An English Vacation, Mf free porn video

This is not my story. I am re-posting it word for word.

Author's Note:
This is the first chapter of a longer work. I promise that
in succeeding chapters the sexual content will increase and
some of the actions of the protagonists, which presently
appear somewhat 'c***dish', will be shown to have at least
token motivation.
Washington Irving
***********************************************************


AN ENGLISH VACATION
by Washington Irving


I. The Beginning



She popped the last of the batter-fried cod into her mouth and
washed it down with the dregs of the pint of bitters. The
remaining mealy french fries (chips?) she would leave without
regret. Jimmy was already finished and looked as anxious as she
to get to their room and collapse. They had k**ded each other
through the 'pub-grub' supper as to who would get the first hot
shower.

They had arrived in England that morning, after an all night
flight featuring a six hour time change. Both she and her son
had slept only fitfully in the cramped seats, arriving - after a
breakfast neither was ready for - into Gatwick airport at 8 A.M.
Greenwich time. She had booked ahead into an inn near Stratford
upon Avon, the one at which they now ate. She remembered from
her only other trip to the British Isles that the best way to
conquer the time change was to get on the new sleep schedule as
quickly as possible, so they had doggedly crammed themselves into
their tiny rental car and spent the day seeing castles, churches,
and picturesque villages. Jimmy went along with her doubtful
jet-lag theory - or at least refrained from complaining.

Actually, she was pleasantly surprised with his attitude.
After the divorce, it had seemed certain that he would go to
live with his father. But after spending a week with James
about a month before, Jimmy had announced he would stay with
her. In a surge of relief, she had planned this vacation for
the two of them, not thinking until it was too late that
travelling through England with his mother might not be a
thirteen year old boy's idea of a thrilling time. His smiles
seemed sincere, though, and she attributed to an overactive
imagination her feeling that his eyes showed an amused
superiority at her enthusiasm.

As they returned to the car to get their bags, she wondered
anew at Jimmy's rapid growth over just the past six months. He
was now a full four inches taller than her own petite 5' 1" and
lanky as a colt. She was thankful for his new male strength -
the suitcases would have been too much for her without him along
to take the larger ones. Now, hopefully, a quick check-in, then
a soft bed...


The jet-lag must have really set in. The inn-keeper's words
echoed meaninglessly in her fogged mind. "... you did ask for a
double room ... last one available ... other hotels and bed and
breakfasts in the area full also... busy season..." Why was he
restating the obvious, and looking back and forth from her to
her son? Yes, they were sharing a room, but they could change
in the bathroom and each stick to their own bed. They were
mother and son for chrissakes!

She nodded and said "Okay... fine... " enough times that the
innkeeper finally took them up to their room. He paused in
front of a room revealingly labelled 'toilet' and said that they
would be sharing it with some other guests, but it was only two
doors down from their room: very convenient. Wait, this wasn't
right!

"But I specifically asked for a room with bath!" She could
visualize waiting hours to bathe in the morning.

"Of course, Mrs. MacKenzie, you do have shower and sink in your
room." He seemed irritated at her lack of comprehension. "If
you wanted a toilet, too, you should have requested 'en suite'
facilities. We only have two rooms that have private lavatory
and bathing facilities and both of them are taken. Our historic
old buildings were not built with modern plumbing in mind."

Yes, yes, en suite. She remembered now. Oh, well, at least
they had a private shower. Had she brought a robe so she could
brave the corridor for a late night pee? She almost giggled at
the thought of shadowy people in various stages of undress
wandering the dark inn searching for a potty.

The inn-keeper stopped at the door to number four. "Well, here
you are. If I can be of help, let me know. Full English
breakfast from eight to nine thirty." He handed her the key.

She opened the door and stepped aside for Jimmy to carry in the
bags. As she followed, closing the door behind her, Jimmy
turned and gave her the strangest look, something between panic,
confusion, and... was there hidden amusement?

"Mom?"

When she looked around the room she saw the reason for his
shock.

A tiny room - barely enough floor space to set down the baggage!

One double bed! For her AND her son!

A shower stall about the size of a British phone booth in the
corner of the room! (A tiny sink and mirror hid in the opposite
corner, next to that side of the bed.)

Liz MacKenzie sat down in despair on the bed (the only place to
sit except for one upright wooden chair!), her head in her
hands. This was why the inn-keeper was so confused! What
could they do? How could she possibly share the bed with her
pubescent son?

Fortunately she had brought only flannel granny nightgowns,
since she had planned for them to share a room. Again she
remembered too late the proper terminology. She should have
requested a 'twin' room!

And the shower! She peeked through her fingers at it, praying
it would miraculously change. Bad enough that there was no
separate bathroom for privacy, but the shower walls were clear
plastic with just a row of decorative daisy decals about waist
height. Too high to hide... too low to cover... Oh, damn, damn,
damn.

The final, back-breaking straw was that she had booked the room
for two nights. And the manager had stressed that there wasn't
anything else available! Anywhere!

The room remained silent, still, for an interminable time.
Then Jimmy took a loud breath.

"Mom, this is weird, but I know its not your fault. We just
have to act natural, I guess." Act natural, yes. But how? She
heard Jimmy kick off his shoes. When she looked up he was
pulling off his shirt. "I got first shower. I feel kind of
funny, but you're my mother, so you've sure seen me naked. I
assume I was born that way." He laughed nervously at his
attempt at humor, and she looked up to give him a smile in
response. His undershirt flew onto the bed. Then, he looked
deeply into his mother's eyes, and, with a slight shrug of his
bare shoulders, in a quick motion pushed his pants and jockey
shorts down together. Stepping out of them, he stood nude in
front of her looking as embarrassed as only a teenager going
through puberty could be.

It was right in front of her face. A smooth tube of flesh,
arcing downward. About four inches long with just a small tuft
of reddish-brown hair (the MacKenzie blood) above it. She knew
well from her experiences with James and, well, with at least
one other man, that it was about half way between soft and hard.
She was glad they had chosen circumcision... My God, woman, her
mind screamed, don't stare, he's your son!

She looked up at his face, her cheeks crimson. He stared back,
embarrassment, surprise, and that unfathomable something else
flitting across his features. He turned around and walked
toward the shower. He glanced back once as he opened the shower
door, catching her staring at is compact, teenage ass.

She whirled away and tried to busy herself with some unpacking.
Heaving the biggest suitcase onto the bed, she extracted a
nightgown and toiletries. But her body was reacting to her
son's maleness; and her gaze kept returning to the shower, where
through the clear sides she could see her son's... her son's
handsome cock.

