You Can Always Say No Ch. 04
Keywords: You, Always, 04, Ch., Can, Say, No,
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"Hi… "Mom"!"
I drew out that last part, my voice dripping with sarcasm, and heard her giggle at the other end of the line.
"Hi, Donna," Faye chimed musically, the smirk in her voice apparent. "Did Angie give you my message?"
"With a "vengeance,"" I groaned melodramatically. "She literally fucked me stupid; I went out like a light. This morning, I was so sore, I had to call in sick."
"Oooooh, that was a good one, then," Faye snickered. "I wish I could have been a mouse in your pocket."
"Forget it," I growled good-naturedly. "My 'pocket' was stuffed as it was. Where on earth did she come up with a body like that, and where did it go afterward? This morning, she had only her nails to remind me it was really her."
Faye described in detail her extensive use of special effects prosthetics in movies and television. When properly applied and made up, they were indistinguishable from real flesh. The 'tits' Angie had sported so proudly the night before had already been on-hand; cast from Faye's own prolific proportions.
"I didn't have the prosthetics for the hips and ass," Faye explained. "We took the castings, but I didn't have the money for them and the boobs, too. Custom-made prosthetics cost a mint. I had to substitute a padded panty from "Frederick's of Hollywood." Fortunately, Angie and I are real close in bone structure. That's why her titties looked so good last night; it was as though they had been made expressly for her. If we ever decide…."
"We just did," I affirmed. "I'll pick up the tab. I "adored" Angie's new look last night. I want "more" – if I can survive it."
"There is that word 'more' again," Faye intoned mirthfully. "If you are not careful, people will suspect you are a greedy little bitch."
"Too late," I lamented. "Guilty as charged. Let them think what they will."
As for your 'survival'," Faye continued, "this is the point in the conversation where you are supposed to admonish me to 'never do "that" again'. You know what I am talking about."
"Well… yeah," I uttered pensively, hesitating a moment. "It's just that…."
"What?" Faye queried.
"Oh, I don't know," I answered, hesitant. "All the time Angie was pounding away inside me, I felt so… "used", like a piece of meat, and I… loved it. I felt like such a, a…"
""Slut"?" Faye offered.
"Yes, dammit," I groused, "and it felt "good." Are you happy now?"
"Ecstatic," she responded, that smirking lilt in her voice still apparent. "You "did" tell me you adored sluts."
"Yes, but I hadn't pictured "myself" as one," I contended.
"Some of us are more honest with ourselves than others," Faye volunteered. "Let's see if I can guess how it played out. You were already hot to trot when you came home last night, anticipating your little tête-à-tête with our Angie. Then she came in, looking so fine, and you about gushed an ocean. You attacked her, right then and there, couldn't get enough. As it turned out, she was just as insatiable."
"Thanks to you and that damned little blue pill," I pointed out.
"Who, me?" she replied glibly. "So, all's well that ends well, right?"
I tried to put my thoughts together in some coherent pattern. Meanwhile, the silence was deafening.
"Don-na?" my self-appointed 'mother-in-law' challenged. "Could it possibly be you are somehow… "conflicted "over a truly magical experience like last night?"
This woman's intuition was truly scary.
"Let me guess," she continued. ""She", not you, is supposed to be the slut who can't get enough of "your" cock; your domme side has been salivating over that thought since… when? Saturday? Before that? You like the idea of her being 'soft and squishy', receptive to a good fucking, as I described it yesterday. Don't try to deny it; I saw the way your eyes lit up as I spoke the words."
"It's true," I admitted ruefully, "but after last night, I don't know how I can follow through with that. It was absolutely, positively, the hardest, rawest, most animalistic sex I have ever had in my life, much less with my husband. I couldn't think. I couldn't talk, other than to scream my head off. The individual orgasms melded into one continuous, sublime orgiastic thrill ride. It makes me shiver now, just remembering it. It changed me, Faye. I can't imagine never having that again."
Describing the scene to Faye and confessing my resultant emotional turmoil caused my libido to awaken. Subconsciously, my free hand dropped to my spread thighs and began to ever-so-gently finger my bruised, but aroused sex.
"How can I do what I want to do with Angie and still do what I want to do with my husband? Angie came, too; at least she said so. I wasn't sure. She must have cleaned me up afterward."
"She washed you?" Faye inquired. "She really "is "thoughtful."
"Washed me?" I repeated. "Well, she "laved "me…."
"Oh," Faye commented. ""Oh….""
