, you are completely dressed?" I asked genuinely, "Kinda hard to orgasm with clothes restrictions." She averted her eyes sweetly, so as not to offend or make me uncomfortable at her looking at my chest. But her eyes darted to them frequently. 

"Oh, well, I've never really, you know, touched myself before. So, I wouldn't know how." She paused for a long time then. I wondered what was going through her mind, but she soon had it out. "Actually, I know this sounds silly, but I was just looking to see if I could figure it out and maybe try it. I know its stupid, but I don't even know what and where my- 'clitoris' is it? – is."

I raised my eyebrows at her comment, but in all actuality it didn't surprise me. She didn't allow boys to get anywhere near below her waist in intimate situations, she once confessed to me. She said it made her uncomfortable for a boy to know her body better than she did. 

"Well, you can't really see it from those pictures on the screens. Let's see if there is a diagram somewhere." I leaned over the computer then to search for it myself, one of my naked breasts now touching her bare arm. I did not want to admit that it was turning me on. Her little white tank top was very thin, and I could see her tiny nipples poking out clearly through the material, giving away her state of arousal too. I thought about how great it was that both of us were comfortable enough in our sexuality to be able to view this kind of thing and it be an ordinary event. 

I finally came across a sketching of a vagina from the front, that had all the labels of the different names of parts. She turned her head to the side, and looked at it as though it were a foreign object and not something she herself had too. "There," I pointed out, "that's the clit." Her brow furrowed and she slumped back. 

"Is that really what it looks like?" She feigned. I was actually shocked at that.

"You mean to tell me you have never looked at yours? How old are we, 19? Are you serious Lauren," I asked dumbfounded. She blushed at that, and I bit my tongue. "Sorry," I added, "do you see it now?" She shook her head and looked a bit embarrassed. Trying to figure out a way to make amends for being a little mean about her innocence, I shimmied back onto the bed and opened my legs slightly so that the picture on the screen looked similar to my position. 

She looked at me quizzically. I dropped my eyes to where I was putting my hands and proceeded to pull aside my panties until my womanhood was in full view. I was sexually active and found that boys liked it better if I was shaven, so there is no doubt Lauren had an unobtrusive view of all of my pussy. With one hand I pulled open the folds of my cunt and slid my fingers up to my nub.

"That's my clit," I said still studying myself I was a little moist from the earlier contact but didn't think she would notice, "it's a little nob full of nerve endings, its pretty much the best spot to touch when you are masturbating." 

At that point I raised my eyes for the first time to her face and saw a completely different Lauren than I had ever seen before. Her eyes had this faraway look to them, filled with a yearning, and her face was not blushing red, but more like a crimson, only adrenaline from sexual excitement could cause. The look made my loins instantly start to wet. 

Caught in her web, I felt the need to go further. Almost like in a trance, I slid my fingers down my shining cunt to my opening and stuck a finger in. The feeling made me close my eyes a bit, savoring the contact. Then, realizing I wasn't alone, I tried to play it off as more of the instruction.

"When, you masturbate, I, uh, suggest stimulating your opening, uh, as well as your clit." I fumbled over the words as though I had a stutter, her eyes never leaving my womanhood. The smell of excitement was overpowering now, hers and mine, and I had to think of something fast before I couldn't hold myself back anymore. 

As though she were reading my mind she said huskily, "show me how Melinda, please." It was the perfect excuse to finish now; I laid back in ecstasy as I put another finger in my dripping sex. I pumped the fingers slowly at first then reached over with the other hand to diddle my clit for a while. Then up again to my breasts to pinch on a taut nipple. The whole time I looked at her face, her beautiful, familiar face, still flushed and now sweat forming on her forehead. 

I was on the verge of it, I could feel it forming, the sensation of a limb falling asleep and the tingling sensation afterwards, only over my entire body. My toes curled up and I bucked my hips off of the bed needing to penetrate further, my breasts swaying with my motions. 

I had closed my eyes tightly but when opening them briefly, I caught sight of Lauren. She had somehow managed to take off all of her clothes and was sitting naked on the edge of her computer chair with her legs draped over the sides of the armrests. Her fingers were following suit of mine. Finger-fucking herself, not like a novice would, but that only a woman that had pleasured herself often would know how. 

My mind was too much in a jumble to sort out what that meant, but only watched with awe as we pumped in synchronization. Her womanhood wasn't shaven like mine, but trimmed to a perfect 'v'. Her swollen lips were enveloping her tiny fingers like a vice, and the pink inner flesh was shimmering with moisture. 

All that could be heard were the moans that escaped and the damp sounds of our movements. I couldn't reach it, it wouldn't come, my orgasm just kept building, and I couldn't find relief, it was agonizingly bittersweet. She seemed to be having the same trouble now having pushed in three fingers. 

Sweat started pouring off my chin, acting as an accomplice of the cum dripping off of my hands onto her bed. I noted a puddle had formed under her chair, and the temperature in the room seemed to have raised a hundred fold. Just as I was about to scream out my frustration, her screen flicked on from being in standby mode, and a movie she must have downloaded started to play. 

Two beautiful girls were toying with one another, and one knelt down in front of the other. She dove into the other girl's cunt, and started eating her heart out. The moans of the girls rivaled any I had ever heard. But I soon topped it, when Lauren jumped from her chair and crawled clumsily up to me. Nothing was said as she without hesitation buried her face into my vagina. My hands found there way down to her little breasts, needing to touch her flesh. 

She completely forgot about her own pleasure, and started to finger me instead. Her tongue flicking my tender clit, two fingers in my opening, and one finger suddenly forced into my rosebud. Needing all of my openings to be filled, she then stuck her index finger of her other hand into my mouth. At that moment, while switching between watching the profanity on the screen, and looking down at my innocent roommate finger-fucking, and eating me out like a pro, I came so hard everything went dark…..

To be continued…



False Memories



"Mr. Kisaragi, my severance check is in the mail. Once it comes in, I can pay the rent in full!"

"No, Tom. You live in this apartment for months, you pay for it! I'm making it easy for you. I let you have extra time to pay and you still can't pay. No money tomorrow, no apartment! No money, and you leave. But you still pay for living here. I know people who can make you pay."

Once Kisaragi slammed the front door of the complex, the woman standing next to Tom hugged him and broke out in tears.

"I wish I was back home, Tom. Why did we move so far away?" she asked.

"It's okay, Jean, I'll try to talk to him again."

"He sounded like he was part of the mob or something, threatening to make us pay. I think he's serious about this."

"Okay, but he's gotta understand--" Tom was cut off by a strange man tapping his shoulder. He put out the cigarette he had been smoking under the awning of the building next door.

---

The stranger had introduced himself as Mr. White and offered to pay off their debt as well as the next month's rent. The price for this lunch, he explained, would be an hour with his wife. Mr. White let them discuss it in private.

Tom stalled, reminding her "Marriage is a sacrament, Jean!" He was unsettled by her quick acceptance of the proposition, but he had no other solutions. As Jean said, this was preferable to living on the street running from whatever goons Kisaragi might send after them. Tom eventually broke down, unable to find an alternative to White's offer. Jean said they could be forgiven because of their predicament, but Tom wondered how long it would take. She also tried to take the blame for their problems, scolding herself for overspending on frivolous things – dresses, yoga class, cutlery. He stared into her eyes, seeing nothing but sadness, and he knew his eyes must have looked the same to her.

"Hey, you always tell me how guys don't connect love and sex, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, but that's other guys. You know what I think," Tom replied. 

"Well, try to think of it that way now. It doesn't mean anything. I'm just gonna get him off real quick and it's done. Then we've got our money."

"He could be some sick psycho fuck – I mean, he is, doing this to us. But he could be dangerous," said Tom.

"Get the gun."

"That's what I was thinking."

"It'll be all over soon, sweetie. Just one hour, that's it. I'll make sure it's the worst sex he's ever had." Jean kissed his forehead down to his nose to reassure him, something they had done since they started going out. Mr. White approached and cleared his throat.

---

Tom took a box from the closet and popped the clips open. The Colt Single Action that his grandfather had given him sat inside. Just looking at it made his churning stomach settle a bit.

By the time he opened the door to the bedroom, the two had already started. Jean stood shirtless, her pants undone. White pulled on one of her belt loops and her pants joined her shirt on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, tonguing her like a desperate schoolboy. She reluctantly allowed him to probe her mouth, standing still as a statue until they moved onto the bed. Tom sat down in the chair next to the bed and placed the gun behind the nightstand outside of White's vision.

White removed his tongue from Jean's mouth. "The more your wife takes off, the more beautiful she looks. Say, why don't you undo her bra for us?"

"It's okay, I can do it," she said, reaching for the clasp.

"No," White said forcefully. "Your husband will do it if he remembers who has the money here."

