(Homer Vargas) Celeste Withdraws (M/f, F/f, cheat, preg, postmodernism)
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Subject: (Homer Vargas) Celeste Withdraws (M/f, F/f, cheat, preg, postmodernism)
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NOTE: Posted by J.U. at the request of H.V.
Celeste Withdraws (M/f, F/f, cheat, preg, postmodernism)
by Homer Vargas
Note: This text was submitted for a contest held recently to
explain Celeste's absense from Celestial Reviews. Some readers
may become confused between author, narrator, and character in
the story. One reader even suggested there may be some
autobiographical reference involved. This is naive, but
understandable for several reasons. First, the name of the
putative author, Homer Vargas, is also the name of a character
in the story. Second, although the story is written in the
impersonal third person, at various points the narrator speaks
to the reader as "I," seeming thereby to pierce the veil
between author and narrator. Finally, the character "Homer
Vargas" also claims to be a writer of erotic stories as the
putative author would appear to be.
Readers should not be distressed by these shenanigans as other
writers such as Phil Roth, Johnny Updike, even Homer's own
cousin, Mario Vargas Llosa, have done the same. Nor is this a
new literary device. You probably remember that Mickey
Cervantes in Book Two explicitly poo-poos any correspondence
between himself and the author of Book One of Don Quijote.
Doubts have even been expressed about the authenticity of
Homer's own namesake, although most scholars now agree that both
The Oddessy and The Iliad were written either by Homer or by
someone with the same name.
Professor Gail Myrthwright has an excellent treatment of the
problem of subject/frame interaction in her recent thesis,
"Exhibitionism and Self Reference in Internet Erotica." In it,
Professor Myrthwright cites Mercedes Cortez in a passage from "A
New Infection," (forthcoming) by Homer Vargas (or someone with
the same name) to explain the phenomenon:
"But, Vivian, can't you see, deconstruction of a text ALWAYS
requires attention to the semiotic conventions of time and
place. I find your attempt at a-historical analysis futile, at
best. A deeper analysis . . . uuh, yes, a little deeper.
DEEPER, Darling. You KNOW how Mommy likes it! Oh, oooh, OOOOH!"
While holding in tension the dialectic so well expressed by Dr.
Cortez, Ms Myrthwright also holds out the contrarian view which
Vargas puts in the words of Vivian Wu:
"Mechas, my dear, you simply fail to recognize the importance of
STRUCTURE. A hermeneutical exegesis of a messages can no more
be disguised by convention than can the language in which it is
transmitted. With a little more time I know I can explain it to
you. I'm really so close. YES! So CLOSE. AYYYYY!"
Those interested in a broader, if somewhat popular, treatment of
issues of self reference, should see "Godel, Escher, Bach" by
Douglas R. Hofstadter. The rest of you, who may be tiring of
this post-modernist horseshit, can go right on to the story
below.
Celeste Withdraws
by Homer Vargas
I know a lot a people have been wondering why Celeste has
withdrawn "temporarily" from publishing the Celestial Reviews.
I don't suppose anyone actually believes the phony explanation
she put out in CR 310. Hard disk crash. Haa! The story is a lot
more complicated. Incredibly, it started with the marital
problems of a minor pornwriter, "Homer Vargas," thus . . . .
Homer loved his Angela.
He loved her deeply, totally. She was his light, his life.
Even after thirteen years of marriage, she still had the
smashing figure of a woman in her twenties. People constantly
expressed amazement that she was married and even more that she
could be the mother of a twelve year old daughter. His Angela
was just beautiful. Every day at work, Homer yearned to get
home to her She filled his thoughts and she filled his dreams.
Unfortunately, she did not fill his arms.
Homer had met Angela when he was working in South America.
They had been virgins when they married; Angela because of very
traditional, protective parents and convent education, Homer
because Anglo girls in his small Southern high school just
didn't find big brown boys with funny accents very attractive.
In State University, even the few Latina women were more
interested in the Black and WASP "jock" types, so he had been
very frustrated. When Homer met Angela and she let him hold her
hand on the very fourth date, he was in heaven. No other girl
had ever let him take such liberties with her. Within a month
or two, Angela was letting him feel her titties. She was
beautiful, intelligent and he thought she really liked sex.
What more could he want in a wife?
