0 comments/ 35180 views/ 0 favorites Amanda’s Journey By: Diane Marie Some of my reader have seemed to believe my past story were real. None of them were, they were fantasy. Maybe parts of them were real or inspired by real events but none were true stories. This story is based on someone’s real life, I can’t say it’s all fact, I didn’t take notes as she told it to me. I wrote it using my own voice, my own style, I didn’t want an interview. I wrote it because she wanted me to, I wrote it because she is an amazing person. I wrote it because she is strong, she has survived much in her life. For the sake of brevity, I’ve condensed some parts, moving them along a quicker path then they really happened, but there is only so much that can be presented in a short story. I was, as I hope most of you well be, intrigued by her life. Inspired by her strengths, saddened by her weaknesses. Sorrowed by her pain, joyous at her happiness. I to play a part in her life, a small part, one she gives more credit to then I deserve. One part I completely hate, and that is her description of my life partner’s ex. You’ll understand why when you read it. Perhaps, I’m the jealous type, Amanda isn’t the only one who’s described her in similar terms. I had to know, I had to find out, and they are right, she is all Amanda says she is. We went to see her perform, my love and I, I looked in my lovers eyes, I’m no longer jealous, I know where her heart is. Amanda’s Journey Life, at least as I see it, comes to us as one milestones after another, some little, some big, but there are certain of those that are defining. They determine the rest of our lives, who we see ourselves as, who we actually are. Lets call those moments A, B, C so on and so forth. How does a person get from say point A in their lives to point B. Could a small change in some event in a persons life cause point B to be something completely different. Or is a life predetermined, destined to that point, no matter what path is taken? I know not, all I know is I’ve had two of those defining milestones. The first was during my 17th years of life. I’ve arrived at my second in the year of my 37th birthday. Christened Amanda on January 2nd 1965, my life had been quite unremarkable, that is until my senior year in High School. My parents, although somewhat conservative in their thinking, took an interest in myself, along with my 2 brother and 1 sister. For that matter so did my Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles and Cousins. We were a close knit family, all born, raised and lived within a few blocks of one another, in the borough of Queens, New York City, New York. A family of middle class working people, good people, moral people, good Catholics, no sandals to speak of, ok one, my Uncle, my mother’s sister’s husband, had an affair, been caught, chastised, then forgiven. Forgiven by everyone but my Aunt, everyone said she forgave him, but I could tell she hadn’t, she had this bitterness bottled up inside of her. I have no doubt that a divorce would have made her happier but divorce was not something my family even talked about much less did, the horrors, the dishonor. If I had an opinion on his having an affair, I don’t remember, but I did adore them both, more so my Uncle then my Aunt. I don’t think my family had ever really faced dishonor, an affair is one thing, but having an unmarried Daughter, Granddaughter, Niece, or Cousin become pregnant at the age of seventeen, now that is dishonor. A stubborn, rebellious Daughter to boot. At least rebellious when it came to the father of her child. As you most likely have already figured out that Daughter is me. I had been the perfect child until I met Johnny. I followed the rules, did my chores without being told to, studied hard, getting almost straight A’s, dated only boys my father approved of, kept my curfew, which had been 11:30 p.m., except on those special occasions, prom, home coming, excreta when it would be raised to 1 a.m.. The truth is none of those things would have changed because of Johnny. They only changed because my father forbid me to see him. Johnny didn’t meet my father’s criteria for a suitable boy friend. He didn’t come from a good family, a Catholic one, he didn’t attend the right school, a Catholic school. I’m sure I’d been forbidden a lot of other things in my short life, but to forbid a boy, a boy I liked, a boy I couldn’t see passed his charm. I think not. To have reasoned with me might have worked, but my god, at seventeen I was just starting to feel myself a woman, I was just starting to feel my independence, I couldn’t be forbidden the boy I felt I loved. In the end I rebelled, looking back I realize that I never loved Johnny, his attraction to me was, partly lust, mostly that he was forbidden. Johnny was wild, he was a trouble maker, he was irresponsible, the truth is he was a born loser, over the years he’s proved that. But none of that matter to me, I wasn’t suppose to have him, so I wanted him. I convinced myself, I was in love with him. Eventually I gave in to my curiosity and desire to have sex. Johnny pressuring me to have sex, I’m sure, hastened that, but it had to happen sometime. I was, of course, totally unprepared for sex, I hadn’t been taught anything about sex, beside don’t, not at home nor at school, much less taught about protection. Perhaps I knew about condoms, perhaps I even knew we should be using them but what I didn’t know was how easily one could become pregnant. The very first mouth we started having sex I didn’t get my period, I really didn’t think much of that at first, I wasn’t overly regular at the time, anyway. But by the time my next period was do, I knew, I didn’t know much about my own body but I did know I was pregnant. In a way, I think I was excited about being so, I was in love, I had Johnny. In my dream world, I just