Tom sighed, slowly reached for the clasp, and popped it open. White spoke: "Good, now get rid of it." Tom pushed the straps off her shoulders and threw the bra on the floor. Helping White undress his wife wasn't part of the agreement. What next, he wondered. Will he ask for Jean to be served to him on a decorative platter?

"Your wife has an amazing set, Tom. I can't imagine how you can keep your hands off these things for more than an hour at a time," White said as he groped her chest rather obnoxiously. His mouth soon followed, his lips clamping around her nipples.

Tom's prick gave a little jump. He scolded himself silently for the arousal that had bubbled up into his loins. It was Jean, that was all. He could never stay soft around her when she was nude, whether or not some other bastard was running his dirty little fingers all over her and suckling her breasts as if they were his property.

After a few minutes, they stood up and White directed her to disrobe him. She matter-of-factly pulled his shirt and pants off. He pushed her to her knees while she pulled the waistband of his tented boxers. White gave Jean her next command once his fully erect member came into view. She wrapped her breasts around it and stroked up and down.

"It's hard to find a pair that'll give you a real quality titfuck, eh?" White said. "I bet you love doing this to guys, don't you, Jean?"

"Y-yes," she stuttered.

"You don't have to answer him, Jean," said Tom.

"Your wife just wanted to be polite, right, Jean? I know you'd rather not be getting me off right now. I want you to be open and honest about what you're thinking and feeling from now on, okay?" White stroked her hair and Jean froze for a moment as if in a trance, then resumed squeezing her breasts around his cock. "What do you think, Jean?"

"You're a sick, twisted motherfucker who takes advantage of whoever you can. I wanna cut that gross little dick of yours off!" She paused. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry, I can't believe I just said that. You...you'll still give us the money, right?"

White smiled. "It's okay, Jean. I told you to be honest, so you were. That's all I wanted, I don't need you to act for me. All right, why don't we get you ready for the main event."

White and Jean sat on the edge of the bed, then White looked over at Tom, who was festering in the corner. "Hey, we can play together for a little bit. Come sit on the bed."

Tom did so cautiously, wondering what White was scheming. White continued to give instructions: "I'll work on her lips while you rub her clit. Now, take her panties off and spread her legs for me." Tom played along again, moved next to Jean, and pulled her panties down to her knees. White took them the rest of the way and threw them on the floor as Tom pried his wife's legs apart. Fingers ran over her skin and darted toward her pussy, each one following White's instructions.

"How does it feel to have two men working on you at once?" asked White.

"You're not gonna get me off, White. Pieces of shit like you don't get me wet. It'll be like fucking sandpaper and you'll wonder why you spent so much money for it."

Tom smiled at how mouthy Jean had become. Of course, it didn't help White's cause that Tom had been keeping his fingers as far away from Jean's clit as possible without being noticed.

"That's because Mr. Amateur over here doesn't know how to please a girl. If you want something done right...." White removed Tom's hand, then thrust his head in between her legs and lapped at her lips. She gave a quiet grunt of surprise as his tongue swirled around her clit. Her head pressed hard into Tom's leg. White's thrusts intensified in tandem with Jean's moans. Wetness spread across her lips.

"No, stop," Jean whispered. Redness crept across her face – she had vowed not to enjoy this. But this Mr. White seemed to know just what turned her on, as if he had been her lover for ages.

"Don't you enjoy sex, honey? Don't you love when a man brings you to heaven with his tongue?"

"I made a promise – to Tom and myself – I wouldn't feel anything, and I definitely wouldn't cum."

"Jean—" Tom snapped in surprise.

"Oh, sorry, I don't why I told him that, I just keep—" her sentence was cut off by another groan.

"Sex is to be enjoyed, Jean. I think you should reconsider that promise." White resumed licking after he was done speaking.

Jean grabbed Tom's hand and squeezed. "We'll make it through this. It'll be all over soon." Tom stared at her face in his lap, looking with horror at the effect White was having on her. She was getting more and more aroused. It felt as if she were experiencing true sexual pleasure for the first time. Whatever White was doing to her produced the most intense feeling she had ever experienced. Holding back was becoming more difficult by the second. All the signs pointed in the same direction – her nipples stood all the way out, her skin was flushed, and her moaning was only getting louder. It wouldn't be long.

"Please, stop," she tried to plea. Her words were now punctuated with breathy sighs. "I'm wet enough to fuck. Just don't make me break my promise. Don't make me cum."

"Yes, that's it. Let us know what you're thinking," White said.

Jean squirmed around in her husband's lap, still begging. Some sort of ominous feeling took hold of her and she shivered. She couldn't tell what, but she began to feel that something terrible would happen if she gave in. It seemed as if the more aroused she became, the more she wanted to do exactly as White said. And White had already somehow made her think out loud. Something wasn't right here. It wasn't just about the promise, it was fear of what White intended, and what he could do. 

"Please, don't make me cum. I'm a good girl. I love my husband. Please don't make me cum!"

"Don't talk like that. It'll only encourage him," said Tom.

"Sorry, it's just—" She squeezed his hand harder as she moaned. "I don't think I can hold back anymore, baby. It's so fucking good. I've never felt anything like this."

"Just try, honey." Tom rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, trying to use that contact to remind her who she loved. She continued babbling in her fits of pleasure, her words degenerating into grunts. No one could try hard enough – it was like trying to block an overflowing dam with nothing but your bare hands.

"I'm trying...it's too –" Jean let out a series of yelps as one part of her body writhed in Tom's lap and another did against White's lips. Tom stroked her arm as if trying to comfort her, but it only added to the orgasm that tore through her body. Once the whole thing slowed to a halt, White looked up from between Jean's legs.

"Your wife looks like she's ready to make love now," said White as he rolled her over and pulled her up by the hips.

"I'm – I'm sorry, Tom. I just couldn't help it. I still love you." The ecstasy in her eyes had turned to regret as she slid toward White.

"It's okay, honey, I know," said Tom, trying to reassure her. "I love you too."

"How sweet," White remarked, moving Jean's hips upward so he could take her from behind. The head of his engorged member now prodded her lips.

"Hey, put that condom on first!" Tom yelled at White, pointing to a square wrapper on the nightstand.

"Okay, boss, but that wasn't part of the deal, so you'll have to do it yourself if you want me to wear it that bad." White got off the bed and walked over to Tom, getting close enough so his penis throbbed right in Tom's face, nearly poking him in the eye.

"Get that outta my face, I ain't touching that!"

"Fine, use your wife's hand then, or we're doing it in the raw." White tore open the wrapper and stuffed the condom into Jean's hand. Tom cursed himself for not setting up any clear stipulations in this contract.

"Honey, just listen to him, make things easier. I'm not doing this without protection."

Tom groaned and then grudgingly took Jean's hand in his, moving it toward White's prick. She took care of the finer motions required to fit the condom around his head while Tom pushed her hand forward so that the rubber stretched down his shaft. The two hands pressed forward until the condom was fully unfurled. White quickly grabbed the hands before they retracted and forced them up and down his shaft rapidly so that Jean's hand was jerking him. Tom didn't even have time to react until White pulled away after a few violent strokes.

"Glad to see you're so willing to help us make love, Tom."

"Yeah, do you want me to thrust your hips for ya too?"

White laughed as he took position behind Jean again. Tom still didn't know what to make of the fact that he had just stroked White's dick, even if it was by the proxy of his wife's hand. White must have reveled in humiliating him almost as much as he did in fucking his wife.

Jean let out a moan as White's dick slipped into her with no resistance. She resented the fact that she was still turned on and was now dripping onto his member, but she realized that she was helpless at this point. White was unreal, as if he possessed some kind of sexual magic.

"It's okay, baby. Not much longer," she told Tom. He glanced at his watch. Goddamn, still half an hour of this shit left. As White thrust into her, she leaned forward to give Tom a peck on the cheek. It felt unconvincing, like a timid goodnight kiss after an awkward date.

The thrusts increased in speed until the sound of skin slapping against skin. That overwhelmed expression Jean had worn when White ate her out returned and she started letting out little yelps of pleasure again. She was propping herself up using Tom's leg, her hands rubbing up and down his thigh with each of White's thrusts. The arousal that had left Tom's loins when he had put the condom on White began to return. Watching Jean get hammered while her hands stroked his legs so close to his crotch caused him to swell. Tom was about to move when White hit Jean with a particularly strong thrust, causing her to yell and bury her face in Tom's lap. Her mouth enveloped the bulge in his pants.

"Oh my god, are you hard?" asked Jean.

"It's not – I just – it's a physical reaction!" Tom yelled. It was, in fact, intriguing and arousing to see what his wife looked like having sex from an outside perspective. However, he wanted nothing more than to go soft. Enjoying this would mean becoming part of White's sick game.