The problem seemed to start when they came back to the United
States and had Cindy, bang-bang, almost as soon as they were
married. Angela hadn't really planned to have a baby so soon;
it just happened. Homer guessed she became frightened by her
fertility. Angela's mother had had thirteen children; Angela
must have wanted to avoid anything like that. She was
determined to finish her degree and to have a career. Cindy was
a setback and she said they weren't going to have any more
babies for a while.
Angela was one of those women who could not take the pill, so
they had to use the rhythm method. (They tried using condoms a
couple of times, but she hated it and Homer couldn't say he
enjoyed it much either.) Unfortunately, Angela's period was
pretty irregular. On average it was short, but occasionally she
could go thirty or more days. Those of you who know about how
the rhythm method works know that means they had a very narrow
window of "safe" days each month.
After Cindy was born Angela decided that to reduce the risk,
they would have to stop having sex so frequently. They hadn't
been having sex that frequently, anyway. Homer took it badly.
Sex was very important to him. He thought was the ultimate way
of saying 'I love you' to the most desirable woman in the world.
Maybe it was difficult for Angela, too at first, but through
some kind of internal discipline, she seemed to convince herself
that she didn't really want sex that much. Once or twice a
month seemed fine with her. Once or twice? Many times they were
(Homer was) still eagerly awaiting the "safe" days when Angela's
period showed up unexpectedly and he had to start counting all
over again.
The standard advice for couples using the rhythm method is to
use "other means" to express love and affection during those
days. Angela, however, was very conservative and reacted with
disgust when Homer tried to pleasure her with his fingers or --
worse -- with his mouth on her pussy. He got them a copy of
"The Joy of Sex" and once or twice after reading it Angela
brought herself to place her lips on tip of his penis, but she
just couldn't force herself to put it in her mouth. Thus, for
most of each month they ended up not having sex of any kind.
Don't get the wrong impression, Homer was sure Angela did love
him, but she began to think that love didn't need to include
sex. They had much in common in addition to their daughter.
Angela was a great cook and they enjoyed reading and listening
to classical music together. She did all those sweet "wifely"
things like straighten his tie, tell him when his socks didn't
match, and keep an eye on his weight. Homer knew that if he
looked a lot better than most guys his age, it was because of
Angela. He didn't think she meant to be cruel in denying him
sex; he suspected that she really did not understand just how
much a man needs it.
Since she was intent on their not "doing it" most days, Angela
became reluctant to let Homer be too "lovey-dovey." Over the
years, she began to reject his kisses, took a dislike to being
hugged or cuddled, and would seldom let him even touch her
beautiful tits, which she was constantly complaining were "too
big." "What's got into you, Homer?" she would protest if he
forgot and tried to take her hand or slip his arm around her
waist. She probably felt (maybe with some justification) that
he was trying to seduce her. Perhaps she feared that if she
allowed herself even a little sexual pleasure, she would lose
control and go "all the way" and another trip to the maternity
ward would be the result.
Homer was going crazy. He tried doing all those things that
are supposed to make women melt. He sent her flowers, but she
berated him for being silly or thanked him because they made
"the house" look nice. He asked her to go out on romantic
evenings for dinner, but she thought it was a waste of money.
(Even then his company was starting to take off and there was
always enough money for entertaining members of her family.)
Angela didn't like to drink, so sharing a bottle of wine over a
quiet dinner at home was out, too.
Homer had the idea of their taking dancing lessons together,
but that was another disaster. Angela hated it and constantly
criticized the other women for wearing short skirts and heels to
the practice sessions to "show off their legs." He began to
leave those women's magazines with articles on how to keep the
"spark" in your marriage lying around. Angela wasn't buying.
She was determined to make sure that no sparks led to no fires.
More and more Angela dressed to minimize her innate
attractiveness, although she could never be unattractive to
Homer. She would never wear high heels, deciding they hurt her
feet. She wouldn't wear earrings; the clip-ons pinched and she
was allergic to the wires in the pierced kind, so she said. She
preferred the triple protection of baggy slacks with pantyhose
over panties. When Angela "had" to wear a skirt, it was always
loose and a little longer than the fashion -- never with a slit
and never above the knee. Homer tried buying her shorter,
tighter skirts, but Angela wouldn't put them on. The sexy
pajamas he got for her birthday languished in the bottom of some
drawer. Bangles, bracelets, and necklaces she found gaudy.
Homer didn't even bother asking about an ankle chain.
