“Bom dia, varão meu.“

I had no clue, what she was talking about, but it certainly sounded sexy enough to have my morning glory raise its sleepy head. Someone unwrapped the package from my pyjama and gave it a little kiss.

“Everything’s all right in there?”

There were muffled voices coming from the bathroom, when the door suddenly opened.

“ … a whiny little rich school girl, whose afraid to pee. Are you gonna blow him?”

Now I definitely was awake. Becky stood in the door in all her naked beauty, pointing at my dick, which was in the deadly grip of a grinning Isabella.

“I don’t think so. He has earned his right to run around with blue balls, hasn’t he?”

Becky giggled and nodded with enthusiasm.

“But we have to make sure that he doesn’t even touch himself, so he will know, how it feels to be cut like us?”

“I still can’t pee.”

The meek voice belonged to Kjerstin, whom I could make out sitting on the toilet behind Becky’s African teenage form.

“Argh, you can choose: Either I put on the tap and spray you with cold water every five seconds or I sit on top of you and pee between your legs, Ice Princess.”

“Why you’re so mean … what are you … no, no Becky, no …shiiiiit … that buuurns …”

The rest of her screaming was dampened my Becky’s belly as Becky pressed Kjerstin’s face against it.

“Uh, that tickles. See, you’re peeing, I knew it. My granny always says there is nothing better than pee to get things really clean. I’m sure that works also for cut pussies.”

“Aren’t they fun? Teenage girls can be so inventive … and so cruel. Don’t you dare cumming! I might forget to retract my teeth.”

Isabella’s whispered menace as well as her intermittent sucks of my dick had me on the brink of exploding into her mouth, when she flicked it painfully with her finger and jumped up.

“Who joins me in the shower? But I warn you girls, I have to piss as well.”

The girls shrieked in teenage delight.

“But he’s not allowed to see it, so we better close the door.”

“Is he not gonna play with himself?”

Becky, the traitor, she had read my thoughts.

“He knows better than to do that. And he will be busy anyway making breakfast for all of us, won’t you, amor?”

Concentrating on that task was basically impossible with images of their threesome in the shower running though my head and my hard on getting painfully harder by the minute. Revenge was black water instead of coffee and burned toast.

“I like it black anyway.”

Kjerstin’s remark had them laugh so hard that they didn’t even recognize that the coffee was undrinkable, especially after Becky lifted her finger from between her legs to paint Kjerstin’s toast with her special jam, as she called it. As much as the two teenage girls were a delight in their youthful exuberance, it was Isabella I couldn’t take my eyes from. In the company of teenagers she became one herself. So full of life and mischievous energy that it became easy to understand, how she could relate to her often difficult charges, she was confronted with as head of social services. Having grown up in the Brazilian Wild West, she must have suffered more than she was ready to tell me when forced to live under the strict regime of a Swiss boarding school. Sometimes she confessed that she missed her best girlfriend from that time and I suspected that, like with Becky and Kjerstin, friendships in all girls boarding schools often blossom into something stronger.

They had another great laugh, when Kjerstin wanted to see a man pee and due to my undying erection I had finally to stand in the shower and relieve myself painfully in the way of little spurts. Somehow these girls had a pee fetish this morning.

Although Kjerstin had difficulty walking and she looked like a mixture of penguin and nappy swathed toddler, they insisted on going shopping and ended up in the underwear department. On the one hand I was happy that they left me outside to read my child psychology magazine. On the other hand my imagination was running wild and I was sure that everyone looking at my crotch thought of me as quite the pervert if sitting close to the naughty shop had already this effect on me.

Of course it ended with them modelling their new gift wrappings and by that time I was pleading for mercy, which had them nearly unable to finish the fashion show, as they fell over their feet giggling, pointing at my jeans, which sported a huge wet spot from my pre-cum.

“Shouldn’t we relieve him?”

“Yeah, I want to see him come.”

At least the teenagers had pity on me. Isabella approached in her new sexy underwear, her naughty smile filling her face. She sat on my thighs, rubbing my denim clad cock with her covered sex, whose smell was so strong that I nearly drooled myself.

“I’m not so sure. He was such a bad boy.”

“But it was my fault.”

Becky and Kjerstin had moved next to her, removing her bra straps, stroking her shoulders.

“Don’t you wanna cum yourself? One last time?”

“I don’t know either. It feels so hot to be on the brink all the time.”

