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The Heat Part 2
Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009
The days seemed to grow longer, and if possible, hotter. Bob Katt
recieved the usual number of crank letters and calls demanding he do
something about the heat. He even went so far as to run a videotape of an
indian rain dance on his show. No such luck, and the local indian community
inundated KNUT with calls demanding Bob’s resignation for broadcasting
racist material. A couple dozen even went so far as to picket the station’s
parking lot. It was noted by many that some of the placards bearing the
station’s call sign, the N and the U were transposed, though whether this
was accidental or intentional was unclear. Bob was beginning to wonder if
it was time for that long overdue vacation. The station manager wondered
the same thing.
The growing membership of the Willyville Nudist Society (formed
somewhere around July 11th) petitioned the mayor’s office to temporarily
modify the laws against public indecency so as to allow the nudists to
pursue their own version of ‘personal freedom’. A story about it appeared
in the local newspaper, and a day later the mayor’s office recieved over a
thousand anonymous letters in support of the petition. However, almost 80%
of those letters were mimeographed in the same writing, unsigned, and sent
without return addresses. Somebody had been very busy, indeed. There was no
comment from the mayor’s office about the whole situation. Rumor had it he
had snuck out of town for a long overdue vacation…
For Harold Sykes, the usual lunacy of Willyville passed over him
without notice as his days stretched into a grey cloud of depression. At
work he hardly spoke, and when he went home he drew the blinds and sat in
the stifling heat staring at a blank wall. When he saw a pretty girl out on
the street he would avert his eyes until she passed by. When his friends at
work spoke to him he would always jump, as if jolted from some private
world. When asked about his change of behavior, he would simply dismiss it
as the aftermath of a breakup. But deep inside his heart ached and he spent
long, sleepless nights wondering who Cindi might be with and what they
might be doing and being certain that she was having a far, far better time
now than she had ever had with him. His depression grew deeper and deeper
and he knew that over the horizon lay only more dark clouds.
The situation came to a head when Harold nearly throttled a co-worker
for singing “Zipity-Doo-Da” one morning after announcing his engagement.
After explaining to his supervisor (and the police officer) that he had
been under a lot of stress lately, he was awarded with a two-week (unpaid)
vacation and the advice to see a psychiatrist. Soon.
Instead he sat at home, watching “Love Boat” reruns and drinking some
horrible beer and lemonade concotion bottled in New Jersey. Masochism was
the word of the day here.
He was idly (and a bit drunkenly) trying to decide whether to use a
sledgehammer or a shotgun on the TV set when the phone rang.
The harsh, obnoxious sound grated in his ears, pulling him from the
fantasy that enveloped him. A part of him begged to answer the phone, as
usual, to see who would be calling. The rest of him said screw it, why
bother?
Finally, long ingrained habit won out. He lurched over to the phone
and yanked the reciever off the cradle. Placing it to his mouth, he offered
the most cheery greeting his jangled mind could come up with.
“Go fuck yourself.”
There was moment’s hesitation before a familiar male voice came out of
the other end. “Harold! How ya doin’?”
“Hi, Tom.” Harold sighed. Tom was Harold’s best friend and a devout
hedonist, to boot. “I’m doing fine. Just don’t feel like getting out much
in this heat, is all.”
“Yeah, right.” Tom said in a voice that made it perfectly clear he
didn’t believe a word of it. “Well, shit, man, you need to get out
sometimes, before you start to grow cobwebs or something. And I got just
the thing…”
Harold silently groaned and rubbeed his temples. The only thing he
wanted was to be left alone. One of Tom’s ‘just the thing’ ideas was the
last thing he needed right now. “Uh, look, maybe later-”
“Later my ass!” The voice on the other end roared. “I know what
happened. Kelly told me.” Harold’s eyes widened but he really wasn’t
surprised. He fully expected Cindi to blab to everyone who would sit still
long enough to listen. He tried to imagine that Cindy was sitting in front
of him instead of the TV and suddenly his hands fairly itched for that
sledgehammer.
Tom continued, “Shit, man, something like that would’ve killed me.
Cindi has got to be the most twisted bitch I have ever heard of. Nobody has
a right to do that to somebody else.”