assumed Johnny would be happy I was carrying his child. We’d get married, we’d live happily ever after. Reality just isn’t a dream, Johnny was not happy, he wanted me to have an abortion. I couldn’t do that, I could not kill my unborn child. Even when Johnny gave me the choice of him or my child, I had no choice but to chose my child. That was the very last time I saw Johnny, he has neither inquired of nor seen our son, Michael. I guess I could have run away, I was that afraid of telling my parents, but tell them I did. I let them run my life for the rest of my pregnancy. I agreed to put my child up for adoption, something even at the time of signing those papers I knew I wouldn’t do. School, I had to give that up, although if I’d have been going to a public school I could have continued, it was totally out of the question to have a pregnant girl walking the halls of a good Catholic institution. Condemn the sin but forgive the sinner, ya sure, my church would forgive a murderer before they’d forgive an unwed mother. To make a long story short, I have a feeling this is going to be very long, I was booted out of my house shortly after the birth of Micheal, I wouldn’t give him up. After a short stay at my Aunts, the one who’s husband cheated, still did, there wasn’t a minute I was alone with him that he wasn’t trying to get into my pants, I found public housing. For the first three years, I worked two jobs waiting tables, I didn’t have any other skills. It was enough to make a person give up on life, sometimes I wonder why I didn’t. Men, save for one man, one I’m not sure I looked at as a man, there were none in my life, I can’t say I hated men but I surely didn’t trust any. Of the four important men in my life, three had in my mind betrayed me. Johnny by leaving me, and by not wanting to be the father to my child. My own father because even against my mother’s wishes he kicked me out of my house, refusing to even talk to me. He not only kicked me out, he kicked me out with nothing, the clothes on my back, no money, no food for Micheal, nothing. If it hadn’t been for my mother going behind his back, arranging for my aunt to take me in, sneaking Michael’s and my things out of the house, then giving me enough money to live on for a while. I’m sure we would have starved to death. Then there was my Uncle, he taught me that no matter how much a man professes to love his wife, he’ll cheat given the chance. Some well even cheat with their eighteen year old niece. No I did not! I have come to realize that my Uncle was more blatant then most men, but I still stand by my belief, most men well cheat. Perhaps that is a harsh judgment, maybe it’s all of us humans, maybe given the right person, the right moment in time, everyone of us becomes a cheat. Even with assistance and working two jobs there never was enough money, I wasn’t getting anywhere. I wanted out of this life, I wanted out of public housing, the place was scary, it was not a place to raise a child. At first, I felt education may be the answer. With the help of my neighbor, who watched Michael so I could go to school at night. A wonderful woman, with a jerk for an ex-husband, who’d left her and her four children after twelve years of marriage. Another father who didn’t see his children, didn’t pay his child support. It didn’t take long to get my high school equivalency, and start attending a junior college, where I was studying book keeping. Even with going to school, nothing seemed to be happening, nothing was happening fast enough. I was still stuck in that same old welfare world. A world of poverty, a world where others look down at you, even the clerks at the grocery store would give me this scum of the earth look when I’d hand them my food stamps. I needed out, I needed out now, not two or three years from now. The realization of this hit the third Christmas of Michael’s life, we didn’t have a Christmas, not a real one, not one with a tree, with family, no singing Christmas carols, and prayer of thanks giving, what was there to be thankful for. Aside from the few gifts my mother and Donald, the only man in my life, had gotten for Michael there weren’t any. A lonely Christmas, spent in a dump of an apartment, spent without family, with a Christmas feast consisting of ring baloney. I’d had enough of poverty, more then enough, more then my fair share. Fair, if life was fair my building would have been empty, it wasn’t empty, there was a waiting list, mostly of women with children, a mile long. Not that there was a lack of men around, lazy no good men, men living off of what little the state gave some woman to live on. Lazy men who didn’t work, didn’t watch the children while his lady went out and earned some money, money he could then blow. There weren’t a lot of options for me, the woman across the hall stripped for extra money, cash money, unreported income, money she needed to feed her drug habit. Really not a bad person, being a single mother, being in poverty had been her downfall, drugs her escape. She tried to be a good mother, she tried to break the habit, I know she did not want this life for her child, poverty, drugs, it doesn’t matter, she loved her child. If you have to point a finger, then first live her life. By far she wasn’t in the worst situation, some of the women I lived with turned to prostitution to fill their need, or some man’s need, for money, and not all of them were on drugs. Either of those options seemed a viable alternative to me, yes it is that bad. I wasn’t hooked on drugs, I wasn’t run down, I looked good, I knew I could make money taking off my clothes. Enough I was sure to get out of this life. I didn’t know anything about being a prostitute, I sure knew walking the streets wasn’t the answer but I knew enough, I heard enough. I had been given some phone number, escort services, funny how we