Homer had grown up as an only child and had always wanted lots
of children. One, admittedly pretty perfect little girl, was
not enough for him. Angela, however, just fawned over dozens of
nieces and nephews and seemed content with Cindy. Homer, too,
thought their nieces and nephews were cute, but cursed his fate
that while all of Angela's sisters and sisters-in-law were
having three and four kids for their husbands (one sister-in-law
had eight!), Angela would give him only one. And not all those
marriages were happy ones.
Angela's sister Margarita, for example, was married to an
alcoholic who beat her and Consuelo's husband spent all his
money on his mistress, with whom he had a child. Yet Margarita
had had two boys and two girls for her man. Consuelo had given
her cheating SOB three girls and a boy and was pregnant again.
Even worse for Homer was putting up with Angela's relatives who
wondered aloud why they didn't "go for a boy," as if he wouldn't
be just as overjoyed to have four or five more little girls
competing for their daddy's attention!
Little by little having more kids and the resentment that
Angela refused to let him make her pregnant again got to be
almost an obsession with Homer. Everywhere he went he noticed
pregnant women, women nursing babies, women with a brood of
kids. When he saw an attractive woman with a man, Homer
wondered how long it would be before the guy had her pregnant.
He looked at balding, pudgy guys with three or four kids and
ground his teeth. What had he done to deserve this torture?
All this was mixed up with sex or the lack of it. At night
Homer would lie awake next to his sexy wife, yearning to reach
over and touch her and knowing it would only anger her.
Outwardly he looked like the luckiest man alive -- a beautiful
wife, his company doing better and better, a pretty, intelligent
daughter -- but he wanted more sex and more kids. Life seemed
so unfair.
Why didn't Homer have an affair, you ask? I told you already;
he loved Angela. He wanted her, not another woman. He wanted
Angela to be the mother of his children; look at their success
with Cindy. For the same reason he never seriously considered
divorce.
At last he decided to have a serious talk with Angela.
Luckily, Cindy was at a friend's house on that Friday night and
they could be alone. It wasn't easy, but he told Angela about
his feelings, how he loved her, but how he needed for their love
to be physical, too. He admitted he wished she would dress more
like the sexy woman she was. And finally, could they never have
another baby?
Angela exploded. "So, that's all you want! To dress me like a
whore and fuck me 'till I'm pregnant!
"No, of course not, Honey Maybe I said it wrong. I meant . . . ."
Homer collapsed in tears. He couldn't believe what he was
hearing from his wife. Seeing him cry only riled her more. In
the heat of anger she said that she didn't love him, that he had
never satisfied her sexually and never would!
That's when Homer got mad. *He* -- who had suffered blue balls
360+ days of each of the thirteen years they had been married
because *she* refused to have sex, -- had not satisfied *her!*
Did she think sex was a spectator sport in which the man
"performed" to please his woman? Homer knew Angela had never
had an orgasm, but was that just his fault? She never allowed
herself to try!
Homer knew he needed help but who? A woman, of course, a good
Catholic like Angela, someone intelligent that Angela would
respect, but most important, a woman with a sense of humor who
loved sex. It didn't take long to light upon the ideal woman.
He thought of the woman who once said that one of his stories
was "disgusting," but that she had laughed her head off and then
"done the dirty" with her happy husband. -- Celeste.
Homer decided to track Celeste down. It wasn't as hard as you
think. Have you ever heard of "iso-logues"? They are lines
linguists can draw on detailed maps marking the way that people
in different regions of the country use words. For example in
some places people say "nobody" in others, "no one." Generally,
linguists can demarcate exactly where more people use one and
where the other. That is but a very obvious example, but these
maps are far more subtle. Word frequency, word placement,
grammar, syntax, all can be analyzed and, in Celeste's case,
they were.
Homer put his company's programmers on it. Every sentence
Celeste had ever written in over three hundred Celestial Reviews
went into a huge database. Of course Celeste had told everyone
some things about herself that were plausible -- married with
daughters, Catholic, English teacher in high school.
Homer's linguistic map located her to the western half of a
certain rural county in a medium size state. His private
investigators found there was only one sexy English teacher in
the local high school. Guess what; she was Catholic, married,
and had two daughters. Bingo! Homer had Celeste!
Celeste didn't reply to his first e-mail. He didn't expect her
to. Then he mentioned the name of her husband and her oldest
daughter's best friend and hinted he would expose her. "What do
you want?" Celeste finally wrote back.
