Pieces to Mind

by Stepdaddy

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, BiSexual, Humor, Slut Wife, Incest, Father, Daughter, BDSM, DomSub, FemaleDom, Spanking, Fisting, Squirting, Teacher/Student, Prostitution, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Rachel's adventures in self-delusion reach even more outlandish and erotic extremes. Read along as she justifies a variety of slutty adventures under the guise of feminism and sophistication. In addition to the codes provided, pregnancy and bestiality are hinted at, but not realized on stage.

"I'm really proud of Danny, and I think you should take back some of the bitchy things you've said about him."

"Like what?" I asked, sipping a cup of coffee, surprisingly well-brewed for once, in my sister Sandy's kitchen. Danny is her low-life husband.

"Like that he's a loser just because he works on and off at the tire factory. Like that he mooches off me half the time."

None of that was untrue, but I kept my counsel for once.

"I don't see that this new business thing of his really changes things. After all, what does it bring in?"

"He doesn't tell me the details, but it must be hundreds. He bought me this!" She showed me a bracelet, probably costing about a hundred bucks. Well, at least he was sharing the proceeds with my sister to some degree. My guess was that he was clearing around a thousand a week in his "entrepreneurial venture," and of course he was paying no taxes on it.

"So, umm, any idea what this business of his is?" I asked disingenuously.

"I'm not sure, some kind of service, like a personal shopper kind of thing. Except he says it's for stuff that guys want, not clothes and stuff. Whatever it is, it's going great. He says revenues are about to pick up. Says he's got a special new class of customers who will pay top dollar for his service!"

I quailed. I decided to change the subject — sort of. "So Dad bought you a new dog, huh?"

Yeah, a Great Dane, about two years old. Buster. He's down in the basement, caged in his crate most of the time until we're sure he's settled in and won't tear up the house. Wanna see him?"

"Um, maybe later. By the way, I was wondering, does Dad still wear Old Spice?"

I was by now quite familiar with the particulars of Danny's entrepreneurial venture. Naturally, it was feeble, puerile, and disgusting, as befits my re-tread of a brother-in-law. I had only agreed to help him out with getting it started for the sake of my sister, who works sixty hours a week bringing home cash for the household, while Danny bounces from unemployment check, to low-wage check, to no check at all every few months, it seems.

I can't stand my brother-in-law, and I think he treats my sister like garbage. I suppose in our town, she really couldn't have expected to do any better, since unlike me, she never went to college. Since I did, of course, I am able to enjoy a lifestyle of an entirely higher order.

I've been married now for about six months. I'm twenty-four years old and I'm already an important person in the community — the wife of an associate professor of Gender and Minority Studies at the local four-year college. Stewart — my husband — is exactly the opposite of my rude and crude bother-in-law. Whereas Danny treats my sister Sandy like dirt, my Stewart worships me. In return, I have the utmost respect and adoration for him.

For Danny, I have nothing but contempt.

One thing I hate about Danny is that he has no honor. Sure, I had agreed to help him with his new business. I had even agreed not to take a cut, hoping, I suppose, that the sooner Danny got back on his financial feet, the sooner he might (finally) start to treat Sandy better.

And the business was Danny's brainchild, I have to admit. And he handled all the marketing. I only played a small part — doing "piecework" assignments as they came up. Sometimes he would tell me where to meet our customer, and sometimes he would let them hunt me down, as long as they showed me the "receipt." Since Danny's business wasn't exactly on the IRS tax rolls, he had adopted a simple receipt method. If anyone showed me a chess piece, then I would know the customer had paid and was ready for their order to be filled. This was all well and good — anything to help my sister. But Danny had promised that I would work only with strangers — that no one I actually knew would ever learn that I was helping the loser in his low-life business. But about three weeks ago, he broke his word. You see? No honor.


"Rachel? Rachel Simmons?"

"Yes? Oh, Principal Mellows, how nice to see you. Only it's Rachel Panderwayste now."

"Oh! You're actually MARRIED?"

"What? Why be so surprised, Principal Mellows? Of course I'm married. In fact, I'm married to a professor at the college."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, well, an associate professor. But why are you surprised? I was always going places. 'Most Likely to Succeed' after all."

"Yes, you were always a good student. I was happy that you went to college."

