When I first met Charlene, she was a speed freak, mainlining white crosses. Her addiction started after her mother, being tired of doing all the housework while Charlene lay around watching TV, gave her some of her diet pills to get Charlene off her ass. Well, it worked, sort of, and too well. Charlene ended up immersed in the drug culture of the mid-70s, and added cocaine, heroin, opium, acid, and bennies to her list. Oh, and weed, which was considered just as evil as the rest by the members of The Establishment. After we got together, Charlene quit mainlining and backed off on the use of the others (except weed), but never fully stepped out of the drug culture.

Charlene’s sister, Shiela, was four years younger than her. Apparently, Mom had introduced her to the diet pills, and the effect was similar. However, Sheila seemed content with the speed high and never showed interest in any of the others, except, of course, weed. We all knew what would take almost 50 more years for the rest of the nation to figure out ... weed wasn’t all that bad. Anyhow, even though she stuck to speed, she was addicted to it and would do whatever was necessary to get a fix.

After graduating high school, Sheila entered a trade school to become a butcher. With no income, she had no way to pay rent. Her mom, still living in Payson, sent her money monthly, but it only covered school expenses. So, Sheila moved in with us and slept on our couch in the little servant’s quarters where we lived. One bedroom, one bath, kitchen, and living room. The only interior door was for the bathroom, and it never latched properly.

Everything went well for several months. There were the inevitable accidental flashes, but we just laughed them off. Actually, Sheila had a decent body for a larger woman. Not fat, but what we called “big boned”. One night I got up to pee and as I entered the living room I could see in the glow from the streetlight outside that Sheila was masturbating. She was so involved that she didn’t notice me. I watched for a minute, inhaling her scent that filled the room. Damn, I wanted to go over there and fuck the shit out of her. My dick started rising and I figured I better go piss before it got too hard to let that happen.

Of course, I had to flush the toilet when I was done and that alerted her to me being up, so when I came back through, she was fully covered and appeared to be asleep. However, the scent of her pussy was still strong. I went back to bed and promptly woke Charlene up by sticking my dick in her.

Not long after that, their grandfather got very sick, and Charlene went back to Payson to help her mom care for him. It would be tight without her income, but manageable. Better than Sheila missing school and having to redo the year. The old man had a brain tumor, and his death was a long, drawn-out thing, so Charlene was gone for a few months. The thought of fucking Sheila crossed my mind several times. She wasn’t a virgin but had had sex only a few times. Often, I jerked off recalling her scent and the faint squishy sounds that night she was rubbing one out. I never tried to be quiet about it, but I also would never take the first step. Charlene and I had gone through almost two years of swinging, and we had an understanding that neither of us would fuck another without the other being aware and okay with it.

After about a month of Charlene’s absence, I started noticing Sheila appearing antsy and a little grouchy. This was in complete opposition to her usual happy, sparkly demeanor. I asked her about it, but she blamed school stress. Then one day she was back to her normal self. That evening, I noticed the bottom dresser drawer wasn’t fully shut. Odd, since it was only used for storage and was rarely opened. I looked inside and noticed the cigar box was uncovered. Lifting the lid, I discovered that several silver dollars that my father had given me were gone. WHAT THE FUCK??!!!?? Motherfucker, it made sense.

The next day while at work, I called Charlene and told her of my suspicions. Sheila was a speed addict, had been stealing Charlene’s stash, and when that left, stole the silver dollars to buy a fix. Charlene readily agreed. She’d been noticing missing white crosses herself but had let it slide. Now, though, stealing something my dad had given me was a bridge too far and she was pissed. “Fucking little bitch! I’m so sorry, Steve. I wish now I’d never agreed to let her stay. You handle this any way you see fit. Goddammit. Slap her, fuck her, kick her out, I don’t care. Fucking twat bitch!” I’d never heard her so pissed before. But knowing her, she wasn’t just spouting off. She had said “fuck her” and I knew she meant it.

“I’ll handle it,” I told her. We tried small talk, but she was too pissed, and I had to get back to work.

That evening, after supper, I was sitting on my waterbed watching TV and formulated a plan. Pulling the cigar box from the drawer, I assumed a cross-legged position on the bed with the box in front of me, lid open. “Sheila, come here,” I called sternly, loud enough to be heard over the living room TV.

She walked in, recognized the box, and the smile dropped from her face. She looked like she was going to puke. As I sat there watching her, she opened her mouth a few times to say something, but no words came out.

“How much did you take and why,” I asked.

“Twenty-five dollars,” she replied. I waited several moments before telling her to finish answering me. Looking down, she confessed, “I needed some speed. Charlene took hers and I need something to keep me going.”

“Do you know that those were collectable gifts from my father,” I asked in a pissed off voice.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even think. I just needed some whites. I’m really sorry. I’ll get the money back, I promise.”

“I doubt you’ll get my father’s silver dollars back. Can you do that?”

“No, I can’t.” She began to cry. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, I talked to Charlene and it’s a good thing she’s not here because it sounded like she’d beat you to within an inch of your life. She said I could do whatever I want. Her exact words were, ‘slap her, fuck her, or kick her out. I don’t care.’ Now I’m not going to hit you. I don’t hit women unless I’m physically hit first. However, I am thinking of throwing your ass out. At least that way you won’t be able to steal anything else.”

Her eyes widened and she made a “No” sound that was a combination of a whine and a sob. “Oh, please, no. Don’t. I’d have to go home and drop out of school. Please. I’ll do anything to make this right.” Bingo!

“Strip,” I commanded. Her eyes went wider, and her face turned beet red.

“What,” she asked incredulously.

“Your sister gave three options. Slap you, which I’m not going to do, kick you out, which I don’t want to do, or fuck you. I’m choosing to let you stay here and you will become my sex slave until Charlene gets back. I tell you, we’re into some sketchy shit, too. You’re going to get yet another education. Now, let’s get started. Strip.” I closed the box, rolled over on the bed and slipped it into its drawer. Then I rolled back and lay on my left side, looking at her. She hadn’t moved. “Whatever happens is beginning tonight. Strip and come here or pack your shit and get out. Your choice.”

“I’ve only fucked three times, and it was with one guy.”

“Then I get to train you to be a real slut, don’t I? Understand that if you don’t like this option, you are free to leave.” I made it clear that I didn’t care one way or the other, but if she chose to fuck, then we’d do what I like, and she had no say in it. The look on her face said she was actually weighing her options.