Homer knew what she thought -- that like millions of other ASSM
readers, he fantasized about shagging the sexy English teacher.
But Homer was in love with Angela. He told Celeste to meet him
in the bar of a large hotel in a medium size city near her home.
He was reasonable about allowing her to find a time that would
not arouse suspicion in her husband, but Celeste was very
apprehensive, suspecting the worst.
Homer had told her how to recognize him, a tall brown man with
a mustache and a red cravat. He had the pictures his private
investigators had obtained. They didn't do Celeste justice. He
spotted her the instant she walked in -- long straight brown
hair. slim but with large breasts and the roundness of a woman
who had borne children. She wore a business suit cut just a
little bit provocatively, heels, large earrings. Celeste had
read his stories and had decided to dress to please him.
"How did you find me?" she asked, upset, but not able to
restrain her curiosity. "I though my system with AOL was
foolproof. I'm going to sue the bastards!"
"You'd better not or I won't be the only one who knows who you
really are. Besides, that's not how I found you." Homer
explained how innocent information, a few lucky guesses and the
linguistic maps had uncovered her identity. Celeste had been
drinking as he explained her undoing. As he spoke, she realized
she was trapped. The combination of the liquor and the despair
was fatal. She broke down in tears.
"Oh God! No, no" she sobbed. "You are going to blackmail me
and I'll have to do anything you say. I know what's going to
happen now. You must be able to see how wet I am." Celeste was
becoming hysterical. "You're going to take me to your hotel room
to fuck me senseless in front of video cameras. In the elevator
you are going to reach up under my skirt and discover I'm not
wearing panties. You're going to finger me to an orgasm that
will leave me incoherent."
"Celeste," he tried to break in
"I can't believe this is happening to me. I was a virgin when
I married. I've always been faithful to my husband," she
wailed. "Why is my body going to betray me like this, at the
worst possible time of month when I'm ovulating?. Oh! It's your
magnificent cock; it mesmerizes me. You are going to lay me
back and eat my pussy until I am so hot I can't make you use a
condom."
"Celeste, Celeste!" he tried again without success.
"You'll have me in an overpowering rut. I'll spread my legs
for you and beg you to make me pregnant, plead with you to put a
little brown bastard in my white womb that I can never explain
my husband. I'll scream for you to place your cock at the
opening of my dripping fuck hole and to slowly split . . . ."
"Celeste, stop it! Stop it!" He shook her a little. "This
story is a (Cons, Rom.)." Celeste opened her eyes in confusion
as her fantasy dissolved. Her breathing began to become more
regular. "And even if it weren't," Homer grinned, "Whatever I
was slowly going to split, Celeste, it sure wouldn't be your
infinitive!"
The implication of his words hit her like a tank. Celeste
collapsed in mortification. Realizing that in the heat of
passion, she, ASSM's Goddess Linguistic Purity, had committed a
grammatical error, devastated the poor woman. Homer knew now
she would be putty in his hands. He told her his story.
*****
"So all you have to do is make Angela into a sexy, cockloving
woman like you," he concluded. Of course Celeste tried to say
she couldn't do it, that she was an English teacher not a
psychologist, but Homer knew she had done counseling and
insisted she try. It was that or the PTA of ____burg would have
some very interesting new gossip about one of the English
teachers. Celeste agreed.
Money was no object. Homer set Celeste up as a language coach
in a house in his city during her school vacation. Angela's
pronunciation really did need some polishing, so it fit. Homer
didn't know just how Celeste turned their practicing of vowel
sounds and syntax into "girl talk," but since sex is never very
far from Celeste's mind, he guessed it wasn't too hard.
Celeste was astounded at Angela's attitude and soon found
herself genuinely interested in trying to help her. "You don't
know what you're missing, honey" Celeste told her, grinning.
"You mean that you just let your husband *do it* all the time?"
Angela asked incredulously.
"At least every day, babe, more if I can on weekends."
"But you already have three children and you said you don't
want any more. Why don't you make him stop?
"Because I love my husband and I love getting fucked," Celeste
replied.
"But Homer wants to do those - *things*," Angelica explained,
shivering with disgust."
"What *things* do you mean?" Celeste asked, although she was
afraid she knew.
"He tries to put his mouth on my breasts. And if I didn't stop
him he would put his *hand* between my legs. One time he even
tried to put his *mouth* down there!"
