She had long red hair worn in a braid, was wearing knee-high black boots and cutoffs, and was brazenly slutty in that top, showing off her very nicely shaped breasts that were just a little on the small side. She was also a major bitch and her makeup made her look like a fuck-toy slut. I stuck my tongue out at her to demonstrate my true feelings.

That bitch in the mirror pantomimed my actions perfectly!

“Do I want to go sexy with a slutty vibe, slutty, or outright trashy whore?” I asked the provocative image in the mirror. My online friend had helped me pick out my clothes for the evening. “How about halfway between a slut and a trashy whore?”

Yes! That was the perfect look.

I’m getting fucking wet just seeing at how brazenly slutty I look, I thought to myself. Well, fuck me like a slut; Kiera’s rubbing off on me! I think I’ll wear my black lace thong and bralette. That will surprise him.

My makeup was plastered on dark and heavy. My lips were dark-cherry red with black outlines. I went for broke on the mascara and used a dark eyeshadow. I had begun teasing out my hair to get that 1980’s look but then opted for a single braid down the back. Other than my lace thong and Shien bralette I wore a ripped-hem black cropped t-shirt. I had ripped the collar off, giving it a big wide open neck line. Factory-aged denim cutoffs covered my bottom. I had almost gone with my really ragged ones, because they showed the bottom swell of my ass, but the pair I chose had such a nice taper to the cut that I felt looked better.

I did as my friend suggested. She had suggested a lace choker and it added a horny-vixen mien to my overall look. Black knee-high boots added a sexually-aggressive look. If you ever want to take a somewhat slutty outfit and push far into the realm of sluttiness, knee-high boots with shorts is a winner.

As an added surprise, I had applied some temporary tattoos. I had put a tramp-stamp, done up like angels wings in tribal graphics, on the small of my back, which is much harder to do than you’d think. I also applied a rose on my left thigh and a mandala right beside my pubic hair. My pubes were a bit too wide for it to go where I wanted, so I shaved my patch super-thin, leaving just a vertical line about two fingers in width.

When he drove up on his cycle to pick me up, I had just finished packing for the weekend. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. After we kissed, I turned to load my bag into his saddlebag and he went insane for me when he saw the tramp-stamp. He couldn’t keep his hands off me! I loved it.

“Put this one and we can talk while we ride,” he said to me as he handed me a wireless headset. Glade was dressed in riding boots, a t-shirt, and jeans. His hair was also tied back.

He started up his old Honda Shadow, decked out with saddlebags and looking like and old Harley, as we hit the road, travelling back to my parents’ home so she could “analyze his aura.” The ride was exhilarating. The wind in my hair, the conversation, and the scenery was uplifting. The vibrating of the cycle sent shivers up and down my spine that shot straight to my pussy. I’ve heard stories about women that orgasm from riding a motorcycle. I didn’t; but a couple of hours on the back of the bike, pressing my body into his, and feeling the powerful motor vibrate my body had me in a major state of heat.

Over the past week I had come to terms with both my mother and her behavior. I think I finally understood. My mother, although perverted and demented, had been looking out for me in her own way. I was finally happy once more and at peace. I realized that everything she had done over the years was to my benefit and all designed to help me stop being terrified of being myself. I hid behind insecurity and jealousy because I couldn’t embrace the fact that I was pretty much exactly like my parents, my friends, and all the others that embrace their true selves without remorse, inhibition, shame, or guilt. I felt loved and liberated.

When we got to my parents’ house my mother’s friends, Marsha and Linda the High Priestess, were there. With me finally understanding why my mother threw herself at every guy I liked, I was much better prepared for her acting all slutty.

We pulled up and all three women greeted us warmly. I hadn’t seen Linda or Marsha in years and we quickly caught up amidst hugs. My father ran out and started fawning over my boyfriend’s bike. True to his character, my lover immediately charmed the ladies. He “broke the ice” with them by performing some sort of precognition magic trick over whether or not mom properly guessed whether we were taking his cycle or his car.

After they were all done fawning over my lover, they put him a chair inside of one of the small cabins on the land—it used to be a small campground—and asked him a multitude of questions designed to evoke emotions while they “studied his aura”.

“Tell me an outright lie,” Linda said.

“I do NOT find you incredibly attractive and sexy.”

“What was your worst day ever?” Linda countered.

“About two weeks ago a woman I was really into ended things with me and then another woman ended her connection to me immediately afterwards.”

“Kryssi! You are such a stupid bitch.”

“Mom!”

“Are you aware that you make every woman around you horny?”

“Mom! Stop.”

“It’s a valid question, Kryssi.”

“I do? But there’s four of you and one of me! Challenge accepted.”