"Oh, that's good, Tom, you're enjoying yourself. That's great. No reason why this shouldn't be fun for all of us. Don't leave the guy hanging, Jean. Give him a little something so he doesn't feel left out, you know, a few strokes and licks."

Jean obeyed and reached for Tom's zipper. "No, don't do that." As much as his cock ached for Jean, the thought of doing it while White violated her was too disgusting. Too late, though, as she had his pants undone and her hand wrapped around his shaft. She switched between stroking, teasing licks, and holding it in her mouth. The latter was the worst, as vibrations from her moans and lashing tongue drove his member wild. Those moans originated a few feet away, caused by White's rod driving into her. The impulses traveled through her nervous system, commanding her to vocalize, connecting him with White. White was making her purr with joy on top of her husband. Tom shuddered as his arousal grew and kept him from moving away.

"That's right, sweetie. Give him what you gave all those guys on the football team," White said.

"What? What are you talking about?" asked Jean.

"You remember...the football team," White pressed on.

"No, I don't...." she trailed off in confusion, then spat out, "Oh, yeah, when I blew all those guys in the locker room, sure. I'll give Tom what I gave them."

"What?!" Tom cried.

"I—" she had blurted out her last sentence just as she had let her other thoughts into the open when White asked her to be honest. But this time, she wasn't even sure what she was talking about. "I don't even know what I just said. I swear I never did that! I don't remember that!"

"Why would you say it if you didn't mean it?" Tom asked. Despite their mutual shock, her hand still felt compelled to stroke his member. She seemed to go into a trance – Tom now resembled some husky linebacker. The memory was surfacing. 

"I'm sorry, it..." she choked up. "It was true. But it was in sophomore year, before we even started going out, Tom. I know it's gross, but I never cheated on you. I love you."

She recounted the memory as she now experienced it. There she was, the locker room, her hand wrapped around some jock's dick. The jock reached out, unzipped her skirt, and pulled off the top of her cheer uniform. Two more players showed up and sat silently next to the now nude couple, pulling their pants down. Jean started working on all three of the hard-ons in front of her – sucking, licking, stroking. Before long, the entire team was present and unloading on her, shooting down her throat and coating her skin in cum. 

Fuck, did that actually happen? It didn't seem real, it seemed much closer to a scene in some porno she had watched. But something in her mind was telling her that that had happened. Was it possible for memories like that to be repressed?

Tom was too distracted to respond as she redoubled her efforts on his member, her tongue swirling around it ever more rapidly. Her own arousal was reaching a critical point again from White's constant pounding.

"Tell us how it feels, Jean," White said.

Jean propped herself up on Tom's leg again. "Gonna cum...so good." She was too close to the edge to formulate full sentences.

"He's done something to you, Jean. I don't know what, but you've got to fight it," Tom whispered to her.

"I can't...feels so good...need to cum." She was merely panting her words.

An electric feeling seemed to radiate forth from all points of contact with White. Even the simple touch of his hands, which he had wrapped around her waist to steady himself, felt incredible.

When her orgasm hit her, Jean's arms gave out and she fell forward, engulfing Tom's member in her mouth. Tom's dick pulsated inside of it, screaming to be sucked, for direct stimulation. However, the feeling of her orgasmic wailing alone wrapping around his cock was enough to put him right on the edge.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna cum, babe, all over you," White said, picking her up and rolling her over. Tom's dick ached for release, but he was too embarrassed and shocked to do anything about it. White snapped off the condom and released onto Jean, grunting like a troglodyte. Streams of white liquid splashed against her, splattering onto her cheeks, her chest, and finally her stomach. A few stray droplets landed on his own leg. Tom groaned as he saw his wife covered in White's semen while obscene noises poured from his mouth.

Tom reached for a towel to clean White's vile juices off himself and Jean, but he was already pushing her head toward his softening dick. "Suck me, get me hard so we can fuck again." Tom valiantly reached toward Jean with the towel, catching a drop of cum that ran down her breast and fell off her skin. However, White grabbed the towel and flung it away before Tom got any closer. "She's fine. We'll clean up later."

Tom retreated to the chair next to the bed. Unfortunately, the focal point of the view from there was filled with Jean's haunches thrust out in the air. Her pussy glistened as she sucked White with a gusto that Tom had never seen. A feeling of resentment grew in him, watching her succumb to White and hearing her story about the football team. At first, he had just wanted to kill White, but he felt the urge now to slap Jean as well.

A bulge formed in one of Jean's cheeks, signaling that White was ready to fuck again. White stood up and got off the bed. He maneuvered Jean so that her legs hung off the edge of the bed and he stood between them, pushing his head against her lips.

"Hey, condom!" Tom remembered as he saw him about to push in.

"Don't be so uptight, Tom. She didn't use one when she fucked Roger."

"Roger?" Tom asked.

"Go ahead, tell him," White commanded.

"What do you mean? I never fucked –" she stopped, her eyes seemed to glaze over. "Oh, yeah...."

"Yeah," White repeated using her tone of recognition. Through the whole conversation, he had been rubbing his member against her pussy, threatening to penetrate her, pushing her lips apart ever so slightly, and dripping his precum all over her.




False Memories of Belfast?



I came across this story some time ago. I was searching Literotica for stories set in Belfast, since it is my home town. I was somewhat shocked by it. It is a non erotic story, and supposedly (from the claim at the start) "mostly true". To me it seemed mostly false, and damagingly so. It portrays Belfast and The Troubles in a light that is so far removed from reality, and so close to the sort of mythos that fuels murder and terrorism, that I found it disturbing to read on this site. 

It may seem trivial to some -- a silly story in an obscure part of the site, read by only a few hundred people -- but to me it is deeply insulting, a trivialisation of a real life and death struggle, real suffering, real pain. A trivialisation that offers succour to some of those who created that pain, justifies their unjust war, and lays the seed for new murder and mayhem.

I support free speech, but not falsehoods. I hold myself to be an Irishman, but not a terrorist sympathiser. I believe in democracy, and tolerance, not the bullet in the back of the neck or the cowardly carbomb. Moreover I lived through The Troubles, had friends and family injured and killed, watched others profit from the death and mayhem they fomented, and heard the lies they spread to justify their greed and power hungry manipulation of the young and ignorant people they twisted to their ends.

This story is an insult to the truth, to those who died, to those who where injured, to those who endured, on all sides and none in the sad conflict that blighted our little part of the world. 

A conflict that was funded largely by Americans who believed the sort of nonsense this story presents. 

It is sad to say that there are still some, particularly in America, who are prepared to fund terrorism in Ireland, to pursue a dream that is shared by no-one who lives here and sees what peace has brought us. Extremist, unrealistic, romantic and foolish die hard (kill hard) Republicans are raising money now to start their campaign of bombing shopping malls and shooting taxi drivers, torturing people who fall in love with members of the community they say is the enemy, and driving forward their (let us be honest here) unrealistic Marxist derived view of a free socialist republic. It is a view they keep hidden from their American backers much of the time, just as they hid the fact that they dealt with Libiya, supported the Palestinians, the Cubans, the Sandanistas, ran heroin into Dublin and New York, and still run prostitution and protection rackets throughout Ireland. 

The happy truth is that now that the IRA have stopped their murder campaign all the civil rights and the benefits of being a modern democracy in Europe that we wanted in the 1960's are in place. Indeed they were in place in the early 70's and the terrorist campaign has achieved nothing that democratic and peaceful protest could not have gained decades before. 

There is no support now for a return to those dark days, and while genuine grief and pain and resentment lingers, it is tempered by hope and forgiveness -- we do not need this false fear and pain and lies and bitterness -- we do not need the hatred and outrage that this story tries to raise through ignorance and misplaced romantic idealism. Thefacts were bad enough, without these lies, and we are strong enough to move on, and need no-one to spout this old rubbish that plays only into the hands of the power hungry and the unscrupulous who seek to overthrow democracy and impose their will by force of arms.

But that aside, let us look at this supposedly "mostly true" story and see just how much can be questioned. My notes are delimited thus **(this is a note)** I fully acknowledge the copyright of the original author. quotations from the text are for academic study and fall into the category of 'fair use' for literary criticism. 

Memories of My Return to Belfast

By Jenny_Jackson©

Occasionally, a story has to be written. This one is mostly true. The incidents really happened much as portrayed. For my loyal readers, this story has been in my head for a number of years waiting for its time. Its time is now. Hopefully you will understand it and the bitter memories I have carried most of my life.

"Have you heard from Sean? He was arrested in '79."

**(From the start it is suggested that Sean, a name few Protestants in Northern Ireland would use, is from a Catholic and republican background, and that Jenny shares that background.)**

Jenny shook her head. That was all she could do. So many dead or arrested. Arrested was the same as dead back in those days. That meant Long Kesh Prison or, if you were lucky, transferred to London's Newgate. But that seldom happened. Long Kesh was for "terrorists," as the British thought of them, while Newgate housed common criminals. The Irish thought of the inmates at Long Kesh as political prisoners or maybe even freedom fighters. It all depended on your point of view.

