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  • Chav Sex Ch. 05

Chav Sex Ch. 05

12

Chapter 5 -- Rebecca's Secret

3 months passed after Becky's taming.

To me, the name Becky was redolent of the Chav slut that I had met in front of her flat with her friends. I called her Rebecca from then on, an altogether classier name, and to my mind, the formality of the name represented our formal relationship as Domine and Submissive.

During this period, Rebecca, Michelle and I engaged in an all consuming game of master and slaves; where they sated my plentiful appetites; where I used and abused their bodies at will; and where I looked on as my devotees pleasured themselves and each other.

Occasionally, when Rebecca had been particularly attentive to me, I would let her dominate Michelle, who seemed to gorge on the depravity by deliberately infuriating Rebecca, and rushing to get the phallic whip before she was even commanded to, which of course would anger Rebecca more.

Rebecca would take out the humiliation of her submission on her submissive. She would be even more ferocious than before, thrashing Michelle with the whip at the smallest intransigence or misdemeanour; ravaging her anally with the handle; walking over her with her dirty white stilettos and forcing her to suck her dirty toes clean.

During this period, they dispensed of their Chavvy friends, and I gave them money for decent clothing, food and drink so they wouldn't have to rely on casual prostitution to pay their way.

It was an exciting period.

However, as is the way with people like me, I began to tire of it, and realised that a major part of their attraction to me was their low class lifestyle, which I was busy trying to change. The challenge was evaporating; we had got ourselves into a routine, an unusual routine, but a routine nonetheless.

But the routine was soon to change.

One evening, when I had told my wife, Sarah, that I would be working late, and Michelle was in her bed with a cold; I lay in Rebecca's bed in a post coital stupor. Her back was cradled spoon-like within my body; my protective arms smothered her tiny form.

"Who do you support?" she said, out of the blue.

"West Ham, for my sins," I mumbled.

"Scum," was the automatic reply, "there's only one team in London and that's Millwall".

I took the opportunity to scratch her back viciously, leaving a harsh red mark: she winced satisfyingly.

"My grand-dad supports West Ham, though. You should go to a match with him."

"Why should I want to do that? I asked, incredulously, wondering what on earth I would have in common with an old man, whose grand-daughter I was sleeping with. She had mentioned her grandparents before, as they were her only relatives; her father, a soldier, had been killed in the first Iraq war, and her mother had died of a drugs overdose when she was young.

"Well, he's interesting... you'll find you will have a lot to talk about," she said. There was caution in her voice, a certain hesitancy, as if she had raised the topic after some reflection. Alarm bells rang in my mind, but I was too tired to question her further. We dozed and I thought nothing of it.

*****

A few days later, Rebecca raised the subject again on the phone.

"Grand-dad is going to the game this Saturday. He's got 2 tickets and has invited you to go."

"Why would he want to go to the game with a total stranger," I asked, somewhat flummoxed at Rebecca's insistence on this.

"He wants to meet you. He is interested in you. You will have lots to talk about," she said, using the same sly voice from our last time in bed.

"Why would he want to meet me? What does he know about me?" I asked, getting worried where this was going.

"Oh for 'eavens sakes, don't worry. He knows about us, that's all," was her exasperated reply.

"What! You've told him you are sleeping with a 45 year old man!

"Don't worry. He's cool about it. It's not a problem."

*****

I guess I was intrigued to meet this man who was happy for his grand-daughter sleep with older men. I sensed there was something darker behind it. And so I met Peter outside the front gates at Upton Park for the game against Manchester City.

He was a trim, slender man. Good features, totally bald, and clean shaven; I knew he was 65, but he looked 55. His appearance surprised me: he didn't fit the stereotype of a working class West Ham supporter.

We shook hands and had a drink at the "Boleyn" pub, before enduring our team's inevitable 3-1 drubbing.

We got on well and, after the game, went to a quieter pub further up Green Street for a chat.

"So," he said, after taking a sip of London Pride, "you're fucking my grand-daughter."

It was a statement, not a question, but I was sort of prepared for it, albeit not in so abrupt a fashion, so I looked him in the eye and said, "yes."

He smiled, and said, "yeah, she is good isn't she? She's the best."

"And how would you know that?" I asked, indignantly, but suspecting the answer.