She resolutely tried to keep her thoughts on the problems with
the room, their plans for tomorrow, anything! But, oh Jesus,
now he's soaping it, and the ball-sac beneath. Is it growing?
Is he washing it or stroking it? Shit, he caught me looking
again! She had forgotten that if she could look in below the
daisies, he could look out above the daisies. She quickly went
around the bed so that as she worked her back was to him. She
could feel the moistness in her crotch, though, and her nipples
ached in their hardness. Finally, she heard the shower being
turned off and the shower door open.

"Mom, could you get me a towel?"

Towel? She glanced back at him in confusion and for the first
time noticed that there was no rack on the stall. Her eyes
searched dazedly around the room, and she saw that the towels
were hung by the sink on the other side of the bed. She moved
back around the bed, got one, and turned to bring it to him.
Act natural. Act natural.

He was standing, facing her, an uncertain smile on his face.
As she walked toward him, however, her eyes could not help but
stray downward again, and, u*********sly, she licked her
suddenly parched lips. He reacted, automatically and strongly,
and she realized by the tell-tale bouncy twitch of his manhood
that he was involuntarily hardening. Her eyes came back up
immediately, but the damage was done. He tried to stifle a
groan and moved both hands in front of his rising penis. She
held the towel out to him and turned away as soon as he took it.
One of his shielding hands, however, had necessarily moved away
from his now almost completely upright organ to take the towel.
As she turned, she saw out of the corner of her eye that he was
a man beyond his years.

Six inches? Yes, at least. Not as big as his father, or, some
others, but really, he's only thirteen. She stood still,
frozen, staring vacantly at the far wall, the image of his stiff
staff burned into her consciousness as he dried himself a few
feet behind her.

Slowly, out of the daze that had befuddled her since dinner
(she really shouldn't have drunk that pint of ale!) the thought
crystalized that she would have to take the next shower. Oh,
Liz, you stupid... ! She should have undressed while Jimmy was
showering and d****d herself with a towel. Then, perhaps tell
him not to look while she was washing in the stall. Now what?

Her son brushed by her (what was that rubbing against her hip?)
and in one motion whipped the towel onto the bed and plopped
down on his stomach on it, facing her. "Your turn, Ma. The
water gets hot fast, so watch out." He kept up a light patter
as he looked up at her, but his white, firm buttocks, still
brazenly bare, captured her attention.

As if hypnotized, she kicked out of her shoes and unbuttoned
her blouse. His small talk about the flight and their day
together provoked automatic replies as she shed the blouse and
opened her slacks. When she stepped out of her pants she
suddenly realized she was in her underwear standing less than
three feet in front of her thirteen year old c***d. Her face
reddened and she would have dived under the bed but for the
words that kept appearing in her mind: "Act natural." What
could she do? Make him stand in the corridor wearing his towel
while she bathed? Her body was, after all, nothing to be
ashamed of.

She really didn't look her thirty-two years. Her hair was
almost black, and she had it cut pixie-short. Her upturned nose
and small mouth made her face look almost adolescent, but her
body was mature. She still wore her light, wispy 34C bra, but
it did nothing to hide her aroused dark brown nipples. Her
great pride was that even with C-cup breasts, which looked huge
on her diminutive form, she needed no support. Oh, they
bobbled, but did not sag at all. She could pass the pencil test
easily. Her waist was 21", and her hips widened gracefully to
33" (34" if she'd been sneaking desserts). Her translucent
white panties were french-cut, in fact almost a thong in the
rear, and her shiny black pubic curls had been trimmed and
partially shaved to fit inside the panties' sharp vee. The
shadowy dark patch of hair formed a perfect triangle pointing
down to where the wispy silk clung to her damp, swollen labia.
Her legs were long in proportion to her short frame - her crotch
was almost at the same level as Jimmy's when they stood side by
side. To be succinct, she was the most beautiful and desirable
female her young son could imagine.

She realized she'd best get on with it, her underwear wasn't
hiding anything anyway (act natural) so she reached to unhook
her front-opening bra. Just as she undid the clasp, she noticed
that Jimmy's butt had started flexing, pressing his hips
rhythmically into the towel. She suddenly felt like a stripper
forced to perform for some Lodge smoker. As the expression
goes, she lost it.

"Jimmy! What in the world do you think you're doing? This
situation isn't just an excuse for you rub yourself off on the
bath towel. I'm your mother, for God's sake, not some slut in a
Penthouse magazine. Yes, a Penthouse magazine like those you
hide under your bed when you're not masturbating." Jimmy's head
snapped back as if she had slapped him. Tears formed in his
eyes. She began to realize that she had overdone it by
mentioning the magazines. She had never meant to admit she knew
about that. It was his secret: every boy's secret. But once
started, she couldn't stop. It was as if all her fears and
frustrations burst out at once.

"Roll over!" She pushed at his shoulder, and, in shock, he
docilely rolled onto his back. "I knew it. Can't I trust you
at all? Look at you. Don't you have any self-control? You're
disgusting!" It was true that his young cock stood hard and
swollen. The dark red of the pulsing corona and the shiny drop
of precum testified to the height of his excitement. As he
looked up at his furious mother, though, her now naked breasts
waving in his face, he seemed to calm and his face suffused with
something akin to anger.

"Oh, yeah, mom. It's all my fault I got a boner. I tried to
make up for you getting this crazy room by ignoring the
situation. But you kept looking and looking at my dick. Even
sneaking peeks while I was showering. Now you've rolled me over
so you can scope it out close up. Well, look, dammit," he
arched his back, thrusting his pelvis at her, "but if I stare a
little at the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, please don't
think I'm some kind of creep." He lowered his eyes and sniffed.
"I'm sorry about the Penthouses. Sometimes I just can't help
wanting to... to jack off! I won't do it any more."

It was like cold water splashing her face. She dropped to one
knee next to the bed and stroked his hair gently. "Jimmy, I'm
so sorry. Oh, how could you ever forgive me. Of course you
became excited. And when a man," she emphasized the word 'man',
"gets excited his penis gets... erect, whether he wants it to or
not. You couldn't help it." She took his face in her hands and
gently kissed his brow. (He almost gasped at the feel of her
soft, naked tits against his shoulder and chest.) "You're
right, my darling son, I did stare at you. I was surprised and
proud at how much of a man you've become. And thank you for the
compliment about my figure. But really, your old mom can't
compete with the 'young chicks.' I'm enough of a realist to
know that."