**("So many dead" it should be pointed out that terrorists killed ten times the number killed by the Army and police on active duty - this story suggests that the security forces were responsible for large numbers of deaths - in total it was fewer than three hundred over forty years. "Arrested was the same as dead" IS this figurative? It is certainly not true that those arrested were automatically killed -- indeed the number of deaths in custody was extremely small. "Long Kesh" was by 1979 HM Prison Maze, which was a fully integrated prison for all criminals, not just terrorists, although it had sizable populations of both Republican and Loyalist. Prisoners were never transferred to jails in England unless their crimes were committed in England, and they were tried there. Often prisoners tried in England were transferred back to Northern Ireland to serve sentences so that they could be closer to their families. The idea that it would be lucky to be transferred to Newgate, a cramped and overcrowed Victorian prison in London rather than the modern, spacious and well equipped Maze prison is laughable. Also many of the Irish thought that those in the Maze were terrorists, who had bombed bars and train stations and town centres and killed thousands of innocents. It was always a very small minority who thought of them as freedom fighters or political prisoners.)**

Staring toward the windows that fronted The Fountain Inn at the corner of Castle Lane and Fountain Street, Jenny thought back to those days. Belfast was much different then. Many of the corner pubs were burned out shells from the bombs. Occasionally, one could hear a car bomb explode or gunfire and wonder who had died, hoping it was a Brit and not a brother. British soldiers, heavily armed, stalked the streets continuously both in groups on foot and in armored vehicles. It was a frightening time.

**("back to those days" this is ambiguous -- by 1979 the IRA campaign of car bombing and bombing pubs had tapered off, as the leadership of the IRA realised that murdering civilians wasn't getting them anywhere. "many of the corner pubs..." How many? From my memory, living here, it wasn't many. Also they tended to be rebuilt very quickly, with the compensation money given by the British Government to all those who were affected by the terrorist attacks. "Occasionally one could hear a car bomb explode" Very rarely after 1974 -- IRA tactics changed, and gunfire was not a regular occurrence -- certainly if you were in the Fountain Tavern post 1972 you would never have heard a single shot. As for the British Soldiers heavily armed -- yes they carried rifles, and wore flack jackets, but the armoured vehicles were not tanks, nor did they mount machine guns or heavy weapons -- they were mostly reinforced Land Rovers, that would not compare to the sort of thing seen on the streets of Iraq or Afghanistan, or the armoured cars used by US SWAT teams.)**

On the 23rd of May in the year 1976 Jenny had been shot in the abdomen by a British soldier while sitting with Sean in the Castle Pub. Tensions were high. Fear was ruler of Ulster in those days. After surgery and a three week hospital stay, the Jackson family decided to leave Belfast.

**(There is no Castle Pub in Belfast. No-one was shot sitting in a pub by a British Soldier in 1976. Or any other year. This sentence is gratuitously throwaway, as if this sort of thing was commonplace. Any shooting in such circumstances would have been followed by a full investigation -- why was the shot fired? Where charges brought against the shooter? Why not? And why would this prompt the family to leave Belfast?)**

Jenny looked up at Linny, knowing both her parents had been killed in a car bomb in '76. That same day, the government put her in an orphanage and changed her life so much. Jenny supposed she had been more fortunate. Her father had been arrested and hanged in Long Kesh as a terrorist. Unjustly so in her mind. But enough of this. Jenny's mind shifted back to Sean. They had been young then. They were in love and talked about a future together. But that was only another heartbreak in a long series it seemed.

**(So many things to comment on here. Firstly, no couple were killed in a car bomb in 1976. Secondly, who would have planted this bomb? The carbomb was the weapon of choice for the IRA, and on a few occasions, Loyalist terrorists, but not after 1974. So Linny's parents are supposedly killed by terrorists -- we should remember that. But why was Linny put in an orphanage? Had she no relatives at all? Policy in the UK has been to place children with family if at all possible, or foster care. But now we get to the first massive untruth -- Jenny's father was Hanged in Long Kesh. No-one was ever hanged in Long Kesh. No-one was judicially executed in Northern Ireland. The death Penalty was removed in 1974, and no terrorist or murderer had been executed since the 1960's. If the Jenny in the story is supposedly the Jenny writing the story, and this story is "mostly true" then we should point out that this is one of those bits that is absolutely not true.)** 

Thinking back she could hear her grandfather and mother coaxing her. "Hurry up. We have to go."

"Go where? This is our home."

"Not any more. The provos and the soldiers..."

"To hell with them. We haven't done anything."

"Neither had your father but look what happened. They don't care about your guilt or innocence. Just that you're Irish."

"I'm not going. I have friends here," Jenny said defiantly.

"Friends like Sean. He's with the Ulsters. They'll hang him."

**(there is great ambiguity about the phrase "the provos and the soldiers." the implication is that the family is under threat from both the provos -- the Provisional IRA, a republican anti british mostly catholic marxist terroist group -- and the soldiers -- presumably the British Army. This is possible, but unexplained why both groups should be a threat. "just that you're Irish"... well, the provos would probably approve of you identifying as Irish, and the British would not much care -- after all they didn't actually hang anyone for being Irish, and given that about half a million people in Northern Ireland would identify themselves as Irish that makes sense. And here we come to another massively confused and misleading part - "Friends like Sean. He's with the Ulsters. They'll hang him." As was already noted, Sean is most likely Catholic. While there was never a group or organisation that I know of who were referred to as "the Ulsters" it is notable that "Ulster" tended to be used by Loyalist -- ie, protestant, not republican- groups. So why would Sean be with a Loyalist terrorist group? Also, who will hang him -- again, there is no death penalty in the UK. This strongly suggests that the author is ignorant about the legal system, and the political divides in Northern Ireland.)**

Reluctantly, she went. First a long train ride to Dublin, then a car at night to Wexfprd where money changed hands and we boarded a fishing boat for England. Ultimately we got to Liverpoole and boarded a ship bound for New York. Grandpa had some money in his pockets, but we had little else.

**(This is one of my favourite bits of nonsense in this story -- why take a fishing boat to England? There is a ferry from Dublin to Liverpool. What possible reason could there be to pay a fisherman to sail for probably 20 hours across the Irish Sea to smuggle you into England? And why travel to America by ship? There are no ferries that do that trip -- cruise liners possibly, and cargo ships, yes, but again, why are they being smuggled into the US? Why didn't they just go to Shannon Airport and get a direct flight? Or fly to Heathrow from Belfast and then to NY? What is this the Scarlett Pimpernel? Utter nonsense.)**

The Jackson family stayed in a boarding house in the Harlem slums for a few days. Every day, grandpa went to the Western Union office to send telegrams to our relatives in Washington State asking for money. Eventually an uncle sent us train fare. 

Those were the horrible days of Jenny's life. Those were the days of adjustment and loss. The days passed slowly and the memory of them would burn into her mind forever.

Jenny was certain her mother had been right. Sean had been hanged along with so many others inside the walls of Long Kesh. What happened during those turbulent times was a crime against, not just the Irish,, but humanity itself.

**(Do I have to say it again -- no one was hanged in Long Kesh. Not a single person. The crimes against the Irish and Humanity line is pure nonsense. I am Irish, I lived throughout this period in Belfast, not a single menmer of my family or anyone I knew was hanged -- it just didn't happen.)**

Eventually she did adjust and push those memories to the back of her mind and lock them away in a dark, private place. In time even her brogue began to fade - but not entirely. Idiom would still sneak in. Things like "me" instead of "my" as in, "I saw me mother at the store." Even now that sounded right to her ears, even though she knew it was not correct English.

A lorry passed on Castle Lane and turned north onto Fountain Street bring Jenny back to the present.

**(since Castle Lane and Fountain Street has been a pedestrian zone for years, ever since the centre of Belfast was closed to traffic to stop the IRA planting carbombs in it, I find that unlikely. Also Castle lane is very narrow, ad can only be entered by driving up over the wide pavement of Royal Avenue - why would a lorry go up it?)**

"Jenn? Are you all right?"

"Yes. Yes. I was just thinking."

"About Sean?"

"About those days. How it was, you know."

Linny reached out and touched Jenny's hand. "It was a long time ago, baby."

"I know." Jenny was silent for a moment. "Have you asked the McDermotts about Sean? They seem to know everything," knowing in her heart that Sean was lying in some unmarked grave east of the city along with the other terrorists killed back then.

**(Who killed and buried these terrorists? What are the names of the victims? Numbers? Are we talking tens or hundreds or thousands? Because there are no reports of any of that happening that I am aware of. No one I know of disappeared apart from a few that the IRA kidnapped and killed. There are no outstanding cases of anyone having disappeared after being arrested by the police or captured by the army, who would then hand them over to the police. This is again just pure nonsense.)**

"They haven't heard either," Linny said with a frown. "I asked them about a lot of people we knew. They showed me a list on the internet. I started to go through it but I couldn't. So many we knew are dead."

