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Confessions Of Little Susan
Copyright © 2016 Alicia Stranger
Darque Taboo Press
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All Rights Reserved: No part of this publication may be reproduced or retransmitted, electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the publisher; with the exception of brief quotes used in connection with reviews written for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper.
Disclaimer: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic, adult language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable which might include: multiple sexual practices, heavy and strong BDSM themes and elements, erotic elements and fetish play. This e-book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/Fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither the publisher nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles. All characters depicted at least eighteen years of age or older.
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual places, people, or events is purely coincidental. Any trademarks mentioned herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.
CHAPTER ONE - SUSAN'S STORY
CHAPTER TWO - ORGASTIC WAYS TO PLEASURE
CHAPTER THREE - THE FIRST PENETRATIONS
CHAPTER FOUR - AND THEN THERE WERE MORE THRILLS TO COME
CHAPTER FIVE -SOME NAMES FOR THE SEX GAME
CHAPTER SIX - HERE COMES HUNG-UP SEX AND THINGS
CHAPTER SEVEN - AND HERE COMES THE ORGIES
CHAPTER EIGHT - HERE COMES THE LOVERS
I have a lot of things I just gotta get off my mind, right off. Maybe that's because I'm hot just thinking about writing this book. It makes me think about all the lovely pricks I've embraced in my flaming pussy and sucked in my mouth.
I just shiver and shake all over inside when I think about a man's prick, and it makes me want one so badly that it's difficult to sit here at the typewriter and tell you about it all.
I guess if I were to say in one line what my whole feeling in life-and reason for living-is, it would be: I love orgasm and pricks and can't get enough of sex!
Maybe that will shock a lot of people. But it's because of this obsession that I have to tell the world; so maybe somebody will understand.
Many pricks I've had thought me cheap and dirty; they think I'm a tramp and a whore. But they don't know what it's like to want to have a loving-stick deep inside my sex hole. I can suck it and-suck it until it gets all alive.
There's nothing about a man's prick that I don't just love and love to love up and down and all around. I've worshipped on men's love-sticks for hours at a time, just feeling and touching and kissing and fondling. There isn't anything I'd rather do all day than to play with men's pricks; even if I have dug lesbian sex. Any kind is great; but a man's love-gun is simply the best. See what I mean?
I read someplace, or was told by somebody, that what couldn't be done sexually would be called un-godly. Or was it, perverse? I don't remember. But I do remember that the meaning was simple enough: if we weren't meant to do it that way, it wouldn't be possible; and if it is possible it was probably meant to be done that way, too.
I remember my mother as a shy, small woman, not very big in the bust, but with honest blue eyes and a tenderness about her mouth. She believed in God and sin and punishment; yet I think she probably enjoyed sex with dad.
For my father was a big man, and from the pictures I've seen of him when he was my age, he had been muscular and handsome, the kind of guy I could have easily gone for in a big way. Mother must have felt that way, too. Dad wasn't the kind of person to let a woman dominate him; so I guess if he wanted sex, mother would have had to submit. Maybe if the demand had been made before they were married-and I don't know if it wasn't-she would have submitted. He dominated the family.
When I was eighteen he had been highly successful as a salesman, but quit his job to become a writer. From that time on our lives changed-and he changed a lot. He became moody and drank a lot. I remember that he would get up from his typewriter-any hour of the day-go to mother, take her hand and lead the way into the bedroom. From what I've learned about sex and men, intercourse is one way to escape personal and emotional frustration.
For a while mother was pretty nice about letting him have his way. Finally, they had a series of arguments that I couldn't help overhearing and they involved sex. She was claiming that he demanded too much, that there was something wrong with him, and he should go to a doctor and find out what. He had merely claimed that either she satisfied his needs or he couldn't be responsible for the results.