“Yeah, I ain’t too happy about it either. But I can’t do anything, so
how about I call you later-”
“I ain’t done yet.” Tom interrupted firmly. “You’ve got to get out of
there and back into circulation. You stay in that dark house much longer,
you’re going to do something stupid.” Harold felt a sudden shock. What had
he been thinking? He had twelve payments to go on the TV yet. Suddenly the
beer and lemonade in his stomach began to churn.
“Look, Harold, I’m your buddy. It hurts me to see what she’s done to
you. I wanna help, and I think I know the best way to do it. There’s a
party going on Saturday afternoon at this place I know over in Squirrel
Heights. Right off Wanker street. The whole gang’s gonna be there, along
with a bunch of other people I don’t know. Lots of available girls, I hear.
Hoping to add a couple to my collection myself. I think you ought to go
with me. Keep me from getting in too much trouble.”
Harold’s voice was thick as he struggled with his gorge. “I… I don’t
know…”
“Aw, c’mon. I want you there. You don’t have to do anything or talk to
anybody if you don’t want. Just soak up some rays and good feelings. I
ain’t heard of anybody going away from a West Side Party feeling bad.”
“Well…”
“It’s settled, then.” Tom concluded, perhaps a bit prematurely. “I’ll
be by about noon Saturday, and you can ride with me. I know you don’t
drink, and I could use somebody sober to drive me home. If I go home at
all. If not, you can use the car. Sound good?”
Harold had his voice under control and was actually feeling a bit
better. Tom’s nonstop talking had distracted him from the full impact of
the crisis, and his depression was beginning to lift a bit. “Sure, why not?
Should I bring anything?”
“Toothbrush and a change of shorts, maybe.”
They talked for a few more minutes and when Harold finally hung up, he
felt immensely better. He had felt so alone not long ago. It was good to be
reminded he had friends. Maybe with their help he could pull through this
depression and come out a whole human being once again. But that was still
a ways off.
In the meantime, he tidied the house up. Lastly he came to the
collection of bottles from his binge that morning. He was astonished to
discover how much of that stuff he had drunk. Thinking about it reminded
him just how awful the stuff really was. He hiccuped once and ran for the
bathroom, hand over his mouth.
He almost made it.
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matured with rugged tits part4
Saturday, May 9th, 2009“That was it for me. I’ll never get married again. I don’t think I’d ever
be able to trust another woman as long as I live. If I could get along
without sex I’d never even look at another one. Now the only contact I have
with any of them is for sex, pure and simple. I’ve been doing the swinging
thing for a few months and I’ve learned I’m up for anything so long as it
makes me feel good and has no strings attached.
“You know the whole time we were married I never once cheated on that
bitch. Not that I didn’t have the chance either. I had lots of chances to
cop a little trim on the side and never once did. I even had a few guys
proposition me, like you did back when you were a kid. I can’t tell you how
many times I’ve looked back on that and other offers I had and have kicked
myself for not taking advantage of them.”
I’d been listening sympathetically as Eric unburdened himself, but that
last line nearly took my breath away. There was no doubt that I still found
him incredibly sexually attractive; I’d been jacking off for years
fantasizing about this hunky man. Now it seemed that he was making himself
available to me. Still we’d just become reacquainted and we had a lot
riding on our business relationship. I didn’t, couldn’t do anything that
would jeopardize that. I didn’t know what to do so I didn’t do much of
anything. I made some inane remarks about how hard it must be for him; how
I felt his pain; how he’d meet someone, some day who would make him change
his mind about romance; bullshit like that. We ate a great lunch and
talked business, but it was really hard to keep my mind off what was
between Eric’s muscular legs. We went back to the office with no further
reference to sex.
The remainder of the week was so busy for both of us that we barely had
time to do anything other than the routine. There was still much to discuss
and plan. For this reason on Friday afternoon I asked Eric if he’d be
willing to work on a long range plan with me on Saturday. He looked a
little disappointed, but said, “sure not a problem. What time do you want
to meet?”
“Are you sure it’s alright, you didn’t have other plans made, did you?”
“As a matter of fact I did, but it’s nothing I can’t put off. The meeting
is more important.”
“If you’re sure, I’ll meet you here say 10:00 tomorrow morning?”