He put his arm loosely around his mother's shoulder, hoping she
would remain pressed against him. "No lie, Mother, if your
picture was in Penthouse, they'd sell out, and all the men in
America would be walking around with hard-ons."

Liz MacKenzie laughed and squeezed Jimmy against her. "Now
don't fib, your nose will grow. And believe me, I don't mind at
all about the girlie magazines. If you didn't masturbate I'd
worry about you! I was just so frustrated and tired that I took
it all out on you. I deserve a spanking, not you... " Her
voice trailed off.

His chin was on her shoulder so she couldn't see the change in
his expression at her words. His voice stayed meek and mild,
however, as he asked, "So can we just try to be natural
together? Even if I can't help getting excited now and then?
I'll try not to."

She was still feeling guilty and apologetic, so she had to
accede. "Of course, dear. We'll just remember we're mother and
son. If you get an erection, I'll just try to ignore it and
take it as a compliment." It sounded reasonable, but she had
misgivings even as she spoke. What was she getting herself into?

She released him and straightened. Now she couldn't be coy.
She couldn't make him turn around or look away. He faced her
but remained on his side, hard cock projecting from his groin.

"Well, I might as well relieve the suspense," she laughed hollowly.
She threw her bra onto the bed next to Jimmy and bent
to slide down her panties. He watched with concealed delight as
her breasts hung wobbling and her Venus mound appeared.

She stood erect, legs slightly apart. Arms raised and spread.
His eyes fastened on her cunt lips, completely revealed due to
her pubic trimming. They were slightly open, and the
reddish-pink flesh inside peeked through. A sheen of moisture
covered the inner slit.

"Well, here's your ol' ma, buck naked. Now if you're done
gawking why don't you unpack your things while I get clean."

She pirouetted gracefully and strode toward the shower. Her
young son almost came all over the bed watching her magnificent
ass flex and sway.

Two people seemed to go very purposefully about their business
for the next fifteen minutes. Liz MacKenzie washed her hair and
scrubbed herself dutifully. But she kept her eyes either closed
or downcast. She didn't want to catch her son ogling her, and
deep down she knew he was. So she moved around in the shower,
presenting each part of herself to his gaze, hoping that once
the novelty had worn off, it WOULD be possible for them to be
natural around each other.

Jimmy MacKenzie busied himself unpacking, but his eyes never
left his mother's body. He was learning how desirable a woman
could look wet and slick with soap. Her nipples were engorged -
almost an inch long - and her pussy looked glistening and
swollen. She even spread apart the lips as she washed, as if
she wanted him to see her completely. He seemed to intuit that
she would not glance up, that somehow she would be afraid of
catching him. He thought briefly about jacking off. Jeez he
was horny! But u*********sly he realized that he would be
letting his mother off the hook. Especially if she saw. Better
to keep her feeling that she was somehow responsible for his
sexual frustration.

When she finally finished, she saw that he had donned his
jockey shorts - she assumed he would sleep in them - and was
fetching a towel.

"Oh, thanks, hon. I should have remembered." She held a hand
out for it.

He moved in closer to her, however, and gently pushed on her
shoulder, turning her around. Before she had time to question
or protest, he had d****d her head with the heavy towel and was
firmly rubbing, drying her hair. Her initial tensing at his
approach was immediately replaced by tendrils of pleasure that
began in her scalp and flowed down her neck to her back then
surged through her whole body.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh! Oh, Jesus, Jimmy. Your allowance just got
doubled. Just do this for me every day of my life!"

All the exhaustion and tension was pouring out of her, replaced
by a heavenly lassitude. She made no protest when, her hair
dried, he proceeded to dry her back. His strong hands, working
over the towel, kneaded her shoulders, provoking another
sensuous purr. As he worked down her back, she began to tense -
he could see her white ass cheeks tighten and begin to clench -
so he skipped down to her calves, drying and kneading. She
relaxed again, but suddenly he sped up, rubbing from her knees
up her thighs, and before she could react, he was drying (and
still kneading, kneading, kneading) her soft, bare buttocks.
After her acceptance of his original ministrations, she couldn't
find the words to stop him now. How did he know that her ass
was the key to her sexuality? He made a careful project of it:
drying every inch, almost hurting as his fingers dug in. He
even ran the towel, firmed by his fingers, down through her
nether crack, then back up it again. She shivered in a confused
flurry of thoughts and sensations.

When he softly pulled on her arm to turn her around, she could
tell he was squatting behind her, staring at the shaved regions
between her lags. She couldn't let him... not her front! She
turned enough to reach for the towel. "I think I'd better take
it from here, dear." She tried to smile gently. "We'd better
not overdo this 'natural' thing."

He released the towel, blushing slightly. She faced him,
shielded by the towel, and started to dry herself. He rose part
way, then tried to crab backward toward the bed. In spite of
his efforts, she could see his hard-on tenting out his
underpants.

She felt reassured by his boyish embarrassment. "Jimmy, would
you hand me my nightgown? It's there on the pillow."

He turned his back with some relief and reached across the bed
for the gown. Grabbing it, he was turning to hand it to her
when it unfolded in his grasp. He paused and examined the long,
bulky garment.

"Mom, its summer. Why do you want to wear this flannel thing.
Look, long sleeves and it will reach your ankles. Did you plan
this so you'd be all covered up with me only in my underpants."
He straightened, showing graphically that his erection hadn't
completely disappeared.

"It's what I brought along, let's leave it at that. It's what
I want to wear."

"Look. It's still got the price tag on it. $7.95 at Walmart?
Since when are you buying clothes there? And why did you buy
this special for our summer vacation? What do you usually wear
to bed? That would be more fair!"

She didn't want to answer any of his questions. Yes, she had
bought the flannel gowns for this trip to cover herself
completely. She didn't plan ever to wear them again so she
bought cheap ones. And she certainly didn't want to admit that
she had slept naked for years and years, ever since...

"Look, Jimmy, just to keep the peace and get some sleep, I'll
sleep in my underwear just like you." She passed a hand over
her eyes. She shouldn't, but couldn't bear another argument.
"Hand me my bra and panties and let's get to bed."

As her son turned to the bed again she couldn't see the gleam
in his eye and the hint of a smile on his face. He had moved
the suitcase off the bed and placed her flimsy undergarments
prominently on the quilt. He picked one garment up with each
hand and eyed the bra critically.

