How I became a lesbian Slave
I am not writer of this story
Written by :- laffalot
I’ve written this story from the point of view of a married woman. For the record, I am a middle aged married man who likes to write porn stories in my spare time. This is my first attempt at writing in the first person perspective, so I hope to see lots of feedback and none of that bullshit spam trolling. Please, if you take the time to read the whole story, take a second to rate it and tell me what was good or bad about it. It is your feedback that pushes me to write more. So anyway, enjoy the story.
How I Became a Lesbian Slave
They say hindsight is 20/20, and I found out the hard way that they (whoever ‘they’ are) are one hundred percent correct. If only I knew what kind of a person my neighbor was before I became friendly with her, I could have saved myself a whole lot of guilty feelings and confusion over my own sexuality.
Emma seemed so nice for someone whom I wouldn’t have given the time of day if we had been in high school together. You see, Emma is the beautiful, athletic, popular type whom I couldn’t stand throughout my years in school.
I was never one of the beautiful people in school, and I didn’t belong to any of the many social cliques that populate every high school on the planet. I was the so called ‘ugly duckling’, too short, too geeky, too near sighted and not nearly fashionable enough. I got picked on everyday by people just like Emma, and I grew a huge amount of distrust for anyone whom I considered to be one of ‘them’. The teenage years are an impressionable time in a person’s life, and when you keep hearing that you are not good enough, or pretty enough, you start to believe it.
So how did I become friendly with Emma? Well, to be honest, when I first saw her moving into the house next door, I sighed with dread and just a little bit of jealousy. I think the jealousy came from the fact that I knew my husband would think she was hot. Hell, even I thought she was hot, and I’m straight. Oh yeah, let me tell you just a bit about my husband first.
Dave Melbourne and I met in college and we just seemed to click together. He wasn’t like almost every other guy in college. By that I mean that he was focused on his studies and not on partying and picking up girls like the majority of the men there. He had a goal and he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone come between him and his goal.
I guess what really attracted me to Dave was that he was so much more mature than so many other guys in college. He had his shit together, and he informed me early on that, even though he liked me a lot, he wasn’t going to let our relationship get in the way of his studies. He wanted to see me, but he didn’t want it to be a distraction. That attitude may have turned most women off, but it proved to me that he valued an education, and he was thinking about the future. He also stayed true to me and we were married one year after he received his Bachelors degree.
As for me, I had grown so much from high school. What can I say, I was a late bloomer. My height and breasts had grown considerably, and I had ditched the coke bottle glasses for colored contacts. My acne cleared up, and I became more like the beautiful people that I couldn’t stand in high school. Okay, maybe I wasn’t that hot, but I definitely got a lot more attention from the guys, and even caught a few women giving me looks.
We found a nice, humble little house to call home and lived a comfortably boring life for three years until Emma moved in next door. Dave worked in pharmaceuticals and was on the road a lot, and I taught sixth grade reading at the local elementary school.
I was home on summer break and working in my garden when the moving van pulled up next door. Behind the van came a fancy little sports car and out of that stepped Emma. She was dressed casually for the move, but I could see right away that she was one of the beautiful people. She wore short shorts and a v neck belly shirt. Her cleavage was on display and I’m quite certain that the movers appreciated it, as they were young men.
I could see her flirting with them and the sunlight glinting off her belly button piercing, another thing that I instantly hated about her because I was too chicken shit to do it to myself, even though I thought it looked sexy. An evil part of me wanted to just ignore the fact that she was moving in and going to be my neighbor, but finally my good upbringing won out and I stood up, dusted myself off, and began the trek across the yard to her house.
“Hello, welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Kate Melbourne.” I said with an easy smile and outstretched hand. I half expected her to look at me and laugh, or scowl and say something nasty. Old memories are hard to suppress.
Instead, she greeted me with a warm smile and piercing blue eyes. Reaching out, she grasped my hand in her warm, soft grip and said “Oh hi. I’m Emma. Emma Hefner. And no, I’m not married to the playboy guy. No relation at all unfortunately. I’d probably have a lot more money if I was right.” Then she laughed, and her laugh was so carefree and infectious that, I don’t know, I guess I felt more at ease with her.
We started talking, small talk mostly, and about ten minutes into the conversation I realized that I felt really comfortable talking with her, like we were longtime friends. It’s amazing how sometimes you can make a connection like that with a total stranger, but I liked her, even though she was beautiful, and I wanted to get to know her better.
Before I left to work some more in my garden, and let her get back to unpacking, I invited her over. I didn’t tell her any specific time, I just said that when she was all settled in and could find the time, to drop in and we would have a drink and get to know each other better. She graciously accepted and said that she didn’t expect to take too long unpacking because she didn’t have much stuff. She surprised the shit out of me when she said “Maybe I’ll take you up on that drink tonight.”
I went back to work in my garden and actually felt really good about my decision to go introduce myself. My attitude about her had changed in just the short time I chatted with her. Later on that evening, there was a knock on my door, and when I opened it, there she was.
“Hi. Is that offer of a drink still good?” She asked.
“Yeah. Of course Emma, come on in.” I said, stepping aside and motioning her in. I opened a bottle of wine and we settled down on the living room couch. She had changed her clothes since earlier and now wore a denim mini skirt, and a tight white tank top with a plunging neckline and plenty of cleavage showing.
“So, how did the move go?” I asked.
“Ugh, I hate moving.” she snapped, then giggled and took a swig of her wine. “Oh shit that’s good.” she remarked and kicked off her pumps. “I love a glass or two of good wine after a long day.”
“Mm me too.” I agreed, taking a long swig from my glass.
“So you said you were married earlier. Where’s your husband?”
“Oh, he’s away on business. He’s into pharmaceuticals and he has to travel all over. He speaks at seminars, it’s the most boring shit I’ve ever listened to, but he likes it. He gets to travel all over the US, and when he goes, he’s gone for at least three days, sometimes a week.”
“Really? That must suck big time.” She said, then after another sip of wine she added “Well, unless of course you’re getting a little something on the side.” She gave me a sideways glance and raised an eyebrow.
“What? No no, I don’t. I don’t do that.” I said when I realized that she was talking about an affair. “I would never cheat on Dave.”
She laughed loudly and put her hand on my leg, just above my knee. “I was just fucking with you Kate. Don’t get your panties all up in a bunch now.” She left her hand on my leg a little longer than was necessary, and gave me a squeeze before pulling it back. I didn’t think too much of it right then, but…hindsight ya know.
The conversation went on and one glass of wine turned into two, then three and we were both feeling it quite a bit. It was easy talking with her, and when the subject eventually made its way around to sex, well we didn’t hold back there either. She asked me some pretty personal things and I, well I was a little too drunk to even care. We talked about fetishes, and I told her that I had read “Fifty Shades of Gray” and was a little bit intrigued by what the character Anastasia Steele went through.
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