Amber's First Apartment

The very first moment we were alone I pulled the quilt off and pushed his cock upright, then inched my lips toward it wantonly. Still holding it upright, I wrapped my lips around the base and gave it a kiss. Kiss turned into a lick and an outside suck, and even though it was just the backside of his cock, he shuddered and enjoyed it immensely - I could tell with absolute certainty. My hand started stroking it up and down expertly as I kept my lips on it and he squeezed my ass in primal feedback. His leg was starting to shake and it reminded me of being a little whore earlier and that I should stop.

"Amber that feels SO good," he said and it warmed me to hear my name.

Rising up, I kissed him on the lips and said "good night." Leaving him with his cock out, I grabbed my things and made my way home to my apartment. Yes, I was horny and playful but there was no reason to go too fast. Better to wait.

The bus went by the one corner I saw that streetwalker on, but no one was there. Was she having a night off, or was she with someone, I wondered?

Two hours later my room was upside down, whenever I could see parts of it.

My mantle was upside down, my coffee table was on the ceiling with an untouched bottle of beer on it. My wall artwork looked so unrecognizable from this perspective. North and South Americas swapped positions. Gasping for breath between opportunities I just laid on my bed quietly, with my head hanging off and my jaw relaxed. I was wearing nothing but socks and a long artful shirt that could have doubled as a very short dress. Pair of balls was coming in and out of my vision, occasionally resting on my nose.

"YEEAAH," he grunted.

Daddy was fucking my throat, going on ten minutes now. His arms held my legs down against my folded body by leaning on my ankles, spreading my legs out toward my neck. With the room upside down burned into my vision, I was thinking this is my life now. My whole world collapsed to his cock and balls using my mouth as a pussy. I hated being this promiscuous, I hated cheating on my boyfriend but I couldn't help myself. I didn't know any better. Being that folded my legs twitched and shook in duress. They weren't used to being stretched like that, but I took it quietly.

"Shit, your throat feels just like a pussy," he marveled as he kept working it.

The entire time he fucked my throat I kept thinking about how last time I saw him I called it off and declared it was the last time he'd ever get to fuck me. Suddenly he let go of one ankle and slapped my exposed pussy lips with his grubby hand.

"You missed my fat cock, didn't you?" he asked as he did it.

Because his cock was deep in my throat, I couldn't scream but I instinctively tried to and ended up squeezing my mouth around his cock, gagging on it.

It hurt like you'd imagine it hurt but went away quicker than I thought it should. Mind the teeth, mind the teeth I thought to myself and he never lost a beat. After the surprise wore off, I realized that's exactly what he was going for, unsettling me. He repeated this with alternating hands a few times and again I thought this was my life now.

To be honest, I don't remember how that evening ended except that I was sure he came somewhere.

Few days later, I felt an itch in my throat. Day after it felt like an onset of a cold. Several days after that, I thought I should go see a doctor. Questions nurses asked were embarrassing and I avoided specifics; I could tell the doctor could see through my lies. Yes, I was sexually active. No, it wasn't exclusive. It was humiliating when they all started wearing masks. They cultured a sample and as a precaution gave me antibiotics. The meds didn't help, and week after going through the prescribed dosage they upped me to a more powerful one which seemed to do the trick.

God, but I felt like such a fool.

One of the random older men I invited over surely gave me something and I was so mad with myself about it. While it wasn't a terminal condition, thank mercy, it still reflected poorly on me because it showed me very real consequences to taking an imaginary risk. It made me feel stupid. The way I thought of all those emails as being potential realities when acted upon was so wrong because I didn't project into their inevitable outcomes. Vowing never to do that kind of thing again, I felt relieved that rest of the testing came back negative. This was an unpleasant experience but it wasn't the end of the world.

Back to school soon, I thought.

My mom brought me homemade chicken dumpling soup which made everything better. She was surprised I was sick for that long. When I told her about the second meds, her ears perked up.

"They put you on Zithro? Huh, that's what happened to me too," she remarked.

"Really, you were sick too?"

"Yeah, about a week ago. It's nothing," she assured me but her face looked worried.

I had no idea she was sick and felt guilt that I should've talked to my parents more often. The soup was now getting attacked by one of my large spoons and for a split second I examined it carefully and recalled a particular night, losing myself in the memory.

She looked away in what I thought was embarrassment and nodded.

"You know, just a bad cold is all, nothing about it."

She left shortly thereafter and as I was finishing up the soup I started thinking how colds are viral, not bacterial, and my mom wasn't stupid and should know better than that. No, it wasn't a cold. The timeline was a bit blurry but what were the odds that both of us had to get on the same strong synthetic antibiotic in the same overlapping span of weeks?

Once I got better Daddy Mike came over and the weirdest thing happened. For the first time in our inappropriate relationship he couldn't get off. He kept getting flaccid and no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn't stay hard. Finally, he decided to call it a day and leave early.