hide the turn nature of what these women do, services that others had used to leave this life. Then there was my other option, the other man in my life, Donald, the one I said earlier that I’m not sure I had considered a man. Donald had been Johnny’s best friend. When Johnny had deserted me, Donald had not, he had gone to birthing classes with me, as my coach. He was at my side during Michael’s birth. He was the only man who took a true interest in Michael. He was also in love with me. Was I interested in Donald, yes, but not as a lover, as a friend, never as a lover. Nothing about Donald attracted me romantically or sexually. I didn’t play with his heart, I did not hide this from him, he knew my feelings. He was more like the boy next door to me then a potential lover. He wasn’t bad looking, actually quite handsome in the face. He surely didn’t attract me physically, a bit on the chunky side, well a bit is an understatement. Much to gentle for my taste, a bit to eager to please. A man who did not excite me. A man, I was in love with, just not that passionate kind of love, the kind of love a woman should feel for her husband. But he was a man who wanted to marry me, a man who wanted to take me out of poverty, a man who wanted to be father to my child, and our children if I’d allow him to be. A man who could support me, he worked hard, he was willing to take risks and had. He had started his own construction company, although small, mostly remodeling, he had a dream that one day his company would be more then that. I believed him, I had faith in Donald, I trusted Donald, I felt lovingly to Donald, I wanted to mother Donald, of course that is not something I wanted to feel for the man I was to marry. I think most of all I felt Donald would be welcomed by my father. He fit my fathers idea of a husband for me, he worked hard, he’d come from a good hard working family, he had supported his mother after his father had died, going to work at sixteen. But most of all his was Catholic. I shouldn’t have cared, I should not have even wanted to see my father again, much less wanting to be in his good graces again, but I did, I missed my father, I missed my family. I wanted Michael to have more family then just his Grandmother, I wanted him to have a Grandfather, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins. Deciding Donald was the best of my three option, I accepted his offer of marriage. As I said earlier, he was the right man for my father. I was forgiven almost immediately by my father. He even wanted me to move back home for the remaining months before our wedding, something I refused to do. We had a church wedding, lots of guests, yes I wore white, my Grandmother’s wedding dress, although it had to be altered my Grandmother had been much bigger then I was. Our wedding was not extravagant, my parents didn’t have the money for that, yes they paid, it was only proper in my father’s mind. It was a wonderful wedding, I don’t know why but I was happy, I hadn’t been, I was that day. Maybe I’d never be able to love Donald with a passionate all consuming love but I did love him, a gentle quiet kind love. That day is one of those I’ll treasure forever. That night was the first time we made love, I wasn’t consumed with passion, but I did find Donald to be more then just an adequate lover. His equipment much more then just adequate. I didn’t have an orgasm that night, but I should have, Donald knew how to make love to a woman, something Johnny had not. Something I’m entirely sure, I didn’t know myself. But there was no fire, there was no lust, there was no passion, not on my part. Johnny hadn’t had to know how to make love to me, his touch made me tingle all over, his kiss turned me to fire. I had orgasms with Johnny, I didn’t need to fake them or try to force them, they just were. When I touched Johnny, his body was hard, his body was muscled, his body felt wonderful against mine, his weight felt perfect. Donald’s body, soft, his flesh jiggled at my touch, his weight almost unbearable. The next day we spent moving what few things I owned worth keeping, into a small apartment not far from my parent’s. It wasn’t much but it wasn’t public housing, I was off of welfare, I was happy. I was determined to be the best wife Donald could ever have. We didn’t have a honeymoon, Donald was in the middle of his first big project. Big, being of course relative to what he’d done in the past, small by most measures. His first job that wasn’t a remodel. He was so proud of himself, every night he’d take Michael and I to see his new building. The look on his face as he showed us was priceless, so full of accomplishment, so joyous, so confident. I knew I’d never truly love Donald, not as a wife should, but I knew he’d be a good husband, a good father and a good provider, I’d never face poverty again. Donald proved to be all I felt he could be, a year later we bought our first house, a bit of a run down brownstone in the Chelsea area of Manhattan. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t dilapidated, we’d picked it, partly because I wanted to be further away from my parents, but also so we could restore it, it was our project, the first as a married couple. We did restore that house, we worked hard together, I pounded nails, I hung doors and did things I didn’t think I was capable of doing. Donald was gentle with me, took his time, showed me, taught me, helped me. Most of all he made me feel like I was doing as much as he was, that this was our home, our project. It was so much fun, I don’t think I ever felt as close to Donald as I did during that time in our lives. But all truly good things come to an end, and our remodeling finally ended, we had a home. We had a place that was ours, a place to raise our son. Yes that had changed to, I now felt Michael was our son, not my son. Johnny, I didn’t have any feeling for him, whatever I had felt was gone. In a way I thanked him and pitied him. I thanked him for giving me the biological gift of my son. I pitied him because he’d never know how precious Michael was. Our life, like most married couples became routine, I took care of Michael and the house, Donald worked. It was a better marriage then most, I think. Donald didn’t ignore us, didn’t put other priorities ahead of us. After Michael started school, of course a private school, just not a Catholic one, I became bored. There really was no need for me to work. I knew I didn’t want to wait tables again, the only thing I had ever done, but I needed something to do. I thought about going back to school but the idea really didn’t interest me. Finally I decided to get involved in a local woman’s right organization. Most of what we were doing, had to do with single mothers, help in collecting child support, lobbying for better laws, laws that really punished dead beat dads, laws that made it possible to track them down, garnish their wages, even put some in jail if all else failed, we lobbied for welfare reform, our biggest failure. I felt I could contribute, I’d been there, done that. I enjoyed my involvement, met a lot of people, started to have a social life separate from Donald’s. It was that social life that changed my life, not as you may think. I started going out to lunch with other women, I started having women friends, something that had been lacking in my life since the day I left welfare. One day at lunch our conversation turned to our husbands, our married lives, then to our sex lives, not a description but the general state there of. The consensus around the table was pretty much the same, boring. That is when Gloria chimed in that hers had been that way to, that is until her and her husband had started role playing. It had started out as a joke, her dressing up as a cheer leader. But that night the sex had been marvelous, so they’d expanded upon that, the French Maid, the harlot, even a little dom/sub routine, and light bondage. That was our Gloria, she just loved to shock everyone, and shock us she had, I didn’t dare comment, and I guess no one else did either, the subject was quickly changed to our children. I almost hate to say this but the idea intrigued me. Sex in our marriage was boring, at least from my perspective, it was at best a wifely duty for me. It wasn’t one I refused to perform, it was just one I avoided when I could. My feelings, my not being turned on by Donald had not changed. I had no dough that Donald had been a wise choice in a husband, I no longer looked at our marriage as just a way out. I enjoyed his company, he made me happy in so many other ways, sex was just not that important to me. I really had never had a great sex life, six or seven weeks with Johnny, hadn’t addicted me to sex. But I did carry some guilt because I knew Donald wanted sex more often then we had it. The only times I did really get turned on with Donald was when I’d build some fantasy around our making love. Maybe just maybe, role playing would make the fantasizing easier. If that worked we’d both be happier, I’d have some good sexual experiences, Donald would have sex with me more often. Amanda's Journey into Submission This is my first time posting a story here on Literotica. Feedback is welcomed & appreciated. This story may move a little slowly at first, so if you are looking for panties dropping the first paragraph, this may not be for you... ------------------ Amanda Olsen was an up and coming Marketing executive at the company. She was 29 years old and had joined the company right after she finished her MBA (3.97/4.00) from a prestigious university in the Northeast. She was described as smart by almost everyone that knew her. She was somewhat shy and reserved socially, so some people also described her as aloof. However, everyone agreed that she was beautiful in an innocent sort of way -- 5'8", 125 pounds, nice firm 34B breasts, blonde hair kept just below her shoulders, green eyes, and a body kept tight by regular exercise and daily runs. It was a Tuesday morning and, like most other days, Amanda was at the office. She was in her cubicle, finishing an important report on her computer. She had been up a little late the night before and was feeling a bit tired, so she decided to go down the hall and get a cup of coffee. Along the way, she chatted with a few of her co-workers and finally made it back to her desk about 10 minutes later. When she got back to her desk, she noticed someone had left a yellow sticky on the monitor. Amanda picked it up and read the note. What she read caused her to gasp out loud: "I saw you online last night. You are quite a little slut, aren't you?" Her mind flashed back to the night before: After a few glasses of wine, she had been surfing the web and ended up on a bondage website that she visited more often that she would care to admit. The things she read there never failed to make her very horny. Maybe it was the alcohol, but this night she did something she had never done before. Just after midnight, she turned on her webcam and broadcasted herself there in her bedroom. Naked. Not just naked, but spread-eagle on her bed. Clothespins on her hard nipples. Plunging a vibrator in and out of her smooth cunt until she came in a shattering orgasm for all the anonymous watchers online. Or at least she thought they were all anonymous. Apparently one of them worked right there in her office with her. Feeling a sense of panic, she quickly stood up and looked around to see if anyone was looking her way. No one appeared out of the ordinary. Amanda slumped back into her chair as her mind reeled. What did this mean? What was going to happen? What should she do about it? She should take the note to HR. No, that would only lead to many embarrassing