"You're not going to bother with this, are you, mom? I saw the
lines it made on your skin when you took it off. And I'm only
wearing one thing. To be fair... "

"Damn it, Jimmy, why do you have to push it. All right!" She
was close to screaming. Please just let me sleep! "I'll just
wear the panties. You're not fooling me though, mister, you
just want to see my boobs."

She drew on the sexy panties as Jimmy got under the covers.
She walked around the tiny room, turning out lights, knowing
that her suddenly sex-crazed (no, that was unfair) that her
young son coming to grips with the reality of sex was watching
every bounce of her big breasts, every twitch of her rippling
butt. With a sigh of relief she slid under the covers. One
more thing to make clear.

"Jimmy, this was never supposed to happen, us sleeping in the
same bed. There's bound to be some contact as we roll over in
our sleep, we'll have to live with that. But if I wake to find
even one finger of yours touching where it shouldn't, you're
sleeping on the floor for the two nights. Is that clear?"

"Yes, mom." Timidly. Two full minutes of silence, then: "Can
I ask one question?"

"Yes, dear." Said with a tired sigh.

"When men get excited by a girl, they get hard-ons. They can't
stop it. Does something like that happen to a girl when she
gets excited by a man? I'm not trying to be dirty, mom, I
really want to know."

What could she say? It was a reasonable question, especially
with the problems he had had that evening. She was his only
parent now that James was out of the picture, solely responsible
for his sex education.

"Things do happen to women, Jimmy, but they're less apparent.
A lot of the time a woman's nipples will enlarge. She'll get
little hard-ons on her breasts." She giggled with him. "What
really shows that a woman is aroused, though, is moistness or
wetness in her vagina. It's called secreting, and when a woman
is extremely excited it can even leak out on her labia and onto
her inner thighs." Whew. Her own secretions had started
flowing just from talking aloud about it.

"Oh. Thanks, mom."

She sensed him turning onto his side to go to sleep. That's
it? 'Thanks, mom'? She had sweated bullets talking to a
thirteen year old boy about what hot, horny cunts are like and
all it's worth is 'Oh'? A weird ending to a weird day. She
closed her tired eyes and tried to quell those fiery tinglings
in her crotch.


From [email protected] Thu Feb 06 16:10:17 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story * An English Vacation 2/7*
From: [email protected] (123k**)
Date: Thu, 06 Feb 1997 21:10:17 GMT

*************************************
***** I'm not the author ****
***** 123k** ****
*************************************

Subject: An English Vacation, Ch.2, mf
From: [email protected]

AN ENGLISH VACATION
by Irving Washington
II. A New Day

Three male faces loomed before her, each grim. The counten-
ances were shadowed but terrifyingly familiar. She could make out
that they differed greatly in age.

"Naughty! Naughty girl!"

The words echoed from three mouths as she stood cowering in
front of them, head lowered in shame. She wore a simple girlish
dress with a short flared skirt, white cotton anklets and patent
leather shoes. She could feel she was naked beneath the thin dress.
The booming voices sent chills of fear and excitement down her
spine to her rear sphincter which clenched spasmodically. She
opened her mouth to protest, to beg, to plead that she hadn't done
anything wrong, that she wasn't being naughty...

And was shaken awake by the bed bouncing beneath her.

It was already light, but the red digits on the bedside clock
showed 5:30. From some stray memory synapse her mind made precise
the time as A.M., Greenwich Time. That connection caused memories
to slowly slide into place in her sleepy brain as the vivid dream
lost its hold and faded. She was left with the mysteriously
vibrating bed.

Liz MacKenzie turned toward the boy sleeping next to her. He was
on his stomach, mouth open, with almost a grimace distorting his
features. The quilt had been pushed down and she could see his
underwear-clad hips grinding rapidly into the mattress. His
breathing became rapid barking gasps as his hand pushed under him
toward his abdomen.

She almost panicked, almost grabbed and shook him or screamed
for help or something equally stupid. Just in time she realized
that for the first time in her life she was witnessing a male in
the grips of a wet dream. It was something she had always tried to
imagine in her erotic thoughts about men. She watched in aroused
silence as the pace frenzied, he stiffened, and then his hips
rammed into the bed and he growled out his climax. She suddenly
desperately wanted to use her fingers, a pillow, anything, to
duplicate for her awake and almost painfully stimulated self what
her son had just done asleep.

Fortunately, he stayed asleep, so she had time to collect her
thoughts. To her credit, even though she knew he had u*********sly
masturbated in i****tuous lust for her body, she never felt angry,
but instead sympathized immediately. The night before he had viewed
her entire body, had rubbed and caressed her nakedness through a
towel. He had seen things and done things beyond the wildest dreams
of a thirteen year old boy. She was surprised he had been able to
sleep at all without relief. She certainly had had trouble. And now
he's going to wake up to damp embarrassment with no way to hide it.
She tried to think of how she could pretend nothing had happened,
or be out of bed when he got up. She decided that nothing like
that would work. Well, she was intimately involved, was his mother,
and was placed in a situation where only openness could possibly
work. So she laid back, closed her eyes, and tried to get a little
more sleep before he awoke.



She only dozed, her mind filled with thoughts and memories that
did nothing to alleviate the sexual ache in her body. It was still
only about 6:00 A.M. when she felt purposeful movement against her
hip. Then a mournful groan and a loud whisper:

"Shit!"

He had turned onto his back, their sides touching. She rolled
toward him and lifted herself on an elbow. Now her pelvis was
pressed against his side and one bare breast rested on his
shoulder. She suddenly realized she was presenting him with a
closeup view of her naked chest, but she didn't want to make either
of them self-conscious by squirming away at this particular moment.

"Good morning, son. It gets light early here, doesn't it?"

He mumbled a reply. She could tell that he was trapped between
the desire to move away so she wouldn't feel the sticky wetness of
his shame, or to snuggle closer against that nipple which was hot
against his flesh.

"Jimmy, I know what happened." She touched his briefs. He jerked
as if a live wire had touched him. "Believe me, there's nothing to
be ashamed of. It happens to all virile young men, especially after
a sexually frustrating night."

"Aawww, mom." He first made as if to turn away, hands covering
his groin, but then realized he had the excuse to cuddle. He moved
his head toward her, placing his cheek against her lower breast
while his breath ignited lustful embers in her upper one. She
flushed as he watched a nipple swell and harden.

She breathed deeply but didn't move away. "Now listen. No
damage has been done except to a pair of underpants which I will be
happy to wash out for you. Now stay exactly as you are, young man,
and that's an order."

