391THE ENLIGHTENMENT OF TOBY TRIM 2
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392 THEENLIGHTENMENT OF TOBY TRIM PT3 free porn video
Together Toby and his mother sorted out the meal for the family, fully dressed now, and waiting Cyril`s tractors usual noisy return, they talked over the inevitable mug of tea, Beryl asking if he had enjoyed their ‘romp’ as much as she had, his broad grin, and enthusiastic nod, said it all, then he asked if she was serious about both being tied and spanked and “how would he know to stop?” adding “How many slaps did she want?” she looked thoughtful, then said, “I don’t know, I may not like it at all, but how about this then, tonight is dads football night on the telly , for ever goal scored you can smack my arse ten times, how`s that? Oh, and for every player sent or carried off you can give me an extra cane stroke of some sort, but… mind, not anywhere that will leave any marks, in sight anyway! You know my one strict rule my mantra, all your life, I have told you have I not, together they chanted the mantra, “if you say you`re going to do it, then you must do it, regardless of the consequences!” he had heard it a million times. “My damned period is due on Friday what does he call it, oh yeh, my duck, n run week, the curse, so your dad won`t come near if I tell him I`m on… so as long as it`s not too obvious he won`t notice” Toby almost whooped for joy, then she added, “ I promised you so tomorrow you can tie me up… or down I suppose, anywhere your fantasy had wanted, but not in view of anyone passing by, I am going to trust you,…but…you must not start, not till Mary the post-woman has left…Oh and none of your fancy sailors knots either if someone visits I may need to be released quickly!” he laughed, then the old dog, always first to hear the arriving tractor, stood and shook himself before going to greet his master. Beryl heard the dog rise, her usual cue be ready to serve her husband`s meal Toby followed the dog out, greeting his dad at the fuel tank and taking over the giant tractor as he always did began the daily checks. Cyril tired and dusty as ever, took his dinner bag, and a brace of rabbits a friend had shot for him, grunted his thanks and went indoors, twenty hectic minutes now passed, as the lad filled the tank, topping the hydraulics, filling the radiator and allowed the oil to settle so he could check its level, before checking round and then starting the big workhorse once more to back it very confidently into its resting place in the open fronted barn, glad of his dads trust in him.
Before returning to the house, he cut a couple of good length hazel withy`s stripping off the bark and leaves as he walked determinedly back to the house, making sure his mother saw the white and whippy wands as he placed them to dry by the stove.
Dad, having had a quick but refreshing rinse at the sink, was now sat, his back to the stove un-noticing, a big mug of tea in hand, telling his wife of his day, and of having met Charlie, the gamekeeper, who had sent them this brace of fine rabbits. They had known him since school, and he had asked after her... She smiled, a memory of something in that old barn fleeting across her face for just a quick second, then saying as she served the evening meal “that was kind of him he`s a good lad that Charlie!”
The meal over, dad showered as usual, then in his PJ`s and dressing gown was soon sat before the telly, a cold beer in hand, awaiting the football. The news droned on, Beryl having noted the withies stood next to the stove to dry, raised an eyebrow at Toby but said nothing, as she took her place at the side of the cold fireplace, her son innocently sitting returning her questioning glance, his face a blank.
To Toby, football was normally a take it or leave it game, a bit like Bovril, like it or loath it, but tonight he was suddenly taking much more of an interest, though the book he was reading appeared to be more to his taste and his mother, who was usually knitting or ironing or the like was tonight darning, but her eyes too, distractedly kept flicking to the screen.
Southampton against Derby, from the Kick-off and throughout the first half, an uninspiring game it was to say the least of it, half time came, and Cyril remarked the marines band had been the best thing on the pitch so far, the score nil, nil. Beryl grinning at Toby, Toby rising and going into the kitchen, fetching them both another cold beer, passing his mum a shandy and with a fixed gaze on his face, remarking perhaps hopefully “there was time yet!”
The game re-started, the two managers must have given the teams rockets in the break, as from the off the game was altogether brisker, first one then the other team scoring before a rough tackle brought down two men, both holding their ankles, and rolling about screaming as only footballers can! Beryl looked shocked!”