I know that during their short separation when I was eighteen-going on eighteen, just a few weeks away to birthday time-father took up with several other women. He rented an office and one day I went to visit him. Not realizing what might be wrong in simply stepping into his office unannounced, I burst in to discover him with a girl just a little older than myself. He was standing, naked from the waist down with a very large erection, the girl was on her knees before him, her mouth about the end of his penis. I'd already done things like that to boys and men and knew what was going on. I immediately turned and left.
Later that day he called home and said he wanted to have me over for a conversation. I knew about what. He sounded terrible.
I remember sitting in his office, which was also an apartment for him, now that he wasn't living at home, not in the least embarrassed at what he was trying to say-amused by his own confused embarrassment. He tried to tell me about men and women and about himself and my mother. He stammered and hesitated and stumbled all over the place. Finally, I just blurted out, in order to stop his confusion, saying:
"Daddy, I don't think you have to explain. My generation isn't as innocent about such things as you might think. I'm sorry for having barged in on you at such a moment, but ... it really wasn't a shock to see something like that. After all, it is quite a common thing for a girl to do to a man, don't you think?"
I was more alarmed by his shocked, almost furious expression than anything in my life. He stood, looked as if he were about to slap my face, then sank back in the sofa, moaned, covered his face with his large hands and said something to the effect that he didn't know where he'd failed with me.
After a moment I told him things like: Sexual information was pretty easy to get and that most of the girls my age engaged in some kind of sexual activity, including intercourse. I also admitted that I didn't really see anything wrong with it. Maybe his own shame and his own feeling of guilt made it possible for us to continue the conversation, but as two adults, rather than father and daughter. I helped this simply by saying:
"What do you think the father of that girl would have thought if he had walked into the room like I did?"
He told me she was eighteen, legally old enough to engage in sex and that she had been the aggressive one.
I then pointed out that it was probably impossible for her to have done such a thing-and be as aggressive as he claimed-if she hadn't had enough experience to know what she was doing.
It was then that he asked if I'd ever done anything with a boy or man like that.
For some reason it was easy to talk to him by then. I quite frankly admitted: "I've done a lot of things with males. I think it's fun. And I don't think you have a right to get angry about that, either, Daddy, because you don't seem to be against taking a young girl. Why do you think your daughter would be much different than other girls her age?"
He couldn't argue with that. Finally he asked: "How long have you been doing such things?" He was sick and bitter and depressed, and I believe blaming himself for what I'd become, but admitting it was too late to change things. Maybe he realized it was time to give me an honest male viewpoint; some fatherly facts of life.
I told him that it had been for a long time, ever since I'd been able to experience sexual feelings. That shocked him quite a bit, but I merely pointed out that it had been impossible to keep away from sex. I admitted to a very high sexual drive and that I couldn't keep from becoming overly excited when in the presence of a man or boy who wished to become a little aggressively sexy with me.
He looked at me for some time then, looking very carefully at my body. He was looking at his daughter like a man might look at a woman.
What he told me then made that obvious. He said, in effect: "I never realized it before. You are a woman. A sexy, attractive woman. Any man would be on the make for you. Why haven't I realized that before?"
I'd had big breasts for several years by then, well formed. I had always liked looking at myself in front of the mirror and playing with my pussy, exploring it inside with my finger, and watching the pleasure flush through my face. I'd enjoyed fingering and pinching and fondling my breasts and nipples. I even liked squeezing my fanny and exploring the erotic nerves about my rear. I thrilled to caressing my side, the curves of my hips, the rounded fullness of my thighs. Every nerve of my flesh is highly sensitive and I can masturbate myself to climax in a very short time. Of course, I didn't tell Daddy that.
It was funny, though. After saying what an attractive young woman I was, he suddenly said: "You're mother is a beautiful woman, but different. The trouble with her is that she won't do what the girl was doing to me."
"You mean," I asked, "she won't blow you?"
That term shocked him, but he adjusted to it. "No," he admitted, "she thinks it's dirty ... and is afraid I'll ... well you know ... in her-"
"Go off in her mouth. Oh, that's silly!" I giggled. "Somebody told me it's simply protein. What's wrong with that? Isn't it just the same when a man does it to a woman that way?"