She moved her hips faster, her new panties now soaked through and leaving a smear on my jeans next to my own spot. Her bra cups had fallen from her breasts, her nipples seemed to have grown since last night. I was lost in my impending climax and only much later, too late actually, her words came back to me hauntingly.

“Welcome to our world.”

The two teenagers looked at each other proudly and grinned. With a groan Isabella stopped moving.

“Oh Jesus woman, please.”

The girls chuckled again their schadenfreude. Isabella jumped up, her sex so close to my face that I thought I could taste her juice on my lips. Isabella looked distraught and proud at the same time, the two girls embraced her, Becky kissed her cheek and licked over her nipple, which had Isabella close her eyes and sway.

“Good girl, I knew you can do it.”

“You promised, I could learn, how to suck someone.”

Kjerstin was still on a mission to improve her sex education. Isabella took a deep breath.

“Well, he behaved rather well, didn’t he?”

The girls nodded emphatically.

“But I warn you, he’s so close, you touch him and you will have his spunk all over you.”

Kjerstin looked all excited.

“That means I have less work, doesn’t it?”

Becky and Isabella had a good laugh at that.

“In that case work is pleasure, darling.”

Isabella had become quite proficient in taken off my jeans and before long Kjerstin’s little hand was tutored by two pros and to my own surprise I held out long enough to enjoy her inexperienced attempts at sucking me. But that did it too me: I came so much, the girls actually applauded, after Kjerstin could speak again having caught some of it down her wind pipe after valiantly swallowing as much as she could. Isabella cleaned the rest off me, her legs scissoring, her breath ragged.

“No, no you mustn’t.”

Becky’s admonition was met by a long sigh from my sexy girl friend.

“I know, but it’s so hard.”

“What kind of games are you two playing?”

After my urgent release my brain seemed to finally allow me to question the strange dynamics between Isabella and Becky.

“Girls’ secret.”

Sometimes my twenty eight year old love could sound like a school girl.

“It burns now.”

Kjerstin’s petulant voice prevented further interrogation.

“Look, I’m all wet and all that juice really stings and it feels like something wants to come out of my scar.”

She had pulled down her new sexy panties looking at her swollen sex, which clearly showed its recent ordeal with blue and yellow spots around it.

“Isn’t it cool? You suck off a boy and you get all excited, but you can’t do anything about it?”

Becky’s enthusiastic reaction had Kjerstin smile again in seconds, with a hiss she moved her finger along her slit and presented her juice to Becky, giggling when Becky licked it off her finger. They had another fit of laughter, when they looked back at me and saw that my dick was again at full mast in view of their sexy shenanigans.

“Look, I got a clean camel toe!”

Weren’t teenage girls supposed to sleep till early afternoon? Why was the mirror in our sleeping room better than the one in the guest room? Where was my morning blow job? As no one seemed to be ready to answer my unasked questions, I decided to better wake up for another day of merciless titillation. It was right in front of my sleepy eyes: two teenage girls preening, both showing off their latest thongs.

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

At least this time Isabella sounded as sleepy as me.

“Yeah, but doesn’t it look good? The material moulds itself right into my pussy and you can see the slit, how cool is that?”

“Very cool, but better be careful not to show it to the other girls, because then everyone will know that you were cut and we are all up shit creek.”

I didn’t know that Isabella had such a vivid vocabulary.

“I think it’s sexy, but Bella is right, you better wear it like that.”

Becky knelled in front of Kjerstin to fix the knickers in a way that it showed only the pouch. She kissed it right there, where Kjerstin’s clit once resided. Kjerstin looked down into Becky’s eyes and hissed with pain, but smiled at the same time. I saw Isabella looking at them with such unmitigated lust that I felt suddenly awake enough to have a go at raping her right here and now. But before I could react she ran to the loo and pissed like a horse, sighing:

“God, my pussy is so swollen.”

Becky had joined her, looking attentively between Isabella’s legs.

“Yeah, ripe for the plucking. You really should go for a last one, let’s make a celebration.”

In hindsight their hints weren’t even subtle, but then: Did a man ever understand female diction?

They went shopping again and sent me on a long trip through town to find some bizarre Brazilian fruit … on a Sunday for God’s sake. When I returned home proudly because of my unexpected success, I was at least showered with kisses and then plonked in front of the television to see the children’s program - wink, wink - as they had some cooking to do. After I had come to the conclusion that it was impossible to decide what was worse: shrieking children actors, soapy soaps or fake nature docus, they invited me to an early dinner all frocked up. They even had lain out, what I had to wear, which didn’t exactly look like my usual comfortable Sunday attire.