The medics soon had one on a stretcher, the other ‘being brave!’ hobbled on, Beryl`s face a slightly paler mask, Toby grinning at her, saying that, “if it had been rugby, they would not have made such a song and dance about it, they are like schoolboys, they need a bloody good caning!” his dad muttered his agreement, and Beryl shot him a glower that would have lifted paint.
The game resumed, two-one to the home team, to Beryl`s obvious displeasure, the hobbling player being substituted by the coach after a few more minutes, her needle flying through the work rapidly and her jeering at the man`s obvious attempts to be a martyr.
The final whistle was much to her a relief as, a last second equalizer, in extra time, having ensured her fate for the next day, four goals {40 spanks} and two sent off which was worse! Together they all watched a murder mystery, then at its end, off they went to bed, Toby at the last minute seeing to the dog, before locking the door and climbing the stairs with an innate grin.
Next day the usual alarm roused them, and seeing off of Cyril as usual, saw them preparing breakfast all with nothing said by either of our participants, the day an overcast one, there would be no sitting outside for breakfast, so at the kitchen table they ate, Beryl hoovering afterwards, and Toby laying on his bed reading. The little red post van buzzed into the yard at last, the dog barely raising his head. “hi Mary, coffee?” there was a few bits of post, a contract for Cyril, a tax return, a water bill and one for Toby, giving exact dates for enlistment, a week on Monday, a travel warrant, and instructions as to what to take, Mary bearing the message from willow farm about starting on the strawberry`s on this Monday would ensure his pocket would not be empty. Mary burbling on as she normally did, on about this and then that while Beryl sorted the rabbits for a pie, until to Toby`s immense relief she said her goodbyes and finally drove off, neither quite knowing how to begin this next game. Having finished the pie making, Beryl set off for the toilet, with a sigh, determinedly repeating her mantra, as if he could ever forget it, “if you say you`re going to do it, then you must do it, regardless of the consequences!” then saying over her shoulder, “Where?” he grinned, then as she went through the stair door called after her, “the old byer, where dad keeps his tools, please, oh and don’t empty your bladder that’s part of it!” her reply was muffled and just beyond his proper hearing or understanding, but it did sound like “mystic bar-lamb!”
Happy, and smiling he took the withies, then set off to find some rope, easily accommodated, as he knew in the byre was a few hanks of that blue nylon stuff that is so common nowadays. In the dusty old byre, round the outside was ranged shelves of tools, some newish and used, some antiquated and rusty, cobwebs abounded, and dust lay thick, in the centre a big old workbench, sawdust still laying in piles from the last job, a hen coop repair a fortnight since, he seized a broom and quickly swept off the workbench, collected a couple of short hanks of dusty rope, and from a box near the door a few soft rags, then he settled to await his mother`s arrival. Long moments past, though he did not once doubt her resolve, her mantra which he knew she would not go back on and she had promised. Then he heard the back door close and her soft footfall across the dusty yard. She closed the old stable door behind her, turned to face him and quietly said, Sorry I was so long, I had to answer the phone!” she looked around the place, “why here?” He smiled, “in my fantasy you pissed yourself when I caned you, and you don’t want that in a bedroom do you, and though a bit dusty, its most like a dungeon, and also you need to be where we are unlikely to be seen, and here is perfect!”
She shrugged, then in a serious voice said gravely “that call was to say dads not needed tomorrow, so that being the case, this must be our last time together, he will be home all weekend, no doubt servicing the tractor, we are out strawberrying on Monday, and the weekend after you`ll getting ready to go on draught on that Monday. I shall miss your fun, but I should hate to sod up things with your dad” She kissed him, then said, “So I have decided that this must be the last time Toby” she paused and looked deep into his eyes, as he nodded his understanding. “It`s been fun, and I do want you to enjoy me, playing out your fantasy, just this one last time, so please, let yourself go.” She paused, and he stood regarding her with a look of mixed love and sadness. “I`ve always fancied being spanked, both like my dad did, over the knee and secured, as I always imagined and I will bear the cane for you, though that frightens me sick, but don’t spare me, I promised, and I am yours it`s your fantasy and if I do pee, well it will be with fright, but please, please don’t stop, even if I beg…which I hope I won`t!