"Patty Murphy? Charlie?"

"Both. Patty in a pub bombing. Charlie murdered in an alley behind Lukey's pub."

"Others?"

"Yes. But I couldn't read much more. I started to cry."

Jenny reached out and picked up her glass from the table and took a long draught. The whiskey burned her throat but it was a welcome feeling. The burning quenched the tears that were beginning to well in her own eyes.

Jenny looked up into Linny's eyes. "And now Mattie."

Linniy shook her head. "Yes. Now her too."

"I remember her dancing. It was almost as if her feet flew. She was so light on her feet. And that smile. And her laugh. I can still hear her laughing. What was that? A month ago? Two? It seems like only yesterday."

"Two months," Linny said sadly. "When she went home she said she didn't feel well."

"I know. But...? That's not right. She was so..."

"Full of life," Linny finished the thought.

"Is it time? I want to get this over with soon. I'll be stinking drunk otherwise."

Linny smiled. "I'm not so sure Mattie wouldn't have appreciated that, Jenn."

Jenny sat upright, steeling herself. "Alright then. One more for the road." She waved her nearly empty glass at the barkeep.

"Alright, Jenn. Then we have to go."

Presently, another glass of heavy irish whiskey was delivered to the table. Jenny picked it up, raised it high in the air. "To Mattie McDermott. Best friend a girl ever had." Then Jenny tossed the whiskey down in a single gulp and stood. 

Together the two women left the pub and began the walk down Fountain Street to the church. Just a block down the street they caught up with Mattie's daughter Sarah who was walking slowly ahead of them.

"Ah, Sarah, me darl'n," Linny said putting her arm around Sarah's shoulders. "Tis a sad day, indeed."

Sarah turned her head toward Linny. "She loved you well, Linda. And you too Jenny."

Jenny reached out and took Sarah's hand to squeeze. "And we loved her too, me girl."

At the corner, the three stopped to look at the church. "What will ye do now, Sarah?"

**(There is no church on Fountain Street)**

"I don't know," she said sadly. Then straightening her back, "Maybe I'll travel and see the world."

Jenny squeezing her hand said, "Come back to the States with us, love. We would love to have you."

Sarah smiled. "Maybe I will for a while. There is nothing to keep me here."

Linny leaned in and kissed Sarah's cheek. The three women crossed the street and climbed the thirteen steps to the door of the church, opened the door and disappeared into the gloomy darkness inside to say farewell to a life long friend.

**(there is no church in the centre of Belfast with thirteen steps up to it)**

Mostly true? I think not. Not a single word of it. 



False Memories



Once again, the words had seemed to come from nowhere. But then, to her surprise, there she was, in the bridal dressing room with Roger knocking at the door.

"Well, before we got married, I fell in love with Roger and we fucked!" White pushed into her as the word "fucked" left her lips, turning it into a half-word half-moan.

"Tell us, Jean, tell us how you fucked your husband's best man," prompted White. Jean struggled to speak as White slowly moved in and out of her. The memory took hold of her again, just as the previous one, and the words seemed to pour forth.

The rehearsal had just finished and she was stepping out of her dress when Roger walked through the door. She had told him to meet her here. When he saw her, he pounced, saying how he couldn't wait any longer. They fell to the floor, both lips and hips locked. Wasting no time, Roger pulled at the lace on the front of her corset frantically until it was loose enough to force open. It was the same corset Tom had made her wear for their entire honeymoon, the same one she wore whenever she wanted Tom's attention. It came open and Roger pulled her panties away, thrusting into her. They both rutted and squealed as if they were in a barnyard. Finally, Roger pulled out, his hips bucking wildly. He shot indiscriminately – Jean, the floor, the corset, the train of the wedding dress. At least white blended with white.

A few days later, Jean sat in the same room in full regalia. Roger burst in once again. The two of them knew there were only a few minutes left so he unzipped and she hiked her dress up. The white fabric crumpled against them and formed a ring around her stomach. They screwed as fast as they could and it was over soon enough. Roger pulled out and unleashed a stream of cum onto Jean's thighs and the inside of her wedding dress. Roger smiled, no doubt like a waiter who had just spit in his customer's food. "So close," she said. He gave her a few quick rubs until she started shaking. She let out a loud yowl as she came on Roger's hand. The sound was swiftly overpowered by the organ bellowing first few notes of the Wedding March.

Her chest heaved and her breath went ragged, making her next words difficult to spit out. "Oh, what's wrong...with me today? What's happening? I swear I couldn't even remember doing these things until now."

Telling the story had made Jean even more aroused. She was laying on her back, eyes closed but mouth gaping. Tom merely grunted in exasperation. Jean and Roger. The people closest to him playing Judas together.

"What's going on here, White?!" barked Tom.

"What's going on is that your wife is finally telling you what a naughty little girl she's been. Now don't be so modest, Jean. Tell us what else you've done," said White

"I don't know what you – oh!" Jean screamed and panted in pleasure. "I'm gonna cum. Stop, don't do it!"

"Do what, Jean?"

"Don't make me cum. You're doing something strange, I know it. Something's happening to me!"

"Yes, Jean, you're experiencing real pleasure."

"No, it's – Oh, I do need it! I'm cumming!"

"That's it, Jean, now tell us." She was still squirming and yelping in orgasm as she spoke.

"Oh! The mailman, the old guy – oh – across the street...."

Her list just went on and on. All those men must have violated every crevice of her body, just like White, corrupting her. Since they had gone steady in high school, he thought only his hands had touched her. No, maybe his dick throbbed in her mouth as so many others had. Maybe her hands had rubbed and stroked other men as much as they had him. After the initial shock wore off, two and two collided in Tom's head. He reached for the gun behind the nightstand and pointed it at White.

"Get your dick out of my wife, you piece of shit!" White jumped back in surprise while Jean screamed and fell off the bed. Tom's questions came down in a torrent. "Don't move! Now, what the fuck is going on here? What did you do to my wife? Did you drug her? How do you know these things? Have you been spying on us?"

"You won't believe me if I tell you, Mr. Slater. Now lower your weapon," White replied.

"I don't give a shit! What the fuck is going on here?!"

"Okay, Mr. Slater, but don't ask for another explanation. You see, when I know a woman, I know a woman. That is, the more I've pleasured her, the more her mind is open to me, the more I can do with it. So what's happened here is that—" White paused for a second and as he did, there was a thud as something struck the back of Tom's head.

---

Tom awoke to find himself tied to the bed. Jean was facing him with White taking her from behind again. Her hand reached out and stroked Tom's member as he cursed and struggled and continued to yell "What the fuck is going on?"

"I'm sorry, Tom. Mr. White said he wanted his full hour or no money, so we couldn't let you stop this. We were scared, too, with you waving that gun around." She paused to give a few licks and sucks to his hardening member. "And, well, I was having fun."

That aching feeling returned to Tom's crotch as Jean continued. "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't realize I was just a little trashy slut. I don't deserve you, I've been cheating on you since we started going out, and I can't believe it either. I guess I just buried those memories somehow, for our sake."

The sincerity of Jean's apology was weakened by the fact that her words were punctuated by moans and the sound of White's hips slapping against her ass.

"No, this can't be true!"

"But it is. Your wife is nothing but a fucking slut, desperate for cock!" White yelled as he slapped her ass and drove into her pussy over and over.

"Don't talk to my wife like that! And you, Jean, you're lying. You're drugged up!" Tom hollered.

"No, Tom, it's all true, I fucked every guy I could when you weren't looking. I just can't help myself." Her moaning continued, sounding like she was having the best sex of her life. She wrapped her lips around Tom's dick again. Her face seemed alien for the first time, caked in White's semen and full of lust. White seemed alien as well, looking like some horny football player, Roger, the old man across the street, all these things at once. 

A pang of need shot through his balls. He needed release like never before, but getting it from this unfamiliar Jean, this prostitute of a wife would be humiliating, especially with White inside of her.

Jean now alternated between sucking him and describing every incident of infidelity in painful detail. The stories were so intricate – how could she be lying? Why would she be lying?

Lick, slurp – "...and then he exploded inside me..." lick – "and he pulled out and it was still shooting all over me...."

Visualizing her stories while she blew him was arousing him in spite of his predicament. He was close to releasing now, wanting to so desperately but knowing he would be ashamed when he did. Jean licked up and down his shaft and squeezed his now tender scrotum. Looking at her face again, he changed his mind. Yes, he thought, if she wants to act like this, I want to shoot all over the little whore. He imagined her face soaked in his cum, letting it drip down her face and mix with White's. That would be an appropriate look for her.

