Chapter 12: Epilogue - Cheryl’s story

I was 41 when I met Laura for the first time in that Lesbian bar in Manchester one mild winter evening in February. She has already told you what happened that night and what happened subsequently. Five, nearly six, years later we remain friends but she is now happily married with a young daughter, a contented life with an adoring wife, and has put the life we shared behind her for good.

But those eleven months that I spent with the gorgeous little Laura, changed me fundamentally and, to quote Laura, I am what I am now. But how did I get here, and where is here?

For the first part of my life, I bummed around from job to job, never sure what I wanted to do with my career. But I soon realised, even while still at college, that I was gay. I am a big girl, nearly six feet tall and big built, and was never pretty, although I loved being with pretty young girls, and occasionally was lucky enough to bed one of them.

Then I discovered the army, and found it was the perfect life for me – a big tough woman, who could hold my own with many of the male soldiers, I found myself with an array of young women to bed. By the time I left the army I was the typical butch dyke: tattoos, shaved sides of my head, and starting with just a navel ring, very soon after leaving the army I had a full set of nipple rings and a ring in my clitoris hood. Laura told me I was quite scary to look at, although I always thought I was a gentle and considerate lover. Or at least I was until I met Laura.

That first night I could sense that here was a girl who wanted to discover herself. After a disappointing adult life where her sexuality was repressed, she was ready to explore life to its full. And I told her I would help her to do just that.

From our first hours together right to the sad end to our relationship, she exhibited an insatiable appetite for sex, willing to do everything and anything that I suggested – almost always wishing she had not done it, but always coming back for more.

The second thing I understood from the outset was that this demure little professional woman was, deep inside, an eager exhibitionist. That first weekend when I told her not to wear any underwear when with me, she stopped immediately, and she never did again, with this new regime even working its way into her life when not with me.

The clothes I made her buy became increasingly risqué, showing lots of flesh, breasts and legs in particular, but also her bum and pussy if she moved too brazenly, which she did at every opportunity. I must admit I increasingly fed this fetish of hers by making her reveal herself in public and indulging my own growing liking for using her sexually in public.

After about three months with this beautiful sex-mad exhibitionist, I realised that I was making her behave in a sluttier manner than she ever had before. But she just took everything I threw at her and let me orchestrate her evolution from innocent to slut, her sexual arousal soaring with everything I could add to her litany of humiliation and degradation. It seemed she would do anything, however debased, that took her to that huge orgasmic climax that made any embarrassment worthwhile.

Even when I started to share her with the alcoholic vagrant “Ronald” she never refused anything I ordered her to do with him. She may have cried after each episode with him, but it never made her stop. As I upped the pressure on each public rendezvous with him, she just did as I told her to do: I let him cum on her, but she helped him; I told him he could eat her pussy and she simply opened her legs wider; the last time we met Ronald I told her to suck his cock and make him cum, so she did. If we had had one more meeting with him, I was going to tell him he could fuck her, and I am sure she would have willingly given herself to this disgusting man – Ronald’s loss!