Fresh sex stories:
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- Family Orgy 2.
- My big black boyfriend knows how to fuck me
- Fucked by flash
- Kinky sexual adventure
- Family trip
- Phone sex at work
- Cinema sex pleasures
- Asian blowjob
- Ugly wife - Cum poetry of Saso
Spanking storiesCarla moaned softly. The aluminum cigar tube slid up into her cunt, pressing apart the soft folds of slippery pink flesh. Smaller, colder, and harder than a man's cock, it still felt fantastic. It felt wonderful to have her cunt filled again, even with such a crude imitation of the real thing. Lying on her back with her legs spread widely, straining the tendons on the insides of her thighs, Carla slid the tube deep into her oozing hole. It pressed the end of her cunt, stretching her. Then, slowly, tantalizingly, she fucked the tube in and out, in and out.
Her nerve fibers squirmed in response to the stimulation. She writhed sensuously on the big bed. Her head was up on a pillow so she could see her reflection in the mirror at the foot of the bed. She tried to ignore the lewd sight of the cigar tube going in and out of her twat, but couldn't. She couldn't take her eyes off her naked body. At forty, with a teenage son, she was as youthfully firm as she had been at his age. But her tits had a mature thrust no teenager ever have. Her nipples, dark and long and erect, were conical, textured buds that had nursed a baby, fed and nurtured a tiny, sucking mouth.
Carla brushed a lock of jet-black hair off her forehead. She continued to move the aluminum cylinder in and out of her ravenous cunt. The folds of her gash, glowing petals of rosy flesh, framed her cunt mouth. The substitute cock slid smoothly in and out, in and out of her dribbling hole. It had none of the ripples and resistance a real cock had.
God! How fantastic Chuck's cock had been. Just thinking about his big beautiful prick and how it had filled her made her cunt contract. It made her eyes sting, too.
"Damn, damn, damn," Carla moaned. "Why'd you have to go and get killed, damm!" she asked aloud. "Damn it all, Chuck?"
In the face of the echoing, lonely silence that was her only answer, she retreated to her masturbation. Parting her cuntlips carefully with two fingers, she tormented the pearl of her clitoris and writhed in the pallid simulation of fucking.
She found a picture of her son forming in her mind. He looked too much like his dead father. Charlie was tall, broad-shouldered, trim-hipped. His hair was the same lush brown shade, had the same sexy waviness. When he smiled, he looked so much like his father it made Carla's throat knot.
Made her pussy drool, too, which terrified her. Desperately, she ripped her mind away from her son to his father, to memories of how it had been between them.
Frantically, Carla groped for a memory strong enough to blot out the lust she felt for her son. She found it in something that had happened on their honeymoon. It was something she hadn't thought of in years. Now she clutched it -- it was one recollection from her marriage that was powerful enough to overwhelm everything else. The incident had occurred because she had teased her husband of three days until his control had snapped completely.
Carla whirled giddily into the motel room, swirling her scarf like a banner. She was giggling. She was intoxicated, but not drunk, high on wine, and excitement, and love. Theatrically, she kicked her feet, sending her glittering sandals flying across the room. Chuck slipped the chain on the door after hanging out the "Do Not Disturb" sign.
Carla was aware of Chuck's angry frown. She was aware of his fury, and it tickled and pleased her. It was perfect proof of his love for her. He was jealous. He was absolutely cock-eyed jealous!
"Well, I hope you're pleased," Chuck said furiously.
"Oh, I am, I am!" Carla giggled, deliberately taunting him.
"You make an absolute fool of yourself tonight."
"Oh?" Her eyes were big with mock innocence.
"Behaving like a drunken fool with an overweight toy salesman from Toledo," Chuck snarled, oblivious of the fact she was teasing him.
"He's a cutie-pie," Carla giggled. "An absolute cutie-pie."
"He's a fat slob," Chuck snapped.
Chuck's jealousy was too rich and enjoyable to let die. His fury gave Carla an incredible feeling of power. Why, she could have him on his knees just with a snap of her fingers!
She discovered his breaking point when she ostentatiously tried to recall the fat salesman's room number, then started out the door to go see him.
With a bellow of fury, Chuck's hand clamped down on her slender waist. She shrieked as he lifted her into the air. She kicked futilely in Chuck's strong grasp, then landed on the king-sized bed with a thunderous WHUMPF!
"Teach you to be unfaithful, bitch!" Chuck snarled.
"Chuu-uuck!" Carla yelled as he wrestled her across his lap. She kicked and fought, but he was six foot two and all muscle, while she was five foot two, and not very strong.
In seconds she was ludicrously draped face down over his legs. He held her there, one strong hand gripping her neck. He was ready to grind his fingers painfully into her flesh if she started to get away. Ignoring her kicking and struggling, he slipped her dress up, exposed her to the waist. Hooking his fingers in her panties, he dragged them down, bared her firm, round ass. The panties hobbled her legs, tangled around her slender calves as she fought and kicked.
The first stinging, open-handed smack on one buttcheek cut off her complaining and pleading sharply. The second made her jerk convulsively. "OWWWOOO!" she wailed, bucking futilely.