Linda stared at him intently. He stared back without discomfort. “Are you aware that Samantha has her legs open and is flashing you intentionally?”

“Yes, I love it.” He turned to me. “No offense, my sex-ninja.”

“Sex Ninja?”

“Yes, mom. He calls me these weird names all the time.”

Linda never took her eyes off of him but spoke to me. “How does that make you feel, Krystal.”

“I’m not happy about my slutty mother flashing him, but if she can pull him away from me, it isn’t meant to be.”

“I meant the pet-names,” she retorted.

“Oh. It’s an improvement over what Rick called me. ‘Bitch’ just doesn’t show the same amount of affection.”

Mom spoke to him. “How do you always know exactly what to say and do?”

He shrugged. “I put myself into the other’s situation and think about how I would feel and then act accordingly.”

At one point my father burst through the door wearing a hockey mask and wielding a baseball bat. I screamed in fright while my lover just laughed and congratulated him on an excellent Friday the thirteenth prank.

Afterwards, we all sat around the fire pit, except for my father who took Glade’s cycle for a spin and wrecked it in a ditch, and mom and her friends cross examined my lover. I won’t bore with all the esoteric things discussed, but the consensus was that he is full of life and personal power and lives life to the fullest. Under their scrutiny I learned nothing new, other than my mother’s friends also had the hots for him.

My mother was her usual self, flirting and flashing and inviting him for physical activity. Having reached an understanding of her ways, I was much more permissive and laughed along with them. Her friends were almost as bad, but they seemed to stop at innuendo and requests for their chance if we didn’t work out.

My boyfriend suggested that he and I go for a ride and then we all watch Friday the Thirteenth together when we got back. He had the foresight to download the movie onto his phone and to pack his projector, just in case.

“Come on, Glade, let me get you away from the horny witches before I claw out their eyes.”

I hugged them all and Glade promised that we’d be back. He walked behind me as we went to his cycle. He said it was just to see how sexy I looked. I gave him the benefit of exaggerating the sway of my hips. My father’s wreck on his bike had dented the gas tank and scuffed it up a bit. He laughed when he saw it and commented that he had done much worse.

He took off at a leisurely pace, seemingly at random. We found ourselves in my old home town; a tiny little place being more rural than urban with old-fashioned middle-America small town charm and tiny minds to match the smallness of the town. My parents, and myself by proxy, were the crazy outcasts. “She’s a witch, burn her,” and “Slut Witch” were my nicknames in high school.

He parked the cycle near the high school and we strolled through the town. Before I knew what I was doing, I was telling him all about my childhood, my few friends, and what I did at each building we encountered. He had a way of coaxing out the fondest of my memories and I gave him my life story in babbling details. Every now and then we’d pass some other people. Mostly though, we were alone.

Eventually we returned to my old high school and then into the park that borders it. I had gushed about the teachers I had liked, some of the antics, and then pointed out the spot in the park where prom was held my senior year.

“During my senior year the gym was being remodeled and prom was held right there,” I pointed.

“Who did you go to prom with?” he asked me.

“I didn’t go. I spent the night with Jen and some other friends and we sat around talking about how stupid and childish prom is. Now I wish I would have gone; not that anyone would’ve asked me.”

He checked his phone real quick, out of my line of sight, and then asked me if I knew how they had decorated. I confessed that I had dropped by multiple times to see how they set it all up and began describing it.

“And the stage for crowning the prom royalty was right there,” I said pointing. “And we’re right in the middle of the area where the dancefloor was.”

Suddenly the song “The Flame” by Cheap Trick played on his phone. He took a step back.

“May I have this dance?” he asked me.

Although I was dressed in slutty biker-slut clothes, I almost cried. He held me and we slow-danced. The entire time he started talking to me as if I were his date for the prom. He even did a good impression of tentatively moving his hands down my back to get a feel of my ass.

I snickered into his chest when his hands touched my fake tattoo and I felt his thick manhood grow stiff against me. As soon as the song ended I grabbed his hand and sprinted to his bike, pulling him with me.

“Take me home, now, please!” I was crying. I didn’t want him to see that.

He sped us back to my parents’ place and they were getting loud and boisterous.

“Who’s up for a movie?” Glade asked them.

He and my father began setting up and impromptu screen and both Linda and my mother pulled me aside. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I swear.”

“You’ve been crying,” my mother said.

“Your aura’s going crazy like a lava-lamp of emotions,” Linda added softly.

I told them about what he did in a hushed voice amidst their oohs and aahs.

Linda just looked at my boyfriend blankly. She then grabbed me and pulled me directly in front of her. “If you don’t keep this one, you are a stupid fool! I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s naturally like this, that’s the only answer.”

“Linda, I think I love him.”