"Because... I taught her everything she knows," he smiled again, with remarkable assurance. "In fact, you and I have one thing in common. We are the only ones who have subdued her... who can control her."

So I had found another kindred spirit. A competitor or a partner? I awaited the suggestion that was sure to come. I was not fazed at all by the incestuous relationship between Rebecca and Peter. On the contrary, I was stimulated, turned on by the depravity. He did not know it, but I would accept anything he was about to suggest.

"And what does Eleanor think of your relationship with Rebecca?" I probed, disingenuously. Eleanor was his wife.

"Oh... she plays her part too," he smiled again.

*****

It was Peter's birthday the following Thursday, and we agreed to meet up for a celebration meal at a Beefeater just outside Maidstone. He would bring Eleanor and both Rebecca and Michelle would be there.

It was the Christmas season, and it was easy for me to tell Sarah that I would be very late at a client party. I insisted that the girls dress up for the occasion, with clothes that I had bought them. When I picked them up, they wore short, black cocktail dresses, black stockings and black high heels.

Michelle looked faintly ridiculous in her dress, her bulges showing here and there. She wore her bright red lipstick, and the effect was of a fat tart on the pull. I told her to wear her jewelled dog collar. She looked at me pleadingly, knowing that she would be humiliated by other people on the estate and the restaurant seeing her look so... into bondage.

I didn't care. She was my whore and plaything, and I wanted her to look like that.

Rebecca, of course, looked great in the tight dress. She had her blonde hair piled up as usual and her omnipresent hoops. Once a Chav, always a Chav, I thought.

We got to the Beefeater first, and soon after Peter and Eleanor arrived.

He was dapper in a suit and tie. Eleanor (I noticed he did not call her Ellie or some other short name) could have been an older version of Rebecca, the familial resemblance was uncanny. She was petite with short, silver hair, and with the same hard-pretty face that Rebecca had. Of course, she had lines on her face, and dentures and looked her age, but she was in very good shape. She wore a fur that covered her down to her nylon covered knees, and she kept it on presumably to keep warm having come in from the cold.

Peter immediately took control, organised our seating in our private booth; he would be in between Michelle and Rebecca, and I would sit next to Eleanor on the other side of the table.

During the course of the meal, Eleanor appeared demure and quiet, and I sensed which part she had to play in their private lives.

By the end of the meal, we had all had a few drinks, were pleasantly relaxed and the women a little bit tipsy. I noted that Peter's hands frequently went under the table, and I sensed he was groping both the girls' legs.

"So, what do you think of my wife?" Peter eventually said.

I looked at her. She looked back at me, a curious half smiling, half apprehensive look on her face; it was the look of a slave wondering who she had been sold to in the Roman forum.

"She is a very pleasant and attractive woman, Peter, you are a lucky man." I replied, unperturbed by the question.

"Do you want to fuck her?" He asked, as if it was the most normal question in the world.

"Yes."

"Why don't you test the goods... now," he suggested. "Reach into her coat. See what is on offer," he smiled his usual, confident smile.

Amused, I did as he recommended. I discreetly reached down and caressed her slim ankle, then moved up her nylon clad leg into the fur coat. I got to her stocking top, found the suspender, and then her skinny bare thigh. What? Where was the dress? I moved further up her thigh. And established there was no dress!

Eleanor had been well trained. As I guided my hand towards her crotch, she opened her legs, and, another surprise, my fingers touched her shaven mound of venus, unclad by panties. I smiled and ventured into her vagina and felt that it was well lubricated. I brushed over her clitoris, and stimulated it. It brought forth a very slight murmur from Eleanor.

I moved my hand further upward; the few folds of skin over the belly were to be expected, and then, this time I was unsurprised by the feel of her tiny, slightly droopy breasts, unfettered by a bra, her nipples were small but rock hard. I took my hand away, and sniffed her earthly smell.

"Excellent," I said, having completed my examination.

"Well, I suggest we get back to our house right now," said Peter. The deal was done.

*****

Peter and Eleanor lived in a semi in the north of Maidstone. A typical pensioner's abode: thick carpets, comfy sofas, and the heating was turned right up.

We chat in the sofas and Peter told Eleanor to serve us drinks. Eleanor took off her coat, and calmly prepared a round of Gin and Tonics wearing nothing but her black stockings, suspenders and heels.

