****** Summer of 1999 by Callipygia ******
===============================================================================

Summer of 1999


Summer of 1999 By Callipygia@hotmail.com

As I crossed the Verazzano Bridge, the knot in my stomach threatened to make me
lose my breakfast. It wasn't so much the fact that I was going to a family
reunion - a prospect that never gave me warm fuzzies - so much as I'd see Angie
again. It had been nearly 10 years since I last saw her, after a summer of
having her at my parents house.

Angie is my cousin. I wasn't sure what she looked like now, but back then she
was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Sure the face was angelic, with
large brown eyes and long chestnut hair, she was an Italian slice of heaven.
But mostly I'd never gotten over that body. She was like a centerfold out of
Penthouse, with only slightly smaller breasts. At 18, she commanded the
attention of men wherever she went, including mine.

I spent that summer worshipping her, and much to my shock and delight, she
loved it. It was a summer of the most kinky sex I would ever know, and now, as
my 20s were coming to an end, I had the perspective to realize just how
unusually wonderful Angie was. Who knew that some of my earliest sexual
experiences would be the best, and kinkiest I'd ever have?

The only reason I even entertained the idea of going to this family shindig at
all was the fact that it was at Angie's parent's mansion in Long Island, and
there was the possibility of running into her again. We hadn't talked much at
all since that summer, and like a vision of perfection, she had haunted me ever
since.

I'd never been to their fabled house out on the "Island", but I'd certainly
heard enough about it. Extremely successful professionals, Angie's parents
never failed to flaunt their money, and this was the latest testament to their
ability to amass wealth. As I followed the directions up to the Hamptons, I
couldn't help but notice the homes had grown enormous. Still, I was shocked how
genuinely gigantic the Obermann's house was. House? Try castle!

I drove up the circular drive, handed my keys to the valet, and followed the
servant into the house. If the exterior of the house was amazing, it paled in
comparison to the richly appointed interior, which was rife with real marble,
and expensive woodwork. I was lead to a tent out in their back yard. A live
band played, and fully catered dishes were being served by scores of servants
and helpers.

Italians are famous for having big families, and ours was no exception. There
were literally hundreds of people there, many of whom only had the barest of
bloodline connection to me, and most of whom I had never seen before. I scoured
the crowd in search of Angie, but I simply couldn't find her. Finally! A face I
recognized: Mom!

I went over to my mother and grabbed a bottle of beer off the tray of a man
standing near her.

"Hello, Brad! I'm so glad you came! I didn't think you'd be here, sweetie!" My
mom gave me a big motherly hug.

"Come on now, Mom," I protested, "I'm not THAT cynical!" We shared a laugh. My
father had passed away two years earlier, and it was good to see my mom in such
good spirits.

I went back to scouring the crowd for Angie. Dammit, I hoped she would be
there, and yet I was nervous as hell that she might really be there.

"So how's work?" my mom asked in that way that moms do.

"It's OK," I said absently, ever scanning this group of near strangers I was
supposed to be related to. "Same old, same old. I might get that promotion I
was telling you about. My boss is leaving for Lockheed, and now they need
someone to replace him."

"What is that you do again, dear?"

"Information technology, ma," I responded tiredly. She never seemed to get it.
"You know, computers?"

"I would never have guessed that's what you'd end up doing..."

I snapped my head around at the barely familiar voice, and there she was! Angie
stood there beaming, next to my mother!

"Oh, Angie, darling!" cried my mother. "It's so good to see you again!"

After they exchanged hugs, Angie looked at me and said, "Well?"

Regaining my senses, I said, "Oh! Sorry!" and reached out to hug! my cousin. I
was amazed that she hadn't lost an ounce of her beauty. In fact, the added
maturity gave her face more of a beautiful look, rather than pretty or cute,
which might have described her the last time I saw her.

As I put my arms around her, it felt like an electrical shock. I was intensely
aware of her breasts pushing against me, and the feeling of her waist at the
side. She gave me a long and warm hug. I don't know if I hid how in heaven I
felt at her touch.

