The Seducer’s Diary: A Taste of Sin

It’s her birthday…she gets a diary; she’s bratty and smart, and she believes she’s the shit.


EROTIC TALES
The Seducer’s Diary: The Taste of Sin

June 14th 1986

Dear Diary,
Today I have discovered a power I didn’t know I possessed. It has come as a bit of surprise to me that a 14 year old girl can exert such a powerful allure—for both women and men! I find it all so wickedly delightful even more so since I am not a statuesque blond beauty, like my older sister, Christine. However, it seems what I may lack in certain stereotypical feminine graces, I more than make up for it in wit, cleverness, intelligence, and raw sexual power. I find myself thinking three steps ahead of everyone around me—I can almost read their minds—it is so creepy, but I fuckin’ love it! I look at people and seem to see right through them—even when their mouths are saying one thing, the recesses of their brains scream something far deeper, and, usually, far darker, to which, for some reason, I seem especially attuned.

The incident that brought this realization to my awareness was something that I was able to suggest to my mom. She came into the kitchen a few mornings ago wearing one of dad’s old oxford blue dress shirts. It was still crisply starched, so I know she must’ve have been hanging onto it for awhile. (Dad left us a year and a half ago. He said he needed more “freedom” in his life—hah! He’s such a liar! All he really wanted was to fuck more young pussy—too bad he left so early; he could’ve fucked mine—gawd! I can’t believe I even wrote that!). My mom’s not a bad looking woman. She has sandy brown hair that is naturally curly. She keeps it shoulder length, and this morning had it pulled back in a loose ponytail and tied up with one of her yellow scrunchies. Like most women her age, she’d put on a little weight, but she was by no means fat; she had simply filled out a little along the edges and it gave her a delicious curvyness. Her legs were her best feature—they were long and tapered seductively downwards. And, she had the most gloriously petite ankles and feet—in strappy pumps, she was the envy of every ball! However, on this particular morning, when I saw her wearing that shirt, I knew she was depressed—again! She was lost in the memories of her former life, and it angered me. I hate it when women mope around after men—how absolutely pathetic! We should be the rulers, not the ruled. We are the ones who are desired, not them, and that is our POWER! My mother had lost her understanding of this essential fact, and I needed to teach it to her again.

As I sat at the kitchen table chewing on a piece of toast and sipping a glass of orange juice, I debated my move. How should I approach this, what tack should I take, and what would effect my mother the most? Finally, it clicked—she needed a first class fuck! But, lacking available dick in the near vicinity, pussy would have to do! If I could show her, herself, again, as I still saw her and as the guys wherever she went saw her, then maybe there was still a chance. The very last thing she should do is sit around moaning for that old dick that left—because, as I have quickly found out, there are always plenty of dicks to go around! So, dear diary, I launched my plan, but in telling you this, I’m going to write as if it were a story—maybe someday it will be, who knows?




“Mom, you’re not wearing dad’s shirt again, are you?” I said with a mouthful of toast and leaning back in my chair.

I could see her back stiffen as she poured herself a glass of juice.
“Whaddya mean, kiddo?”

“Come on, mom, you know exactly what I mean.” She whipped around to face me. Her eyes had fire in them.

How quickly she “turns” I thought—and, hmmph, the “handles” I now have in her. This was going to be fun.

“You know, you should be a little more respectful young lady—you don’t know the first thing about love, and how much it hurts when you lose it! You’re only 14 for godsakes!”

“You didn’t lose it, mom! In fact, you have IT right now, you’ve just forgotten it.”

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck do you know!”

It was strange to hear my mother cuss, but I liked it. I knew she was affected. She set her glass firmly down on the counter and strode out of the room. I watched her toned 34 year old ass sway beneath the shirt, and I knew my comments had gotten to her—just as I had hoped they would. I needed her emotionally exercised—frustrated and angry, so that the second phase would be acceptable. I waited, listening for where she’d gone. I could hear the water in the shower start, so I knew she was crying—that’s where she always went when she didn’t want anyone to hear her bawling, but for me, that was perfect. I got up from the table, rinsed my dishes, and waited to hear the click of the bathroom door shutting.