"But of course, dear. That's the way a man gets us warmed up
to enjoy the main event." "Oh, Celeste, don't say things like
that. You sound like one of those horrible women. The sisters
told us only whores actually enjoyed "doing it."
"Are you calling me a whore, Angela?"
"Oh, no, Celeste. I'm sorry! But I just don't know what to
think."
"The sisters at your school were probably like the ones at
mine. They were feeling guilty about masturbating in their
cells at night and projected that guilt on us. Sex is supposed
to be pleasant. A few good orgasms every day make you feel
great!"
"What is an 'orgasm' anyway? Even when I was letting Homer do
it when I wanted to have a baby, nothing 'happened.'"
"The woman has to help make it happen, darling. You've got to
let Homer touch you and feel you up good. Relax and tell him
what you like and don't like. My husband knows that I like to
have him chew my ear and tongue my neck. Each of us has
different things that turns us on. Don't be in a hurry and
don't let him be."
"You mean I have to just lie there and let him arouse me, make
me 'want' it?"
"Of course you don't just lie there! You are the director of
the orchestra. And don't just tell him what you like. Moan
appreciatively when he hits a sensitive spot. Kiss him back
with all you've got. Play with his prick. Kiss *his* nipples."
"But why did I never get an orgasm though he always did?"
"It's nature, honey. For a man, having an orgasm is like
learning to walk. Unless his equipment is defective, it
happens. For us, having an orgasm is more like learning to
cook. If you never try, it never happens. And the more you
practice, the better you get. But Mother Nature gave us
something to compensate for having to work a little harder. We
can have one after another."
"What!" my wife asked in disbelief.
"Maybe I'd better show you." Celeste smirked.
"Celeste, no!" Angela protested, but Celeste suspected that
their sexy talk might have Angela more aroused that she
realized. Besides, Celeste had taken the precaution of spiking
Angela's orange juice with Absolute 100 and her pupil was a bit
tipsy.
More than most women, Angela was shy about her body. She tried
to push Celeste away when the teacher reached over to fondle her
older pupil's breast. "Let, me, Angela. You are so gorgeous.
You must torture poor Homer by not letting him do this." Celeste
said, fondling Angeles's tits through her blouse. "Your tits
must be beautiful, honey. Let me see them," she whispered even
as she unbuttoned the blouse of Homer's unresisting wife. Even
as she removed Angela's bra and began stroking her boobs,
Celeste was planning her next move.
"You 'are' beautiful, honey. These titties deserve to be
worshipped and kissed," Celeste said, demonstrating. Angela
moaned as Celeste expertly tongued the nipples. "Teach Homer
how to do this and let him make you a happy woman," Celeste
whispered and unzipped Angela's skirt.
The sensations of having her tits sucked by Celeste's talented
mouth prevented Angela from realizing that Celeste now had her
stripped down to just her panties. Interrupting her work,
Celeste gently stood Angela up and led her to the bedroom where
the dazed Angela let Celeste remove her panties before laying
her on the big bed.
Celeste stooped to admire. Angela was as beautiful as Homer
had told her, especially her pussy. Celeste knew there was
nothing that makes a woman more unique than her pussy. She had
seen and tasted plenty of them. They came in all different
sizes, colors and shapes; some were tucked inside like a little
girl's cunnie and some had thick luscious lips that come out to
greet you. Some were nested in bushes of fur and others are
covered with transparent fuzz. She appreciated Angela's wild,
unused qualities and told her, although not in those words.
Women are a good deal more verbal than men, especially during
love-making. Celeste knew that her husband could almost make
her come just by telling her what he was about to do. Probably
that was one of Homer's mistakes, she thought. "Oh, Angela.
baby. You have the cutest pussy. Let me make it wet for you,
so wet," she whispered all the time she was petting and stroking
her. "That's it, honey, let me love your beautiful pussy."
Gently Celeste pulled the lips apart and looked at Angela's
inner lips, giving them their first, playful lick which made her
shudder. Next Celeste spread the tops of Angela's unvisited
pussy until she found her clit. She blew it a soft salute, but
avoided touching her there yet. Celeste would work up to that
slowly. Before she had Angela sufficiently aroused, her clit
would be too delicate to be handled. Celeste stalked Angela's
pussy slowly, knowing that women, even more so than men, love to
be teased. She zeroed in on the inner part of her
victim-lover's thigh, a most tender spot. She licked it, kissed
it, made designs on it with the tip of her tongue. Celeste came
dangerously close to Angela's pussy, then floated away. Celeste
made Angela uncertain about just when she would strike.