“That’s fine. See you tomorrow.”
“Great.”
I couldn’t help but stare at his bubble butt as he left my office. That
night I spent a long, slow session stroking myself to an immense orgasm
just thinking of swallowing him whole. It was somehow very satisfying,
because now I felt that I had a chance to turn it into reality. I just
didn’t know how soon that would be.
The next morning I arrived at the office at 9:30. I was dressed casually
in a polo shirt and a pair of dockers. Eric arrived at just before 10:00,
carrying a couple of containers of Dunkin’ Doughnut coffee and wearing a
pair of baggy sweat pants and an old sweat shirt. The fabric of the sweat
pants was so soft and worn that you didn’t have to look hard or stare to
see that there was a fat cock swinging loose just behind the material. I
began to think that his purpose in life was to sexually torment me.
“So,” I asked, “were you able to rearrange your plans?”
“No. I was going to entertain a couple from Connecticut, and I was hoping
they’d come down later in the evening and spend the night so that we ccould
party after I finished here, but they have a wedding to attend back home
tomorrow afternoon, so we left it for some other time. I gave up at least a
couple of great blow jobs for this meeting. You owe me big time.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that, though I thought of a couple of ways, but
I just kept my mouth shut and we got down to work. At about 2:00 it dawned
on us that we were hungry so we call out for pizza delivery. It was about
6:00 when we both decided we’d had enough and it was clear we’d made
significant progress. We worked well together.
Eric stood, giving a man sized stretch. When he did, his shirt rode up
exposing his hard, flat stomach and the flaxen down that surrounded his
navel and then trailed downward toward his prize. As my eyes gazed lower I
stared right at the head of his dick. When he stretched backward it had
pushed forward and was now right in front of my face clearly outlined
beneath the soft material of his sweats. The head alone was the size of a
hen’s egg. I guess my mouth dropped open and I was staring.
The next thing I heard was a chuckle followed by, “see something you like?”
“Yes,” I barely whispered, “and I see something I’ve wanted for almost 16
years. Can I have it?”
“Seems only right. I should have let you have it back 16 years ago, so I
guess I owe it to you. And for sure you owe me a fantastic blow job
because that’s what I missed out on this afternoon.”
“Then,” I said grinning, “I think we can work out a deal. Do you want to
do it here or would you like to come back to my place?”
“Tell you what. I’m super horny, it’s been awhile since I’ve been with
anyone. That’s why I was disappointed at missing out on the Connecticut
couple, they both have very talented mouths. I’m good to go for at least
two or three rounds. If you don’t mind I’d like it quick, down and dirty
here and now. Then once the edge is off we can go back to your place and
do it again slow and easy. You up for that?”
“I am if you are,” I said. Was I ever? Eric sat down in his chair again
and then swung it around toward where I was sitting at the end of the
table. He stretched out, spread his legs and then grabbed the top of his
sweats with his thumbs and pulled it down and hooked it under his large
ball sac. His cock was plumping out and rising right before my eyes. By
the time I got out of my chair, came around the side of the table and
kneeled between his legs it was standing steely hard, a full 6 1/2 inches
of the thickest manmeat I’d ever seen. I was easily as big around as it
was long. In the flesh it was even more beautiful than I’d ever imagined.
I’d waited so long for this. I felt as though I were dreaming. I took hold
of it in my hand feeling its velvety soft warmth. I gently pulled it
toward my face and flicked my tongue out to capture the small clear bead of
man honey that had just formed at the slit. I tasted him for the first time
and went wild. I dove down on that meaty hog and didn’t come up for air
until he was moaning like a bitch in heat. I was determined that he was
going to get the best blow job of his life; I was certain I was going to
give the best blow job of my life.
He couldn’t stand it. He was too hot to just kick back and enjoy it. He
grabbed the back of my head with his strong opened hands and pumping into
my mouth. He began slowly, but as we both became more comfortable and sure
of each other’s rhythms the speed pick up. It was as though he’d been
suddenly unchained. He stood up so that he could drive himself deeper,
never letting go of my head. We bonded, mouth to cock, a virtual fucking
machine. All I wanted was to drink from the essence of his being, to feel
him gushing his pent up juices into my mouth and down my throat. I felt
his balls tighten up, his breathing become more labored and his body
tense. Then it happened. His cock swelled and pulsed and he shot. There
was almost not enough room for both cock and cum, but I took gulp after
gulp. There was no way I was giving up a single drop.
