1950s: Naughty Bride-to-Be

I imagined that was a very true statement as I kept licking until she came on my face and lips.

When she got off me, she said, "Come join me for an actual breakfast."

"Okay," I said, getting up.

"And get undressed," she added.

"What about the kids?" I asked.

"A friend picked them up already," she said, before walking out.

Since the discovery of the lesbian society, every day was an adventure.

I followed her to the kitchen, where she ordered me onto the kitchen table, spread my legs and said, "I love a warm homemade breakfast."

"Then I think you'll really enjoy this," I said, with a smile before she leaned in and began licking.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed a morning licking.

A few minutes later, after an orgasm and a bowl of cereal, the MILF asked, returning from the washroom and now wearing a strap-on, "Do you want a good fucking before I drive you home?"

"I'd love one," I said.

"Get back up on the table," she ordered.

I got.

She joined me on the table, moved behind me and slid her cock easily into my always wet pussy.

"Oh yes," I moaned, enjoying any time I was on the receiving end of pleasure... just as much as I enjoyed giving it.

She fucked me for fifteen minutes before I had my second morning orgasm.

I then dined on her pussy once more before she drove me home.

BEFORE THE WEDDING TRAINING

Of course, my fiancé Steve and I had to take marriage classes.

They were boring and sexist, as the minister stressed my subservient role as a wife.

Before learning of the secret lesbian sex club, I likely would have been happy to be getting married and would have believed every word he said... but now I resented every word.

To make me even angrier, he handed me an article from 'Housekeeping Monthly' called 'The Good Wife's Guide' which, again before the discovery I likely would have agreed with and just assumed that was my role. It was still the world I saw from my Mom when my father was home, but now it had me in a fury. [NOTE: There really was such an article in the 13 May, 1955 issue of Housekeeping Monthly. And although I left out a few items, these are direct quotes. Don't believe me? Google it.]

Each suggestion only added to my inner fury.

1. Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.

Are you kidding me? During the day I would not be thinking of him... no in my first years of marriage I would be servicing all the housewives in the community (that will be told later in the 1960s stories).

2. Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

I would definitely be preparing myself: for whoever I was servicing that day. My make-up would be a lovely homemade gleam. He may have been working all day, but I would have been too.

3. Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first -- remember his topics of conversation are more important that yours.

I imagine he would love to hear about my day, as mine would DEFINITELY be more interesting. Reading the belief that men's topics are more important than mine had my fury bubbling. Alas, I would have to feign I believed this as the female revolution slowly marched forward.

4. Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.

This one was fair enough. I'd be sure and tidy away all the sex toys before Steve got home. And if anyone's cum was on the tabletops, I'd be sure and have it cleaned up.

5. Don't complain if he's late home for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day.

Stay out all night. I don't care.

6. Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

Oh my God! This makes me want to suffocate the minister. I mean I do love Steve, and I don't resent him (he ends up being a good husband and a good man), but the discovery of the possibility of a female revolution where equality could one day be achieved had me thinking woman first.

7. Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

This philosophy was exactly the reason a female revolution was needed.

8. A good wife always knows her place.

That would be something I would tightrope the rest of my life. Being a good wife to a man who would never discover my other side. My marriage was partly love and partly a façade.

But while the sessions with Minister Martin were boring, excruciating and insulting... time with his wife was a lot more educational.

Session 1:

I walked into church at nine in the morning and Mrs. Martin ordered, in her stern voice, "Over here, Rebecca."

I walked over nervously, as she was standing at the podium her husband often stood at as he preached and judged all us sinners.

"Hi, Mrs. Martin," I greeted sheepishly. She scared the hell out of me (ironic I know, since we were in a church).

Her hair in a bun, her expression stoic, she asked, "Are you ready for your marriage training?"

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I nodded, beginning to think this may be worse than the marriage counselling her sexist husband led.

"Get undressed," she said.

"Pardon?" I asked, surprised by her words... even after all I'd discovered in the past while. No way was she a member, was she? Plus, we were in church. Where anyone could come in.