"I'll say. It really made a difference. I wasn't going to end up a loser, like my sister or my friends."

"Um, well, yes, I see."

"Anyhow, what brings you down this sidewalk — do you live around here?"

"Well, um, actually, I was looking for you. I was told you would be going door-to-door in this area."

"Yes, I'm petitioning. We're hoping to open a Feminism Center on the campus, one that's going to serve the whole community. Did you want to sign the petition or something?"

"Well, er, yes, let me sign it ... there ... but, um, there was something else. Somebody I talked to, um, he sold me this, and told me I should show it to you..."

He opened his hand. A chess piece — a bishop — white.

So that was the first time since I had started helping Danny with his business that he directly broke his word. Clearly, Mr. Mellows, my former high school principal, qualified as somebody I knew. Well, that wasn't Principal Mellows' fault — I'd have to take it up with Danny later.

It turned out that Principal Mellows lived alone, and nearby. It further turns out that when I walked into the bedroom of his modest apartment, there was a Catholic schoolgirl outfit laid out lovingly on the bed.

"Er, Rachel, um, if you don't mi—."

"Well, well, well. As you probably know, I'm not allowed to argue. I must 'mind' anyone who shows me a chess piece. You showed me one, so I have to do as you say. You probably want me to change out of sight, for the full effect, don't you think?"

"Rachel, I want you to know that if you don't want —."

"That it's just too bad for me? Yes, I know, there's nothing I can do or say to stop you from having it your way, and that means any way you want. Even though we didn't even have uniforms at our school." I slipped into the bathroom with the pathetic man's fantasy outfit. It was just a job to me, a charity case really, for the benefit of my sister. "And even though I'm not even Catholic!"

When I came out, wearing the blue plaid skirt over a tidy white pair of cotton panties, a white blouse over a white cotton bra, my hair in two pigtails, black knee socks and shiny black shoes, I was chewing and popping a piece of gum I'd happened to find in my purse. That touch was my idea. Listen, I don't enjoy this sort of thing one bit — let's just say I'm WAAAY too sophisticated to enjoy any weird fetish — but I do believe that if you're going to do something, you might as well do it right.


"So, you wanted to see me Principal Mellows?"

"Um, yeah, I wanted you to come to my office."

"Because I've been naughty?"

Bent over my former principal's lap, with a schoolgirl skirt pulled up over my waist and a pair of white cotton knickers pulled down to my knees, I grunted in a combination of pain and need. Principal Mellows was giving my ass a good thrashing, and my pussy was responding to the stimulation quite against my will.

It's not that I have anything against Principal Mellows. He had always been a nice man — at least to us "smart kids" — and I remembered him especially well as the advisor to the Student Council. I was the treasurer. A couple of times Mr. Mellows had even driven me home from school, although on those occasions he had always acted kind of fidgety, and he talked a little funny, especially as he got close to my house, like he was struggling with a decision or something. But like I said, he was always very nice to me in school.

No, my resistance stems from my sincere loathing for my brother-in-law, who has persuaded me to help get his unofficial company, Escort Resource, going. The spanking I was receiving under Principal Mellows' firm hand reminded me of the first time Danny had spanked me for trying to give him a piece of my mind vis-à-vis his treatment of my sister. On that Saturday morning almost a year ago, he had spanked me — the nerve! — and spanked me, until, as now, my vagina had become a swampy mess and the loser had taken that as some kind of invitation to fuck me through three orgasms before giving his buddy Bob a crack at me.

So it was Danny I was angry with, not Prinicipal Mellows, when I whined, "Please stop, sir! I'm feeling all squishy inside. Is there something wrong with me?"

"Um, maybe I should check you out, my dear, just to be sure."

"Okay, but I'm sooo embarrassed. I'm just a little girl, after all."

Principal Mellows must have secured some Viagra while he was securing my costume, because he had no trouble checking out my squishy pussy with his healthy cock repeatedly. Sure, I thought, my slender legs extending straight up in the air, as he pounded at my pussy from a standing position next to the bed, about to deposit his third helping of pervert semen into my womb, I had helped him recuperate between fucks with blow jobs. And he had needed to spank me again after the second fuck to recharge for round three.

"Oh, god, yes, suck on my toes, Principal Mellows! That's it. I'm still too naughty!"

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