When he’d regained his composure, breath and ability to speak he looked
down at me, my mouth still stuffed with his now softening piece. He was
grinning from ear to ear.
“Hot damn, bossman. That was the best head I’ve ever had, bar none. If
that’s what you can do on your knees with my britches still on I can’t wait
to be naked with you in a bed. I hope you liked it as much as I did, cause
if so it’s my guess neither one of us will ever bitch about working late
again.”
I slid his cock from my mouth, kissing the head as I did. I looked up at
him again and just smiled. But he was right. Naked and in bed made things
much more interesting…but that’s a whole other story.
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A Birthday Wish Come True
Friday, March 20th, 2009He entered the lobby, nervous at what he was planning, but also eager to complete
it successfully and see how she handled it. He ran a gloved hand over the
frosted intercom panel, stopping and pressing one labeled “9 – Sanders” and
cleared his throat.
“Yes?” It was the sound he’d fallen in love with – the voice of this woman he’d
never met, but knew as intimately as he knew himself.
He immediately assumed the lazy Southern drawl he’d been practicing, covering his
normally flat voice. “Phone company, miss. You a ‘Ms. Sanders’ who wants a
second line installed?” “Oh, yes; you’re early – the person at the office said
this afternoon-” the disembodied voice replied.
“Well, yer lucky; my first call was supposed to be a repair job that’d take all
morning, but they cancelled.” He was having trouble not adding small things like
“darling” or “my lovely lap-dancer”.
“Good; the sooner I get the line installed, the sooner I can log-on and-” The
rest of her plans were drowned out by a harsh metallic buzz. He grabbed his
toolbox and reached to open the door, unable to suppress a grin at the irony of
her statement. He breathed deeply as he mounted the half-flight of stairs,
shaking his head to rid himself of any stage fright. He’d always worried about
the wrong things before – surely this meant that all would go well? The hard
part was getting his body to believe it.
He concentrated on projecting the image of an American phone technician on his
first job of the day. A coil of cable was over his left shoulder, a large
tool-case in his right hand and blue, insulated coveralls obscuring his body from
neck to ankle. A hard hat covered his dark hair – ’she’d spot that right away
after what she said upon getting my picture’ he thought – and to complete the
facade a worn, weathered clipboard in his left hand.
He stepped to the correct door, stuck his gloves in a pocket, placed his toolbox
on the floor, and rapped on the door. To add to the illusion, he stood on his
toes – adding to his apparent height. He also grabbed a pen from his chest
pocket and started ‘writing’ on the clipboard held *just* in between the fish-eye
and his face – right-handed to further lull his prey from detecting her
“Grammar-Checker”.
He was rewarded with a series of clicks and the door opened. “I’d like the plug
near the table over there-” she said as she pointed back into the apartment, and
gasped as the ‘phone technician’ dropped his things and hugged her, surprising
her with a deep, passionate kiss. She felt the bristle of his moustache,
myopically saw the small scar on his cheek, and stopped resisting. When they ran
out of breath, they separated and she cried out his name with a child-like look
of delight on her face. “What ARE you doing here?”
“Gee, what do you THINK, lover? We’ve both been champing at the bit to meet
finally.”
“How’d you do all this?”
“Simple – you mentioned that you were finally getting an ISP and extra phone
line. I stayed at that motel just outside Geneva and waited to see a phone
company van to go by – handy thing, you living in a small town. I was lucky
enough for it to pull into a gas station on the way. When the driver went in to
pay, I slipped up and took a peek at the work orders.”
“But what if I’d have been the first client of the day, or if he hadn’t stopped?”
“Just lucky I guess – there’s only so much planning you can do. Anyway, happy
birthday.”
They kissed again. “Thank you; it’s not ’til Wednesday, but I think this is a
wonderful gift. One question remains – how could you even afford a plane ticket?
You never got that work term in Kansas City!”