Her dress was tasteful and classy, but echoed the tastes of an exhibitionist.
She wore an olive half sweater that exposed her midriff, the bottom of it
clinging to her. It featured her trademark v-neck, and I couldn't help but
steal glances at her well-tanned cleavage. Little details like the tiny blond
down on her breasts shining in the bright July sunlight seemed to etch into my
mind. Her skirt was a long and flowing summery thing. It was conservative, but
had the paradoxical effect of drawing the eye to her body, especially since it
exposed her belly button and clung to her exquisitely shaped hips and ass like
a wet t-shirt.

Ahh, that ass, how I had loved that ass, I thought.

Interrupting my thought, she said, "So Bradley, it's been a long time, hasn't
it? I think about you often."

"Yeah, it's been 10 years I think," I replied, as if I wasn't aware of how long
it had been, damn near down to the day. Of course, I then gave myself away by
adding far too quickly, "Angie, I think of you all the time!"

"Really..." she said and smiled. We stood in awkward silence for a moment or
two.

"So... I see you're getting really good reviews for your books!"

"You've read them?" she said and touched my arm. It felt like her fingers were
on fire.

"I've got them all in hard back," I said, "It's not most people that are
related to a best selling author!" I'd read them all too. Angela Obermann had a
knack for writing some very steamy sex scenes in her novels, with emphasis on a
strong dominant female character in many of them.

We continued to chat, and my mother disappeared to talk to some long-lost aunt
or something. I asked Angie if she wanted to get something to eat, and then we
found a table toward the fringe of all the activity and sat and ate. We drank
beer and wine, and caught up on all of the things that had happened in each of
our lives over the past decade.

Like me, she'd been in and out of several relationships over the years, but had
never found the 'right' person. "Here we are nearly in our 30s and we're still
dating like high school kids!" she joked.

The alcohol had relaxed us both a bit, and I was treated to several arm and
hand touchings. At one point I took a chance and placed a hand on her thigh,
ostensibly while emphasizing a point. She didn't react to it at all, and I
removed it before it became impossible to ignore, but the chance to touch her
leg was delightful. I felt great relief and gratitude in the fact that she had
let me have virtually all of her time at this reunion. The truth was, aside
from a few distant relatives coming up and saying hello every now and then,
nobody really disturbed us at all, and that was great.

"Do you remember that summer you stayed at my house?" I offered at one point,
"That was one hell of a summer!"

She looked me in the eyes and responded a little quietly, "It sure was..." I
loved the little smile on her face.

"I think about it almost constantly, Ang."

"Mmmmm hmmmm..." she replied. "I'll bet you do! Tell me..." She paused to take
a sip of wine. "Did you do all that because you were just into the psychology
of it all, or did you really just like the taste?" The grin on her face was
mischievous.

As she asked the question, I felt my cock immediately spring to life like a
Pavlovian dog responding to the sound of a dinner bell. I knew that we had both
been thinking of those distant and kinky times, perhaps since we saw each other
again at the reunion, but the directness of her allusion still shocked me. I
could see on her face that that was not accidental.

"I don't know, I haven't really thought about it," I lied. "I guess there were
lots of reasons I did it." It occurred to me that for all the activity that had
gone on that summer, she and I had never really discussed it. We just did it.

"Well?" she said, with a hint of amusement, "Like what?"

"For one thing, I did it 'cause you're gorgeous! Honestly, Angie you might be
the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Thank you," she said, "but I'm not buying that that was it. I mean, it doesn't
explain all of the kinkier things we did."

"OK," I conceded, "I discovered something crucial about myself that summer. I
find special release in not only being with a woman, but worshipping her. And
by worship, I mean it's not merely enough that I serve her, I want - no, NEED
to feel used by her. It makes the worship more intense, more genuine." I
surprised myself with the candor of my words.

She smiled, "Haven't really thought about it, eh?" and she gave me a sly smile.
"Well, use you I did, I guess, huh? Let's cut to the chase though. We both know
your favorite thing to do involved all sorts of things with my backside..." She
turned to the side to look down toward her bottom, lifting her hip slightly off
the chair. The gesture was exquisitely feminine and alluring to me. "What was
that all about?"