“He’s larger than life, Kryssi. He’s all heart and soul and strength and not an ego-bone in his body. People like that—and trust me they are rare—are either loved or hated. You might never meet another one in your entire life. ”

“No, I mean like love him, love him.”

“Krystal,” she said in her commanding voice. “If you two don’t work out I might just fight your mother and Marsha for him.”

Luckily dad and Glade had the movie ready to go. The audio was a bit low, but we had a great time by the fire watching the movie on the perfect date for it. I snuggled against my lover the entire time and he and my father had us all in tears with their poking fun at the movie.

Every time his hands brushed one of my fake tattoos I could feel his heart race.

About halfway through the movie Linda erupted with an exclamation. “You’re right Sammy!”

She looked at my boyfriend. “Are you wearing any wards or charms or anything?”

He smiled at her and laughed good-naturedly. “I’m not even wearing underwear.”

“I tried a minor casting on you and it fizzled.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Really!” I said far too loudly. “You just said that as far as magic is concerned he’s rubber and you’re glue!”

Glade strategically ignored my outburst and smoothed things over. “If you’re going to cast a spell, how about mulling our wine for us?”

He then began massaging my shoulders and it felt so good. I moaned in response to his touch, which caught my mother’s attention.

“Of course you also give massages,” mom intoned. “Do my legs.” She playfully kicked me out of the way and dropped her calves overtop his lap. Her legs were splayed in a very unlady-like position, showing her lack of panties.

“Mom, you’re acting like a slut again.”

“Kryssi, stop fretting. The movie’s been on for almost an hour and he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire time. I think you’re safe. Ooh, that feels good, higher.”

After the movie, dad dragged out his guitar with the new strap and played a little bit. It was one of those moments where everything seemed right with the world. Then he handed the guitar to my lover.

“You obviously play, too, because you made a guitar strap. Let me hear you.”

He declined but the crazed witches pressured him to it. He struck a chord.

“That’s an A-minor. When you hear that, the minstrel needs a drink. He took the offered herb and toked deeply. “Or other libations,” he coughed. “What should I play?”

“Play something you wrote,” Linda said.

“How do you know I write songs?” he asked with a knowing smile.

“I read your aura.”

“Did my aura also tell you that I’m infatuated with your grace and poise?” he shot back in a teasing tone.

“Oh, Kryssi! He’s good. Play for us.”

He plinked around for a few seconds and then strummed an A-minor. Settling himself in, he complimented my father on the quality of the guitar and began playing.

It was a soulful, slow song that was haunting and emotional. The way he played reminded me of emotions flowing down a serene stream. He played and sang in a heartfelt, emotional voice, the others just stared at him and listened.

“Did you see that?” my mother said as soon as he finished. “The rays emanating from him.”

“It’s like your energy flowed out with the music,” Marsha said quietly.

“Oh, stop!” Glade mused to them. He then broke into a bawdy song about Irish Housewives getting drunk at a pub while talking about their husbands. It was funny and dirty and he had all of us shout out the end of the chorus, “You bitch, you slut, you whore!”

When it was over he handed the guitar back to dad. “I think we should retire for the evening,“ he said. “Being under the microscope is exhausting!”

“Kryssi, I set up the counselor’s cabin for you two,” my mother said.

We said our goodnights and I led him down the path to the cabin. It is a two-room plywood cabin, the second room being a shower and bathroom. Other than that there is a sitting area next to rugged fireplace and a few bunk beds. It is summer-camp cozy.

“Well,” Glade said to me. “That was surreal.”

“Like usual, everyone’s smitten with you.”

“Nah! They’re just vetting me to make sure I’m not some serial killer or something. “

“But they’re so intense with their fixation on all that witchy shit.”

“Who cares?” he responded out of hand. “It’s what they’re into. Somebody like myself that has a foot in both worlds is always something of a mystery. So what shall we do?”

I kissed him passionately. When our kiss ended many minutes later I said, “I’m so happy. I’ll do anything that you want.”

“Anything?”

“No limits, remember? Use your imagination.”

“I can imagine quite a lot,” he smiled out. “How about we start with me getting cleaned up a bit and then I’ll finish that massage.”

As soon as he went into the bathroom I quickly lit a fire and a few candles that my parents store everywhere and then stripped off the crop top and the shorts. I quickly pulled on the boots once more and sat in the arm chair beside the fireplace with my legs propped up on either arm rest.

He came out after about five minutes praising the fact that the water actually got hot and just stopped and stared with his mouth agape. With my legs spread as they were he could just see a hint of the mandala tattoo on my pelvis.

“You like?” I said to him in my husky sex-voice.

“Remember when I said the sexiest thing a lady could wear is ‘no panties’?”

“Yes,” I breathed out to him as I idly traced the rose tattoo on my thigh.