The moment Tom's cock went rigid in preparation to shoot, White said, "Let's try another position." He lifted her off the bed and Tom's cock popped out of her mouth, leaving it twitching and leaking in frustration. "Sorry there, Tommy-boy, but the two of us need some alone time."

White lifted her off the ground and rammed her back against the wall. The shelves rattled as they slammed into the wall repeatedly. Jean wailed breathlessly, "Oh god, Mr. White, it feels so good to be fucked by someone who knows what he's doing. I want you to shoot your load in me – I'm gonna cum soon..." Smash, smash, smash, "Oh, I'm cumming!"

They both let out wanton yowls as the shelves rattled harder. White's cum dripped from Jean's pussy back onto his shaft with each thrust. One of them must have put the gun on the shelf when they knocked out Tom, and with one final pound, it fell from the shelf and discharged.

"Ooh, hope no one's asleep," said White. Jean's legs unwrapped from around White's torso and she fell to the floor.

"You fucking bastard! And you goddamned whore!" Tom screamed, face completely red. "You've fucked with me long enough! Untie me!"

"Can't risk that, Mr. Slater," said White. Jean nodded in agreement.

"You fucking slut!" Tom managed to get his finger to his mouth and pulled his wedding band off with his lips and spat it at Jean.

"All right, then, I never wanna see you again either, Tom! I'm finished playing the good girl for you. You can't accept the fact that my sexual appetite is too big for you, so we can't be together."

"Jean!"

"Sorry, honey, Mr. White has a nice place, a car that runs, and he's an animal in bed. He has everything I need. He can take care of me, but you can't."

"Call me Jim, baby," White chimed in.

Tom burned from a combination of rage and shame. He was bewildered that she acted more dignified than him in spite of the fact that she was covered in semen, some of it dried to her skin and some now running down her leg. The two started dressing while he squirmed on the bed, grunting "Lemme go!"

"I can't stand these clothes anymore. How could I wear these? So fucking modest! Help me with this, Jim." She pulled at the midriff of her flared blouse and then at the side of her skirt. White came to her aid, gripping the cloth of her blouse. The midriff tore off, leaving just the cloth above the cinch and baring her entire stomach. White then tore slits all the way up her skirt so that it showed off every inch of her legs as she walked.

"Better, honey?" White asked, wrapping his arm around her waist. With her torn up clothes and pussy still dripping semen, she looked as if she had just come from some low-budget casting couch.

"Yeah, so much, babe," Jean replied.

"Hey, Tom, one last thing. My lady is a little messy. You should help clean her up," said White.

Jean walked over to Tom. "Good idea." She picked up the discarded towel and wiped off her face, then said, "Now it's your turn."

"Don't do this to me, Jean!" Tom yelled as she positioned herself over his erect member. She ignored him and lowered herself onto it. His head slipped between her lips, forcing the leftovers of her fuck with White onto him. There was a squish as she pushed further and White's cum surrounded his cock. She gripped the base and used it to scrape his shaft against the walls of her vagina. Tom abhorred everyone in the room – White and Jean for using him like this and himself for remaining physically aroused enough so that Jean could do what she was doing. It was even worse now. He couldn't deny the fact that being inside Jean was giving him pleasure, even she had been contaminated by White's juices.

"There we go, all clean," Jean said as she pulled off of him. His dick was now covered in White's cum, little globules running down it. Yet it still yearned to be inside Jean, to feel her warmth, to release. How could it think of something at a time like this, how could it still be stiff? Jean interrupted Tom's thoughts by placing her leg next to his face and saying, "I hope you enjoyed your last time inside me, but there's still this that needs to be cleaned off."

"Fuck off!" snarled Tom as Jean stuck her thigh in his face.

White tsk-tsked as he picked up the gun from the floor. Tom froze and acquiesced, hesitantly opening his mouth. His tongue touched the inside of Jean's leg above her knee, where the streak of cum had dripped down to. The gob at the end of the streak hit his tongue and delivered a powerfully salty taste. Jean pulled her skirt up as he licked her thigh, lapping more of White's cream into his mouth. Tom burned inside, furious but too ashamed to speak. Finally, he reached the spatter of fluid on Jean's pussy lips and licked it off.

"Thanks so much," she dropped the hem of her skirt and walked to the doorway, where White stood waiting. He kissed her from the forehead down to the tip of her nose and she reciprocated. "Goodbye, Tom."

They both left the room as the sound of sirens filled the air.



False Profit



After five years of marriage, Priscilla Truesdale Coleman realized that she was tired of being pampered.

In the days when she had been Prissie Truesdale, she had been a rather good paralegal, living in an apartment alone and sleeping with a succession of men, though not a very long succession. She thought of herself as normal, and she expected to settle down with one man and raise children with him, and perhaps work on and off over the years as it became desirable or possible.

That had changed when she was twenty-three. Her widowed mother had married into a minor (which is to say un-moneyed) branch of a wealthy family, and had always taken this fact much more seriously than her late father had. Priscilla had been repeatedly introduced to members of local society at events which neither she nor her mother could really afford to attend.

At twenty-three she caught the eye of William Warner Coleman, of the legal and financial Colemans. Little Willie, as he was called to distinguish him from his uncle, was a stockbroker with a great appetite for detail and planning. He gave Priscilla several elegant and expensive evenings out before asking her to marry him.

She was quite startled at this coming from someone who had known her only six weeks, and had not yet even hinted at taking her to bed. But she was feeling overwhelmed by this unaccustomed glamour, and she said yes.

William Coleman almost instantly began to plan their wedding, to take place in two more months at the end of May. Priscilla barely got to say a word about it, since everything was going to be far more elaborate than what was in her occasional daydreams. It was a magnificent spectacle, and Priscilla's mother was supremely happy. Priscilla was too dazzled to know what to think of it herself.

Little Willie spent the evening with Priscilla two or three times a week in April and May, but at no time did they spend the night under the same roof -- nor even a quick and dirty half-hour behind a locked bedroom door.

So when Priscilla entered the bridal suite in the hotel in St. Croix, several hours after the wedding, she discovered three things. Firstly, that William Warner Coleman at twenty-six had had no experience of women. Secondly, that he had presumed her to be virginal, but with a little acting on her part he did not really notice the difference. Thirdly, that "Little Willie" was more accurate a name than she liked.

That last Priscilla could have taken in her stride, so to speak, but Willie was also not interested very often, not even in the kissing and cuddling and fondling which she wanted as the mortar between his bricks. When they returned to the large house which he had purchased, with its acre or so of ground, Priscilla found that there was little for her to do -- or even to be allowed to do.

She had accepted with equanimity his decision that she not work, since there was a certain appeal to not having to and he certainly did not need the income. She did convince him to not have a full staff of servants; she talked the cook down to only coming in for dinner, and the maid to only being there twice a week.

After a while, she wanted to take on all those duties herself, but Little Willie insisted that doing so would be improper and undignified.

Shopping for supplies and clothing and so forth was permitted to her, but only within the broad outlines which Willie had planned out for her. (In truth, his plans were worked out in very small scale, but he did not notice when Priscilla ignored them.)

But going to shop was not permitted. Willie explained that the charge accounts were good at every store in town, or any nearby one, and anything she was unsure about wanting could be sent on approval.

Priscilla found that Willie loved to go over all the charges and bills, adding everything and looking for errors, quibbling at times over the prices paid for useful items but ignoring those of luxuries. Especially things for Priscilla. But this made it impossible to keep any sort of secret from him except by paying cash, and her cash was limited to $50 of household money.

If she wanted to leave the house to do charity work, that was certainly in the best tradition of the best families. But Priscilla found that the women running the local charities resented someone so young and attractive, and someone who actually knew something about the people who were to be uplifted.

Her old friends were for the most part still working at regular jobs, and those who had married and had (or planned) children were only irregularly available during the day.

Raising children was something that Priscilla knew would occupy her time in a very worthwhile endeavor. But Little Willie did not want any, and his infrequent interest made pregnancy unlikely anyway.

To sum it all up, the world of Priscilla Truesdale Coleman was elegant, expensive, and boring. It grew on her that what she spent on luxuries did not matter to Willie because she was one of his luxuries; pretty but not useful and mostly kept on the shelf.

Into this tired Eden came the tall figure of James Parham. Willie invited him at first with a few others to one of the monthly dinner parties he held for business associates. After a little while, his presence became more frequent.

Priscilla found James Parham to be witty, interesting, handsome, and not quite trustworthy. He seemed to know quite a bit about the business world and which way it would jump next, but he was always skirting the edge of chicanery there and hedonism elsewhere.

Priscilla found him very intriguing, partly for his dubious qualities, but had never considered moving him out of the realm of occasional fantasies. Until the evening when he and Willie and Priscilla were dining alone and Willie was summoned to the telephone. James Parham leaned forward then and said in a low voice: "I want very much to go to bed with you."