The dinner was quite out of this world, not only candle light, but themed around - what else - sex: Dishes in form of Kamasutra presentations, fruits which would put to shame any dildo, distinctively pussy like tastes, seasoning which managed to combine sweat producing hotness with icy chills running down one’s spine. I hadn’t even recognised it while eating, but my cock was rock hard at the end of this feast, which strangely enough hadn’t filled me to very unsexy like breaking point, so often the case with bigger dinners.

Six eager hands did a very thorough job of disrobing me, before we even had reached the sleeping room. Under Becky’s tutelage Kjerstin experienced her first taste of deep throating, which had me worried that I would see a replay of our dinner decorating my pubes.

“You were right, gagging makes the pussy so tight, and when he groans, it gives you such a sexy feeling.”

“Ok, ok Ice Princess, now it’s Isabella’s turn.”

Becky pulled her away. Grinning and purring like a cat in heat Isabella crawled on all fours straight over my dick and plunged it straight into her … ass. Her face crunched up in pain and she rapidly breathed in and out.

“Don’t touch it.”

“Gee, it’s so hard not to.”

Becky’s and Isabella’s whispered, enigmatic discussion barely registered with my over wrought brain, where the feelings of bliss sent from her tight passage fought for prominence over the sight of Isabella’s swollen, pushed out pussy, the clit red and shiny and bigger than I had ever seen it, and over the ripe smell of a horny woman, tripping pussy juice all over my thighs.

“Her ass is really juicy. It looks so easy going in and out. It also smells nice, earthy somehow. I thought it would stink like shit.”

Kjerstin’s running comment delivered inches from our joining, while she was lying between my legs, her hips wiggling in obvious sympathy, drew my attention away from Isabella’s increasingly erratic riding, when her sudden howl, preceded by rhythmical clamping of her asshole triggered my own explosion. At least that was the idea, before someone pinched me between my balls and my asshole.

“No, you’re not coming, not yet anyway.”

“Yes, press really hard.”

What were these two girls up to now?

“Did it work?”

“If you mean, that whatever you did, prevented me from coming, yes. At least nothing came out. It still felt like an orgasm though.”

My groaned answer had the girls laughing and clapping their hands.

“Told you, my granny’s recipe always works. Ready for another round, Bella?”

Since when was Becky running the show and since when allowed my girlfriend anyone to call her Bella apart from her brother. With a moan Isabella started riding again as surprisingly my dick had remained hard as steel.

“It’s really different. It runs up your back and shoots out your breasts, but in front you stay horny and wet and open …”

Only now I registered due to Isabella’s huffed and puffed remarks that she hadn’t even once touched her clit. My surprise was cut short by another powerful orgasm, which ripped through her body. There were five more in short succession, when she broke down on top of me, sweaty, her face red, her eyes still frantic with need.

“Fuck me, fuck me, …”

She kept whispering it like a mantra, when I turned us around. Before I could plunge my dick into her pussy though, Kjerstin grabbed it, sucked it and moved it back into Isabella’s now quite distended asshole.

“Mhm, tasty. No pussy fucking for you today.”

The two pixies kept crawling around us, giggling, commenting, a pinch here, a tug there, their voices betraying their arousal. They let me finally come, when my arms gave out. By that time Isabella was lost in a world of constant orgasm, her head rolling left and right, her moans interspersed by random words, her asshole a velvet glove, which gave very strong handshakes, my pubes soaked in her secretions. Becky had taken up watch close to our pumping loins, while Kjerstin sat her legs akimbo, stroking Isabella’s sweaty hairs. The sight of her open, freshly scarred, tiny holed, wet pussy was the final straw.

The late afternoon autumn sun, filtered by the sparse leaves left on the trees outside my living room, played its game of shadow and light on Isabella’s face. Its sleepy, peaceful beauty took by breath away, especially as I had spent the last week contemplating of never seeing it again. Isabella had disappeared Sunday evening with the two girls in tow to bring them back to their ‘prison’, as they called their boarding school. Her remark that she better took care of her apartment and some other stuff only started worrying me, when several attempts at contacting her failed during the following week. Even my mails apologizing for my adulterous behaviour with Becky went without answer and I saw myself already as lover boy of some humongous tattoo covered killer in an attempt to survive prison as a child molester, betrayed by the woman I love.

“Sometimes she needs some time-out.”