questions. She couldn't tell anyone about the note without revealing her slutty secret and she knew she definitely couldn't afford to jeopardize her career like that. So who could have left that note? She looked back at the yellow piece of paper clasped in her trembling hand - regular size yellow sticky, written in black pen, block letters, probably written by a man, she thought. Maybe the disgusting old man that sat down the row? The young intern guy? But what about that new guy in finance? Or maybe her boss Mike? He was a 40ish guy, in good shape from competing in triathlons. Amanda blushed slightly because she often thought of him as she got herself off under her covers late at night. So, like everything else in her life, Amanda decided to take this head on. She got up and slowly walked from cube to cube around her area. She made chit chat with everyone she ran into, but her eyes were furtively scanning their desks, looking for yellow stickys and black pens. She saw many more than she hoped, so she couldn't narrow down any potential suspects. Amanda was becoming increasingly self-conscious of everyone's eyes on her firm young body as she walked into their cubes. She couldn't get it out of her mind that one of these people had seen her most intimate moment just hours earlier. The humiliation of knowing someone here watched her cum all over her vibrator last night was starting to make her a little wet between her legs. 'I wonder if they jacked off while they watched me?' she wondered. That thought aroused her further. As she walked down the hall, she imagined a scene of her kneeling naked on the floor as her coworkers stood around her in a circle, each one stroking his hard cock as his eyes feasted on her exposed body. The thoughts of sexual humiliation and the arousal she got from them seemed to grow with each promotion she got there at the company. She knew her need for sexual humiliation did not align at all with her fast-track corporate persona. Those thoughts always made her feel so dirty. Slutty, even. But, she had to admit, they also aroused her in a way that nothing else did. Something about giving up control, or having it taken from her, turned her on. The idea of a man using her strictly for his sexual pleasure was intoxicating. The guys she dated were always intimidated by her looks, or her intelligence, or both. They all treated her like a delicate little princess. When she did have sex, it was ok, but it always seemed something was missing. None of her boyfriends ever suspected how she secretly desired to be treated like a cheap slut. Those fantasies just made her melt. Amanda was still in her own little world when she rounded a corner and nearly bumped right into her boss, Mike. "Oh, there you are," he said. "I was just looking for you. Could you come to my office? There's something I would like to discuss with you." Amanda's mind raced as she looked down at the black pen in his right hand. "Um, ok, sure," she mumbled, obviously flustered. She felt her nipples growing hard and straining against her bra as she followed him to his office. Amanda’s Journey My life even had greater changes in store, changes or realization of self that I have not until recently admitted. That was precipitated by the arrival of two new neighbors who had moved in the house behind us. Two women, two dykes as most of the neighbors called them. They were as you can imagine not readily accepted, by a few of my more fair minded neighbors they were, but not by most. It is almost laughable in a way, most didn’t want them living here, but everyone was curious about them. It wasn’t long before I knew that one was an artist, the other a stripper. The one who was the artist, had a Ph.D. in biochemistry, and had been the founder of a high tech company. After taking the company public, she had retired to pursue her interest in art. The consensus was she had to be the one who was the butch partner. She didn’t look butch, she was a petite, slender, brunette, her hair shoulder length, very beautiful, if she hadn’t been so short, I was sure she could have been a model, but she was young, proved she was a genius, and most likely wished she was a man. None of us knew her but we all just knew that was how it had to be. Don’t all lesbian couples have one who’s feminine and one who’s butch, one who wishes she was a man. It surely couldn’t be the stripper that was butch, butch women don’t take their clothes off for men. The stripper was simple one of the most gorgeous creatures I’d very seen. Tall, she had to be close to 6’, golden blonde hair, which fell to the middle of her back, a body most of us would die to have. There wasn’t an once of extra weight on her body, long slender but muscular legs, it was easy to see she worked out, a firm tight rear, slender waist, and these marvelous breast, I’d guess a "D" cup. Of course we all said they couldn’t be real, at least we hoped they weren’t, I’m only a "B" and I sag more then she did. The truth is I think most of the women in the neighborhood were jealous of both of them. Maybe a little upset that their husband would crane their necks to get a look at them. I, on the other hand, was intrigued by them, I spied on them, became a regular peeping Jane. I had a great view of their yard and house from our master bedroom bath window. Of course our whirlpool bath sits against that wall, so I’d have to stand in the tub. Admittedly, I started to bath more often, instead of showering. There was somewhat of a view from our kitchen window to, but it was obscured by leaves most of the time. Watching them interact, watching them kiss, watching them hold each other, watching them sun bath around their pool, sometimes naked, effected me. I had, perhaps, always been turned on by other women, but now I could no longer hide that fact, I had to openly admit it. I still didn’t