She drew away from him and rose from the bed, still nearly
naked. The sink was on her side so she merely turned to it, took
a wash rag, and wetted it thoroughly with warm water. During the
night her french cut panties had drawn up completely into her
buttocks furrow, so Jimmy had a magnificent view. She wondered why
she had put on this particular pair of panties, panties she usually
only wore when they were likely to be admired. Returning to the
bed, she knelt over her wide-eyed son, placed the rag on his
stomach and gently started pulling down his sticky jockey shorts.

"Mom!" But he remained motionless, only closing his eyes.

She tugged the briefs off his feet and threw them into the sink.
Then, reclaiming the washcloth, she began to gently wash his
abdomen and smooth, boyish sex organs. Her original intention was
to give him reassurance and motherly care, but from the first
moment her fingers touched his secret flesh another part of her
being took over. She somehow resisted an almost overpowering urge
to kiss his limp penis, but could not keep from stroking and
petting it with her soft fingers as well as with the cloth.

The fact that only thirty minutes had passed since his last
climax meant nothing to a thirteen year old adolescent with a
beautiful, almost-naked woman's deft hands caressing him. Jimmy's
head came up and his eyes gaped as his mother lifted his cock with
one hand, alternately squeezing and tickling it, and spread the
warm cloth around his balls with the other. He was hard again in
seconds. Her expression didn't change - even though her pulse rate
doubled - as she held the stiff member up by its base and gently,
but oh so thoroughly, bathed it.

"There, I think that's got you clean. Just a second, I'll get
a towel."

Her eyes never left his groin as she tossed the rag in the sink
and found a hand towel. She came back and wrapped him in the terry
cloth, then gently rubbed and rubbed and rubbed to dry him off.
Finally she squeezed the towel encircling his hard cock, then
pulled up firmly to complete the job. As the rough terry cloth
slid up and off he almost 'came' along with it. A moment of silence
followed as his breathing slowed down. Both of them seemed
hypnotized by his pulsing cock.

"Mom, jeez," he looked at her naked breasts, her revealing
panties, "I guess I should thank you. That really felt... God, it
felt good. But what do I do now? If I even last till tonight it's
going to happen again. But, Mom, I don't think I can last until
tonight."

She slowly drifted out of her sensual haze and returned to
mother mode.

Oh, damn. She felt her color rise: what had she been thinking
of? If she had washed it immediately, while he was still sated...
No, with a teenager there's probably zero recovery time. Each time
I do something it gets me in deeper and deeper. Now he was close
to demanding that some sort of sexual activity occur.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy, I didn't think. I just didn't want you to be
embarrassed. This is going to sound completely crazy, but we'll
have to change the rules so masturbation is allowed. No, not just
allowed, encouraged. If you want to, well, 'jack off' now. Feel
free. We can't have you walking around like that all day, these
British girls would steal you away from me." She tried to smile
while his expression became unfathomable. He almost looked like a
chess master working out strategies many moves in the future.

"Really? It's okay?" His face became, too suddenly, youthful
again. His expression resolved into innocent puzzlement. "Do girls
mistibate too? Cause I can see that you're excited just like me."

Her arms instinctively wrapped themselves around her torso to
shield herself. "Jimmy! How dare you!" But she looked down and saw
that all the signs that she had taught him were visible. Nipples
stiff as soldiers, and her panties! She'd have to wash them along
with his cum-stained shorts. Between her spread thighs the whole
shield area was discolored and visibly damp. She dropped her arms,
defeated - to the relief of her son, who was knew there was a
possibility that she would blow her top again.

"Yes, Jimmy," she breathed deeply, "women do mASTURbate. And,
yes, I guess I've become sexually excited handling you. But I don't
think it would be a good idea at all for me to do... things... in
front of you. Remember, I'm your mother, and you're only thirteen."

"Well then, remember, I'm your son, Mom! Do you think it would
be easy for me to beat my meat with you just watching? And you need
to do it as bad as me, don't you? You didn't have a wet dream, and
you were excited last night, too. I saw!"

He beamed at his youthful logic. When his mother didn't reply,
but only stared blankly at him, he sensed correctly that he had won
if he proceeded without reawakening her sense of responsibility.

He gently put his hands on her shoulders and moved her down onto
her back next to him on the bed. No resistance. So he sat up and,
grasping the sides of her panties in his two hands, slid them down
her body. As he pulled them away from her crotch he could feel the
wet stickiness attempting to hold them in place. His mother felt
it, too, and she seemed to surrender to the evidence of her secret,
burning lust, lifting her hips and legs to help him.

He tossed the garment next to his in the sink.

He moved her legs apart, displaying her sex as fully as in the
Penthouse photos he loved. He was happy she trimmed her pubic hair
away from her snatch, like most of the Pets did. He knew the
little knob near the top of her damp lips was called a clit. And it
was bigger and redder than it had been last night.

He heard what sounded like a stifled sob in her throat.

Lifting her far hand, he placed it on her mound and d****d its
fingers down onto her pussy. The close hand he placed on her
tittie.

"Show me, mom." He whispered. "Show me what girls do."

As if a robot under voice control, her hands started to move. He
saw her stroke her breast delicately, then work at her nipple with
the tips of her fingers. Small, pimple-like bumps covered her
aureole around the stiff nipple. Soon she was pinching and pulling
at the dark central nubbin, harder and harder. She groaned but kept
at it, seemingly in a trance.

At the same time her other hand began moving, her fingers
lightly skipping over the whole region from her navel, down to her
pelvic bones and pubic hair, around her swollen pussy lips and onto
her inner thighs. After what seemed to be minutes of this teasing,
her three middle fingers began concentrating on the lips, the
middle one lightly stroking up over the red swollen button - her
clit! The other two started to press against the sides of the
clit's sheath as she concentrated on this area exclusively. They
were always talking about 'clits' in Penthouse Letters. According
to the letter writers, it was what really turned a chick on. And
boy, it was working on his mother! Her hips were beginning to move
in rhythm with her stroking.

The surprising success of his gambit so far made him want to try
more. Her eyes were now open, but she was staring at the ceiling,
as if trying to convince herself she was alone. She felt his hand
gently pull hers away from her tit. He laid this arm along her side
between their close bodies, and as it relaxed, he moved slightly so
the back of her hand rested against his hard prick. She felt one of
his hands start to knead the soft, full breast her hand had
abandoned, and she shook her head no, but her other hand kept
pressing and teasing her aroused clitoris. When he pulled that
hand away, stopping her now compulsive masturbation, he had to tug
firmly as she groaned and resisted. He drew it up to her far breast
where it automatically began copying the motions of his caressing
hand, tweaking the engorged nipple with three fingers.