I suddenly got this vision of Faye massaging her clitty as I described my night with Angie. That made "me "hot. Suddenly, the tide was coming in again. As sore as I was, I couldn't help but delicately finger my own engorged love button through my now-open dressing gown.
"Just the thought of my loving Angie… my gorgeous little sissy-slut hubby, eating out my-my-my… well… used… c-c-c-cunt…" I gasped, so lost in the moment, I was only dimly aware of the filth streaming from my own lips – and was beyond caring.
I closed my eyes, threw back my head, and gave a barely-audible gasp as I shuddered through my release. As lost in my reverie as I was, I swear I heard an echo from the other end of the line. There was a pregnant pause in our conversation; a long one.
"Let's… recap," Faye intoned at last, sounding winded. "You want to have your cake and eat it, too. You experienced the pleasure Angie gave you, something more intense than you have ever had before, and you want it again, presumably often. Being the thoughtful, loving, caring partner you are, you want "her" to enjoy the same pleasure. The domme in you wants her to enjoy it "your "way, as the soft, squishy, receptive slut; "that" makes you hot. The greedy little bitch in you is afraid if you do that, you will be taking away your own candy and Angie's, too"." Is that pretty close?"
"Damn," I gasped softly. "How do you "do "that?"
"That's what 'moms' do," Faye responded smugly, "and Angie called me from work this morning to tell me about last night. Knowing the two of you as I now do, the rest was elementary, dear Watson. Seriously, I don't see the problem."
"Why not?"
"As I told you yesterday, you have options. There is a big, wide world of pleasure out there for both of you to share and enjoy. Angie's choice seems to play a big part in your personal happiness; I respect you for that. There is too little genuine caring in relationships these days; that's why so many fail. My baby's father – my "first" Angie, that is – never married me. He split as soon as I told him he'd knocked me up."
"I'm sorry," I sympathized.
"I'm not," Faye avowed. "I adored his cock, not him. He and I never shared even a tenth of what you have with Angie. If the asshole had stuck around, I would just have found an excuse to kick his ass to the curb – maybe even subconsciously blaming him for my baby's death. What you have is rare, Donna. The fact that you don't take it for granted is rarer still. So, if Angie's choice in this is so important to you, ask her.
"I can't ask Alan to sacrifice his cock for my fantasy," I avowed.
"Really," Faye mused. "So, who said anything about Alan? We have been discussing 'Angela' this entire time."
My heart skipped a beat when I realized she was right; I hadn't uttered my husband's name even once in our conversation. Was I that far gone? What kind of obsessed, selfish bitch was I becoming?
"That doesn't make you selfish," Faye asserted, reading my mind yet again. "It merely means you are being honest with yourself. Besides, you had no problem making demands of… what was her name? Deidre?"
"This is different," I huffed. "It was just a game with Deidre and the others who came later. They meant nothing to me. I "love "my husband."
"I would not have presumed otherwise," Faye attested. "I could see it in your eyes when the two of you were in the shop; hers, too. The question is, would you love her "less" as the Angie we both envision – or "more"?"
I closed my eyes. That vision returned to me. Angie – the big-boobed version who had visited me the night before – was on her knees before some faceless stud She had long, curving talons like Faye's and they were wrapped around a big, fat, throbbing cock. Angie was sucking that cock with wild abandon, making loud, obscene slurping noises. I just knew when she had him ready, he was going to turn her around and sink that cock into her tight, inviting pussy – and she would invite him to do so. In fact, I would "insist "on it….
"What was that little gasp about, Donna?" Faye teased. "Were you thinking of something that made you "wet"?"
"Um, yes," I admitted sheepishly, noticing my hand playing with my clit yet again. Why was it, every time I was with this woman, even talking to her on the damn telephone, all I could think about was sex? I hadn't been aware I had reacted audibly to the vision, much less resumed playing with myself.
"I think we both know the answer to my question, don't we?" Faye confirmed softly. "Before you beat yourself up any more over that revelation, you need to ask yourself one question: What "made" Angie cum last night? Don't jump to conclusions, either; the real answer might not be as facile as you believe. Ask her - and ask her what "she "wants."
I felt so conflicted. I could not get that vision of 'Slut Angie' out of my head. I knew in my heart Faye was right; even if Angie became incapable of making love to me the way Alan had, there were toys out there that could launch both of us into lunar orbit.
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Keywords: You, Always, 04, Ch., Can, Say, No,