Oh, and remember, don’t go risking making me pregnant, although I may already be, let`s just hope and pray I am not.” She handed him a tube, he recognised, saying, “Here is the lube, I`ve brought it out so you can have me once more and finally, it`s not a risk if you do it just as you did yesterday, it was bloody hard but I loved that, and I think you did too, it has been so… so… very special teaching you and I thank you for it and will remember it for ever as I suspect will you..” With that she kissed him long and hard. He hardly knew what to say, and to cover that she said, “before you begin, I suggest you get me ready, a rope on each wrist or whatever you wish, and lube me up too, so we don’t have to stop for any length, as I doubt I could stand a break, I am ready now but it`s taken a lot of mental preparation overnight to get me here for you son, but I won`t go back on my promise”
He had her remove her dressing gown, surprised that she had on just a neat black half-cup basque under it, perhaps to protect her belly, back and breasts from marks, he had had no idea she even owned one and he had checked her chest of draws carefully whenever she had been out, just as curious lads do!
Thoughtfully, he hung her gown on a convenient nail, then had her bend over, while with her help, just as she had yesterday, he applied the lubricant, enjoying the fingering of her as he did, finally wrapping her wrists in rags, before attaching a pair of the ropes, one to either wrist. She thanked him for his thoughtfulness with the rags, protecting her from rope burns, before saying she was as ready as she would ever be, and to get on with it.
He took a seat on a convenient oil drum, and dutifully she bent herself over his still trousered knees and waited for him to begin. He savoured the moment, caressing her lovely globes, then raised his hand and with all the force he could muster struck her backside with a resounding SMACK. Without being told, she winced and as each smack fell chanted, “one”…smack “two”… smack “three”…, the number uttered as if to trigger the next stroke, his hand stinging now, he set up a rhythm “seven”, smack, “eight”, smack, “nine”, at “ten” he stopped, had her stand, knowing there was much more to come, and memories of her old dad and his discipline, dispelling rapidly, she let him lead her to the work bench, standing her at the end nearest the door, and bending her forward, over the bench end, taking and securing the left rope in the vice at the far end, then taking the right he pulled her arm out tight once more, and tied it to the leg via the far bench end, she was secure enough. They both knew there was 30 strokes to endure, her thanking god the both teams had been fairly crap last evening. He told her to count downwards. She nodded, laying still waiting and expectant, revelling, in this feeling of being helpless, but frightened too of the pain she knew was to come, her soft breast in their half cups, nipples rubbing erotically on the rough, work-scarred wood, glad of the basque protecting her belly and her lush sandy haired mons from the damaged surface and the hard edge.
He began again, another ten, “twenty-nine,” smack… “twenty-eight…” the rhythm continued, her voice beginning to rise as the bruising though slight, increased and the nerve ends tingled. His hand too felt bruised, “twenty-three,” smack ooh, “twenty-two” smack, grunt “twenty-one” he stopped at twenty, surveying her red and tender backside, telling her of the colour and that they were halfway, saying his hand hurt badly, she telling him of her own discomfort and of her desperately full bladder, as well as her fight to hold on for him, each aware of the increase in excitement and the pain as they readied themselves for these two last sets.
A strip of plywood caught his eye, ¼” thick 2 to 3” wide and about a foot long, an offcut from the hen house, it was perfect, he showed it her, her eyes widened, and he began again, less painful on his hand it spread the area of contact and stung her skin like crazy, reddening her soft and now stinging cheeks, and bringing tears to her eyes as each made contact. Smack, “sixteen,” sob… smack… “fifteen,” the pause becoming longer as the punishment continued, smack, a pause, then, “eleven” he rested once more, examining her carefully, the asking should he continue, through her sobs she told him he should, she hadn’t come this far to give up now, but to get on with it, as she couldn’t hold on much longer.