“Well, there’s an interesting story that will explain my ability to be with the
one I love…but that will wait for lunch; right now we’ve got some things to
attend to.” His mouth curled into a salacious, wolf-like grin – showing her what
he’d meant every time he added “
things in the hall and was rewarded with a slap on the buttocks.
…End of the part1. To be continued..
THE BOOK OF ASSES part7
Monday, March 16th, 2009shoulders. If the inserter is sufficiently agile, he/she can
simultaneously perform fellatio on the receiver (assuming the
receiver is male, of course). Depth of penetration is shallow to
medium, but the angle of insertion is “unnatural,” and this makes
for unusual sensations. The penis contacts the anal/vaginal wall
or prostate, as with the previous position.
There are at least two varieties of the sitting position. (1)
The inserter may sit in a chair or on a sofa, while the receiver
lowers him/herself down on the inserter’s lap, facing away. (2) The
inserter may lie down flat on his/her back and the receiver sits
down on him/her, again facing away. This is another good beginner
position, since the receiver controls depth of penetration.
The “T position” has the receiver lying flat on his/her back with
knees drawn up and perhaps a pillow or two under the lower back
for elevation. The inserter lies down underneath the the bent legs
of the receiver, but at a right angle. There may be a significant
difference in comfort for the receiver, depending on which side
insertion occurs. Depth of penetration is medium.
The face-to-face standing position requires practice and considerable
agility on the part of both partners. The receiver raises a leg to
waist level, which the inserter grasps and holds. This pulls forward
the buttocks and anus of the receiver, and makes insertion from
the front and underneath just barely possible. Shallow penetration
at a strange angle is probably the best that can be hoped for,
but that this is even possible is rather remarkable.
——————————————————————-
Val was pretty well soured on both sexes. Sure, you could have a good
time with playmates, but they seemed always to end up claiming property
rights. Wanting to own you. Enough of that shit! He decided that he’d
settle for his own company for the foreseeable future.
It helped that he had started a new and better job. A well-paying and
non-demanding job. A job that involved his ass, as it happened. He was
an underwear model.
Back in their happier days when they were (literally!) “into” each other,
Warren had put him in touch with a friend who ran a modeling agency. So
now Val was making a couple of thou a week just for parading his compact
underwear-clad butt in front of photographers and advertising execs. The
lights were hot, but the work was easy and the ambiance classy. And he
did have all the required talents: the ability to freeze a pose for an
extended period of time, and even more important, a tight, muscular set
of buns.
It was too good to last, of course. As his modeling career took off
(they raved about his butt), he got more bookings than he could handle.
The fame disease befell him. They began to call him the “Ass Man,” and
his face became as familiar to the public as his backside. He couldn’t
go out shopping without being surrounded by screaming fans holding out
copies of his notorious bare-ass “Slutboy” centerfold spread for him to
autograph. He couldn’t go for a walk in his own neighborhood without women
(and sometimes men) sneaking up behind him and pinching his butt. His mail
overflowed with offers of marriage and indecent proposals in exquisite
detail from all five sexes. He had no privacy. The whole world seemed
to want a piece of him . . . a piece of ass. His ass was under siege.
Soon enough, Val got tired of peddling ass. He retired. With what was left
of his earnings, he bought a remote mountain cabin far up in the Canadian
Rockies. With no phone or electricity, he isolated himself completely
from civilization. His only companions were a neurotic Persian cat and
a custom-made set of solar-powered dildoes.
——————————————————————-
THE BOOK OF ASSES
Part V
Preventive Maintenance
The care and feeding of one’s ass has a major effect on the health,
and consequently pleasure capacity of that wondrous organ.
A healthy and balanced diet promotes healthy bowel habits and
maintains the vigor of the large intestine and the muscle tone of
the sphincter. Avoid animal fats, which can lead to rectal cancer
and other debilitating ailments. Consume generous portions of
vegetables and foods containing fiber and “roughage” and you will
be amply rewarded by regular and satisfying bowel movements.
Regular exercise, especially walking, bicycling, and swimming,
contributes to a healthy state of the digestive system and helps
shape and tone the large muscles of the posterior. Kegel-type
exercises of the anal sphincter ring maintain the flexibility and
strength of that all-important gateway to ecstasy.