Suddenly Celeste was licking the crease where Angela's leg
joined her pussy. She felt Angela quiver as she nuzzled her
face into Angela's untamed bush. Brushing her lips over
Angela's now flowing slit without pressing down further excited
Homer's inexperienced wife. Celeste had her! Soon Angela was
bucking up from the bed, straining to get more of Celeste to
her. It was time. Celeste put her lips right on top of
Angela's slit.
Celeste kissed her, gently, then harder. With her tongue,
Celeste separated Angela's pussy lips and when she opened up,
her seductress ran her tongue up and down between the layers of
Angela's pussy flesh. Gently she spread Angela's unresisting
legs more with her hands.
Gently, ever so gently, Celeste began to tongue-fuck her.
Angela's moans of arousal and frustration told her she was
teasing my wife unmercifully. Now, far from rejecting the sweet
manipulation of her sex as degrading and perverted, Angela was
dying for some attention her clit. Celeste took a quick look.
Angela's clit had gotten hard enough to peek out of its
covering. Angela wailed when Celeste licked it and again when
she licked harder, pressing into her skin.
Gently, Celeste pulled the pussy lips aside and flicked her tongue
against Angela's uncovered clit. She did it quickly. Angela's
legs shuddered. Sensing that Angela was approaching orgasm,
Celeste made her lips into an O and took the clit into her
mouth. Starting to suck gently, Celeste looked up at Angela's
face for her reaction. She could handle it so she began to suck
harder. Angela was responding enthusiastically. "Typical,"
thought Celeste. The frigid ones are always the hottest, once
you cracked their shell. She sucked harder. Angela lifted her
pelvis into the air with the tension of her rising orgasm.
Celeste hung on, keeping her hot mouth on Angela's clit. "Don't
stop. Please! Don't ever stop!" Angela wailed.
Celeste was pleased with Angela so far but she wanted to do
something else to intensify the naive woman's pleasure. She
began to finger-fuck Angela, who was enjoying her teacher's cunt-
licking talents. Celeste made for the sensitive area at the
roof of her vagina. This is what drove Celeste crazy when her
husband fucked her. Well, there was no cock handy so her
fingers would have to do the fucking.
Wetting them with Angela's flow, Celeste slipped one then two
fingers into her pussy. She slid them inside, rubbing slowly at
first, then a little faster, massaging her G spot rhythmically
with a "come here" motion. Celeste paid careful attention to
Angela's responses, speeding up only when her pupil did.
Angela's ragged breathing told Celeste what to do. Sucking her
clit and finger-fucking her at the same time, Celeste was giving
Angela far more stimulation than Homer would be giving her with
a cock alone. She could feel Angela's almost uncontainable
excitement. Homer's aroused wife turned red and began to
tremble.
Even when Angela's orgasm broke, Celeste didn't let go of her
clit, hanging on for the duration. When Angela started to come
down from the first orgasm, Celeste pressed her tongue along the
underside of Angela's clit, leaving her lips covering the top.
Gently, she moved her tongue in and out of her cunt. Her
fingers were still inside and she began to move them a little
too, gently though, knowing how sensitive Angela would be just
now. Bingo! Angela was off towards another orgasm.
Not content to make her come, Celeste wanted to make Angela a
love-slave. She didn't leave her leave her alone just yet. She
talked to her, stroked her body, caressed her breasts, pinched
her nipples. She continued making love to her quietly until
Angela had floated all the way down.
"Oh Angela, baby, you come so good! You love it. Why don't you
let Homer do this?" Celeste asked.
"My God! I've never felt anything like that. Is that what
Homer wanted to do?"
"Of course not. Homer just wanted to please you. That's what
*you* wanted him to do, but didn't know how to tell him. He'll
need lots of training. Men aren't born knowing how to eat a
pussy. You've got to show him. But if he loves you, he'll keep
practicing until he does exactly what you want."
"But if I let him do that, how will I be able to stop him from
. . . you know?
"Do you want to?"
"I might not; that's the problem." If I let him make me come
like that, he'll be able to fuck me silly any time he wants.
He'll keep me pregnant from now until menopause. I'll have a
house full of kids, just like Mamma." Angela had begun to cry.
