Chapter 1

I find myself in a very strange situation. It is becoming stranger by the day. It began shortly after our new neighbors moved in next door. They did an extensive and expensive update on the house and grounds before moving in, to include a large, beautifully landscaped swimming pool and a hot tub. We, my daughter and I, followed the progress as the house was updated and the pool put in. We wondered what the new owners would be like for a couple of months before they finally moved in and we got to meet them.

I’m Amanda Horn. Everyone calls me Mandy. My daughter is Lynn. That’s actually her middle name, she prefers it. I’m twenty-eight and my daughter is fourteen. From that I suppose you can infer I wasn’t very careful about birth control when I was my daughter’s age. The love of my life, the boy who knocked me up, swore he would be in my daughter’s life. He promised we would marry after high school and raise our daughter and be a happy normal couple. He lied. I had that on a t-shirt once, “Boys lie!”

I wasn’t that upset when he disappeared about a year after the baby was born. By then I had learned the difference between true love and hormones. What we had was not true love. In fact, by the time Lynn was a year old he just plain irritated the hell out of me. It would’ve been nice if he could have helped out financially from time to time. But from what I’ve heard, he doesn’t have anything and never will. I’m better off with him totally out of my life. And so is Lynn.

I dropped out of school when I was six months pregnant. After Lynn was old enough to spend the day between child care and with my mother I went back and got my diploma. Then I got a couple of jobs and put myself through the local community college at night. I was able to get a good job after I graduated and I did everything I could to make myself an asset to the company. I was quickly promoted to a supervisory position and now I make enough money I can afford the mortgage on a nice house and we have a late model car. I enjoy my job and I’m good at it. I guess it shows because I have a good shot at continuing to work my way up the ladder where I work and. all in all, my future is looking pretty good.

The only dark cloud on my horizon is the strange situation I mentioned with my neighbors. They only recently moved in. I welcomed them to the neighborhood and introduced myself. I liked them immediately. The entire family is attractive and extremely personable. From the very first time I met them it was like I had an instant best friend, two of them actually. Steve and Carol Crosby and their teenage son, Kevin, who is a year older than Lynn, are attractive, intelligent, and super friendly and Kevin strikes me as being one of the most mature teenage boys I’ve ever met. I enjoyed every moment I spent with them.

In almost no time at all I found myself confiding my deepest, darkest secrets to Carol. It had been decades since I felt close enough to another woman to speak so freely. It wasn’t until much later I realized our conversations had been very one-sided. She would say all of the appropriate things to keep me talking. But she revealed very little about herself. She was so much fun to be around and so easy to talk to I was never really aware she was just drawing me out. It was probably a month before I realized she knew everything about me but I knew very little about her or her family.

Lynn and I were welcome to use their pool and we used it frequently. They all dressed in the skimpiest of swimwear. Lynn seemed to be in a competition with all three of them to see who could display the most flesh around the pool.

I wore my sexy little bikini. But it was nothing any woman my age wouldn’t wear to the local community pool. I thought my suits were pretty risqué. But I was constantly teased for wearing such conservative bikinis. That made me blush but not as much as the increasingly revealing suits Steve and Kevin casually strutted around wearing.

Our conversations were often full of sexual innuendos, almost from the very start. The more time we spent with them the more sexual the conversations would become. I wouldn’t have minded if it was just between the adults. But the kids were often a part of those conversations. That often made me uncomfortable. But I watched my daughter’s reactions and she seemed to find it all pretty amusing so I tried to make myself relax a little more and enjoy the banter just like the other four seemed to.

Within days of their moving in I would get home from work to discover Lynn was over at their pool nearly every evening. I tried to tell her not to overdo it. I didn’t want her to make a pest of herself.

They insisted they love having her around and she obviously enjoyed being there and spending time with them. There was one thing about the situation that made me slightly nervous. I didn’t want to say anything. But the way their son was acting around her worried me. Kevin, and often Steve, too, wore those tiny little trunks that were not much larger than a G-string and Lynn’s tiny little bikinis covered even less. I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable because I didn’t want her to end up like I did, pregnant at fourteen.

