Interracial sexual humiliation. A tale of just how far a mother will go to save her teenage daughter from the corrupting dominant black devil of a male leading her down a sordid path of sexual degradation. …
A mother’s sacrifice is sacred; to offer herself to save her child is inherent no matter what the cost might be to her dignity or well-being. And so it is for Deborah who has always done her level best for her rapidly maturing, young daughter Carla. But the girl is reaching adulthood and exploring her sexuality – as the raw and unmistakable sounds through the thin walls of their shared apartment confirms. It is unsettling and all too much for the puritan mother and something has to give. And give it does, explosively. And it sets both mother and daughter on different but colliding paths.
Without Deborah’s guiding hand her daughter involves herself with a seemingly innocuous, but totally unscrupulous, domineering, black male who leads her down a slippery and depraved path of sexual debauchery. A path from which there is only one means of escape – and that requires the ultimate act of selflessness and sexual humiliation by her mother. The suffering and physical trials endured by her, are excruciating and endless and she only prays that her daughter appreciates her torments and, that through her dishonour and debasement, her offspring will be rescued and saved from depravity. But there is a twist and in the end all is confusion as…just who is really saving who?
Emilia Blythe’s world is distinctive and highly erotica; try it …reading her is to enter a dirty world of motherly love and…foul depravity!
A Mother’s Sacrifice.
Word Count: 29,819
Carla had always been like a best friend to me rather than just a daughter.
We were extremely close when she had been a child but when Ed, thankfully, left me for a younger woman a few years ago, we became inseparable, like sisters.
The divisions suddenly appearing between us were therefore hard for me to deal with or understand, and things were spinning quickly out of control.
Carla was just 18, she had inherited my vibrant red hair and temper, my statuesque, although rapidly fading good looks, but unlike me, she was somewhat wild and fearless.
She was busy at college, doing well, while I just worked in a soulless office and lived a pale, tepid, mundane, sterile, empty life that frankly stifled and bored me to death.
My only overriding concern had always been Carla’s welfare and happiness but it appeared that in trying to be a modern and understanding mother, I had given her far too much rope.
It seemed as if it was hanging us both!
I had allowed her to bring her boyfriends back to our small apartment from when she had been 17, but what started as an odd, occasional, innocent liaison was now disgracefully turning into a stream of different unwelcome, trysts directly under my own somewhat, unglamorous and boxy roof.
She was having sexual relations, well she was fucking actually, but the descriptive phrase seemed almost too gross to record, let alone witness and suffer.
Now, most every night I was forced to endure, unsettling, carnal noises from her small room, through the thin walls of our house, seemingly bouncing and echoing off my ceiling and they were literally driving me crazy.
It was difficult for me to analyse exactly how I was affected, I was annoyed, irritated, frustrated and somehow disgustingly, privately unbalanced in so many ways I could not fully, rationally, comprehend.
The unwelcome sordid sounds even seemed to almost spark my dormant libido which in truth had been asleep forever, if it had bothered to come to life at all in my tame, pallid, physical existence.
I had married Ed when I was young, we’d been going out since we were mere teenagers and I fell in love with him and his kind and courteous ways with me.
He had always been so gentle and respectful and, our marriage when it began was equally benign, friendly and dare I say, polite!
The copulation we had and enjoyed, although that was far from an accurate descriptive phrase, from the first time I lost my virginity on our honeymoon in France, was…uninspiring at best!
I always remember how it confused me and how the reality of actual intercourse was such a disappointment from what I had been expecting.
Even more so because I had tentatively enjoyed what little foreplay we tried but our actual full blown marital sex was…how can I best describe it?
Well there were certainly no explosions or fireworks!
In fact to be brutally honest it was fucking crap!
Yes that’s it exactly, my whole sexual experience in my marriage and therefore throughout my entire physical life of relationships with the opposite gender, had been exactly that; fucking crap!
Ed had been the only man I had ever been to bed with, or shared any real intimacy and it had been yet another disappointment for me; but at least disillusionment and discontentedness was something that I was readily accustomed to!
Sex was supposed to be exciting; wasn’t it?
The reality was that it had never been that way for me, ever!
The only redemption from my tedium and melancholy was from my production of Carla, which in some ways surprised me, as the earthy interactions I had with my husband were so unsatisfactory and infrequent.
Maybe her birth was something of an act of God, as the miracle of the creation was never repeated and the truth was, we tried less and less to achieve and repeat the process that formed her as the years passed by.
My daughter was therefore always my focus and the centre of my universe and, even after my marriage to Ed finally inevitably, dissipated and dissolved, to everyone’s relief some 5 years ago, I still put my heart and soul into all of her.
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