His reply was another stroke,” her head back now, crying and sobbing “ten,” smack , the voice wavering, “nine”, smack “eight,” smack, gritted teeth grunted “faster for god`s sake!” smack “ooh seven” smack “Jesus, six,” smack “oh, five” smack “ grr… Three” smack “ooh two” smack, “ Fuck boy that bloody hurt oh fuck, fuck fuck…” he fetched the two withies, and she eyed them as if to select which one would hurt least, then she cried at him, that he must “do it if you must…and now!” the first of the canes immediately whistled through the air striking just below the twin orbs, a livid red line appearing and her body jerking upward like a live wire, she screamed, it echoed round the place, he stepped back, horror on his face as a purple-blue welt began to form. Her eyes through the tears watched him, as if to say DO IT. He stepped up close, as if to say are you sure, but she said gag me boy, then just do it, ALL OF IT. He selected an old pillowcase, white as snow but torn, filling her mouth with it quickly he retook his place and with a whistle and a smack that last stroke fell. She screamed into the gag then slumped forward, silent and beyond contact for a moment, keeping to his word, he slipped his trousers down his very red and eager errection dripping precum as he lined himself up, unlubricated, then as she regained her senses drove himself into her slippery passage in a single heart stopping stroke. Her muffled scream again rang around the place once more, and he began his jig, it did not take long.
His first thrust fetched her to a reluctant climax, the pain alone having done the business, a huge rolling gasping mind blowing climax that continued with every thrust of his hips, rolling like thunder round her body and brain.
Involuntarily she clenched her buttocks he thought she would cut his poor tool from his body, the hot piss ran down his legs hot and salty her body unable to keep itself from urinating, it was the final straw on the camel`s back, the icing on his cake as with a moan of deep deep joy his balls unloaded themselves deep and hot into his bound and crying mother.
They lay quietly together still joined for that magic second or two, knowing it was over, then he recovered his senses, eased himself from her, untying her bonds and helping her from the old bench, they kissed, then she dressed as he hid the evidence, the rags to their home, ropes to their hook, and a brush or two swept the wet sawdust under the bench.
Tottering a little together they returned to the house, her to a long hot bath, him to make tea, By mid-afternoon the pie smelt wonderful, Beryl having had her two wounds dressed, and smothered in balm, was sitting on a cushioned chair, dressed in her work-clothes, as he peeled potatoes and popped peas from pods for her, while she explained to him that she had strangely enjoyed the whole experience, it had in her words “been a test of her mental strength, and it had brought her to a most massive climax , a bigger one than hitherto she had ever had.”
The pans went onto the stove, then he smiled, and replied, “that had found he loved anal, he had learnt that, but now… he just didn’t felt spanking was for him. He had only ever really, and properly fucked one woman and he would never, ever, in his lifetime forget her.” It was a long moment of deep love broken only when they heard or rather the dog heard, that old tractor, it was as Cyril said, Poets day, (that’s Piss Off Early, Tomorrows Saturday) and he wanted to spend time with his family before the lad left home.
He handed the tractor to the lad, then went indoors to was, that pie smelt fantastic! He kissed his wife, but she said, “No chance matey, its rag week!” And fortunately, she meant it.
His smile of relief said it all!
Before returning to the house, he cut a couple of good length hazel withy`s stripping off the bark and leaves as he walked determinedly back to the house, making sure his mother saw the white and whippy wands as he placed them to dry by the stove.
Dad, having had a quick but refreshing rinse at the sink, was now sat, his back to the stove un-noticing, a big mug of tea in hand, telling his wife of his day, and of having met Charlie, the gamekeeper, who had sent them this brace of fine rabbits. They had known him since school, and he had asked after her... She smiled, a memory of something in that old barn fleeting across her face for just a quick second, then saying as she served the evening meal “that was kind of him he`s a good lad that Charlie!”
The meal over, dad showered as usual, then in his PJ`s and dressing gown was soon sat before the telly, a cold beer in hand, awaiting the football. The news droned on, Beryl having noted the withies stood next to the stove to dry, raised an eyebrow at Toby but said nothing, as she took her place at the side of the cold fireplace, her son innocently sitting returning her questioning glance, his face a blank.