"Well," I started slowly, "your 'backside' as you refer to it is just supremely
beautiful and totally embodies female sexiness - at least to me. So doing those
things gave me a chance to wallow in that sexiness while performing the
ultimate services for you, worshipping you ultimately. I always loved the
juxtaposition of incredible beauty and incredible... ...nastiness." My cock had
grown rock hard, and I placed a hand over it to hide my erection. "What about
you? Why did you do it?"

She looked at me with that beautiful smile for a moment, and then said, "What
girl doesn't like to be worshipped, Brad?"

"Apparently, most, at least not like that," I replied somewhat forlornly.

"Well, I loved it!," she said. "How often does someone get a chance to," and
then she whispered, "*shit* on someone?" She burst into laughter. I'd heard
that laughter so many times before, in the distant past, usually with the taste
of her fresh shit emanating from cakes of it between my teeth and on my tongue.

"So," she continued, "you haven't been able to find any other willing
participants since then, eh?"

"No," I said. "I can't even figure out a way that I could bring something like
that up without getting my hat handed back to me." Then with trepidation, I
asked, "How about you?"

She smiled quizzically and said, "Well, I don't know about that extreme, but I
guess you could say I've met a lot of guys who like to worship women. Are you
ready for a confession? I've worked as an exotic dancer, and in that field, you
see all kinds!"

I damn near dropped my drink! "What!? Are you serious?" I suddenly realized
that that was a little too loud. "Sorry, I'm just... I'm shocked!"

"I thought you might be. My parents were absentee, you know? I think I did it
as a sort of rebellion against them. They never knew I did it, but *I* did, and
that was enough. When I came to stay with you guys that summer, I'd already
done some work at a club not far from my house!"

I was having trouble thinking. It just seemed impossible, and yet, it really
helped to explain an awful lot. I'd never met anyone as open-minded as Angie,
ever. And now I had part of the reason why. "I don't know what to say, Angie.
You were barely 18 then!"

"Well, let me tell you, I applied for the job when I was still 17, and they
loved me, but they told me I couldn't dance there until I was 18. Well my
birthday came, and the next day, I went back. I only did it for a few years
while I went through college. It wasn't for the money, I just loved it, and I
used to imagine what my parents would think if they ever found out! Anyway,
guys were always groping you and offering to pay for your dirty underwear, and
begging to kiss your ass that sort of thing. It really appealed to both my ego
and my exhibitionist nature."

I was having trouble figuring out what impact this revelation would have on my
fantasies surrounding Angie. I just listened to her intently while she spilled
the whole sordid tale.

"So when I caught you that one day with my underwear, it really wasn't as weird
to me as it might be to someone else. To tell you the truth, I was flattered.
And what can I say, I took my mean-streak out on you, but only because I know
you wanted it."

"What about the really kinky stuff?" I asked. "I mean I doubt guys were openly
asking you to pee on them!"

"Well you might be surprised actually. Well, maybe you're right, it wasn't that
extreme, but the way I saw it, hey, it's just a bodily function. What's the
shame in that? I don't always feel that I need to have a desire myself in order
to understand someone else having one. When I found out what you were into, I
didn't concentrate on how 'sick' you might be. Instead, I thought about whether
or not I might like being on the receiving end of it. And guess what?" she
said, and ran her fingers through her hair, "I did. A lot!"

Angie broke out a tube of lipstick and a mirror, and began to 'freshen' up. I
watched the bright red tube run over her glistening lips, and marvelled at how
amazing she was. Author, gorgeous, intelligent, stunning, former stripper, and
who knew what else. I felt enthralled with this remarkable woman.

"You know what?" she said, snapping her compact closed and dropping it into her
purse. "Why don't we blow this joint and go somewhere? I don't think I can bear
hearing 'AmorŽ' again! We could go to a bar or back to my room. I decided I
didn't want to risk driving back into the city if I got a little too toasted,"
she said and waved her empty wine glass in the air, "and you know how I feel
about staying in this place. So I rented a hotel room".