see myself as bisexual, and definitely not lesbian but I did see myself as accepting of that life style, desirous to at least find out if I was bisexual. It explained my feeling for Susan completely, I loved her as a friend but also wanted her as a sexual partner. This may seem a bit strange to all of you but I told Donald how I felt, I wouldn’t revel my feeling about Philip, my being turned on by his being so dominate. I hadn’t expected Donald’s reaction, I hadn’t expected him to be so interested, so accepting of the idea. I guess I really don’t understand men, maybe I never well, if things had been reversed, I would have lost it, I could never be with a man who wanted to have sex with other men. Here Donald was encouraging me to do just that, have sex with other women. The whole idea was a turn on for him, as I later found it to be for most men. I also confined in Susan, I didn’t tell her all of it, I didn’t tell her I found her so alluring. What I told her was that I found it fascinating to watch our neighbors. That doing so sometimes turned me on, made me wonder what it would be like to be touched, kissed, held by another women. Susan didn’t really make a response, just kind of nodded and let me talk, when I told her how Donald felt about it, she responded that it was the same for Philip, adding most of the men she knew. Susan said with a bitten tone, that she was sure, someday he’d make her find out what making love to another woman was like. The tone in her voice, the fact that she never said anything before with such a defiant tone, made me decide to change the subject, which I did. It was about three weeks later that things took another twist. It was a Saturday, normally a day I spent with Donald, at least the afternoons as he’d work Saturday mornings. It really isn’t important why Donald wasn’t there but if you must know he’d taken Michael fishing for the weekend. About eleven I called Sue, to see if she’d like to go shopping with me. She accepted, but said she had to be home by two. I didn’t ask why, but I knew it had to be because Philip wanted her home. I could go into our shopping trip, I actually do remember most of it, even the clothes I tried on, what I bought, what Susan bought, but I won’t bore you. After arriving back home, I asked Sue if she wanted to come in for a bit, she declined saying Philip would be expecting her. I was disappointed, Michael and Donald were gone, Beth had taken the girls to the movies, I felt like company, I enjoyed Susan’s the most. Deciding that I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day alone, I’d go over to her house, invented or not. I first checked my makeup, for Philip, then changing into a pair of jeans and a cotton blouse, my preferred dress for a causal afternoon. I walked over to their house, before I even got to the front door, I realized Philip and Sue must have company as there were a number of cars parked in the drive. Shortly after Sue answered the door I realized all the guests were men, Philip had some men friends over watching football. It was also obvious that Sue was expected to wait on them. Even thought Sue declined my offers to help, trying at the same time to get me to leave, I ignored her, and started to help serve the men. They seemed really nice, there was a bit of flirting going on back an forth. Nothing serious, but I did get the impression it could get that way if I wanted it to. That was not my intend, but it was still fun. I don’t remember which one, but one of the men started talking about going to a chiropractor. Then Philip started talking about Sue having taken massage classes, and how good her back rubs were. I said something about having hurt my left shoulder working out and it was still sore, that brought on a lot of volunteers for a back rub. That is when Philip said I should have Sue give me a back rub. I couldn’t help but notice what appeared to be a hate stare hidden in Sue’s downcast eyes. I’m not sure if Sue was just obeying Philips command or if she truly wanted to give me a back rub, but I do know now, that she had told Philip of my desires, that she was to be the bait to lure me into Philip web. Whatever, she volunteered, when I did decline, she insisted. I liked the idea, I liked the idea of her touching me so it didn’t take much persuading. Susan told me to sit cross legged on the floor, which I did, then she knelt behind me. As she started massaging my shoulders, I realized Philip’s statement about Sue being good was an understatement, her hands and fingers were amazing. Her touch was so relaxing, I soon found the tension in my shoulders disappear, the pain in my left one almost gone. It was a strange feeling, relaxing, while at the same time feeling aroused. I could feel my body start to respond in ways, that as of late, I’d found hard to control. Always before in my life, that is until the last couple of years, I’d been able to suppress my sexual desire, lately the only way for me to do so was to masturbate, something I’d been doing quite frequently. Sue’s massage became markedly more sensual, more sexual, as her hands moved from my shoulders to my upper chest. Something also noted by the men watching, as their comments started to turn very sexual in nature. Whether it was my relaxed state or my aroused one, I’m not sure, but their comments didn’t seem to bother me in the lest, maybe even adding some, to my now increasingly sexually aroused state. Their comments surely did confirm, both Donald’s and Susan’s belief, that most men were turned on watching two women. It was then that Philip took over directing the massage, telling Sue that I needed direct skin contact. At first she slipped her hand into my blouse, forcing the top button to pop open. That wasn’t enough for Philip, he wanted more, he directed her to undo the rest of my buttons. I’m not stupid, I knew