"Not necessarily, honey," Celeste said holding her close an
comforting her. "Talk to Homer about it. Let him make love to
you without fucking on the days you're fertile, if that's what
you both want. But what would be wrong with letting him have
two or three more babies?. You are still young enough and you
know he can afford it. With child care, having babies need not
interfere too much with your studies."
"I hope you're right!" Angela smiled weakly.
*****
A few months later Celeste got another e-mail from Homer,
setting up another appointment in the same hotel bar. She
looked a lot less apprehensive when she walked in this time.
Smiling in her short yellow frock she came over and sat down.
"I've got some good news and bad news," Homer grinned. "First
I have to thank you again for the change in Angela. Now she not
only fucks me like a twenty dollar whore, but afterwards she
says 'thank you,' not 'sank you.' Better yet, I have her
pregnant with a little girl. Can you guess what we're going to
name her?"
"Oh, thank you, Homer. I'm so happy for you," Celeste said
sweetly, reaching over to take his hand. "So what is the bad
news?" she inquired.
"That's not the only change in Angela. She's become a real
slut. I told her about my stories and she has really gotten to
enjoy them, especially some I wrote under a former non de
plume." "Oh, I didn't know you had written under another name,
but it sounds wonderful! What's bad about that?" Celeste
replied, puzzled. "After reading my other stories, Angela
doesn't like (Cons., Rom.) anymore. She thinks they're too
tame. She wants me to make this a (NC, Interr, Wife, preg),"
Homer replied, a cruel Arc Light gleaming in his eye.
"Oh god! No, no" Celeste sobbed as the realization dawned on
her.
"Yes, I can blackmail you and you'll have to do anything I
say. Come here with me." Homer could see how wet the horny
teacher was as he led her toward his hotel room to fuck her
senseless in front of the video cameras. In the elevator he
reached up under her skirt and confirmed she wasn't wearing
panties. He fingered her to an orgasm that left her incoherent.
"I can't believe this is happening to me," Celeste wailed when
they got to his room. "I was a virgin when I married. I've
always been faithful to my husband. Why is my body betraying me
like this, at the worst possible time of month when I'm
ovulating?"
"Because of this," Homer explained, fishing out his enormous
cock. Mesmerized, Celeste was helpless as Homer lay her back
and ate her pussy until she was so hot she couldn't make him use
a condom. He had her in an overpowering rut. She spread her
legs for him and began to beg, "Oh, fuck me, Homer! Make her
pregnant. Please, put a little brown bastard in my white womb
that I can never explain to my husband. Put your cock at the
opening of my fuck hole," she screamed. "I want you to . . . I
want you to . . . Slowly split My sopping slit"
Evil elation filled Homer as he saw how in only minutes he had
corrupted the Erstwhile Empress of Erotica. Reaching between
her legs he expertly flicked her indirect object with one hand
and pinched the engorged modifier of a large dangling participle
with the other. Then he slid his first person singular into a
perfect tense conjunction with her direct object. The horny
grammarian was in an imperative mood and her active voice rang
out, "Fuck me! Fuck me!" Homer had Celeste where he wanted her,
on her hand and knees, writhing in passion, overusing
alliteration and splitting infinitives right in the middle of
her period.
Best of all he had made her do it doggerel!
*****
The rest, as they say, is history. Celeste's husband didn't
understand how his vasectomy could have failed. Since he had
never wanted the snip in the first place, he was too elated at
seeing his sexy wife's pregnant belly to ask questions. When
Celeste gave birth to a baby boy several shades darker that
either she or her husband, however, he took the girls and threw
Celeste out with her bastard baby. She was also fired from her
teaching position for obviously immoral conduct. Unable to keep
paying her AOL bill with her welfare check, Celeste had no
alternative but to invent a bogus reason and withdraw
"temporarily" from publishing the Celestial Review.
Don't despair, however. Angela heard about Celeste and got on
Homer's case about her. Angela was pregnant again herself and
she pleaded with Homer to let Celeste move in with them, saying
Celeste could help take care for their growing second family.
Homer knew what Angela really wanted but thought, why not? There
was plenty Celeste could still teach Angela about pleasuring and
being pleasured. In fact, if she will let him get her pregnant
again, Homer has offered Celeste her AOL account back. So keep
an eye out. In about nine months or so Celeste may be back to
writing Celestial Reviews.
The End
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