I made my way out of the kitchen, down the hall to where the bathroom was. The door was shut, but I could hear the water running, and behind it, my mother sobbing. For one brief second, I felt a pang of sympathy, but that quickly evaporated as I realized that what I was about to do was to give a gift to my mother, and in giving her this, I would give her back true self. I smiled, somewhat mischievously, since I also knew that I would be afforded the taste of another delectable “peach” that I had only, up till now, read about. I carefully and quietly opened the door.

“Mom, I have to pee, you don’t’ mind do you?” I said as I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me. Being Saturday morning, I didn’t want Christine to wander by the door and see me sitting on the toilet—although, the thought did kind of thrill me for a second.

Mom, who had just entered the shower, kind of sputtered and said, “What? Annie, is that you?”

“Yeah mom. I need to pee.”

“Honey, I’m in the shower! Can’t you wait?” She slid back the shower door just as I was untying the drawstring on my pajama bottoms.

I loved these pajamas. They were a pale yellow, incredibly thin, and they clung to my hip-bones so precariously that not only was most of my tummy exposed, but they were also always so close to almost completely falling off that I felt dangerous in them. More than once I had caught my dad, before he left, oogling my butt and salivating at the thought of what pink treasures lay beneath. And, for anyone who cared to look when I wore them, and they all seemed to care, It was always obvious that I was panty-less because of the way the thin material would crawl up my ass.

I looked up at my mother standing there with the sliding glass door slightly ajar as my pajamas hit the floor. She seemed to gape. I stood there, gloriously nude, except for my white athletic bra. I knew then that I had the power to enthrall, and I would use it. I was 14, tanned from laying out by the pool all summer, long-legged, and I had the ass of young mare—the question is, would mommy come for a ride? As I stepped out of my pj’s and kicked them aside, I knew my mom’s eyes, hidden slightly behind that opaque sliding glass door, were drinking in my lithe and supple form. I had only the slightest bit of fur over my pussy—a wispy semblance of golden brown curls that I had trimmed into a perfectly narrow “V” above my puffy slit—which I shaved and plucked regularly to keep as smooth as cherub’s cheek. As I sat down on the toilet, I spread my legs a little, letting my image soak into my mother’s mind. I noticed that she hadn’t slid the door closed, and hadn’t turned away, instead, her red, puffy eyes watched as my pee began to dribble from my baby-slit

I looked up and deeply into her eyes, “I have to pee, mom.” I could hear my strong stream hit the water in the bowl, and a sense of relief flooded over me as I felt the deep release of my bladder.

“It’s okay, darling, you go ahead.” With that she shut the glass door and put her head under the shower’s stream. Trying to wash out of her eyes the image of her lovely daughter’s nakedness, I thought.

“Mom, I’m not sorry for what I said earlier. I know it made you mad and all, but, mom, you know you have to let that fucker go!”

“Hey, watch your language!” She re-opened the door and stuck her head out of the shower again.

“Why? You don’t.” I looked her in the eye, and she dropped her head, and then sheepishly grinned up at me as she returned my gaze. Our eyes locked onto each other’s for a second longer than necessary—something was happening here, I could feel it where it mattered most.

“Yeah, I guess your mom’s the ultimate hypocrite.” She smiled. The door was open a little wider this time so I could see most of her body as the water cascaded over her curvaceous flesh.

“Aren’t we all, mom? Hell, I know I am.” I returned her smile as a good daughter should, and the tension in the room noticeably lessened. I purposefully let my eyes drop to roam over her soapy body. When I looked up, her eyes were full of questions.

Yet, now, instead of shutting the door, she continued to wash herself there in front of me. She was turned slightly to the side, so I couldn’t see everything, but I could clearly see the soft upward heft of her tits, and the brownish nipple of her left breast fully and forcefully extended. I hadn’t known that my mother had such chunky erasers—my mouth watered at the thought of swirling my tongue all over those rubbery nubs!

“You don’t mind if I leave the door open a little do you, it’s so much easier to hear you this way.” She said, somewhat tentatively.

Yeah, I thought, and a lot easier to see me, too, but I played along, “No, I don’t mind.