"It's probably just the meds," he said, attempting not to blame me for the failure.

"Meds?" I asked in some mild alarm.

"Antibiotics," he said, and after reading the klaxons on my face immediately swerved away, "No big deal, it's just for a respiratory infection."

After he left I started getting really worried. The puzzle pieces were all right there but I hadn't put them together. I should've asked him what kind of antibiotics he was on, but no, that was just too paranoid even for me. The two working brain cells in my head were starting to talk to each other and one of them had a theory that the other one didn't like. I mean, I caught something from the random old guys I invited over, it had to be like that. Right? So it's possible I gave that something to Daddy Mike. Or him to me. But then how would my mom get a similar infection out of the blue? The obvious answer was there but I didn't want to believe in it so I kept spelling it out to myself.

Jesus fucking Christ, he was fucking my mom too.

They were always so close, unnaturally so throughout the years. I felt sick to my stomach at seeing this in a fresh light and dry-heaved in the bathroom sink. It was impossible, it was all in my head, right? I had to know for sure, so I picked up the phone and dialed my heart out. Daddy Mike didn't pick up at all. I called my mom panicking and left her a very disturbing voicemail. Once she called back, she tried to calm me down but my line of questioning was direct and unmistakable.

"Amber honey, what do you want me to say? Yes, I did it. Please don't tell your father. I'm not proud of it, but -- I can't explain just like this. It's complicated, see, and, oh gosh I am so sorry you had to find out about us."

As I was crying she went into a few more details and left it at that.

"Look honey, we'll talk when I come visit in a couple of days. Please just ... just don't say anything to dad." The phone line clicked off.

Within an hour I got a dozen texts from Daddy Mike and it was all fury and rage. It was confusing to be angry at by someone who did the wronging, but, it confirmed what had happened. Oh my god, my mother had been having an affair with him this whole time. I cried, and then started thinking of the harrowing parallel of him fucking mother and daughter and I became angry and inconsolable.

Few days later he took my call and I was going to give him a piece of my mind. But the conversation degraded fast and he was stubbornly unapologetic. To be honest, I wasn't the most confrontational of people and you needed practice for that sort of thing. He interrupted my moping around with a finality I couldn't have anticipated.

"Fucking hell. Calm your tits. You know your mom's been servicing both me and my wife since before you were born, right?"

Silence.

"You're lying!" I shrieked in disbelief. Was it true? It couldn't have been.

"Oh yeah, she sure was. We both took turns putting her to work. She can eat pussy better than she can suck cock, at least according to Martha. But I don't know, she didn't have a gag reflex. We kept passing her up between us, even using a leash on her."

"It's not true, why would you be saying things like this?" I demanded pitifully.

He kept going, "Oh it's real, believe you me. She's a bigger whore than you are but then you still got ways to go. Hell, when Martha and I got bored and tired of her we let our friends fuck her. I brought over half a work crew one night, all unwashed and smelly, and her shitter is torn to hell by now, all pruned and puffed. Nothing like your sweet little virgin ass."

More silence.

"I even fucked her at Thanksgiving. Made her wear nothing but socks and a T-shirt and fucked her throat just like you the other week, except I slapped her saggy tits instead. She didn't believe me when I said I was fucking you either, but it made her angry wet. It wasn't funny I was lying about it, she said. Told her I was gonna do the same thing to you and she begged me to stop fantasizing and cum in her throat already."

"Did you hear me, you dumb cunt?" he yelled after me angrily.

I hung up and blocked the number. How could my mom do this? He was a monster! This was so sick. Angrily, I dragged the garbage bag with my slutty outfits out on the balcony and hurled it down into the street.

Rest of the afternoon was spent crying.

My boyfriend came over as fast as he could that evening and accepted I didn't want to talk about what got me so upset, but he was there for me. It was love, unconditional and supportive and I was a lucky girl to have him. There was no way I could explain to him what had happened, ever. We nestled on the couch and watched some Netflix for distraction. I wanted to forget reality and it worked. He came back the next day and the one after it, bringing me comfort food and desserts.

Days went by and I was still depressed over peeling layers of that onion. The garbage bag stayed by the curb as a cruel reminder of my predicament. It got picked at by either curious rats or transients looking for salvage value and some pieces got strewn around and got scattered by the wind. Seeing neon-colored hosiery get rained on and otherwise decomposing into filth in the street was an appropriate parallel to my state of thinking.

"Did you see that hooker kit outside?" my boyfriend asked me as he was carrying groceries in one day.

"Uh, yeah."

It stayed like that there until our maintenance guy begrudgingly put it in the trash cans which he dragged outside every week for collection.