“I was wrong!”

“Now come here and take me like a biker-slut. I need to be fucked hard.”

He knelt in front of me, drinking me in with his eyes. The look of lust on his face turned me on beyond belief. His hands rested at the tops of my boots and he delicately ran his fingertips over my bare legs. His touch felt like the lightest of feathers. He stroked my legs, my stomach, and my arms until my flesh was burning hotter than the fire. I felt my pussy grow damp, then wet, then soaked. My panties darkened with my juices.

I closed my eyes and threw back my head, giving in to the sensations he was causing. When I began to mentally beg him to touch me harder, his caresses stopped only to be replaced by his lips and tongue. I began to moan and squirm as he repeated his prior actions with agonizing patience and slowness.

His attentions to my flesh had me in such a stupor that my own hand reached under my panties and started rubbing my clit. With his lips and tongue all over my body, everywhere but my aching, dripping pussy, I felt an intense orgasm begin to build.

I began to pant and then moan. As soon as I got close to bursting he’d pull my hand away until the impending orgasm subsided. I soon forgot all about my parents, outside and only yards away, and began begging him to let me cum.

“Please let me cum. I need to fucking cum! Please let me orgasm! I’ll do anything.”

He smiled, stood, and pulled off the towel he was wearing. His very thick cock, as thick as a can of shaving gel, stood out straight and hard. Then he reached forward, grabbing my breasts violently, and ran his hands down to my panties. He wrapped his hands around the waistband and then ripped them off of me.

The force of it all made me pant even harder. I needed to be fucked more than I had ever needed anything. But my lover took his time and lowered his head to my quivering thighs. I glanced down and noticed the chair was soaked with my fluids. I didn’t care. I grabbed his head and pulled him into my groin with force.

He got my hint and wasted no time bringing me to an earth-shaking orgasm. I screamed out in pleasure at the top of my lungs when the release came over me. I lost all sense of reality as wave after wave of pleasure mingled with emotions coursed through me.

He then picked me up out of the chair and laid me on the floor by the fire. I tried to pull him up so I could get him inside of me, but he wasn’t done. His hands may have played on the guitar earlier, but his mouth composed a symphony of pleasure on my flesh.

His mouth rode my body in perfect harmony. As my hips undulated and later began bucking he kept the perfect amount of pressure. His hands explored my body while his mouth played a swan-song between my legs. I screamed, begged, thanks all the gods, swore, and came over and over again. My own hands clawed at my breasts and pulled on my nipples. I was reduced into a writhing mass of a prolonged orgasm that suspended all time and reality.

Eventually he stopped his actions and let me drift slowly back to reality. I pulled him up to me and kissed him. His hands began exploring my body once more, building up my lust and passion once more.

He took me there on the floor until he gave me a vaginal orgasm. Most guys cannot. Then he placed me back in the chair and fucked me deep and slow with that huge cock of his while fingering my clit. Two or three orgasms later, the chair was bumping against the door, having been pushed halfway across the floor. He then pulled upright and bent me over the window sill and took me from behind.

“Do you like my slutty tattoos?” I moaned out to him.

He grunted and I thrust my ass back onto him. “Do you want to cum on my tramp stamp?”

“You drive me crazy,” he panted out.

“Give me your cum,” I screamed out. “Cum on me! Cum in me! I don’t care, just give me your cum. I need it!”

He told me that he was ready to blow and I quickly pulled off of him and got on my knees in front of him.

“Call me a slut and shoot it all over my face! I want to be your slut! Treat me like your personal slut.”

The next morning my mother was all gushy over him and me. She pointed out that I was acting exactly like she did when she met my father.

“It’s good to see you finally acting like yourself. I was worried that I had let you down as a mother.”

“Mom,” I said to her as lovingly as I could muster. “I’m only now figuring things out…at my age no less…and have surrendered to the fact that my life is a mirror of yours.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She said as she watched my boyfriend packing up his Honda. “I think you have the better lover, though.”

“Mom, please stop.”

“No, honey. We could hear your moans and screams of ecstasy out here. We’re all happy for you and insane with jealousy! How many orgasms did he give you?”

“I don’t know, mom. I lost count. This is so embarrassing!”

“Don’t be. It was beautiful to hear. I gave myself three orgasms just listening! Is he always like that?”

“That’s wrong on so many levels, mom. But, yes, he’s always like that.”

“Can I…”

“Slut!”

We embraced and said our final goodbyes and then hit the road. I went without the bralette and panties. Well, he tore the panties off of me, anyway. The ride was once more delightful and he dropped me off at my house. I got online and checked emails and messages. I answered a few messages and emails, and then took a long bath and slept. I needed some rest because he had promised to pick me up later.