To Toby, football was normally a take it or leave it game, a bit like Bovril, like it or loath it, but tonight he was suddenly taking much more of an interest, though the book he was reading appeared to be more to his taste and his mother, who was usually knitting or ironing or the like was tonight darning, but her eyes too, distractedly kept flicking to the screen.
Southampton against Derby, from the Kick-off and throughout the first half, an uninspiring game it was to say the least of it, half time came, and Cyril remarked the marines band had been the best thing on the pitch so far, the score nil, nil. Beryl grinning at Toby, Toby rising and going into the kitchen, fetching them both another cold beer, passing his mum a shandy and with a fixed gaze on his face, remarking perhaps hopefully “there was time yet!”
The game re-started, the two managers must have given the teams rockets in the break, as from the off the game was altogether brisker, first one then the other team scoring before a rough tackle brought down two men, both holding their ankles, and rolling about screaming as only footballers can! Beryl looked shocked!”
The medics soon had one on a stretcher, the other ‘being brave!’ hobbled on, Beryl`s face a slightly paler mask, Toby grinning at her, saying that, “if it had been rugby, they would not have made such a song and dance about it, they are like schoolboys, they need a bloody good caning!” his dad muttered his agreement, and Beryl shot him a glower that would have lifted paint.
The game resumed, two-one to the home team, to Beryl`s obvious displeasure, the hobbling player being substituted by the coach after a few more minutes, her needle flying through the work rapidly and her jeering at the man`s obvious attempts to be a martyr.
The final whistle was much to her a relief as, a last second equalizer, in extra time, having ensured her fate for the next day, four goals {40 spanks} and two sent off which was worse! Together they all watched a murder mystery, then at its end, off they went to bed, Toby at the last minute seeing to the dog, before locking the door and climbing the stairs with an innate grin.
Next day the usual alarm roused them, and seeing off of Cyril as usual, saw them preparing breakfast all with nothing said by either of our participants, the day an overcast one, there would be no sitting outside for breakfast, so at the kitchen table they ate, Beryl hoovering afterwards, and Toby laying on his bed reading. The little red post van buzzed into the yard at last, the dog barely raising his head. “hi Mary, coffee?” there was a few bits of post, a contract for Cyril, a tax return, a water bill and one for Toby, giving exact dates for enlistment, a week on Monday, a travel warrant, and instructions as to what to take, Mary bearing the message from willow farm about starting on the strawberry`s on this Monday would ensure his pocket would not be empty. Mary burbling on as she normally did, on about this and then that while Beryl sorted the rabbits for a pie, until to Toby`s immense relief she said her goodbyes and finally drove off, neither quite knowing how to begin this next game. Having finished the pie making, Beryl set off for the toilet, with a sigh, determinedly repeating her mantra, as if he could ever forget it, “if you say you`re going to do it, then you must do it, regardless of the consequences!” then saying over her shoulder, “Where?” he grinned, then as she went through the stair door called after her, “the old byer, where dad keeps his tools, please, oh and don’t empty your bladder that’s part of it!” her reply was muffled and just beyond his proper hearing or understanding, but it did sound like “mystic bar-lamb!”
Happy, and smiling he took the withies, then set off to find some rope, easily accommodated, as he knew in the byre was a few hanks of that blue nylon stuff that is so common nowadays. In the dusty old byre, round the outside was ranged shelves of tools, some newish and used, some antiquated and rusty, cobwebs abounded, and dust lay thick, in the centre a big old workbench, sawdust still laying in piles from the last job, a hen coop repair a fortnight since, he seized a broom and quickly swept off the workbench, collected a couple of short hanks of dusty rope, and from a box near the door a few soft rags, then he settled to await his mother`s arrival. Long moments past, though he did not once doubt her resolve, her mantra which he knew she would not go back on and she had promised. Then he heard the back door close and her soft footfall across the dusty yard. She closed the old stable door behind her, turned to face him and quietly said, Sorry I was so long, I had to answer the phone!” she looked around the place, “why here?” He smiled, “in my fantasy you pissed yourself when I caned you, and you don’t want that in a bedroom do you, and though a bit dusty, its most like a dungeon, and also you need to be where we are unlikely to be seen, and here is perfect!”