Even though Lynn is still a virgin, I talked it over with our doctor and we decided to put her on the pill. I tried to stress to Lynn that it was just a precaution. It was most definitely not permission to have sex. I really had mixed emotions about that decision. But the most important thing to me was that my daughter should have a better life than I. I don’t want her to make the same stupid mistakes that made my life so difficult through my late teens and early twenties.

One Saturday morning about a month after they moved in I was next door. I was sitting in the kitchen talking with Carol. Steve just transferred here from his company’s home office to take over the local branch. He had been given a month to move in and get settled so he was nearly always home.

But that morning it was just me and Carol. Steve and Kevin were out. Lynn was at home getting ready to go to the mall with several of her girlfriends. It was just me and Carol when the conversation took a very strange turn. Out of the blue she asked, “How well do you know yourself?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I thought about it for a moment. I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. I answered, “I don’t know, as well as anyone I suppose. I never really thought about it.”

She stared at me for a moment and then she said, “Steve and I were talking about you last night. We both noticed something about you and I was wondering if you were aware of it.”

That piqued my curiosity. But she’s being so serious I’m almost afraid to find out where this is going.

She’s sitting across from me at the kitchen table. We’re sipping her gourmet coffee and until that moment just chatting about nothing in particular. She let me stew for a moment and then she asked, “Are you aware you’re a submissive?”

I felt the blood drain from my face as soon as she asked. I knew what she was talking about. I knew because my sex life consisted of reading stories I found on the internet and masturbating. I loved stories about women being forced to submit. Stories about mind control and blackmail and even rape got me so fucking hot I couldn’t stand it. It isn’t that I want those things to happen to me. I certainly don’t want to be raped. In the realm of fantasy, though, in the safety of my own home, they really turned me on.

Lately, I have even been daydreaming about it at work, wondering what it would be like to be used like the women in those stories. I wondered what it would be like to be humiliated and exposed, drawn out of my conservative little shell. I almost wished it would happen. But only almost.

Still, the question shocked me. How did they know?! I thought back, analyzing the way I behaved around them. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’ve done or said that would give anyone the impression I found the idea of being dominated and sexually used and abused to be highly erotic. My new neighbors were not the first to realize that about me. I guess I must be doing something subconsciously that the right kind of people can detect. I have no idea what it could be.

I suddenly returned to the present and told Carol she’s out of her mind. But even as I tried to convince her I was remembering one of the few dates I’ve been on since Lynn was born. In the fourteen years since her birth I have gone out with three men. Guys all seem to assume that if you’re a single mother then you must be easy. I eventually reached a point where I was offended when a guy asked me out because I knew what he thought of me and I knew what he expected if I went out with him.

Still, no one wants to be alone forever. We all need love. So I did go out a few times. The first two men I went out with were set ups. They were blind dates arranged by friends. How pathetic is that?

I went out with each of them once and was bored to tears by both of them. The high point of both dates was when they dropped me off. It was such a relief when I was back inside my house and I could take a deep breath and relax again. They both seemed to assume that after dinner and a movie we would end up in bed. They were wrong. I felt absolutely no attraction to either of them.

It isn’t that they weren’t attractive, or charming. I just had too much baggage of my own I suppose. I wasn’t comfortable with them and I didn’t really know that much about dating. I only dated a few times when I was fourteen. Now, fourteen years later, I didn’t know how to behave as an adult on a date. The only thing I did know was it’s wrong and very offensive for those guys to assume they’re going to have sex with me on the first date.

The third man I dated was different. He was older and more mature. He was in his mid thirties. I met him at a coffee shop near my office. We saw each other in the morning and after exchanging smiles and casual greetings we began to speak briefly when we met there to buy our morning coffee. He was handsome and big and strong. He was a really ‘take charge’ kind of guy. When he asked me out it was almost like I didn’t have a choice. He somehow got me to agree to go out with him before I even realized I was doing it.