We said goodbye to my Mom and to some other relatives, picked up our cars from
the valets and drove off. I followed her blue BMW roadster and contemplated
what might happen next. Angie was full of surprises. I was surprised at how
much she resented her parents. I was surprised that she had actually worked as
a stripper, even though it was obvious she had all the requisite assets. I was
surprised that she had enjoyed that summer seemingly as much as I had, and I
was very surprised that she had obviously thought about me as much as she had.

When we got into Angie's hotel room, she tossed her keys and purse on a dresser
and plopped down on the full-size bed. She lay on her side and looked at me for
a long time before either of us said anything.

"You look good," she said. "You obviously keep in shape."

"Me? Look at *you*! I think your waist is even smaller than when we were
teenagers," I cried. I openly studied the gentle downward slope of her body
from her rib cage to the small of her waist, and then the nearly mirror image
slope as it rose back up to her hips, and curved around that sweet ass. Feeling
a bit light-headed from the combination of her presence and the many beers I'd
had, I blurted out, "No offense, but your tits look bigger than ever, too!"

She laughed at my alcohol induced brusqueness.

"Well, they might be slightly augmented, if you know what I mean. But only
slightly," she chuckled. "I know you're not a breast man any way," she said,
and she turned over onto her stomach on the bed. "This is what you like," she
purred, giving her back the slightest arch to accentuate her curves. Her face
was partially hidden behind her outstretched arm, so that I could only see her
eyes, but they said volumes. "Would you like to kiss it? You know, for old
time's sake?"

I walked silently over to the bed and slowly brought both of my hands up to her
shoulders, and began kneading them, giving her a sensuous back rub. "You know I
could never resist an opportunity to kiss your ass, Angie..." I leaned forward
and kissed her temple. I caressed my way down her back. She let out soft sighs
and stretched her legs and arms while I touched her sweet skin. I ran a string
of kisses down the indentation of her spine. When my lips completed their
journey down her sweater and touched her skin, I felt her shudder, and I took
in the gentle scent of her sweat, skin, and various perfumes.

"Mmmmmmm..." she sighed.

I took the zipper of her skirt between my teeth and pulled the zipper down.
Just as I had discovered many years ago, Angie eschewed underwear, so I was
treated to the sight of her half-naked ass, and I got to run my nose about
halfway down the crack of her ass, inhaling the entire time. One of the things
I always loved about Angie's body is that she was never 'too' clean. Other
girls I had been with were so absorbed in maniacal personal hygiene, their
bodies were often antiseptic and scent free. In my opinion, one shower a day
was all anyone really needed. Angie smelled wonderful, the heat of the July sun
having created just enough perspiration to give her a warm earthy odor.

I pulled her skirt down off those incredibly long, smooth legs, and I noticed
once again that Angie's ass was a testament to roundness and firmness. She
clearly kept herself in great shape. I knelt at the foot of the bed and took
one her feet into my hand. I brought it to my face and sniffed deeply, kissing
the bottom.

"Ooooh, that feels good, Brad!"

I sucked on each toe, closed my eyes, and absorbed this new flavor her body had
to offer. While licking between the toes of her other foot, I looked up at the
rest of her. I loved the way her sweater seemed to accentuate the nudity of her
lower body, the heart-shape outline her ass made at that angle, the beautiful
semi-circles her tan lines made over the cheeks, and the way the bottoms of the
cheeks articulated into little nooks right at her inner thigh. A line of paler
skin hinted at the bottom of her cheek, where slightly less sun would shine. I
kissed my way up the back of her legs until I could kiss those lines and those
little nooks.

She arched her back even more, causing the split of her ass to open enough for
me to see all the way down into the crack of her ass. With my lips still
pressed to the bottom of one her ass cheeks, I could see the little wrinkled
star that was her asshole less than an inch away. It was so close, it was
blurry. Once again my mind noted the smell, which was what I would expect from
someone who had sat in the hot sun for an entire afternoon.