Now his free hand moved to her belly. The skin - his mother's
delicate skin! - was wonderfully soft and smooth. Her stomach
muscles rippled and she groaned "Nnnnooooo" at his touch, but he
copied her earlier touches until his fingers were gently brushing
her inner thighs and perineum. He concentrated on this region, even
tickling her anus briefly, then moved up with three fingers, as he
had watched her do, onto her labia and to her clitoris. He pressed
the nub with his middle finger, then released and squeezed the
sides with index and ring fingers, repeating this pattern
rhythmically, until her pelvis again began to move in response. His
explorations were not complete, however. He decided to solve THE
puzzle.

The ultimate adolescent boy's question has always been 'Where's
the fuck-hole?" There has to be one, but even the spread shots in
the girlie magazines don't show any way a big hard dick could get
up inside the girl. Jimmy had to find out. His three fingers moved
down his mother's slit, pressing inward, and suddenly, amazingly,
they were sucked into a wet, clinging pit!

"Aaaaahhhh!! Jimmy! NO! You can't do that!" But she wasn't
screaming, just whispering loudly, her head shaking rapidly back
and forth, but her eyes still blankly focused on the plaster
ceiling.

He knew enough not to take her at her word. She was absolving
herself from responsibility as his mother, nothing more. Instead he
removed his other hand from her breast and used it to wrap her free
hand around his hard cock. She grasped it with a fervor that was
almost painful to him. As he began moving his fingers in and out of
her foaming cunt, she kept up a counterpoint on his rigid dick.

After just a few seconds, he knew he would cum if she continued.
He moved her hand down from his cock to his balls. "Slow down a
little, mom. This is the most awesome thing ever to happen to me -
with the sexiest broad in the world. I don't want to shoot right
away."

Impulsively he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips
while wiggling his fingers in her hot hole. She emitted a guttural
sigh and pulled him down onto her, kissing him passionately with
open lips and invading tongue. He learned quickly, and they stayed
entwined, his fingers driving deeper and deeper, again and again
into her splayed cunt. Meanwhile, with womanly expertise, her
fingers gently touched and teased, stroked and squeezed his inner
thighs, balls, and throbbing prick.

Finally, her hip movements became frenzied. Strange sounds came
from the back of her throat. She closed her fist on his iron-hard
cock and pistoned rapidly up and down. He matched her motion,
keeping his fingers slightly spread and stiff as they rammed into
her. As he felt the sperm rising inexorably from his balls, his
mother's hips rose a foot - no, two feet! - off the bed and her
cunt gaped so wide his fingers couldn't feel the sides. Her face
was a grimace as she tried to stifle a scream.

"Ooohhhh! G-g-godddd! M-m-m-mommm!" His cry couldn't be stifled
as an explosion of his cum spurted violently all the way up to her
chin with such force that it splattered. Then her inner muscles
contracted mightily and squeezed his invading hand like a vise.
Gasping, she opened again just as he shot a second wad onto her
breasts. Their mutual contractions kept on and on and on... until
hers diminished to twitches of her pelvis, and his to dribblings
onto her belly.

He flopped down onto his back, completely spent. They lay side
by side, afraid to look at each other, as their breathing returned
to normal.

"Jimmy..." Her voice trailed off. She could think of nothing to
say, no way to give voice to the turmoil of emotions she felt.
After a few minutes - an eternity to both of them his hand edged
slowly to hers and gently held it. She squeezed. He squeezed in
return. Their communication complete, both closed their eyes and
slept as the new day brightened around them.




From [email protected] Thu Feb 06 16:10:21 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story * An English Vacation 3/7*
From: [email protected] (123k**)
Date: Thu, 06 Feb 1997 21:10:21 GMT

*************************************
***** I'm not the author ****
***** 123k** ****
*************************************

~Subject: An English Vacation, Chapter 3 (Mf - REPOST)
~From: [email protected]

* * * * * * * *
An English Vacation

3. Coup d'Etat

When Liz MacKenzie awoke it was nearly eight o'clock. She was
still sprawled on her back, but Jimmy had rolled into a fetal
position, his back to her. She decided to let him sleep - she had
laundry to do.

She smiled. She hadn't had this kind of laundry since her
honeymoon f******n years ago. She rose, stretching, and looked down
at herself. Dried cum. She'd wait and shower later. Jimmy would
feel cheated if he didn't get to watch...

Hmmm, she shouldn't think that way, but on this particular
morning, what the hell!

As she ran the basin full of hot water and scrubbed the
underwear, she began dancing from one foot to the other. Damn.
Bathroom two doors down and I'm buck naked. She wrung out the
panties and jockey underpants and d****d them on the towel rod. Her
eyes searched the room for something to slip on quickly. Flannel
nightgown: no, Jimmy might think she was reneging on her promise.
Her blouse and pants: too much trouble. How about a naked dash. She
giggled silently. When she was still with her former husband James
she'd probably have ended up walking slowly and deliberately down
the corridor absolutely naked, embarrassed to death but directed to
greet anyone with a smiling "Good Morning." A tremor ran down her
spine, finishing at her clenching anus. That part of her life was
over.

What about Jimmy's shirt? It had tails, fore and aft, and she
was shorter than he, especially through the torso. It would cover
everything vital. She quickly donned the shirt, feeling wicked and
shameless. Except for some tightness across her chest (she had
trouble buttoning two of the buttons), and the fact that it didn't
button all the way down, so it might just flutter apart exposing
her matted mound, it seemed to be okay. And she had no time to
change her mind. Oh, God, if the bathroom is in use, the corridor's
going to have a wet carpet.

She opened the door and remembered just in time to take the key.
With a deep breath she drew her head up and shoulders back. She was
roguishly determined not to look down at the condition of the
shirt- flaps. She marched slowly to the lavatory, entering it and
closing the door softly behind her.. The room was free, so she sat
and emptied herself with a sigh of relief. Exiting the bathroom,
she started to retrace her steps. Behind her, she heard a door
opening. Was the tail covering her? It felt like it was, but the
hem of the shirt rose up on her sides worse than a French cut
bathing suit. Her hipbones were exposed. She continued her slow,
stately walk down the hall. Could the person see? Did he realize
that she had nothing on under the shirt? After an eternity, she
reached her door and tried to insert the key without bending. The
lock turned. She opened the door...

And tripped on the sill, tumbling onto the bed, bare ass high in
the air.