As soon as I realized we were going on a date I started imagining him as the man in my internet fantasies. I would sit at my computer, download a story and read it, picturing him as the dominant male in the story. He really fit the part.

As it turned out, he fit the part all too well. He took me to dinner and we went dancing. For most of the evening he was a perfect gentleman. Towards the end he would sit closer to me in the booth when we returned to our seats after a dance and were sipping our drinks. The club was loud and he would put his arm around me, lean over and talk loudly in my ear. It was the only way to communicate in there. It felt good to have a big dominant man sitting beside me with his arm around me.

When we finally left the club he invited me back to his house to have some coffee and talk. We weren’t really able to talk at the club and I did want to get to know him better. When I accepted I emphasized I was just going to talk. I had no intention of going any farther than that on a first date.

He said he understood and we went to his home. He made coffee but despite his assurances the wrestling started almost immediately. I quickly decided I needed to get out of there. I stood up and demanded that he take me home.

He stood up, giving me the impression he was going to do just that. Instead, as soon as I turned my back on him he grabbed me and wrapped his large, strong arms around me. He carried me down the hall to his bedroom. I struggled all the way and demanded he let me go. I threatened to call the police. I threatened to scream. He just ignored me.

He tossed me down on his bed and said, “You can struggle if it makes you feel better. But you’re getting laid tonight. The harder you struggle, the harder it’s going to be on you. I can tear your clothes off if you prefer. But one way or another, your clothes are coming off and I’m going to fuck you.”

He undressed me as if I were a doll. I let him do what he wanted. I knew I couldn’t fight him off but I wasn’t going to help him.

As that strong, arrogant man leaned down over me and slowly undressed me, it was all too obvious he was enjoying himself as he bared my body and explored it. The embarrassing thing was that as my clothes were being taken from me I found myself thinking about those stories I enjoyed reading on my computer and getting excited.

He turned me over easily and unzipped the little black dress I bought just for our date. He rolled me over onto my back, pulled my dress down and slid it off of me easily. He paused to look at me in my black, strapless bra and black bikini panties. It was clear from his expression how much he liked what he saw.

He started to turn me back over then, but he noticed my bra had a front closure. His large hands reached between my breasts and he struggled with the clasp for a moment. He finally got it open and roughly tore it away, baring my breasts.

For the first time in almost ten years a man was looking at, and then touching, my breasts! His hands were large and strong but he really knew what he was doing. I had to fight desperately to keep from letting him see how excited I was becoming.

He explored my breasts for several minutes. Caressing them, then teasing and pinching my nipples. I felt waves of pleasure wash over me as he worked my nipples. The shock waves seemed to flow directly to my pussy from my nipples. I found myself moaning in pleasure, unable to control it. I could only hope that he thought it was pain, not pleasure making me moan.

One of his large hands continued to maul my breasts. His other hand slid down over my panties and rubbed my pussy through the silken material. There was no hiding my reaction when his fingers touched my pussy, though. My hips came up off the bed and I thought to myself, “Jesus! What am I, a bitch in heat?!”

I was really upset with myself for reacting to his touch that way. I was being raped for Christ’s sake! My eyes were closed. I was unable to look at him while he undressed me. I opened them as he rubbed my pussy. I looked him in the eye and saw that look on his arrogant face. He knew he was getting to me.

The fact that he knew how excited I was getting made me furious. It was humiliating, too. And for some reason, being humiliated was exciting me even more! I couldn’t ignore how much like my fantasies this evening was turning out to be.

He knelt between my legs which were hanging off the side of the bed. He spread them apart and pulled my butt closer to the edge. I felt his tongue lapping at the crotch of my panties and I gasped at the sensation. It took my breath away. He was toying with me and it made me furious. I was putty in his hands and now we both knew it.