Priscilla froze, and stared at her plate, and finally said in an equally low tone: "No."

But the seed had been planted to grow the forbidden fruit. That night Priscilla thought about having Parham's body against hers and then on hers, and having him in her. This fantasy was more extensive than any she had experienced since she was a teenager, but perhaps fantasy was all it would have been if Willie had not ignored her when she tried to act it out with him.

Another week went by until Priscilla whispered to James Parham as he left after dinner, "Call me tomorrow."

When he did, at one in the afternoon of the next day, she said to him: "I want money from you for having sex with me."

There was a long pause. "I would think that you would be able to buy anything you would ever want."

"It's not money as money, it's money as freedom. I can barely leave this place, and I'm not allowed to do anything on my own if I do. Everything is charged and in Willie's name. I can only have fifty dollars in cash at a time, and I have to show where even that is spent. I can't have a damned candy bar without having it show up in the monthly bills! Nothing here is me."

"So you want to be paid in cash. How much do you want?"

"Well... I saw in the newspaper about a prostitute charging fifty dollars. I don't know if that's standard."

"I would have no idea either, I must admit. But surely you don't price yourself that low. I can't see you as a fifty-buck whore."

"No. No, I think I'm worth ten times that much. I want five hundred dollars from you. Even if it's a trivial amount beside what the Colemans have, it will be the first money in five years that is really mine!"

"You may be underpricing yourself even at five hundred. I intend to find out -- and I'll tell you afterward if you are. I am going to be in California on business a few days from now, and won't be back for a while. Shall we set an appointment for a month from now?"

"Yes, April the 23rd. That's a Friday. The cleaning people will be in the day before. The fourth Friday of the month Willie comes home late, at six. The cook won't be here until five. It might be best if you leave before then."

"Certainly. I will be at your door at noon that day with five hundred dollars in cash."

"One other thing... I am still a little bit unsure if I want to do this. I want to be able to back out until the day before."

"This is reasonable. On the days when I am not here, my answering service will take messages for me. Just say 'Project cancelled.' You had better use some other name to sign it with..."

"Truesdale."

"Truesdale it is. I assume it has some significance to you."

"Yes."

And she hung up nervously.

Over the next month Priscilla was given to mood swings and repeatedly tried to coax Little Willie into bedroom athletics. She succeeded twice, but she made him so nervous in turn that he made her spend a day in a doctor's office testing for some illness. There was nothing physical to be found, of course.

On Friday, April 23rd, Priscilla returned to her bedroom after Little Willie had left for the day and she took a long bath with perfumed bath-beads then talcumed herself and put on her sexiest and fanciest lingerie, and covered that with a long housecoat. When the front door chimed at noon, she walked to the door as a perfection of odor and cleanliness and desirability. 

And so it began.

James Parham greeted her with a light and delicate, almost innocent, kiss. They walked hand in hand to her bedroom. She broke from him and turned to face him when she crossed the portal. He reached into his suit jacket and gave her a packet of twenty-dollar bills. She paused long enough to see that there were twenty-five of them and to put them in the jewelry box which was almost the only thing left given to her by her father.

Then Priscilla walked to James Parham again and he raised his arms to her. They undressed slowly. He took the long zipper down her housecoat to find her warm sweet responsive body within. Her hands cast his jacket and shirt and tie to the side, one by one.

In time she wore only red silk panties and he wore nothing at all. They stood then for minutes, kissing and touching and tantalizing each other. Then James picked her up and placed her in the center of the bed.

He kissed his way down her, across her stomach, and hooked his hands into the elastic of her panties. When his lips bent between her legs she gasped in anticipation. That was a thing which she had been denied for five long years now; Willie was even less inclined toward experiments than toward plain vanilla intercourse. James spent only a few minutes there, but the touch, the promise, excited her more than she could ever recall.

It was not clear if it was the long semi-deprivation, the taste of the forbidden, the skill at loving of the man in her bed, the growth of her physical appetites in these five years, or all of these. But by the time they ended three hours later, after her body had arched under him time and again, Priscilla knew that it was well she had been paid in advance, because she would not now have remembered to ask for it.

They dressed then and talked and just before he left at 4:30, James said to her. "You did underprice yourself at five hundred dollars. Here is another ten percent, for a side profit. Just your extra effort amounts to a fifty-buck whore."

And she took the fifty-dollar bill, though she was puzzled at his comment. That also went into the jewelry box.

Priscilla took a fast shower now and changed clothes again (and sheets) in time to greet the cook at five. The shower helped her physical exhaustion somewhat, her emotional not at all.

At ten after six, William Warner Coleman came bouncing in, chattering about his day as usual. Priscilla listened with only half an ear, thinking that after this day she felt even more trapped in this velvet prison than before and concentrating on the five hundred and fifty of her own -- her OWN -- money sitting in the jewelry case.

When dinner was ready, Willie turned to her and said: "Say, did Jim Parham come by here today?"

She stopped in shock. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Well, a month back he borrowed five hundred dollars from me. He said it was for a short-term deal he knew about, and he was going to get it back to me today. Ten per cent side profit in a month, and in cash so it's off the books. Not much money, really, but you have to love a guy who cuts you in on deals like that. Did he leave the five-fifty?"



False Reality



Tonight she was Caitlin. She had decided her identity for the day when she had woken up in the morning and reassured herself after the doors of the elevator closed shutting off the bells and whistles from the ringing cash registers and slot machines. The silence of the elevator going up gave her time to get into in the moment. There was a lot she liked about Las Vegas but the slot machines weren’t one of them. The only time she came to the casinos was to meet a client. There was just too much false reality in the casinos from the lure of riches to the empty chatter of tourists and a few lustful eyes that slid up and down her thin body dressed professionally in black slacks and white blouse pulling a medium size carrying a bottle of water. She kept her eyes straight ahead and spine straight shattering any illusion of availability. 

Caitlin liked most of the theme casinos that had risen up in the last twenty years. It was one of the reasons she was drawn to Las Vegas. This one was her least favorite though. It always seemed she got lost at some point in this place. She also felt the earth colors scheme left the place a little dim and depressing. She found the door she was looking for and with a knock she pulled herself up with a bright professional smile. A young college student answered and she knew this would be an easy assignment. She offered her hand and her name as she walked into the room.

She looked around the room. It was a single room with bed splitting it in half. The large picture window looked over the vents to the casino’s and kitchens and the low jagged mountains beyond it. The television was switched onto a sports station. She took a swig of her water and turned to him pushing the off button of the TV. The agency said she wanted a dominant so dominant was what he was going to get. He looked like a lost puppy. She knew he was out of his element. An easy job.

An hour later she was back in the lobby with smiling to herself with seven hundred dollars cash in her pocket. She was right, it was an easy assignment, he was satisfied with less and she barely had to get into her character as a Mistress Caitlin. 

It had amazed her how much Las Vegas, especially the Strip had changed over twenty years. None of the glamorous family theme park had been there when her family had first moved there and started work at the famed Stardust Casino. She had been seven. Both her parents still worked in the Casinos though for different ones and both seemed happier now the shadowy casinos had become neon fantasies. Twenty years ago there was hardly a third of foot traffic along the strip as there was now, hardly any children. She remembered how many nights she had been left alone with baby-sitters. 

She remembered her childhood with fond regret considering it another world, a connection between that world and this one was missed and she wasn’t quite sure how. She loved school. She loved to read and by the time she reached high school was reading several levels above her level. She balanced her overdosing of literature with a healthy dose of physical activity. In high school she took ballet, gymnastics and ran track. She went to state finals in both gymnastics and track where her specialty was long distance. Even now, when it got light early enough she would jog almost the entire length of the strip from her apartment to the end and back. She took pride in body.

She had stopped at the fountain show in front of the Bellagio Hotel. This was her favorite attraction along the strip because of it simplistic complexity of dancing water. It was so natural in its fluidity. She wondered where the simplicity of her childhood disappeared to. Was it when she was taken to seen a special showgirl presentation of Les Follies Bergere, no nudity in this performance for children? She was swept up in the magic of the performance, the false reality of different worlds made so easy by graceful floating dancers. In the back of her head she new how much work went into creating the illusion which swept her even more away. And when she left the theatre she declared she was going to be showgirl to which both her parents scoffed. 

She doubted her parents had forgiven yet for leaving UNLV after one year to chase her dream. She had worked hard through high school, probably too hard to be the perfect girl : a four point student, state championships in both track in gymnastics as well as after school classes in voice and ballet. She was tired needed a break There was only so many times one could completely refuel on short breaks until the desire was no longer there. And that was what happened. She had waked up one morning after only two hours sleep once finishing an English paper realizing she longer had the desire to compete. When she left school she had promised herself she would go back someday. She felt she was a person who never quit at anything

And now, almost ten years later, she was wondering where the promise was. When she left school her parents had cut her off so she had no money and a very small run down apartment. And now she had spacious large window condo, a jaguar and a bulging bank account. She quit what she was doing at any time but she caught in the false reality of more was better.