where this was leading, and I knew it was not going to be leading only to Susan. I did have a strong urge to stop this, stop it while I could, but I was lost in two desires, the first was to make love to Susan. At the time I didn’t equate my desire so much to just Sue, it was making love to a woman, I didn’t know if I was bisexual, but I did want the experience. How we hide things from ourselves, of course I was at the very least bisexual. Second there was a demand in Philip’s voice, a demand for Susan’s actions but an applied demand in my acquiescence to that action. What makes a person want to submit, become, in essence, a slave to another person. I can’t answer that, all I can say is I’d build up a fantasy world, one in which I lived Susan’s life, one in which Philip had complete control over me. I had no doubt what that meant, I could hide from you, lie to you that I didn’t realize what I’d be getting myself into but I knew. I didn’t just know I wanted the experience, I desired the experience. As Susan’s long slender fingers worked the buttons of my blouse, my state of arousal increased. I felt the increased heat of my chest and neck, the quickening of my heart beat, the sensitivity of my nipples, my breast swelling against the confines of my bra, and the wetness between my legs growing. As her hands slide my blouse from my shoulders, her touch turned my skin to fire. As she lowered the straps on my bra exposing most of my breasts for all to see, they longed for her touch. As her hands cupped my breast, I felt consumed by lust. It was then that I felt a drop of wetness on my shoulder, then another and another, I knew what they were, they were her tears. Why tears, why now, I was consumed by lust while at the same time being confused, didn’t she want this, didn’t she want me. Did she find making love to me so distasteful that she’d cry. As Sue kissed my ear she whispered, "I’m sorry Amanda, I tried to keep you away, I tried to warn you. You wouldn’t listen, you had to have things your way, you had to know. I can’t help you now." I felt her touch leave me, her body move from mine, I felt pain, I felt empty. I didn’t have time to feel much beyond that, as hands came from everywhere, my being forced to the floor on my stomach, my clothes being pulled from my body. Hands caressing me probing me. I heard Philip, I didn’t comprehend what Philip said but I did hear Susan’s reply, "No Philip I won’t do that, I did what you wanted, I well not put a show on for you and your friends. Not with Amanda, NEVER." Next I heard a sharp slap, I knew Susan had just been hit. I tried to get up, I was being held there unable to move. I fought, I started to scream, I felt a hand in my hair, sharp pain as my head was jerked up off the floor. Philip’s face inches from mine, his eyes a blaze, his teeth showing against his snarled lips, his command, I can’t even remember what it was, it just was, I just obeyed. His lips on mine, my heart beating so fast, my breast aching to be touched. A hand probing, my body being pulled to my knees, fingers exploring my wetness, pushing into me, my body responding, pressing against those fingers, pumping into those fingers, my toes curling, wave after wave of passion as my first orgasm passed thought my body. Being turned over, a face between my legs, my hand being forced to hold someone’s penis, then another. My hands responding to their owners needs, stroking them, caressing them. Another orgasms. Philip’s eyes his demanding eyes, I’d obey, I’d do as he wanted, as my lust demanded of me. Oh my god, I was being used, becoming a plaything, an object to be used and abused as Philip and his friends so desired, and I wanted it more then they did. Philip saw that, Philip knew that, I was Philips slut, he could use me as he saw fit. That is when Philip held a jar in front of my face, Philip dropping the first quarter, then five more were added, I knew I wasn’t only Philips slut, I was Philip’s two bit whore, Susan had told him everything. I had no secrets left from Philip he knew all that Sue knew, my deepest and darkest secrets. In my humiliation I wanted to curl up, slink into a corner, but I couldn’t, I was over come by lust, a lust far worst then any sexual lust, a lust to be used, to submit to whatever Philip wanted. Sunday afternoon when I left Philip’s house, it was no longer Philip’s and Susan’s just Philip’s, there were nine quarters in my jar, nine men, nine men I’d please in every way they asked to be pleased. Susan and I no longer saw each other, I’d call she’d refuse to talk to me. I knew this was Philip’s doing, Sue would not hurt me like this, not if she had a choice. I was only allowed her company when I was at Philip’s and I was only ever at Philip’s to be used. Donald knew, he couldn’t help but know, he should have kicked me out the door. He didn’t, he tried to pull me back, he tried to stop me. When he knew nothing would stop me he let go but he didn’t leave, he waited, he hoped and I suppose he prayed. What drove me to this point in my life, what was I lacking, I don’t know, I surely didn’t like what was happening, at least when I wasn’t caught up in it. I became a fixture at Philip’s parties, his friends both the men and the women weren’t swingers, they were sadistic. Mean and abusive, sometimes physical, most of the time mental. I was used by both the men and the women, I was allowed to at least have true sex with the men. With the women, I wasn’t allowed that pleasure, I was touched, I was kissed, I was fondled, I was fingered, they used toys on me, sometimes hurt me but I wasn’t allowed to respond, I couldn’t touch, I couldn’t kiss back, I couldn’t make love. It was the same with Susan, Philip’s punishment for her refusing him that night, I suppose. He’d call us name, his dykes, his queers. I learned quickly that I wasn’t allowed to communicate