Her brother’s reaction, after he finally took my calls, wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“Oi, beleza.”

Where did that come from? I had no clue, as my attempts at learning Portuguese were not exactly successful. It must have been the smile in her eyes, the small whimper of content, before closing them again to kiss the inside of my hand, whose adoring caresses had woken her. When she opened them again, sleepiness was just about to be defeated by a mischievous smile mixed with love and … apprehension? She lifted her bottom to pull down her tracksuit under which she evidently wasn’t wearing any panties.

“Mhm, that’s the kind of greeting …”

The rest of the sentence never made it out of my mouth. Her wild, never tamed pubes were gone. She had told me right from the start that she hated the sleek Copacabana Brazilian waxed kind of Barbie look as demeaning to women.

“There is a reason there is hair there.”

And she proved right this adamant poetic statement every day by her smell. Even in the more repressed beginnings of our relationship there was a distinct womanly odour about her, always recognisable under her favourite perfume. It became stronger, when she finally accepted her womanly needs and was ‘leaking’, as she called her constant horniness. There was also a second advantage I learned to appreciate, having been fed a diet of shaved pussy till I met her: There is nothing more attractive for a man than to be offered the task of exploring the hidden treasures of a mysterious jungle, the obvious replaced by the tantalising.

As if that wasn’t surprise enough, the sight, when she opened her legs, let me basically fall to my knees next to the couch. Her beautiful thick inner labia, the seat of all her pleasure, the big dark red button, so eager to lift its head from its wrinkly cover, all of it was gone. Instead one could make out the still raw looking scars left by a laser scalpel, the area on top even marked by the recent disappearance of several sutures.

“Why?”

I tried to hide my tears by hugging her. She held me for a long time. I felt her tears mingling with mine on our cheeks.

“I hope that you don’t try to compete with Becky because …”

“Shsh.”

She stopped my babbling with her fingers on my lips.

“Becky just followed the rules of her tribe under which she’s an adult and allowed to fuck anyone she likes till her ‘brani’ breaks. And by extension that’s also true for Kjerstin, if you ask me. You might have acted highly illegal under the rules of this country, but for me it wasn’t adultery, for me you’re more victim than perpetrator, even if you’re a very lucky victim.”

She smiled at that remark as well as about the face that I made as it clearly showed that a stone the size of the Himalaya had just fallen from my shoulders.

“I did it for me … for us.”

There was worry in her voice when she whispered the last part.

“But I liked …”

“Hold me.”

She had stopped my protests again with a stroke of her delicate fingers, pulled me up on the couch, sat between my legs and folded my arms around her. She wiggled her butt against my evident erection. She giggled, while I groaned, not the least because looking down over her shoulder revealed that her empty slit was very well visible even from that perspective, as her tracksuit by now was circling her ankles.

“You remember the stories about my Grandmother?”

“That she was this crazy old woman living in a little hut at the other end of your facenda. That she told all these horror stories about your family, that one of your ancestors was bitten by a Vampire bat and that since that day you all have vampire blood in your veins. And that since you told me this story I can’t sleep with you next to me. It might of course have also something to do with the fact that I can’t take my hands off you all night.”

Isabella was laughing and her shaking boobs rubbed my arms and I was so happy that she hadn’t left me.

“That you loved her very much and that she died, while you were in Switzerland, and that you therefore never went back to Brazil because you have no one else you want to go back to.”

“She was mutilated.”

Her sudden outburst left me speechless.

“When my grandfather found out she had a lover, he dragged her to the stables, hung her from a beam and beat her with a riding crop till she was half unconscious. Then he took a hot iron and held it to her sex till it was charred. He banished her to that hut. Once a week, a maid was allowed to bring her food. People said she had lost her voice, hanging from that beam, screaming. As children we didn’t know anything about that, nor even that she was our grandmother, only that we were not supposed to go near that hut. But of course as soon as we were old enough to ride alone, we tried to sneak up to it. She must have known, because she always left something tempting lying on the table in front of the hut and it became our favourite game to see, who was brave enough to steal it. And then we became reckless and she caught us, but instead of eating us alive, she smiled, caressed our heads and brought some more sweet stuff. From that day on us three visited regularly. I still remember, when the first time I thanked her by kissing her cheek, she sighed from the bottom of her heart and hugged me really tight. Normally I hated that from adults, but with her it felt right.”

Although her voice was dry and controlled, Isabella shivered, when telling this story.

“Three? Your brother, yourself …”

“… and Pedro.”

