You Can Always Say No Ch. 04

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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 istanbul travesti 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. anadolu yakası travestileri 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. There were other options, too…. I shuddered at that thought.

“I don’t know if I can just come out and ask…”

“Then don’t,” Faye admonished. “Ask her without asking her. Give her a taste, then ask her if she wants more. You know about wanting more, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I admitted sheepishly. “I do.”

“Good,” Faye mewed. “Then it’s settled. You know you can count on me to help in any way I can.”

“I really appreciate that,” I assured her, “but why? If you don’t mind my asking, what’s in it for you?”

Dead silence – then a slow intake of air.

“I’m getting my baby back,” Faye admitted softly.

I could almost hear the tears.

“She is going to be exactly the girl I – we – want her to be,” she continued. “My intuition tells me, she wants it that way, too; or will, once she gets a real taste of it. You wouldn’t begrudge a mother her baby, would you?”

“No, Mom, I wouldn’t,” I answered honestly, “as long as you understand she is my baby, too.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure she is the biggest, best babe she can be,” Faye chirped, “enough for both of us to enjoy.”

I terminated the call, amazed at myself for the umpteenth time in the past five days. Had I really just agreed with my new best friend – and admitted slut – to turn my own husband into a slut just like her… and myself? I couldn’t deny what a turn-on the idea was. How far was I willing to go with this fantasy? How far did I want to go? Get your hand out of your damn pussy and think with your BIG head, Donna!


I had a nice dinner waiting for Alan when he returned from work; candlelight, soft music, wine, the works. I was attired in a maroon French lace babydoll, plus matching floor-length dressing gown, stay-up stockings and marabou mules. My makeup and hair were ‘boudoir’ all the way, more sultry than he was used to seeing on me. I personally slipped his gloves off his hands, marveling at the soft, unwrinkled, moisturized flesh and lovely nails. I ran my hands softly over his body, emitting a small gasp of delight. I hadn’t been awake as he dressed for his day and it was a complete surprise to encounter the telltale ridges of a bra with B-cup enhancers, panties, garter belt and stockings under his suit and tie. He shrugged his shoulders and blushed.

“After last night, I was feeling a little daring,” he admitted.

I kissed him lightly on the lips, gently stroking his cheek. I had been mulling over this moment since ending my call to Faye. She had suggested I “ask her without asking her”; in other words, use subterfuge or outright deceit. Now Alan was all but handing me carte blanche to steer the scenario to a place where he couldn’t possibly say ‘no’. I certainly could have done that, but what would it have cost our relationship in terms of trust? It was time to make a choice.

“Go take them off,” I murmured. “I need to have dinner with my husband tonight. This is important. Just lay them out on the bed; I want them where we can find them easily.”

He returned about fifteen minutes later, looking about as masculine as possible, given his long ponytail and nails. As we supped, our dining experience was all about eye contact and gentle touching of hands. Although I had my loving husband before me, as I had intended, my head was filled with visions of Angie, as Faye and I had described her. After rinsing our plates and putting them in the dishwasher, I retrieved the bottle of champagne I had stashed in the refrigerator, plus the companion flutes from the freezer.

Alan took his cue unbidden, fetching the oversized ice bucket from its cupboard, inserting the champagne bottle, then packing it with ice. Even now I marveled at the perfect couple we made, so finely attuned to each other’s thoughts. With him carrying the bucket and I the flutes, I took his free hand in mine and led him into the living room and to the sofa. He did the honors with the champagne bottle while I ignited the pre-arranged logs in the fireplace. This night would be all about seduction and suggestion. I was still too sore to take him into me, but that was not my intention, anyway.

We sipped champagne and made out like two teenagers by candlelight and classical guitar. In time, I was on my knees on the carpeted floor between his legs, giving him a long, soft, teasing blowjob. It was all about pleasuring this man of mine who had given me indescribable pleasure already. Yet, the subtle scrape of those magnificent crimson talons at the sides of my head istanbul travesti as he held me filled my fevered brain with visions of my sweet Angie once again.