A blanched expression clouded my father's face and he couldn't speak for some moments. I broke the silence by telling him simply: "Daddy, I know it sounds strange talking to you like that ... but to be honest, I did see quite a lot when I walked in on you. I knew what was going on. I wasn't shocked in any way. In fact, I guess, it was sorta nice to see that my father is just as human as any other person. I know I'm only eighteen, but I don't think age means maturity; I believe it is experience. If you like it or not, the fact is that I've had a lot of experience with men and boys. I can't help it. Maybe there's something wrong with me. But I don't care."
He stared seriously at me for a long time, then said: "Don't you know how dangerous it is ... what you're doing? You could get all kinds of sickness ... you might have a baby. Oh! What have I raised?"
I laughed and told him I knew all about birth control and had always been careful. He wanted to know how, and I simply said that the first person I had real intercourse with used a rubber and told me why and told me that there were other ways to protect myself.
Immediately, he became furious. But he hid it pretty well. He wanted to know where the bastard was. I believe he would have killed the man.
It wouldn't have done any good. I simply told him that it hadn't been the first time I'd had sexual contact with males, just the first man to complete a sexual act within my body.
By then the conversation had become so boldly honest that I believe even Dad had stopped being embarrassed or angry. He asked what kind of things I'd done in the beginning.
"Necking, petting with boys my age. But they were afraid to go all the way. I wanted to so badly that I couldn't stand it, Daddy. So ... when I met this older man ... he was, I believe about twenty-three, I guess. To be honest, it was all my fault."
He wanted to know more, but I didn't want to tell him. He demanded that I say more, threatening to do all sorts of things ... I can't remember what, exactly, but just about everything a parent could possibly threaten. I finally did say this much:
"I met him at a girl friend's house. He was amused by my flirtation, but polite in trying to cool me. I finally just kept on until there wasn't any way he could stop. I guess you know better than I do that a girl can drive a man too far ... even without being cheap."
He accepted that with a slight moan and then said that he was going to take me to a doctor. I didn't refuse, because there wasn't any point in doing so. In fact, he called a doctor friend of his and asked for another one, out of town, who wouldn't know us. An appointment was made and we went immediately. It's enough to say that the doctor gave me a total examination, fingering my vagina until I was so hot I couldn't stand it. But he wasn't doing it more than any doctor might. He used some instruments and I almost had an orgasm. He announced that I wasn't a virgin and, as far as he could assume, I'd probably not been one for years ... though there was no way to really say. He also claimed there was every indication that I was highly sexed and easily stimulated. I guess the way my vulva and vigina were reacting to his examination gave him some information. My physical reaction, and blood-pressure must have told him some more. He took some blood tests and some other test and immediately checked them out. All the evidence convinced Dad that I was highly sexed.
All the way back home where he was dropping me off, my father continued to talk about men and their attitude towards sex and women who gave themselves too freely. It didn't make any difference, because every time he said a man can think a girl cheap when she sleeps with him, I said: "But the girl is getting something, too." Or I'd simply say: "I'm using the man, Dad. I'm never used!"
Once I even pointed out something that he seemed to realize and was surprised that I knew-though all women know this, really, in time; I said, "Daddy, no girl can be seduced against her will; she has to open the door.
"Only if a man rapes a girl is it against her will. I've never been raped; I don't think it would be possible. If somebody tried, they would probably be pretty surprised how things turned out, because I'd enjoy myself more than the man."
I don't want to go on much more about that. Reading it over I realize it sounds all fantastic, and that's probably because I'm not able to really explain it the right way. I can't tell all the things that led up to it, the mood and the atmosphere. All I've been able to do is tell the truth about the important things that were said. It didn't happen quite as casually. There were a lot of hot, angry words.
Father was embarrassed. I quickly told him I knew just about all he could tell me, and then some. But it all happened over a period of several hours and accompanied by a lot of pacing and a lot of silent anger from Dad.