Jimmy awoke with a start as his mother's body hit his legs. He
looked down toward the foot of the bed in time to see her scrabble
down onto the floor, crawl with her pretty, naked tail wagging, and
close the open door.

He finally got the whole story out of his embarrassed parent.
His poorly stifled laughter was infectious, and Liz finally joined
her son in giggly speculation on what had gone through the mystery
spectator's mind during her 'performance'.

By the time they calmed down, Jimmy was fidgeting with the need
to piss, but his mother decided - to his disappointment - that the
shirt would not adequately conceal his dangling member. So he
donned his pants and hurried down the hall. When he returned they
took turns showering (and watching). Jimmy insisted on drying his
mother's body slowly and thoroughly. There was no question this
time of who would dry her front. He noted to her that one small
area (between her legs) kept getting wet, no matter how many times
he dried it, but she pushed away his invading fingers, insisting
that they simply couldn't spend their entire vacation in one
continuous orgy. With a melodramatic groan, the boy stuffed his
latest erection into his briefs. They dressed and went down to
breakfast.

A full English breakfast is a feast, and the innkeeper, a bulky
but not particularly fat man in his forties, was particularly
solicitous of the American mother and son. He went out of his way
to ask if their DOUBLE room had been satisfactory. His grin almost
became a leer when Jimmy assured him the two of them had had a
wonderful night together, while Liz shrank, blushing, into her
chair. She almost choked on her bacon when the man added that he
was pleased that they had had no trouble finding the toilet in the
morning. He winked at Jimmy as he commented that he would have to
fix that door sill.

Gathering up their camera, umbrellas, and other tourist gear,
they set out to see Stratford and the surrounding countryside. The
day was warm and stayed fair - a 'glorious' day as the English
would phrase it - and aside from the usual problems that foreigners
have driving the British roads, their sightseeing was most
satisfactory. Stratford was a disappointment, even to Liz, so they
quickly got out of that tourist trap and headed down toward the
Cotswolds.

As the day progressed, however, Liz had more and more misgivings
about the events of the preceding night and morning. She was
sensible enough to realize that she wasn't some monster sexually
abusing her c***d. Perhaps some thirteen year old girls needed to
be protected from some adult men (she wasn't even sure of that),
but any thirteen year old boy worth his salt would give 'his left
nut' (she smiled to herself at the male phrase she had picked up at
some unremembered occasion during her own adolescence) to do what
Jimmy had done with ANY female between 11 and 40. No, it wasn't
societal taboos. The main problem was that she had lost the control
she needed as his mother. She could still feel his gentle but so
firm hands directing hers that morning in bed. She had been like a
marionette on strings, doing and even feeling exactly what her
puppeteer wanted her to.

She had spent so much of her life controlled by others... She
had thought she was free... Didn't she really want freedom?

Late in the afternoon, they walked along a public footpath
between two fields. The breeze was cool, the vistas were splendid,
and there didn't seem to be another human being for miles. Jimmy
took her hand gently and walked beside her. A few minutes later,
however, his arm slipped around her waist; and as they crested a
hill and paused to enjoy the view, he gently but firmly pulled her
to him. His open lips approached her mouth, his hands slid down
from her waist to clasp her yielding buttocks, pulling them apart
as he squeezed one, then the other. The sensations were so
immediate and strong she almost surrendered to her ardent son. With
an effort of will, however, she smoothly turned her mouth aside,
brushing his warm lips. She gave him a motherly peck on his cheek,
and simultaneously pirouetted from his grasp. She mumbled a smiling
admonition about being more careful in public, but her troubled
mind kept returning to the coming night in that tiny room. In that
double bed!

The last straw came at dinner that evening. They had stopped at
a small restaurant recommended by their tourist guidebook. As they
were eating dessert, Jimmy started chattering eagerly: No need for
clothes in the room, huh, Ma? I bet neither of us goes to sleep
horny tonight (a leer and a quick caress of her knee under the
table). We might as well wait and shower after - although I'd
really get turned on watching you soaping yourself before, Mom.

Not wanting a confrontation in front of bystanders, Liz kept a
smile on her face. Her only contributions to his impassioned talk
were frequent pleas with him to lower his voice. As they walked to
the car after she had paid their check, she finally began to voice
her reservations about their conduct the previous night.

During the short drive to the inn and as they mounted the stairs
to their room, she explained over and over that what had happened
the night before was not really wrong, but she had a responsibility
to be his mother first, and that was incompatible with being his
lover. She tried to preserve his ego by stressing that if he acted
as maturely and sensually with his future girlfriends as he had
with her that morning, he would be the most popular guy in his
school. She emphasized that she had enjoyed it, he had enjoyed it,
but they must both allow it to fade into a beautiful memory. As
they walked down the corridor, she told him that they would have to
discuss and agree on new rules of conduct for their last night's
stay in this small room.

Throughout her speech, Jimmy made no argument. He seemed
interested, but in a strangely remote way, in what she had to say.
As he closed the door behind them after they entered the tiny room,
he finally spoke, his adolescent voice pitched unusually low but
thunderous to his mother's ears...

"Has LIZZY-BUTT been a naughty little girl?"

Elizabeth MacKenzie froze, her back to her son. Her knees almost
buckled as she heard the words that had ruled her youth. In her
mind she became eleven years old again, although the ritual went
back much further than that... back to before she could even
remember. The particular time that her mind was reliving she had
been ordered into her father's dark, paneled study, and from behind
her back as he closed the door, her father had spoken the same
words her son spoke now. There had never been more than one
acceptable answer then. She could not keep from repeating it
dutifully now.

"Y-y-yes, sir, I've been a naughty girl."

Jimmy walked around her and sat at the bottom of the bed. He was
attempting to keep his demeanor severe, but there was a hint of awe
in his eyes - awe that it had been so easy: that the simple
question he had uttered had changed the female in front of him from
a lecturing, confident adult to a humble, cowering c***d with
stooped shoulders and downcast eyes.

She knew her part in this, and was completely conditioned to
play it, but she ventured one query outside the script. She had to
know. "Did James tell you about this when you visited him?" Her
voice was soft, timorous. Her former husband was the only other
person who knew, who understood.

"Father explained enough so that I could take over for him and
for Grandpa. But no more of that. What naughty things has
Lizzy-Butt done?"