She shrugged, then in a serious voice said gravely “that call was to say dads not needed tomorrow, so that being the case, this must be our last time together, he will be home all weekend, no doubt servicing the tractor, we are out strawberrying on Monday, and the weekend after you`ll getting ready to go on draught on that Monday. I shall miss your fun, but I should hate to sod up things with your dad” She kissed him, then said, “So I have decided that this must be the last time Toby” she paused and looked deep into his eyes, as he nodded his understanding. “It`s been fun, and I do want you to enjoy me, playing out your fantasy, just this one last time, so please, let yourself go.” She paused, and he stood regarding her with a look of mixed love and sadness. “I`ve always fancied being spanked, both like my dad did, over the knee and secured, as I always imagined and I will bear the cane for you, though that frightens me sick, but don’t spare me, I promised, and I am yours it`s your fantasy and if I do pee, well it will be with fright, but please, please don’t stop, even if I beg…which I hope I won`t!
Oh, and remember, don’t go risking making me pregnant, although I may already be, let`s just hope and pray I am not.” She handed him a tube, he recognised, saying, “Here is the lube, I`ve brought it out so you can have me once more and finally, it`s not a risk if you do it just as you did yesterday, it was bloody hard but I loved that, and I think you did too, it has been so… so… very special teaching you and I thank you for it and will remember it for ever as I suspect will you..” With that she kissed him long and hard. He hardly knew what to say, and to cover that she said, “before you begin, I suggest you get me ready, a rope on each wrist or whatever you wish, and lube me up too, so we don’t have to stop for any length, as I doubt I could stand a break, I am ready now but it`s taken a lot of mental preparation overnight to get me here for you son, but I won`t go back on my promise”
He had her remove her dressing gown, surprised that she had on just a neat black half-cup basque under it, perhaps to protect her belly, back and breasts from marks, he had had no idea she even owned one and he had checked her chest of draws carefully whenever she had been out, just as curious lads do!
Thoughtfully, he hung her gown on a convenient nail, then had her bend over, while with her help, just as she had yesterday, he applied the lubricant, enjoying the fingering of her as he did, finally wrapping her wrists in rags, before attaching a pair of the ropes, one to either wrist. She thanked him for his thoughtfulness with the rags, protecting her from rope burns, before saying she was as ready as she would ever be, and to get on with it.
He took a seat on a convenient oil drum, and dutifully she bent herself over his still trousered knees and waited for him to begin. He savoured the moment, caressing her lovely globes, then raised his hand and with all the force he could muster struck her backside with a resounding SMACK. Without being told, she winced and as each smack fell chanted, “one”…smack “two”… smack “three”…, the number uttered as if to trigger the next stroke, his hand stinging now, he set up a rhythm “seven”, smack, “eight”, smack, “nine”, at “ten” he stopped, had her stand, knowing there was much more to come, and memories of her old dad and his discipline, dispelling rapidly, she let him lead her to the work bench, standing her at the end nearest the door, and bending her forward, over the bench end, taking and securing the left rope in the vice at the far end, then taking the right he pulled her arm out tight once more, and tied it to the leg via the far bench end, she was secure enough. They both knew there was 30 strokes to endure, her thanking god the both teams had been fairly crap last evening. He told her to count downwards. She nodded, laying still waiting and expectant, revelling, in this feeling of being helpless, but frightened too of the pain she knew was to come, her soft breast in their half cups, nipples rubbing erotically on the rough, work-scarred wood, glad of the basque protecting her belly and her lush sandy haired mons from the damaged surface and the hard edge.
He began again, another ten, “twenty-nine,” smack… “twenty-eight…” the rhythm continued, her voice beginning to rise as the bruising though slight, increased and the nerve ends tingled. His hand too felt bruised, “twenty-three,” smack ooh, “twenty-two” smack, grunt “twenty-one” he stopped at twenty, surveying her red and tender backside, telling her of the colour and that they were halfway, saying his hand hurt badly, she telling him of her own discomfort and of her desperately full bladder, as well as her fight to hold on for him, each aware of the increase in excitement and the pain as they readied themselves for these two last sets.