She loved Las Vegas for the false realistic physicality. It seemed like her in many ways. She had grown up in a physical world. She loved material things. She loved to relate to the world in a physical way with her sports and energy. She had always felt best when she was outdoors. And yet there was a part of her that felt she couldn’t have her world on her terms. She remembered when she told her mother that she wanted to be a dancer her mother doused her fiery dream with the question: “So what are you going to do for a living”. Everyone told her to get an education. To do well in high school and to go on to college. Get a job. Get a life. 

Dreams are good but dreams don’t pay the bills. Unless you are place like Disney World or Las Vegas where dreams are created to pay the bills. Much of her life had been a struggle between two needs: the need to physically explore the world, physically relate to the world, she learned from the world. She learned from doing, from trying from physically challenging herself. It was why she loved dance and gymnastics so much. You could only learn the routine, the dance, by doing it over and over again. It was the same for a song. You only learned the tune by doing it over and over again. The other side of her inner war was the intellectual. She had always done well in school. She liked to psychologically worked. Why things happened as they did. For the dance and the song it was all about understanding the emotion of the song, of the character and somehow finding a way of connecting. The trick, she learned, was to find new ways to connect herself with the art, the character to keep the work fresh and new. 

Maybe that was why she walked away from college. She couldn’t find the balance between the physical and the intellect. The personal connection. Perhaps, after two years, she walked away from the showgirl. She could no longer find the spark deep in her to keep it fresh. She still needed that physicality that dance brought so on an instinctive whim she joined the staff of an up scale strip club just off the strip. Here she took the name Sedusa Medusa.

There were laws against how much contact there could be between a dancer and a customer. She placed her own rules of having no contact with the customer. The trick became how to arouse the client. Where most of the dancers did mostly improvisation in their works she placed a lot of time in choreographing her works. In her condo her main living room was bare with furniture pushed up against the walls leaving the wooden floor open to work. She had no television and when she wasn’t working she read. A whole wall was one big bookcase filled to bursting with all types of books. With her quick imagination and years of learning quickly she could often put together a three to five minute routine in a few hours. She had to be quick for management often announced the theme nights without very much warning.

There was magic to her work. Often when she premiered a new dance other dancers stopped to watch her work. She developed a regular group of guys that came to watch her on a weekly basis and packed the place on theme nights because she always revealed a new dance. She found herself never dancing the same piece more than a couple of dozen times. When piece became more of routine than an work of art, when it lost the edge of exploration she retired it for something new.

For her the challenge was continually to find a way to arouse the patrons with only suggestive gestures and the erotic teasing of removing but never becoming explicit of what would follow. It was best to leave those things up to the wet dreams of the individual. Her job was only to be a fantasy. A real vision in what their dreams could wrap around. She noticed when she watched other women performed that those who were much more explicit than her didn’t get as much in tips. She guessed that it was one thing to suggest the fantasy but to act out the fantasy was to overly assume what the customer’s fantasy was. And if you guessed wrong you turned the customer off. It was better to lead him to the edge but let himself go over the edge if he wanted. There were some who thrived on being led to edge 

In the business the meaning of succes was money and when the other girls saw how much money she was bringing in they asked her choreograph pieces for them. At first she declined saying it was a personal feeling in which she worked. She eventually helped the other girls to choreograph their pieces suggesting how they interpret the music so it becomes an extension of themselves. She suggested to use more obscure pieces to work with saying the with popular songs people were more likely to have a connection with a memory and that could work against them. She felt that if she was able to connect herself with a piece was able to tell herself a tale with the music she would achieve more. For her the hardest part of making a new routine was choosing the music. She would often she sit for hours listening to all types of music waiting for the right song to speak to her. The right song gave a visual image of what the dance was to look like. 

Above all, she taught her protégées they must dance the way they feel, not to think of the way the customers would like it. She added though she danced for customers, she mainly danced for herself. She felt customers got a better deal when they felt the dancer was customer was comfortable and having fun with stripping, that they were doing it for themselves as well as for the customer. She told several girls that they should find other work because they were so nervous about exposing themselves it showed in their works.

Caitlain had no problem with her body. She had been brought up to love and admire her body. Her parents had always been frank with her about her body and her sexuality. She knew other girls in school who became so uptight and awkward and she when puberty hit because their parents were so uptight about talking and acknowledging their daughters budding sexuality. In a way her puberty brought her mother and herself even more together as they shared secrets and confessions that she would not share with anyone else. And now, as she looked at the flames of the Mirage’s volcano spread across the water she wondered where that intimacy had disappeared to. It had been a long time, too long, since she had a long conversation with her mother. Her mother was never happy with her choice of leaving school to become a showgirl. The last time they had talked was when they had a long argument about her becoming a showgirl. Her mother had seen her as a showgirl only once and had mixed reactions to it. Though she liked the show overall and liked the complexity of the numbers she felt uncomfortable with the over abundance of nudity. 

Caitlin had never shown her mother her stripping routine and never talked about her escort work. Too many secrets had developed between them and she regretted that. She missed the intimacy between them.

The pinnacle over stripping career came when The Palace created a evening where all the routines were choreographed by her, She was overwhelmed by the honor but after watching the girls do their own routine she saw the preferences and talents of each dancer and worked with each one to create an evening of unique performances capped by her own. It was when she was working with one of the new dancers of the club, Kitty, that she learned about the escort service.

Kitty arranged a meeting with the owner who managed to convince her that all precautions were taken. That for the most part meetings were with business men and collage boys at the hotels. He explained that though most men called for sex she was under no obligation to do so and if could find ways to get around giving it was okay. He said they charge a flat fee for sending the girls to the room and what happens after that is negotiated between the client and girl. He said the flat fee belongs to the service and the negotiated price is split 70/30 in favor of the girl. The service would cover all medical conditions, supply of condoms, any legal fees that arise. The first couple of times the service sent her out was on dates with long time regular clients who were gentle and comfortable that she was new to the scene. 

Even though she was comfortable about her nudity and her sexuality the first couple of times she had sex with a client it was awkward for her because there was no emotion. She learned to be a great actress no only sexually but also as a person. There were some clients who were extremely boring and she had to learn to act interesting. Every once in a while, after all she was human, there was one she was attracted too. For those she gave more. The one thing she liked about the job was meeting a wide variety of people. She always took time in getting to know her clients, making them comfortable and to seek out their fantasies. 

It was a different realm for her and yet it was the same. She was still an actress but something new emerged. She quickly learned to separate herself from her character. She learned how retreat her personal self deep into her. She took pseudonyms like Mistress Caitlin or Medusa, or Angela, whatever the character called for she became. She met with a real dominatrix and learned some of the simple tricks of S&M. Most men who called the service didn’t really want the hard core reality but the fantasy. It was a game to them but she tried to make the game as real as possible. Like Las Vegas was changing to be she was attempting to become all illusion. An expensive illusion but illusion all the same. 

There was a time where she even became a submissive in a relationship. She wanted to explore a part of her that didn’t exist. It scared her to realize how it easy it could be to fall under the will of another. How lazily easy she could allow someone to control her. It scared her but it also showed her how much she fought. for her own fate, her own identity. And now looking up the reconstruction of the Statue of Liberty she wondered if hadn’t lost her identity because she had fought so hard to keep herself. Was she living a false reality because she didn’t want to conform? Was her purpose for doing all of these characters, these illusions of people, was to prove everyone wrong. If that was case than she knew it was all for the wrong reasons. 

But how could it be? It was Las Vegas did. Changed its identity from a place run by mobsters to a family orientated place but still the same purpose to bring in people, to have them spend money. Las Vegas was all about money. No matter how much the appearance changed, it was about the casinos in the souls of each place. 

And what was in her soul? What kept her moving from one illusion to another? The people she met? That was some of it but it wasn’t all of it. No, it wasn’t the people she met outside of herself but the people she met inside of herself. It was learning about all these people who she was and how they related to the world. 

She looked around at all the corners of the world that had risen on the edge of the desert from ancient Egypt to Paris and Venice to New York. She was surprised something with the orient theme had risen but she knew it was only a matter of time until someone built one. There was a new Taj Majal going up so they were gradually moving west and along the money was coming in for false realities new themes would be escape to. But how do you escape when your world was false reality? 

She walked into the casino and too a cash machine where she withdrew a thousand dollars from her checking account and getting in her jag drove away from the neon lights that promised false realities. It was an impulsive need to see the stars. She felt the stars would give her the answers she needed. At a convenience store she filled her car, threw out her cigarettes and bought some water. It was time, she concluded, to end this false reality for something solid.