"Get undressed, now!" she repeated, her stern voice somehow even scarier when she was unperturbed.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I said, my hands trembling. I removed my shoes and pulled my dress over my head and was then simply naked... since I was, as usual, not wearing panties or a bra.

"Only a slut goes out without undergarments," she said, as I stood before her naked.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I agreed, not sure what else to say. Although I'd briefly assumed she must be part of the lesbian society, these words had me reconsidering my assumption.

"Only a slut gets pregnant at eighteen," she continued to degrade me, making me feel small.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I nodded, my cheeks burning with shame as I shivered from a cool breeze.

"Come here," she said, as she moved away from the altar and moved to a bench.

I started to walk to her and she said, "Crawl."

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I said obediently, as I lowered myself to the floor and looked up to see she was dropping her skirt to the floor. She too wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Time to repent for your sins," she said, as I crawled towards her.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I repeated, as I crawled to her with a slight smile, as her comment about sluts and undergarments now proved she was indeed a member of the movement.

"Time to discipline you for your behaviour," she said her tone not changing at all.

"I understand, Mrs. Martin," I said, reaching her.

"Climb onto my lap, slut," she instructed.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I obeyed, not exactly sure how to go about that.

I stood up, and went to sit on her lap. "No, you dumb slut," she snapped impatiently, "over my lap."

"Sorry, Mrs. Martin," I apologized, as I tried to figure out how to actually do that.

"Just climb on top," she sighed. "For someone with such high grades, you're pretty fucking stupid."

Being scolded so harshly and hearing such language coming out of a minister's wife's mouth was shocking... likely would have been the most shocking thing ever if it wasn't for the whole lesbian society and my mother is bi and I dine on her pussy almost every breakfast. I climbed on top, using the bench for stability.

"About time," she said, before her hand slapped my ass... hard.

I gasped.

"Repent for your sins," she said, another slap.

"I repent," I declared rather loudly... pain burning my ass.

"For what?" she asked, slapping my ass again.

"Being a slut," I answered.

"And a cock sucking whore?" she questioned, as she slapped me again.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I admitted.

"Yes, what?" she asked, another slap. My ass cheeks burned and yet, inexplicably, my pussy was wet.

"Yes, I'm a cock sucking whore," I declared, even though I had only sucked nine cocks so far. Eight of them on the night of my initiation to the society, and my boyfriend Steve's lots of times since surprising him that time at the drive-in. Cunt, on the other hand, I couldn't even begin to keep track of anymore.

"And you'll keep being one if that's needed for the revolution?" she asked, as she caressed my burning ass.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin, I'll suck every cock I'm told to," I agreed, even though I preferred eating pussy.

"Is being punished getting you horny, slut?" she asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I admitted, unsure why it was... although I knew the name calling always made my loins burn and my pussy leak.

"Your cunt cum is dribbling on my leg," she said.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Martin," I apologized, "I'm always a horny slut."

"Hump my leg," she ordered.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I obeyed, as I moved one leg under her leg and the other over it. It was awkward at first, but once I got into a position I began fucking myself on her leg... like a dog.

"Such an obedient slut," she mused, as I moaned in pleasure.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I replied, as my pussy soaked her leg.

Then... a hard slap on the ass. But it wasn't a hand... it was a paddle.

PS: KIMMY you will see some pictures where I look different in the rest of this chapter. As I began to feel the baby inside me, I became self-conscious of my looks... my body... my everything. So, what you see here is partly me, partly my imagination.

I moaned and yelped at once.

A very unique sound.

"Only sluts get wet humping someone's leg," she mused, as she spanked me again.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I agreed, with a wince that also brought pleasure through me.

"You're a sinner," she scolded, slapping my ass.

"Yes," I admitted, feeling a burn on my ass.

"You ready to repent for your sins?" she asked again, even though I had already agreed to this.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I agreed. I then added, as each paddle spank, mixed with my grinding, sent waves of pleasure through me. "Punish me for my sins."