I felt a familiar stirring in my pants at the sight of this little old lady serving us drinks in nothing but her lingerie.

The girls sitting in the deep sofas, stocking tops peeping from under their short dresses, and drinking their Gin were, like the men, staring at Eleanor with desire in their eyes.

When the drinks had been served, Peter said, "Eleanor, darling, please go get your toy and perform for us on the carpet." He was sitting between the girls, caressing and groping them without restraint.

"Are you disgusted by this?" He asked me.

"No," I replied, truthfully.

He smiled at that, then turned to Rebecca and started kissing her vigorously, grasping her breasts through her dress. She returned his passion in kind, massaging his cock through his trousers, and kissing him deeply.

That got me. This old man was taking liberties with my property. But I did nothing, other than vow to do worse to his wife.

As they snogged, Eleanor returned with a small dildo and some lubricant. Without instruction from Peter, she lay on the carpet in front of me, and inserted the dildo into her vagina. She applied some lubricant on the fingers of her other hand, reached under her bottom and started probing her anus with one and then two fingers. Soon she was working both her cunt and her arse at the same time, all the while looking at me with a blank enigmatic face.

I thought I had trained my wife, but this was a different level.

Peter continued to control things. He broke off his kiss with Rebecca, saying "Michelle, give me one of your special blow jobs will you? Becky, I think your gran needs the candle treatment as preparation before she pleasures your new boyfriend."

Michelle obeyed immediately, fumbling with Peter's flies, and releasing his slim, small cock. Without pause, she started deep-throating it to his evident pleasure.

Becky also obeyed instantly, going to the kitchen and then coming back with a candle and a box of matches. She took off her dress, bra and knickers, so that she too was dressed like Eleanor in black stockings, suspenders and heels. She knelt behind her grand-mother and rested her head on her lap.

It was such a bizarre sight, seeing these young and old versions of the same woman in this sexual context.

Becky leaned over Eleanor and kissed her upside down on the mouth.

"Now granny, I'm gonna 'ave to hurt you a bit, because grand-dad wants me to. You like a bit of pain though, don't you? You like to be his slut, and my slut and the slut of any one of our choosing, don't you?"

Eleanor nodded.

"You're such a whore, and mum was a whore and a crack-head, and I am a whore too," continued Rebecca. She had started to caress Eleanor's tits, and tweaking her nipples, hard, making Eleanor wince.

Rebecca's dirty words were having an erotic effect on her audience. Peter had started forcing Michelle's head down on his cock, making her gag occasionally, but ignoring her struggles. Eleanor had increased the pace of her dildo, thrusting it energetically into her cunt. My cock was yearning for release from my trousers, and I unzipped my flies to let it out. Eleanor gasped when she saw it, used as she was to something smaller.

"You want to suck that, don't you, granny whore? You want to take all seven inches? Well pain before pleasure," said Rebecca, now back into familiar territory as the dominatrix.

She lit the candle, waited for the wax to run, then raising it above Eleanor's chest, she let the wax drip on her tits. Eleanor panted at every drip. Rebecca aimed directly at her nipples and Eleanor gasped louder. Rebecca then moved down her belly and onto her crotch, letting the wax drip onto the shaven mound.

"Expose yourself, Eleanor," commanded Peter from the couch.

She dutifully stopped pleasuring herself, and used her hands to spread open her labia, showing the redness of her cunt. Wax dripped into it, and onto her clitoris.

"Aaaahhhhh," Eleanor let out an exquisite moan of both pain and pleasure.

"Now you must do your duty to my new bloke, granny," Rebecca said. She smiled at me, blew out the candle, got up, came over and kissed me hard on the lips, slipping her tongue into my mouth.

I got up and quickly stripped as we kissed. Eleanor came up to me on her knees, and prepared to take my cock in her mouth.

"Not just yet, Eleanor," came Peter's authoritative voice, "give him your extra special gift. I want you to give him the works."

"Do I have to, Peter?" replied Eleanor, "it's so humiliating." This was the first time I had heard her say anything that was against his will.

"You must, Eleanor. And later you will pay for that little disobedience. You should know better."

Reluctantly, Eleanor moved her hand to her mouth, fiddled a bit, and amazingly, took her teeth out!

"Oh my God, that's gross!" I exclaimed, involuntarily. She looked like an old hag now. She hung her head down in shame.