He moaned softly as he came, filling my mouth with his seed. I could tell it had been good for him, yet nowhere near the explosive, earth-shattering climax he had enjoyed/endured the previous Saturday night. He, not I, pulled me close to him and kissed me passionately. I had teasingly retained his cum in my mouth, just to gauge his reaction. Not only was he not repulsed, he eagerly snowballed his load with me. I wrestled with my conflicting desires for him as our tongues dueled. We came up at last, gasping for air and some semblance of sanity.

Before I could stop him, he had slipped off the sofa and between my thighs. Sliding off my diaphanous panty, he lapped and nibbled delicately around my inner thighs, working inexorably towards my treasure. The light, teasing touch of his lips, teeth and tongue, plus that subtle rasp of his talons on my exposed flesh, was exactly the tender touch my battered sex craved that night. My first orgasm was an exquisite torment of pleasure/pain. There were four more before my screams, spastic thrashing and pounding fists on his shoulders convinced him to desist. It took some time to regain my composure. As we sipped champagne, I ordered my thoughts.

“My Darling,” I began, “I am dedicating the rest of this night to your pleasure, as you dedicated last night, and just now, to mine. You make me happier than I can find words to express. You compliment my thoughts, moods, and desires as no other ever has or could. Last night, the sex was so intense, you literally fucked me into unconsciousness.

“This morning, I was afraid it hadn’t been as good for you as it had been for me. You said you had cum, but you didn’t look very enthusiastic about it; certainly not at the level of intensity I had felt. Earlier tonight was good for you; I could tell. Still, there was not that explosive passion we have known in the past. Saturday night seemed much better; you erupted like a volcano. What did we do differently then? Tell me how I might please you the way you please me.”

No, I am not incredibly dense. I wanted Alan to admit it to me – and himself. He was silent for long moments, presumably trying to formulate an answer that wouldn’t offend me.

“Baby?” I prompted. “Baby? It’s okay, really; you can say whatever you want to say. I promise I won’t take it the wrong way. I love you, without reservation. We have already shared so much. Please, you can share this with me.”

“Saturday night,” he began, “you fucked me.”

“And you… like that?” I prompted.

“God, yes,” he gushed. “After the day we had Saturday, it just seemed… perfect.”

“But I didn’t touch you… there… at all,” I pointed out. “How could it be better for you?”

He shook his head,

“I can’t explain it,” he responded, confused. “Perhaps you hit my G-spot.”

“More likely, I hit your P-spot,” I teased. “Go on.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “I came harder that night than I have ever cum before in my life. It felt like my whole body was hard-wired to my pussy and every nerve ending was firing at once. It made me feel like such a… slut.”

This was looking promising.

“You really love that feeling, don’t you Baby?” I prompted. “It isn’t about just dressing up anymore, is it? You have become caught up in the whole slut experience. In the process, we have discovered sex is more intense for you when you are being fucked than the more traditional sex we have always had. You do realize if we continue with this, things will never be the same for us, don’t you?”

He hesitated, then nodded his head slowly.

“Please don’t hate me,” he pleaded. “I want our sex to be as good as it has always been, for you as well as for me.”

“Don’t hate you?” I asked crossly. “Don’t you ever think anything we do consensually, in bed or otherwise, would cause me to hate you. Still, things are different now. Our sex can never again be as good as it was; it has already proven to be better than ever before. Last night was, physically, the best, most intense sex I have ever had in my life. It was the best because I was being fucked by the slut I have come to adore.

“I get goose bumps just seeing you walk through my door. I behold you, looking the way you did last night, and my brain turns to mush. As much as I love ‘Alan’, I can’t get ‘Angie’ out of my mind. Each new day, each new experience we share, makes me feel stronger, more positive about us as a couple. I like the direction we are taking, at least a much as you do. Would it surprise you to know I enjoy fucking you?”

“I deeply appreciate that, but it can’t be as good for you as last night,” he asserted. “In fact, I’m troubled you don’t seem to want a repeat tonight.”

“Oh, but I do want a repeat of last night,” I countered, “but not tonight. Sweetie, I truthfully can’t; that’s how totally, thoroughly, completely you wore me out. I literally couldn’t get out of bed this morning to see you off to work, much less go to work myself. As worn out as I was, you showed up tonight and still managed to make me cum hard five more times. That was all you, Baby.

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