"You like to be punished?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Your pussy juice is now all over my leg," she pointed out.

"It's because I'm a lesbian slut," I declared.

"You prefer cunt to pussy?" she questioned.

"I like sausage, but I love fish," I replied, looking up at her.

"Well, come and dine on mine," she said, before I was allowed to come.

I moved off of her, moved between her legs and looked at her hairy pussy, a bit daunted at the tangle.

"Worship, slut," she ordered.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I said like a sex parrot, as I leaned forward and began licking... smiling inside at both her strong scent and wetness... I had turned her on.

I licked her to an orgasm where she didn't speak once... rather unorthodox... and when she came it was just the smallest moan... although even that isn't the right word for an utterance that quiet.

Once I was done, she said, "Same time tomorrow," before she stood up and walked away.

I quickly got dressed as she said from a distance, "And no coming until tomorrow's session."

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I nodded, as I put my outfit back on. It seemed rather cruel of her, since she'd gotten me all hot and bothered in today's session, and hadn't let me come.

She scared me when she added, just as I was beginning to leave, "Tomorrow meet me at my home."

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I agreed.

Session 2:

I arrived at her home a couple minutes early.

She had a woman I didn't recognize over, having coffee at the kitchen table.

"Under the table, slut," she ordered.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I obeyed, lowering myself to the floor and crawling under the table.

"Welcome my friend from Wallesburg," she instructed.

"You were telling the truth," the woman gasped, as she felt me arrive between her legs.

"I don't lie," Mrs. Martin said, before adding in an amused way, "it's a sin."

"And you never sin," the woman replied with a similar amused tone, as she parted her legs for me.

I moved to her pussy and began licking.

"Oh my," she moaned.

"She's a great rug muncher," the church woman approved.

"I must agree," the woman I was licking moaned.

I licked.

They talked.

The stranger came on my face.

I spun around and had a second yummy breakfast (a third if you include Mom's an hour earlier).

I licked.

They talked.

Mrs. Martin came.

"Want to play with her?" Mrs. Martin asked, once her orgasm was done.

"May I?" she asked.

"She's all yours," Mrs. Martin said. "I have to go shower before going to a meeting with some parishioners."

"Okay," the other woman said.

"Get up here, slut," Mrs. Martin ordered, not yet once using my name.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I obeyed, crawling out from beneath the table.

"Get naked. Climb on the table and do as Mrs. Brown says," she ordered.

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I nodded, getting undressed. "Hi, Mrs. Brown," I smiled, as I pulled my dress over my head.

"You're adorable," Mrs. Brown said.

"I can be whatever you want me to be," I offered, as we were left alone.

"Get on the table," she ordered, admiring me.

"Yes, Mrs. Brown," I smiled, kissing her gently, before getting on the table.

She fingered my pussy.

She licked me.

She fingered my ass.

I eventually came when she had two fingers in each hole.

Mrs. Martin came down just as I was recovering and asked, "Has she been a good pet?"

"Very good," Mrs. Brown said, as she licked me some more.

"Well, play with her as long as you want," Mrs. Martin offered, before heading out.

Mrs. Brown straddled my face and I got her off a second time.

Mrs. Brown fucked me with a rolling pin... and I took almost all of it.

We ended in a 69 for an eternity as we each gave each other a third orgasm before she gave me her card, and I promised to come spend a weekend in her community to help promote the cause.

Session 3:

I was again summoned to Mrs. Martin's home.

This time I ate her at the breakfast table while she read the newspaper.

She then fisted me to three orgasms... the last one so intense I actually passed out.

Session 4:

I met Mrs. Martin at her home, and she drove me to a house on a farm a few miles out of town.

I followed her inside and she said, "Put this on."

"Yes, Mrs. Martin," I replied, taking a cheerleading outfit... something I'd always fantasized wearing.

I put it on as Mrs. Martin went upstairs.