with Sue, when I did, I’d be punished, most of the time by being slapped hard by Philip. One time, tied spread eagle on the edge of a table, used, forced to submit. One time given as entertainment for one of Philip’s associate’s bachelor party. No not given sold, I had to take the money up front, Philip had to show me what a common whore I was. Men I didn’t know, lots of men, one after the other, two at a time, three at a time, protection only if they used it. My body, became a depository for their sperm. It was all so sick, I was sicker yet, I responded, I had orgasms, they wanted me to beg and I wanted them, so I begged. I got off on all of it, I got off on the humiliation. I got off on the look of triumph in Philip’s eyes. There was nothing I wouldn’t do, there was no debasement I refused to submit to. It wasn’t as bad for Susan, thank god, she was Philip’s wife, there was only so much he was going to force on the women he slept next to each night. I didn’t have that advantage, or maybe it was something about me, maybe Sue had a breaking point, maybe Philip knew not to cross that line. What was wrong with me, I didn’t have to keep coming back for more, I hated my life, I lost interest in my children. I just couldn’t stop. I spent most of my time, legs drawn to my chest, arms around my legs, staring off in to oblivion. My obsession with my neighbors, became even more intense. I bought binoculars so I could see them better. I became depressed when they started fighting. I’d cry when the brunette would sit alone crying after one of their fights. I felt her pain, her grief when the stripper packed up and left one day. I wanted to hold her while she cried. I felt joy in my heart when she’d bring someone home, hoping she’d found someone, but feeling pain when I knew she hadn’t. When someone new finally did arrived in her life, almost a year ago now, I felt angry, I felt jealous. I hated this new woman, I wanted her gone. I compared her to the artist’s last lover, I picked her apart, I found fault with her hair, with her body, with her face. She wasn’t in my mind good enough for my friend, a friend I didn’t know. I was over the edge, I was insane. But I adjusted, I started to enjoying watching again, seeing their tenderness to one another, I started to like the one I had so hated. I wasn’t rational, Donald should have had me committed. Physically, I was a wreak, I didn’t sleep, I eat continuously, going from one hundred and twelve pounds to over one hundred, sixty. I hardly talked to Donald, and when I did it was short and bitter. Michael didn’t come home from college hardly at all, I couldn’t blame him I’d only bitch at him. Kelly and Heather spent more time with Beth, their nanny, then they did with me. I really think they had started to fear me, fear their nutty mother. I don’t know what changed, but something did. One night last winter after I’d gotten dressed to go to one of Philip’s parties, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a slut, no worse, I looked like one of the woman I’d know who was on drugs and walked the street so many years ago. I thought about her, about how she’d been driven to her state, about how I had walked into mine with open arms. I thought about my many jars now full of quarters. Maybe I’d never been truly happy, but I looked so sad, so tried. I went to Kelly’s bedroom, Heather was snuggled up next to her, as seemed to be the case most nights, she hates to sleep alone. I watched them sleep, I felt unworthy, I didn’t have a right to have such precious children. I stood in the doorway to Michael room, looked at his trophy’s, the posters hung on his wall, the picture of his girlfriend on his night stand. I thought of how I was driving him away, how much I loved him, how proud he made me feel. Tear fell, I couldn’t stop them, how had I gotten myself in such a state, how could I save myself? I did go to Philip’s that night, I didn’t know how to save myself but at least I was admitting I needed saving. When I arrived, I submitted as usual, but this time I did so with a tear in my eye, a pain in my heart. I don’t know what Susan had done to upset Philip, but she was on her knees begging him not to hit her. Everyone was laughing at her, everyone felt her fear was funny. I looked at her, I looked at Philip, I couldn’t stand this one minute longer, I looked around, I saw my jar, one of many, almost full again. I picked it up, I walked to Philip, I looked him right in the eyes, not away, not downcast, I smiled at him, I lifted my head as if waiting for his kiss, defying him, his lips snarled at me, I swung my arm back, then forward with every once of straight I had, hitting him in the groan as hard as I possible could. As he doubled up in pain, I walked away, no one stopped me, no one even tried. As I walked away I gave Philip back his quarters, right thought his picture window. I wasn’t his two bit whore, not any longer. Tonight I’m going back, tonight I’m going to save the one person I truly love, Susan. I’m stronger now, I know who I am, I have had some help in knowing myself, yes it was partly Donald and partly two others, your right if you guessed my neighbors. I didn’t do it, they did it for me, they made the move to invite the peeping Jane over, well the one I’d been so jealous of did. I’ve asked Diane to tell you that part of our story, that part of my life, it’s telling, it’s also loving, she said no, that is her life too. Yes Diane is my neighbor, how could I have ever been jealous of her. I don’t know that I’m a lesbian, but I do know that I can love a woman just as she does. I now run with Diane most mornings, her and her partner, we talk, we laugh, we are friends. I’m starting to look good again to. I feel good about myself. Oh one other thing, the butch/feminine thing is just a myth, they are both just woman, just like the rest of us.