Cleanliness keeps the anus healthy. Clean thoroughly after each
bowel movement, and as necessary apply salve or ointment to treat
irritation and maintain the suppleness and pleasing appearance of
that entry to the chamber of delights.
Enemas can be a useful adjunct to anal pleasure. Those particularly
sensitive to fecal residue and odors may find it helpful to cleanse
the interior of the colon with a saline enema prior to anal play. Of
course, exercise due caution in administering enemas, both to one’s
self and to a partner.
——————————————————————-
As cut off from the world as Val was, a leading New York publishing house
had somehow gotten wind of his writings and tracked him down. Having
jeeped in over potholed dirt roads and iced-up mountain passes,
the publishing executive breathlessly explained that there was a
multi-million-dollar advance waiting if he would only sign a contract for
“The Book of Asses.” A vast audience was panting for alternate sexuality
and “orifice liberation” literature. Now if Val would just sign on the
dotted line . . .
He was mightily pissed at having his privacy invaded. “How the fuck did
you find me, and what makes you think I need your filthy luchre anyhow?”
The executive smiled . . . and dropped her pants. She had a perfect ass
. . . and wasn’t that a wicked-looking dildo harness girding her loins?
“After all, we *do* know your weaknesses, Val.”
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MY MOTHER SUSAN part4
Saturday, February 21st, 2009seemed, with athletic-looking calves and slender thighs. I’d always
anticipated that I would be a tall man, for my father, at 6′ 2″, was the runt
of his family. Couple that with my mom’s genes and it seemed reasonable
that I’d be tall. It was not to be. At eighteen, we were pretty much the
same height. I knew just where the tips of her breasts hit my chest.
I should mention that my mother had very attractive breasts, a C-
cup with prominent, up-tilted nipples that were often evident despite her
clothes. Sometime later I was to learn that she was one of those women
who were blessed with exceptionally firm, youthful breasts, that never lost
much of their firmness. She is one of those rare females that will have
youthful breasts into her later years. Like intelligence, beauty is given to us
as an accident of birth, no more than a fortuitous role of the genetic dice.
It’s comforting to be part of a line of good stock I was told, but I hadn’t
thought of it in this arena of sexual attractiveness.
While my mother’s figure was model-attractive, it was her facial
features that were eye catching. She had a straight, almost aristocratic
nose and a wide, full mouth. Her prominent cheek bones set off her
unusually attractive eyes. They were hard to describe, her eyes. She had
high, full, unaltered eye brows, that were dark in color in contrast to her
natural auburn hair. But it was the eyes themselves that caught your
attention, for they were a light green-blue with an exotic cast. At times I
thought she might have some Asian blood, but I never got a hint of it in the
rest of her family. In any case, they were striking, often dark and brooding
and at times almost electric. Without altering her facial expression, her
eyes could show humor or joy and, at times, anger. I often wondered what
she looked like when sexually aroused.
But I digress. Back to the awakening of my sexual awareness.
I didn’t set out to seduce my mother, despite the rich and lurid
fantasies I entertained. I held them as deeply secret and guarded as one
would any shameful, licentious desire. The thought was given no more
than masturbatory acknowledgment, as frequent as that was. Still, the gap
between our thoughts and our actions remains hidden from our conscious
awareness by the strength of our denial. So while I might have denied a
plan to seduce her, my actions would have argued differently. I set out to
be her friend and her confidant, to reduce if not break down the
conventional barriers between us. This was largely an unacknowledged
plan of mine. I don’t recall thinking anything more detailed than vague
objectives of getting closer to her.
Over time, I became more open with her about my self. I asked her
opinions of things, including girls and dating and later, sexual things. I
worked at being her emotional intimate. It wasn’t difficult, for she was at
heart an emotionally trusting and open women who, it turned out, was
largely unencumbered by repressive standards. To my surprise, we
gradually became good friends. That I would bond so closely with my
mother was not surprising, given my nature and that fact that my father
was largely an absent force in my life.
I slowly became less conventional in my own modesty. It was not
at all unusual for me to chat with my mother wearing no more than my
Calvin Kleins. I was aware that she studiously avoided looking at my body
when I was so briefly dressed, but she never reprimanded me for
inappropriate attire.