She returned just as I had it on and said, "You're a cheerleader, and you're seducing your mother."

"I am?"

"Role play," she sighed. "Fuck, you really aren't too bright for a smart girl."

"Oh, okay," I nodded.

She led me upstairs and she said, "She is already in her role."

"Okay," I nodded again and I opened the door. I went in while she remained in the hallway, shutting the door behind me.

A pretty blonde was in a cheerleader outfit top, without the skirt, and was grinding on a pair of pom poms. I gasped, "Mom, what are you doing on my bed?"

"C-C-Cameron," the mother stuttered, looking back at me.

"What are you doing to my pom poms?" I questioned, becoming a character, just like I had when I'd played Ophelia in Hamlet a few months ago.

"I can explain, Cameron," she said, getting off the pom poms.

"I'm all ears," I replied dubiously.

"It's just I miss my cheerleader days," she said.

"Did you fuck yourself with pom poms back then?" I asked bluntly.

"Cameron!" she gasped.

"Mom!" I mocked back, assuming I was supposed to seduce her. That therefore I was to be in charge.

"Don't speak to me like that," she said, trying to be stern.

"You're the one on my bed, fucking yourself with my pom poms," I said, as I got onto the bed. "I think I'll speak to you however I like."

"Cameron!" she repeated, but more sheepishly.

I moved my hand to her pussy from behind and asked, "Were you fantasizing about me, Mom?"

"Cameron, what are you doing?" she gasped, even though she didn't move my hand away.

"Feeling your wet pussy, Mom," I answered matter-of-factly. "Why are you so wet, Mom?"

"It's just been a while," she admitted, looking embarrassed.

As I slowly rubbed her pussy, I asked, "What were you thinking about as you fucked this wet cunt with your daughter's pom poms?"

"Oh God, Cameron," she moaned, as I teased her pussy.

"Was it me, Mommy?" I asked, using the word that always turned my real Mom on.

"Cameron," she said weakly.

"Tell me, Mommy," I instructed. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Oh God," she said, still not giving in.

"Do you want your daughter to eat your cunt?" I asked point blank.

"Cameron, please," she said, looking so vulnerable and playing guilty.

"Please what, Mommy?" I asked. "Please eat your cunt?"

"I-I-I...."

I moved my finger away, began to pull up her top and kissed her. "Sssssssh, Mommy, you're my pet now."

I kissed her passionately.

I took off her top.

I pushed her onto her back.

"Let me take care of you, Mommy," I purred, as I spread her legs.

"This is wrong," she protested.

"Making my dear Mommy feel good can't be wrong," I argued, looking up at her with a cute smile.

"But you're my daughter," she pointed out.

"And loving families must look after each other," I countered, as my finger went to her pussy.

"I don't know," she said weakly.

"I do, Mommy," I smiled, before I leaned down and began to lick her pussy.

"Ohhhh, honey," she moaned, as my magical tongue began to go to work.

I lapped for a few minutes before she begged, "Yes baby, get Mommy off."

"Come all over my face, Mommy," I urged her, as I hungrily devoured her wet cunt.

"Oh yes, baby," she moaned.

"Come now, Mommy," I encouraged.

"Oh yes, God, yes," she screamed before she came on my face.

"Yes, Mommy," I said, as I lapped up her cunt cum.

"Such a good girl," she moaned.

"Anything for Mommy," I replied, licking up her come until she was done.

To my surprise, that was it.

No orgasm for me.

Just a quiet drive back and being told to meet at the school tomorrow at lunchtime. Being a Saturday, I was curious why.

SESSION 5:

I arrived at school and saw the football team on the field. Mrs. Martin let me in.... of course she had a key.

She had me put on a wedding dress and led me to the staff room. The dress was far from new, a bit tattered in places, and yellowish from obviously many dry cleanings. And it fit me only more or less, the bodice actually gaping open to show my breasts unless I held it in place, which I knew without asking that Mrs. Martin wouldn't allow. Thank heavens we didn't encounter anyone in the hall.