"Ha ha, it is isn't it," Peter laughed mercilessly, "but now you are going to get the best blow job you have ever had. To prove it, all of us will pleasure you... in order of ability."

"All?" I said.

"Yes, all. My little present to you. Don't worry, close your eyes, and you can't tell the difference."

Peter got up, came over to me, bent down and started to suck my cock. I was appalled... appalled at my reaction, because my cock stiffened, and I was engulfed with confused emotions of revulsion at the homosexual act, and excitement at having this strange mouth sucking my cock.

I closed my eyes, and hung on to Rebecca, kissing her passionately, brutally clasping her tits and her arse, as if to prove to myself that I was still straight.

It wasn't a bad effort, and at a guess Peter took 3 inches before I felt his teeth.

Next, Rebecca took his place, her small mouth engulfing the same amount, but at the same time, she wanked the lower part of the shaft as she sucked me, giving a better all round experience.

Then Michelle came forward and swiftly took 5 inches, while caressing my testicles. She held a fantastic grip on my shaft with her mouth, only occasionally letting her teeth touch it. After a couple of minutes she released me, and I looked down at my throbbing tool, which was swamped in saliva.

Eleanor then gently pulled my cock down as much as she could without hurting me, to give her access from her kneeling position. Slowly, it entered her maw, which looked cavernous without its teeth. Slowly, she took it, inch by inch. I was astounded to see all seven inches go into that tiny head. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and she used it to caress the underside of the shaft. Meanwhile she wiggled it between my arse cheeks and started to probe my anus.

Eleanor then started moving her head in and out the full length of my cock, increasing the pressure on my shaft with her lips. With her spare hand, she masturbated me on each outstroke, moving up and down the shaft with a corkscrew motion, so that my cock was never left untended. She kept it well lubricated with copious amounts of spit.

My own hand could not have done a better job. Her mouth was a deliciously warm, wet, tight cunt.

It was extreme. It was fantastic. I wanted it to last forever, and yet I could feel the beginnings of an orgasm.

"Slowly, you old hag," I said, at last beginning to assert myself.

Not wanting to lose control of the situation, Peter, started dictating positions. He ordered the kneeling Eleanor to spread her legs and then told Michelle to get on all fours behind her and start working her bum with the dildo, which she did after applying more lube.

Peter undressed, got behind Michelle, shoved her tight cocktail dress as far as he could up her chunky thighs, pulled aside her g-string and roughly entered her.

"Becky, come here and prepare her for me," he commanded.

I accepted that I was going to have to be second fiddle this night.

Rebecca walked over to Michelle plump backside, opened the cheeks and spat into her sphincter. She probed it with her tongue, as Peter thrust into Michelle's cunt, then replaced her tongue with a couple of fingers as she and Peter resumed their earlier French kiss.

The five of us kept up this chain of love for some minutes. The only sounds that could be heard were sucking and slurping noises, moans of pleasure, and the occasional slap on the Michelle's buttocks by Peter out of sheer perversity.

"Michelle, is Eleanor ready?" asked Peter.

"Yes, Master," came the quiet reply.

"Becky, is Michelle ready?"

"Yes, Master," responded Rebecca, who was switching between the roles of Dom and Sub with aplomb.

"Then I suggest we move to the next phase. But first, Becky, fetch my crop, it's in the cupboard in my bedroom," Peter demanded, and then to me: "sit down, let's have a brief interlude."

I sat down on the sofa as ordered, and he instructed Michelle to straddle me. I was desperately holding back my orgasm after Eleanor's wonderful ministrations.

Once Michelle had impaled herself on my cock, Peter rubbed some lube into her arsehole, and eased his smaller member in. She winced and groaned and bit her lip with the double penetration. It was a tight fit, and with the weight of Michelle and Peter bearing down on me, I could not do anything but accept Peter's thrusts through Michelle.

It was a new, strange, exciting sensation, feeling another man's cock rubbing against mine through her vaginal wall.

Gradually, the remarkable Michelle warmed to the cock in her arse and started thrusting back on Peter. Somehow, I unleashed her massive breasts out of her cocktail dress and nuzzled her nipples. Peter, meanwhile, inserted his fingers into Michelle's dog collar and pulled back her head with it, suffocating her slightly, as he fucked her arse with short, savage, robust strokes.

12
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