This was the question she hated most. Sometimes her Daddy had
known something she had done. In that case, she had better confess
it, or be punished until she did, then get a double dose for not
admitting it immediately. Often she didn't know of anything bad she
had done. If she made up something really naughty the punishment
could be severe. But if she made up something fairly innocent he
might keep pumping her for more. Once she had 'confessed' to a
whole list of sins, and he had merely patted her head and told her
that she hadn't been too bad and skipped to the part after the
queerly exciting pain. She had tried to be especially pleasing to
him that evening, but had felt a peculiar hollow feeling as if she
had somehow not met his expectations.

In this case she didn't have to think long. Jimmy certainly
wouldn't consider their nudity or sexual contacts as wrong.

"I gave you reason to think we could... do s-s-sex things
together. Then I would tell you we couldn't. I wasn't f-f-fair or
honest last night or today."

"That's all? What about reserving this particular kind of room
- and that underwear you had on yesterday wasn't what you'd wear to
church!"

"I really don't know. I've been thinking about that all day."
She took a deep breath. "I guess I wanted you to see me as
something other than a thirty-something year old mother."

"Do you know what men call girls like you?" His voice was harsh,
but his eyes were on her body, not her face.

She was lost, what did he want her to say? "I don't know, Jimmy.
I'm sorry for what I did."

"First, never call me Jimmy again. In public you can say 'Jim'
or 'my son', but in a respectful tone of voice. When we're alone
like this I think you should give me an English title - you must've
chose this country for some reason. Call me 'Lord'. Dad said he was
'Master'. Do you understand?"

Could she make herself call her thirteen year old son 'Lord'?
Should she?

"Yes... my Lord."

She had passed beyond the pale. She had belonged body and soul
to her father, then to her husband, now... now to her son. Three
men. She remembered last night's dream. Was this her wish all
along?

"Second, you do know the answer to my question, and I'll give
you one more chance to tell me what people call someone who acts
like you did." His rephrasing of the question allowed the penny to
drop in her dazed mind. "A w-wom... girl like me is called a
prick-tease... " the hesitation grew into a dead pause. The boy
waited. "... my L-L-Lord."

"What are you, mother?"

"I'm a prick-tease, s-s... Lord."

"Should you be punished, prick-tease?" His smile was almost
evil. He knew now she was his helpless slave.

"Yes, my Lord."

"I'm waiting."

He had learned the lines well. The ritual called for her to bare
herself from the waist down. It was worst when she wore a dress or
body- stocking. Fortunately she was dressed in slacks. She slowly
pushed them down her legs. Although she had pranced about the room
naked in the early morning light, stripping like this, under the
glaring ceiling bulb, under duress, was humiliating. Her cotton
panties followed her slacks, and she stepped out of both. She stood
humbly, fuzzy pubic triangle on display in front of her son. As she
stared down at it, she saw to her complete mortification that it
glistened with her need.

"Over my lap." He picked a corner of the bed and sat so that the
width of the bed was on his left.

She moved around and lay across him, feet on the floor, thighs
and pelvis across his lap, upper torso and head on the bed.
Automatically she assumed the posture dictated by her father long
ago. She locked her knees and spread her legs. This served to arch
her back and present her soft ripe rump slightly in the air. It
also opened her, exposing her two most personal orifices to the
spanker's eye.

"Wow!" Jim was 'Lord' but he was still an adolescent. He was in
heaven. He owned this gorgeous ass! His hands stroked the soft, yet
firm flesh. He ran a finger of his left hand from her coccyx down
the crack to the dark asterisk of her anus. Her pelvis shrank from
him briefly as she gave an almost inaudible bleat, then slowly rose
back up to contact his exploring digit. From her c***dhood on her
sexuality had been centered in her rear. The touches, the
spankings, the... rest. Her father's touch, her husband's, finally
now her son's all left her flushed and panting.

Jim left that finger in place, tickling and teasing, and slid
his other hand down onto the backs of her thighs, then up their
inner surfaces. When he reached her slightly opened outer labia,
all his pretty mother did was shudder in surrender.

"Hey, Mom, you're wetter that you were this morning. You must
really get off on being punished."

The "Wow!" hurt her soul. How could her former husband have done
this to her! This was just a very young adolescent and she was
forced to consent to him probing her secret female places. The man
was crazy, criminal! But her hips rolled and bucked as her son's
fingers found her clitoris. Her eyes briefly teared. Perhaps some
psychologist can figure me out and put me on Oprah. I can't help
being this way!

"Dad told me that you were still in charge for parent stuff. I
can't just decide to start driving the car or anything like that.
I've got a letter for you from him that you can read later. But he
said you'd get off on being a slave, and I can see he was right!"
He held his fingers, moistened from her rut, in front of her nose.

"Well, naughty girl, I guess you're waiting for your spanking.
With all that noise in the pub downstairs, nobody's going to notice
a few slaps." His hands left off their obscene investigations.
Immediately she sensed the familiar air movement, the slight whoosh
of a spanking hand, and her left buttock resounded with his first
hard slap. And hard it was! He was only thirteen but it seemed to
sting worse than the spanks she had received from large muscular
men.

Jim had been given a lot of advice by his dad. He had learned
that a 'Master' should never let up, never be gentle thinking about
the soft, vulnerable flesh in front of him. He had to convince this
mature woman lying across his lap that he was a Man. She had to
learn to fear his anger. Then she truly would be his.

The punishing slaps slammed down in measured cadence, back and
forth from cheek to cheek. He stopped after fifteen, his hand
stinging, her ass crimsoned. Next time he must remember to make his
mother keep count.

She sighed with relief as his hands went back to their soft
caresses. She hurt with stinging pain and knew her hinds were fiery
red, but thought that it wasn't too bad. To her dismay and
embarrassment the thought ran through her mind: 'Now he will fuck
me, he'll scratch his rosy-assed mommy's horny itch.' Her body
tingled even as she tried erase the forbidden thought.

But again the hands left off their roaming. CRRAACCCKK! His hard
palm and stiff fingers left another pale white imprint on the
crimsoned cheek. This time he worked his way down to the backs of
her thighs, pausing between spanks just long enough for the pain to
peak. Soon she was making mournful yipping noises after each swat.
He could see tears running down her flushed cheeks. He stopped
again.

This time his stiffened fingers began probing into her holes.
Three fingers explored her dripping cunt, a wriggling thumb reamed
her asshole. She gasped out one anguished "Noooo!" but soon was
rhythmically pressing her belly against the hard spear under his
jeans. A third time the hands abandoned her. The punishment
resumed. Impossibly, he had held something in reserve, his arm was
swinging harder than she had thought possible. Each of these HURT,
HURT, HURT. She began babbling, begging, crying for him to stop.
She swore she would never be