———————————————————————
I became aware that when my dad was away, she usually left her
bedroom door open. I took that as an invitation and often walked in on her
to “chat.” Not infrequently, I’d catch her in her bra and panties. She’d
say, “Whoops,” and slip on a robe, loosely tied. Once, as I walked into her
room, she was walking out of her large closet wearing only an unbelted
robe that swung open as she moved. From a moment only, I saw her nude
body. It was no more than a flash that left nothing more than an after-
image. It was that after-image that I examined so repeatedly. I saw firm,
upthrust breasts, and a flash of dense pubic hair at the base of a flat
abdomen . . . and then she pulled the robe closed without comment.
I’d gone in to ask her if she’d like to play some tennis and for a
moment was tongue tied, standing there, staring at her.
…End of the part4. To be continued..
MY MOTHER SUSAN part13
Friday, February 13th, 2009Laughing, she replied, “Kids think their parents are dumb as well as
blind. Yes, I could tell. It’s tough isn’t it, trying to be subtle and look at
my tits at the same time!”
All pretense had vanished. Any thought I might have had for a
negotiated seduction was out the window. This wasn’t going as I’d
planned and it was wonderful. I couldn’t believe what was happening. My
beautiful mother was sitting on my lap with her breast exposed, the nipple
shining with the wetness of my saliva, groaning as she ground her bottom
into me.
“God, Mom,” I rasped, “I love you so much. I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, yes . . . I know Billy. Just love me. Hold me tight. Kiss
me.”
I couldn’t keep my hands off her body. She’d been squirming
around so much that her dress had ridden up on her thighs, exposing a
good expanse of leg. Holding her skirt-covered buttock with my left hand,
I ran my right hand up and down her body, then down to her left knee and
up under the hem of the dress to the top of her thigh, above her hose. She
scrunched down farther, helping me to lift the dress. Suddenly she was
bared to her pelvis.
“Jesus, Mom! You have such beautiful legs.”
Her only reply was to kiss me again and open her legs. I flashed
back to the afternoon I was looking up her dress. Now, however, I wasn’t
peeping. She was showing herself to me. It was clear that I couldn’t be
content just looking. Still I hesitated. Could I *touch* her there? Could I
cusp her mound in my hand? Actually feel her pussy? What the hell! In
for a penny . . .
I ran my hand up and down the soft inside of her thigh, moving
closer each time to her panties. She moaned and pushed her pelvis at me.
The side of my hand pushed against the cushy bulge of her panty crotch.
She grunted and lurched, snapping her legs shut, trapping my hand. I tried
to pull my hand out but she suddenly reached down and with surprising
strength, grabbed my wrist, I thought to pull me away from her pussy.
Instead, she opened her legs a little and pulled my hand into her crotch
even tighter, sawing me up and down against her cunt, moaning constantly.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Shit. Shit, Shit. Yes. There! Do it!”
I scrabbled my fingers, trying to get in under a pant leg edge. She
let go of my hand, lifting her hips as if to help me. I gave up and grabbed
the lacy crotch of her panties and pulled downward. Again, she heaved up,
and with her free hand, helped me pull them down, first to her low thighs
and then in a tangle of limbs, off, muttering the whole time, “Get ‘em off,
get ‘em off.”
What happened to my sedate and dignified mother? Where’d she
go and where did this lusty woman come from?
Freed of her feet, I pulled her silky panties to my nose, inhaling the
essence of her as she was groping in my lap, fruitlessly trying to pull down
my fly zipper.
“Christ! And I thought *guys* had a hard time with girls’ bras!”
she complained. “Help me, dammit.”
“Jesus, I can’t open my pants much less pull them down if you’re
sitting on me, can I?”
She laughed and said, “This isn’t going smoothly at this moment, is
it?”
Heaving her off my lap, dumping her on the couch, I replied, “No,
but it’s sure as hell is GOING . . . and right now!”
I shucked my trousers and briefs, my hard cock sticking up
obscenely. Mother’s dress and bra quickly joined the frantic pile of
clothing on the floor. Suddenly, we were both nude, or nearly so. I was
stunned at this out-of-control passion that had overwhelmed us.
A very small, detached part of my mind was observing the blind
…End of the part13. To be continued..