He stopped licking the crotch of my underwear and covered my pubic area with his mouth. He gently blew his warm breath through my underwear. It seemed to have the effect of superheating his breath. The stream of incredibly hot air enveloping my moist pussy was the most indescribably delicious sensation. I had never felt anything like it before! I enjoyed my first orgasm then, my first of many that night.

He finally peeled my panties slowly down my legs and for the first time in my life I felt a tongue on my pussy. I hated him at that moment. But god damn that felt good!!!

I was humiliated in so many ways at that moment. I was humiliated about being undressed by a man for the first time since I was fourteen. This all happened about five years ago when I was twenty-three. It had been almost ten years since I had been touched by a man, or undressed by a man. I had never had oral sex. Fourteen year old boys don’t eat pussy. Or at least they didn’t when I was fourteen.

It wasn’t just that I was now so totally exposed to a man for the first time. I was also ashamed because of my response to what he was doing to me. I didn’t want to be excited. I didn’t want to have an orgasm.

But my body wasn’t listening to me. He ate my pussy for a long time and he was very, very good at it. I had so many intense orgasms I couldn’t have counted them if I’d had the presence of mind to try. The sensations of being brought to orgasm by someone else, by a warm human being instead of my vibrator, were irresistible.

I was embarrassed even more when he stopped what he was doing and stood up. I whimpered in protest when he took his tongue away. His only reaction to my lust was to stare down at me arrogantly as he slowly undressed.

I found myself watching, almost as if I was afraid to look away. When he finally was down to his jockey shorts I stared in disbelief at the huge bulge in the front of them. Then I watched in awe as he slowly pulled his shorts down and exposed his large cock. Its dimensions were certainly in keeping with the rest of his large body.

I had only seen one male member up until then. The one that belonged to the fourteen-year-old boy who got me pregnant. I thought it pretty impressive at the time. It was certainly large enough to hurt like hell when he popped my cherry.

When I saw the cock this man was preparing to put in my body I looked up at him in fear. I shook my head and exclaimed, “No! You can’t put that in me! I can’t take that. It’s too large!”

He just smiled and moved closer again to stand between my legs. I started to scramble away from him but he caught my legs and pulled me back easily. He rested his large cock on my pussy and gently slid it up and down across my juicy slit. He saw the terror on my face and he said, “Don’t worry. You’re just out of practice. It won’t hurt a bit. In fact, you’re going to love it.”

He pulled back until the head of his cock was lined up with my pussy and he slowly pushed it into me, just the tip at first, then about an inch of the shaft.

I expected it to hurt. I was very surprised when it didn’t. I felt full, stretched like never before. But I also felt taken. It embarrassed me when I realized I was enjoying the feeling. I hated myself for enjoying it. But I enjoyed it nonetheless.

He paused with a couple of inches of his cock inside of me. I looked down and finally realized his cock was not much larger than one of my vibrators. It just looked so much more threatening. But it wasn’t just the size of his cock that was scary. It was the idea that for pretty much the first time in my adult life I was not in control of what happened to me. I couldn’t say no.

He forced more and more of his cock into me. But slowly, he gave me plenty of time to get used to it as he entered me. God it felt great!

The entire time I lay there and he slowly worked his cock into me, whenever I looked up there was that arrogant face looking down at me. It made me so mad that I couldn’t control myself. But at the same time, it was just exactly the expression I wanted to see.

He knew what he was doing to me. And because I couldn’t resist him I could tell he looked down on me. Because he conquered me so easily he obviously thought less of me. I was nothing to him but a piece of ass. Even knowing that, though, I still could not fight those wonderful feelings welling up inside of me and boiling over in orgasm.

I had another orgasm before he had planted his cock all the way inside of me. I gave up trying to fight it. I was cumming over and over. And I was getting louder and louder. For the first time since I was fourteen I was out of control. And it felt wonderful!