There was something about the combination of that sight and smell that always
seemed to make me temporarily insane. I wanted to kiss it, to taste it. I
wanted to lick it, and absorb it's scent into my body. I wanted her to feel
arrogant while I did it. I wanted permanent stains on my tongue from her
asshole.

She seemed to be reading my mind.

"You know what I liked most of all the things we did?" she asked with a smile.

"Tell me, Angie."

"I liked when you would kiss my asshole and then let me fart in your mouth! I
always thought it was the rudest thing a person could do to someone else. It
seemed so disrespectful, especially since you were expressing the greatest show
of respect to me in licking my ass."

My cock was so stiff it hurt. I wanted to bury my face in her ass right then,
but I didn't want to interrupt the conversation. I loved hearing her
perspective.

"Even more so than..." For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to say it.

"Than shitting on you?" she asked with amusement. "Yes, even more than that! I
characterize that as being more 'mean', you know? Farting was just so *rude*!
Farting made me feel arrogant. Shitting made me feel cruel. Don't get me wrong,
though, I really loved both!"

"May I lick your ass now, Angie" I asked, sweat starting to bead up on my brow.

"You may," she quipped, and she reached back with both of her hands and pulled
her ass cheeks apart, fully exposing herself.

I started by kissing the lightly haired wrinkles around the hole first. The
skin was sticky and ripe with anal fragrance. I decided I couldn't waste it by
kissing it all off, so I moved my nose down into her crack, and began nuzzling
her asshole. This put my mouth right over her pussy, so I began kissing her
there while I nuzzled and sniffed her asshole. I felt my lips grow wet with
girl-cum, and pressed my mouth in more firmly against her. I allowed my lips to
part so that I could caress her pretty little clit with my tongue. The entire
time I had my nose pressed right up against her precious asshole, and enjoyed
the dirty asshole scent.

Suddenly, her asshole opened up and my nose was filled with strong anal gas as
I heard a nearly silent whoosh.

"See what I mean," she said, laughing. "You're busy trying to please me with
your mouth, and I respond by farting in your face! That's just fucking RUDE! It
feels like I just totally disrespected you!"

"I like that," I responded, reluctantly breaking my seal on her clit. "But I
think farting in my mouth is even ruder!"

"You might be right, but I like the idea that you had to smell my gas while you
suck me off! I love the fact that I can count on you to not even stop while I
fart in your face! Do you want one in your mouth?"

Once again I reluctantly stopped lapping up her pussy juice and responded, "Oh,
yes, Angie, I would love that!" I was in heaven!

Then she surprised me.

"Beg for it! Explain how it is your purpose in life to taste my gas!" Her voice
had taken on a certain huskiness to it, and I noticed that her juices were
starting to flow freely.

I nuzzled her asshole and kissed it and said, "Please Angie, fart in my mouth.
I deserve nothing more than a mouthful of your delicious gas. I love your gas
and want to have it in my mouth and in my body!"

"I DO love your attitude!" she chuckled. "Open up for my gift."

I pressed my mouth to her asshole and opened wide.

"Suck on it. I love that feeling. Like you can't get enough of it!"

I began to suck like a baby on a bottle, dying to be fed. And then she let a
loud wet fart rip. It sounded funny as it went into my mouth, but it's taste
was anything but. I could taste some of the food she had eaten earlier, with a
hint of all that wine, mixed with a strong shit odor. It was obvious to me that
this girl had to go. I fought off an impending orgasm so that I could enjoy the
even greater delights that were clearly in store.

"Whew!" she laughed. "I can smell that up here! Poor baby! But you loved it
didn't you? You want even more, don't you?"

I looked at the impossible beauty of the globes of her ass pressed against my
face, and knew in my heart that my destiny was to eat her shit whenever she
deigned to feed it to me. I simply nodded without removing my face from her
ass.