A strip of plywood caught his eye, ¼” thick 2 to 3” wide and about a foot long, an offcut from the hen house, it was perfect, he showed it her, her eyes widened, and he began again, less painful on his hand it spread the area of contact and stung her skin like crazy, reddening her soft and now stinging cheeks, and bringing tears to her eyes as each made contact. Smack, “sixteen,” sob… smack… “fifteen,” the pause becoming longer as the punishment continued, smack, a pause, then, “eleven” he rested once more, examining her carefully, the asking should he continue, through her sobs she told him he should, she hadn’t come this far to give up now, but to get on with it, as she couldn’t hold on much longer.
His reply was another stroke,” her head back now, crying and sobbing “ten,” smack , the voice wavering, “nine”, smack “eight,” smack, gritted teeth grunted “faster for god`s sake!” smack “ooh seven” smack “Jesus, six,” smack “oh, five” smack “ grr… Three” smack “ooh two” smack, “ Fuck boy that bloody hurt oh fuck, fuck fuck…” he fetched the two withies, and she eyed them as if to select which one would hurt least, then she cried at him, that he must “do it if you must…and now!” the first of the canes immediately whistled through the air striking just below the twin orbs, a livid red line appearing and her body jerking upward like a live wire, she screamed, it echoed round the place, he stepped back, horror on his face as a purple-blue welt began to form. Her eyes through the tears watched him, as if to say DO IT. He stepped up close, as if to say are you sure, but she said gag me boy, then just do it, ALL OF IT. He selected an old pillowcase, white as snow but torn, filling her mouth with it quickly he retook his place and with a whistle and a smack that last stroke fell. She screamed into the gag then slumped forward, silent and beyond contact for a moment, keeping to his word, he slipped his trousers down his very red and eager errection dripping precum as he lined himself up, unlubricated, then as she regained her senses drove himself into her slippery passage in a single heart stopping stroke. Her muffled scream again rang around the place once more, and he began his jig, it did not take long.
His first thrust fetched her to a reluctant climax, the pain alone having done the business, a huge rolling gasping mind blowing climax that continued with every thrust of his hips, rolling like thunder round her body and brain.
Involuntarily she clenched her buttocks he thought she would cut his poor tool from his body, the hot piss ran down his legs hot and salty her body unable to keep itself from urinating, it was the final straw on the camel`s back, the icing on his cake as with a moan of deep deep joy his balls unloaded themselves deep and hot into his bound and crying mother.
They lay quietly together still joined for that magic second or two, knowing it was over, then he recovered his senses, eased himself from her, untying her bonds and helping her from the old bench, they kissed, then she dressed as he hid the evidence, the rags to their home, ropes to their hook, and a brush or two swept the wet sawdust under the bench.
Tottering a little together they returned to the house, her to a long hot bath, him to make tea, By mid-afternoon the pie smelt wonderful, Beryl having had her two wounds dressed, and smothered in balm, was sitting on a cushioned chair, dressed in her work-clothes, as he peeled potatoes and popped peas from pods for her, while she explained to him that she had strangely enjoyed the whole experience, it had in her words “been a test of her mental strength, and it had brought her to a most massive climax , a bigger one than hitherto she had ever had.”
The pans went onto the stove, then he smiled, and replied, “that had found he loved anal, he had learnt that, but now… he just didn’t felt spanking was for him. He had only ever really, and properly fucked one woman and he would never, ever, in his lifetime forget her.” It was a long moment of deep love broken only when they heard or rather the dog heard, that old tractor, it was as Cyril said, Poets day, (that’s Piss Off Early, Tomorrows Saturday) and he wanted to spend time with his family before the lad left home.
He handed the tractor to the lad, then went indoors to was, that pie smelt fantastic! He kissed his wife, but she said, “No chance matey, its rag week!” And fortunately, she meant it.
His smile of relief said it all!
Yvette
- 18.10.2022
- 36
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