The thing is, I wanted to point out, this caused a change between Dad and me. We accepted each other as adults from then on. He never questioned my activities and we seldom talked about sex. He returned to mother a few months later. I believe it was partly so that he could be close enough to me to be there if I ever needed his help and understanding. Possibly it was to help with any problems that might come up between Mother and me.
The funny thing is that I later learned that Mother had guessed quite a bit. I also learned that Mother hadn't been a virgin when she married Dad and had experienced her first sexual act with a man when she was in her middle teens. It had been her uncle and he had wanted her to go down on him. She'd done it and he hadn't pulled out soon enough. It had been a kind of experience that was almost forced rape of a kind. I picked the information up a bit at a time. Only in the last six months did Mother come out and have a woman to woman conversation with me.
I remember her sitting me down in the living room and saying it was time that we talked honestly to one another, since I was now a woman. I felt embarrassed, because I hadn't been that close to her in that way. But the first thing she said broke the ice:
"I know, Susan, that you've not been a virgin for a long time. I simply want to make it clear that there's no reason we can't accept each other as women, now that you're old enough. Come to me if you ever need somebody to talk to. I've waited until now to talk to you ... though, heaven knows, I've wanted to a lot earlier!
"There is a time when a daughter needs her father-and there's a time she needs her mother. Maybe from now on you'll discover it is nice to have someone you can turn to in times of need. I don't think it would surprise you to know that I wasn't a virgin when I met your father. There had been several men before him. I think there's nothing wrong with men and women learning about sex before they get married. Even then there will be problems that can't be overcome ... in a sexual way. I know that I haven't fulfilled your father's total sexual needs in our marriage; but that's his and my personal problem.
"We've managed to survive enough storms to make an honest claim that we have a fairly good marriage. I don't think your father had always been totally loyal. I believe he had several affairs. But he always came back to me. That's the important thing, Susan. Our love has been great enough to survive just about all the possible tests of love. Where I failed as a wife, your father managed to take other means to let off the steam. He's been a good husband, a good father. I don't have any complaints."
Of course, you have to realize that I'm paraphrasing her words. I can't remember exactly what she said ... that is, in the exact words, but that was what she was telling me. I guess, in order to make her feel a little better, I told Mother that I'd done things with boys for a long time and that I'd gone to a doctor and he'd said I was physically hyper-sexual. I even went so far as to say Dad had taken me to the doctor while he was separated with her and started to tell her something more about the conversation and things that had happened, leaving out the fact that I'd seen him with a young girl-but I've gotten only two words out when Mother stopped me, saying: "I don't want to hear!" I respected her on this.
But she did ask what I meant by hyper-sexual and I explained that I'd been told I was probably highly sexed and then told her what I believed she really meant by that question: "That I can't control my sexual desires-and that there isn't anything I didn't like doing with a man."
She looked a little sad, staring at her hands, which were folded on her lap. It was then that she told me something about her own first personal sexual experience-mainly in general terms-saying about the actual event:
"I didn't have ... well, intercourse ... it was something disgusting he made me do ... something I've never been able to do with your father or any man since, because of it."
And a little later, after a lot of conversation about men and sex in the most general terms, she said:
"There's certain things I simply can't do...." And later it was more to the point, though very vague, really: "I'm not very oral ... and your father likes certain oral things done ... I just can't do it."
But when I told her: "I think maybe I'm too oral, Mother! I don't think there's anything wrong with kissing a man there!" she nodded and said, "Everybody I've talked to says that there is nothing wrong with doing anything that is leasing to both parties. I simply can't do things like that ... and it isn't my fault. A woman's first sexual experience, if it comes at the wrong time and happens against her will and she isn't excited enough ... it can do terrible harm."
To add to this information about my father and mother's sex life and sexual attitudes-which, I believe, might have had a lot to do with my own attitudes and habits. I would like to say something that Dad told me once, a year or so later, after our talk before going to the doctor. He said:
"You're mother tried it once with me. I had been doing everything I could to convince her to try. I don't believe in forcing anybody to do something that they don't want to. That's the only real moral ethic I believe in. I'd tried for months-years.