“The stable boy?”

“He wasn’t a stable boy. He was the son of our ‘gerente’, the guy who was actually running the farm.”

How could I have thought that she would run with stable boys?

“He was one year younger than Bruno. We were the three musketeers. The two boys never cared that I was a girl. My mother was living the high life in Rio de Janeiro, my father was busy playing local politician, so it was only the nannies, who fretted about me being a tomboy. When Bruno left for boarding school to Rio, it was just me and Pedro. After school we would run wild, explore and dream and invent the craziest games. That’s how Pedro’s father found us. We had decided that we would be adversaries in the original Greek Olympic Games, first in riding and than in wrestling. Of course I won the riding because without any clothing Pedro’s balls were squashed against the horse and I had a great laugh, while he held his belly suffering. So when he could stand again, he wanted revenge in wrestling and I let him win, because it was fun, when he sat on my budding breasts with his hard dick pointing at my nose, forcing me to kiss it to acknowledge my defeat. It just didn’t look very friendship like to the eyes of a hot blooded Catholic Brazilian. To hear Pedro scream was worse than my own punishment, at least in my memory. But Bruno tells me that tethering his twelve year old daughter to run behind his horse, naked, blood running down her back from the whip marks, has become part of the local folklore to describe the cruelty and wickedness of my father.”

I held her tighter, kissed her ear. Now I understood the scars on her feet.

“’You’ve got one week to explain to her, what expects her if she doesn’t come back a good woman from Switzerland.’ Later I found out that it was the only time my father spoke with his mother since his childhood. And that’s how I discovered that she could speak.”

There was so much pent up sorrow in Isabella that it took my breath away.

“It’s ok to cry, baby.”

She answered with a rattling sigh.

“No, I have to finish the story, you have to understand …”

“Shsh, there is time, I’m going nowhere.”

I kissed away the single tear marking her cheek.

“’It’s our boiling African blood. Men tire of us. Our constant demands exhaust them. Soon they despise us, because we call into question their supremacy as males. Soon they flee us, dreaming of us as devouring red open vaginas, trying to swallow not only their meagre pricks, but their whole beings. They leave us marinating in our own juices, which remind us every day that we’re made to copulate, to mate, to fertilize our eager eggs. Not even pregnancy helps. It lets our pussies swell, our womb cry to be touched, our big bellies convulse each time we come, multiplying the effect of the orgasm, making us avid to explode again and again. So we stray, we become an embarrassment, a danger for the continuity of the family.’ I still recall every word she said, while she was trying to nurse me back to health, to make me understand that the women in our family are cursed with such voracious sexuality that if we can’t find ways to control it, it would destroy us. ‘Even my scar still makes me come’, she said with a wink and her cackling laugh.”

“But that’s crazy old woman talk …”

“I felt it. I thought I had it under control, but you’re a tricky bastard. Every other boyfriend threw in the towel after half a year fucking the ironing board, because that’s what I tried to be. You stuck around, chipped away one layer of protection after the other and then one day I found myself sitting on the toilet jilling off half an hour after having come ten times in a whole night of fucking, because, even after you’ve fallen asleep, I still wanted to come and come and come … I had become insatiable like my grandmother had predicted. And then with Becky and Kjerstin I finally had found the solution: Either I would loose my clit or I would loose you.”

Now she was sobbing and my mind was blank. I didn’t really know what to say, so I passed her a handkerchief.

“You wouldn’t have lost me. We always could have gone to swinger clubs or gang bangs or …”

Now she had to laugh, while blowing her nose.

“You with your jealousy? No way. You’re even jealous of my brother.”

“By the way, how did you get him to do it? Apart from the fact that it’s quite creepy to imagine that he touched you down there.”

“I blackmailed him: I would tell everyone that he was the first guy I slept with, if he wouldn’t do it.”

“I knew it …”

My shout had Isabella holding her belly laughing.

“That’s not fair, if I have to laugh so hard, it hurts down there.”

“So you’re pulling my leg?”

“You never know.”

I was in a very good position to tickle her to surrender, but she won the fight, when she threatened that she would loose her control and pee on the couch.

“I hope it happened less dramatic than with Kjerstin and he filled you up with anaesthetic.”

“No, I refused. I wanted to feel loosing it. But if it’s any consolation I fainted when he cut it after having pulled it out.”

“Pulled it out?”

“Yeah, it’s all gone. I will never have an orgasm, not even when I touch my scar. I learned my grandmother’s lesson.”