"This is my favorite way to come, Brad, did you know that?" she said and she
began stroking her clit. It reminded me of the very first time we had done this
over a decade ago. "Lick my asshole, like a good little slave preparing to eat
his mistress's shit, Brad. Show me how much you appreciate this treatment by
lovingly licking my asshole."

She was so much more verbal now! I loved it! I went about the business of
trying to make her feel comfortable to abuse me in the worst way, tasting every
wrinkle of her asshole, and then pushing my tongue up inside. It seemed easier
to get my tongue up there than I remember from the past. It slid easily in, and
I found myself opening my jaw painfully to slip it in just that extra quarter
inch or so. I loved the feeling of her beautiful sphincter wrapped around the
base of my tongue, and the thought of where the rest of my tongue was embedded.

Then I tasted shit for the first time in 10 years. It started slowly down her
anal canal and I licked the tip of this obscene excrement cock. I could feel
her furiously rubbing her clit. I heard her moaning softly, then she would bear
down with a gentle grunt. Her shit came closer and closer to the end of it's
journey, with me frantically licking every nook and cranny, burying my tongue
in the softer spots. Shit tastes every bit as bad as you imagine it to, but I
wouldn't have it any other way. I wanted to suffer for her whim. It made the
abuse so much more real and personal.

"Oooh, yes!," she cried, and she began to come. "Oooh yes! Eat it, you
worthless shiteater! Eat my shit when you get me off! Yes, eat shit!"

Somehow her words stung in a way that our kinks had never done before. She cut
through the veneer of my older age and wisdom like a hot knife through soft
butter, and made me feel more degraded than I imagined was humanly possible.
And then her shit pushed it's way out of her asshole and into my mouth! And I
once again I proved that I was a bottom feeder in this world, sucking and
chewing on her shit as fast as I could. I was more concerned about making sure
I could eat fast enough so that she could keep a continuous flow of shit into
my mouth than I was with the sheer outrage of being made to eat another human
being's waste.

She was always a violent cummer, and this time was no different. Her body
wracked with waves of pleasure as she made me eat shit, and I was so absorbed
in the stinging humiliation of it all that I surprised myself when I began to
come too, right in my own pants. I remembered vaguely that in the midst of all
of this, I hadn't even taken my clothes off. I realized that this was all about
her and her pleasures, her cruel pleasures, and I loved it. I became convinced
at that moment that my young crush on her was no crush after all. Angie was the
perfect woman.

After her orgasm subsided, she lay there satisfied and happy, like a spoiled
brat princess, and let me finish the task of eating her shit, then licking her
ass clean. I didn't even have to be told to kiss her asshole afterward in
gratitude. That was something that we had established that summer so many years
ago, and I was still well-trained.

She didn't move as she said, "God, I almost forgot how good it can feel to do
something like that to someone else! Mmmmmm... you even remembered to kiss my
asshole in thanks! You ARE spoiled, you lucky bastard, getting shit on by
someone like me!" And then she gave me one! of those wonderful derisive laughs.

My humiliation kept me silent. I felt like the bottom in an abusive
relationship; the addict that can't stop themselves from destroying themselves
for the other party. It felt horrible and wonderful at the same time. It was
the feeling a voluntary slave should have.

She broke the silence after a few minutes.

"Brad, I'm tired. All that wine is getting to me. Do me a favor and leave your
phone number on the pad on that desk over there. I'd like to get together with
you again sometime, maybe. It's been nice seeing you."

It was barely 9 o'clock. I was stunned by this apparent dismissal. It was not
how I expected this to turn out. Not that I had a clear idea of what might
happen, but... I quickly scribbled down my number on the pad, and went over to
the bed, where Angie was still sprawled out in all of her wonderful naked
beauty. I leaned down and kissed her cheek and said, "It's been good seeing you
too! Call me, Angie..."

And then I turned and walked out.

I heard her chuckle and say, "Your breath stinks!" just before I closed the
door. I paused for a moment, then thought it would be best to just leave.

Perhaps the most embarrassing thing about it is that I really waited with bated
breath every day after that for her call.

About two weeks later, she finally did...