"Uncle Bill is a couple of years younger than your Aunt Thelma. She was thirty-one at the time-and I guess a little desperate and afraid of losing Bill. Well, she told your mother how he'd made it clear that, he liked a woman to use her lips on him and she had forced herself to do it, finding it, to her surprise, very exciting. It all came out indirectly."
Then Dad told me how he'd happen to talk to Uncle Bill. Mother didn't like to go down on a man and Dad learned that Aunt Thelma had also been reluctant at one time. Until Dad suggested that Thelma tell Mother about it. Later, Mother and Dad talked about the whole thing. It bugged him, being a dominate man himself-in his way-that his own wife wouldn't do such a thing. Of course, Dad told me all this in general terms, and I don't remember how the conversation started or why it got so involved. Dad was a little drunk, and I was a little high-that might be the reason it all started. I'd just come home from a late date during which time I'd done just about everything with the guy, complete with a blow-job before and after-something I really enjoy doing.
Anyway, from what I was able to piece together, it seems that Dad finally talked mother into trying, after getting her a little drunk-and taking a shower with her. It was important that he was completely clean-I mean that his penis and all around was washed almost raw. Then they took up a sixty-nine position and he worked on her until she was excited. She finally attempted to kiss his penis. She apparently got that far. But when she put her lips about the end, she made a kind of sick sound and released him. I guess because she loved Dad so much she at least masturbated his penis while he continued to work on her.
It's funny talking about your parents in a sexual way. It is so hard to think of your parents involved in a sexual act; though, you know, they must have done it at least once for every child. Naturally, they had to do it a lot more than that, because nobody is so great a shot that they hit the baby-target each and every time.
But that day I'd walked into Dad's office and seen the beautiful young girl. She had nice youthful breasts and full voluptuous lips folded about his very large and thick penis, fondling it, moving her lips back and forth along the big shaft, making it appear to get shorter and longer, shorter and longer as more of it disappeared into her mouth and less and less of it was kept captive as she slipped her lips away in a long lingering pull-back. I was startled by the highly erotic knowledge that Daddy was a sexual creature.
After I'd run from the office I couldn't keep that image out of my mind. I found that the whole scene had stimulated me terribly. It wasn't because of Daddy, but because of the act. I didn't have the desire to be the girl doing it on Dad's penis, but to be a girl doing it on any man's hot hard prick. In fact, I was so hot from that quick sight that I drove to the first gas station and went into the woman's room. Closing and locking the door, I pulled up my skirt, dropped my panties and started masturbating frantically. It happened almost at once; a big wonderful, releasing come. I had to relieve myself immediately. Then I drove home.
After the conversation with Dad I was so hot and bothered by all that had happened that I just needed a man so bad I couldn't stand it. I knew several kids my age and a few college fellows. I called up a couple of boys, trying to fix up a quick date.
The first wasn't home, the second offered to come over later, but I couldn't wait. I had, naturally, called boys who I'd been screwing regularly and who had the biggest pricks.
There was a college man, about twenty-three, who lived across town in an apartment. I'd been with him only once, several months before and it had been a casual, quick thing at a party he'd given. I didn't even know if he would remember me. But I remembered him because his sex tool was very long and very large and thick and it had felt so damned good inside me. I hadn't gone down on him, but some girls had said he liked it. But you can't believe girls; though, you can always believe that men liked that. I had also heard he was partly queer-meaning he liked boys, too. I had to look up his number then I called. He was home. I said: "I'm Susan ... we met at a party ... I know it sounds terrible, but are you doing anything right now?"
He sounded puzzled and I could tell he didn't know who I was. He asked what the gag was; that he didn't know any Susan. So I said: "We had a good time-together-in your bedroom."
He laughed at that and said there had been a lot of girls ... and he had been drunk. I told him I wanted a good time, and wanted it right away. I asked: "Interested?"