Weeks went by and my boyfriend helped by distracting me and I got used to his company over at my place, watching TV together mindlessly. One evening I thought that I finally came to terms with things. No, I didn't hate my mom but I still wasn't ready to talk to her. If she had told me about her affair long ago, things would have turned out differently. Maybe I wouldn't have made the same mistakes, maybe I would have evaded that trap, maybe I wouldn't be guilted into staying in that affair once it had started. Now I could never tell her about my torment because I was sure it would ruin her permanently by blaming herself.

Just then I saw the gouge on my leather couch again and within minutes I started touching it. My pussy got wet and I felt disgusted with myself. This whole time I kept it shaved and the razor burns went away thanks to copious amounts of moisturizer. Now every time I shifted my legs I could feel my slit folds rubbing up against themselves.

Fingering the gouge brought memories. My boyfriend watched me do it and assumed I was upset about the damage but instead I thought of the night I was upside down wearing nothing but socks and a T shirt and got throat-fucked by Daddy Mike. Figuratively, that's what he'd been doing to me for years. Literally, it was not what made the hole in the couch, but in a morbidly lucid moment I discovered it was what I was craving. The throat fucking was a nasty punishment, a cruel use of my young body.

How I lied to myself.

My nature wasn't athletics and art school, I thought. Not the job at the Coal Mine. Not my boyfriend. Those things didn't define me. It was beyond that now; all my experiences had been integrated in this perverted model of the universe and denying them would never fix things. Never will I do something new and not remember my conduct in the past to judge it by. The future required that I reconcile all of that stuff. Reconcile my sexuality, somehow including my suppressed nymphomania, my compulsive addiction and all the components that comprised me.

To move ahead I needed to come to terms with how I sucked off a married man before that throat fucking, how I wore flimsy clothes on the off-chance he'd want to fuck, even though I didn't have any condoms around. Reconcile how even now I was lying to myself about not wanting it all over again.

Reconcile wanting to get tied up again. Reconcile the disgust of thinking about Daddy Mike and his fat wife using my thin mom on a leash, of her asshole fucked so often it got torn up. Reconcile knowing that anal would never feel as good unless I was being purposely defiled by someone whom I hated. Reconcile wondering if I'd let Daddy Mike fuck me again if he promised to stay away from my mom. Would he lie? Could I trust him ever again? What if he just showed up unannounced again, knocked on the door? Would I ask my boyfriend to leave us alone so we could talk? Was he serious about letting his work crew fuck someone or was he saying it just to rile me up? Did people really do that kind of thing? My mind had spun up like an unbalanced desk fan and I needed to shut it off.

Much belatedly I realized it was time I skipped the foreplay and fucked my boyfriend before I did anything stupid. However, I didn't have any condoms. Sliding to the end of the couch I leaned over and French-kissed him, rubbing his crotch through his pants.

He asked me playfully, "What are you doing?"

Instead of answering I fished out a hair tie out of my back pocket and took my sweet time tying it off. I laid flat on my stomach and faced his crotch, bending my legs backwards so I'd fit on the couch. My feet shuffled in the air playfully and I licked my lips both theatrically and methodically since they were dry. I kept fondling his cock through his pants. Within seconds I felt him stir to life and unzipped his pants, pulling his leaky cock out of his underwear.

With two fingers I delicately held it upright and wrapped rest of my fingers over his balls. It's an amateur mistake to hold it either too firmly or too high and it takes some practice to intuitively understand the ribbed structure of an erect penis and be able to wield it expertly. Putting my closed lips to his head I stroked the very bottom of his cock a few times and swished some saliva in my mouth to dilute it. With my lips still firmly pressed on his head, my tongue slipped out and did a loop around his cock licking him dry and he moaned loudly at that. His precum tasted sweet. My hand dug inside his underwear and rested on his balls, pulling his skin taut and I finally put his cock in my mouth.

Pursing my lips together so firmly to a point of it being almost counterproductive, I slid my mouth over his knob so slowly to where he could both feel and hear my saliva noisily overcoming the resistance. Crawling fractionally over the contour of his well-proportioned head I applied suction and the saliva spread itself out, bubbles cracking and murmuring intensely in a humble orchestra of the wet sucking sounds I made. My fingers gently cupped his balls and slid back toward his shaft one at a time, applying the perfect amount of contact for my fingernails to give him goosebumps.

Once I got his cock just halfway deep in my mouth I shifted my teeth out of the way to their very extremes and expertly simulated gumming his cock, pretending to bite it with my wet lips. For a few seconds they pulsed slowly like that over his shaft. Before I reversed direction I lowered my lips just enough to suck them in so he could feel them pop out on the way back. As that happened I tugged his cock downwards, stretching the skin. Just as it was about to slip out of my mouth I again looped my tongue around it and that's when, to my great dismay, he came.

Just like that. I hadn't even gotten to a second suck.