Chuck paused. She hoped that this was all she'd get. Her hopes were crushed when he reached across her and grabbed her hairbrush from the bedside table.
"Nooo, please, Chuck, please!" Carla pleaded.
"Teach you!" Smack! "To try..." Smack! "To run out..." Smack! "On me!"
He punctuated his words with blistering slaps with the back of the hairbrush. For a few seconds, Carla was frozen and silenced by total shock. Then the searing pain in her ass overwhelmed her, and she let out a cry of pain.
"OWW!" she wailed as tears poured down her cheeks.
"And on our honeymoon," Chuck went on implacably. "Goddammit, that's just too much!" He continued to spank her with the flat side of the hairbrush. The ringing slaps echoed back off the walls as he blistered her butt.
Carla had never felt such excruciating pain in her life! She had never been spanked, ever. The polished hardwood hairbrush felt like it was raising welts an the white cheeks of her ass. A blowtorch would probably have hurt less.
Then, astonishingly, there was a perverted kind of pleasure building in Carla's guts. Her crotch was feeling warm and wet and excited, the way it always felt just before Chuck thrust his cock deep into her cunt.
Under her, she felt a swelling hard knot in Chuck's lap, and knew instantly what it was. The feel of his cock burgeoning up against her sent her excitement soaring still higher. Every stinging blow of the makeshift paddle made her pussy throb and pulse hotly, and made the prick thrusting against her stomach push upward more demandingly.
Crying, moaning, sobbing, wailing, Carla kicked and bucked. Suddenly her panties were gone, finally dislodged by her struggles. Her legs sudden freedom caught them both unawares. Her next wild kick threw her off Chuck's lap. She slammed to the floor with a crash, landing bruisingly on her back. With a wail of pain, she dug her heels into the rug and heaved her ass up off the floor, and clutched her scorched butt with both hands. Her skirt was still up around her waist. Her pussy was thrust forward as if she were inviting a fuck.
While she was still nursing her abused backside. Chuck ripped his pants down, exposing his monstrous hard-on. He dropped to his knees between Carla's spread legs, then fell forward and rammed his prick into her gaping slit. She accepted the thrust and felt a blinding rush of ecstasy from his brutal entry into her dripping hole. Her ass smashed down on the rough carpet, and the searing pain made her heave her hips up violently. His cock was driven still deeper into her snatch by the powerful thrust.
It was an insane, churning fuck. When her ass touched the floor, it was as if red hot spurs were applied to her, and she would buck upward. Chuck slammed his prick into her cunt with animal fury, unmindful of either her pain or her pleasure.
It was the greatest fuck Carla had ever experienced. Her clitoris was mangled between their crashing loins. The walls of her cunt were ravaged by the searing friction of the cock pistoning in her. The pain in her ass was the final good that sent her screaming upward to a blistering orgasm. As she spasmed and jerked in the throes of her pleasure, she felt her husband unloading thick gobs of jizz into her convulsing cunt.
Carla dug her heels into the carpet, kept her ass up off the floor. Her back was arching, straining painfully. When her muscles began to quiver, she relaxed. Her ass touched the rug, and instantly she convulsed and heaved up again. Her sudden fucking motion rekindled Chuck's excitement.
He began ramming his cock into her flooded cunt a second time. His cock pumped a thick, creamy wave of cum out of her hole. His crotch slammed down on her clit, and Carla went roaring up toward a second come.
Her strength began to give out. Carla heaved up desperately, trying to protect her ass. Chuck rolled her to her side. They thrashed together in an insane knot. They flailed together in a wild tangle as they screwed with total abandon.
In seconds, Chuck was pouring a second load of jizz into her twitching twat. His entire body trembled with the strain. Carla clung to him, her cunt milking and massaging his spurting prick as she climaxed.
Then they were clinging to each other, sweating and panting, stunned by the violence of their screwing.
Clinging to that searing memory, Carla writhed and twisted on the bed and pistoned the silvery cigar tube in and out of her dripping slit. Her clit squirmed under her determined, rolling thumb. She mangled her mini-cock into a ball of fire. In the mirror she watched her feet scrabbling at the bed her gaping crotch bounced and heaved. The flushed inner folds of her pussy gleamed wetly around the pistoning tube. Her cunt bush was tight and twisty with wetness, her fingers slick with juices.
Then she was coming. The fireball swelled and swelled, burgeoned in her, expanded until it overwhelmed her. It swept before it the last vestiges of her civilized being. Her cunt spasmed and spumed around the still-pistoning aluminum cylinder. Her eyes closed, Carla arched in the grip of her orgasm, moaned, fought to keep her orgasm going as long as she could.
Inevitably, her come had to fade, just as the one after that blazing spanking Chuck had given her so long ago had faded. Now, as then, she was left with a sad hollowness.
When it was over, Chuck had tenderly lifted her to the bed, and apologized, and begged for forgiveness. He promised he would never strike her again. He had kept that promise, and neither of them had even mentioned the incident again. She had never had the courage to tell him how great it had been for her. She had never asked him to do it again, never provoked him again.
Weary and sad, Carla slid the tube out of her wet cunt and lay quietly on the bed for a few minutes, trying to ignore the hollowness in her guts. Then, restlessly, she got up. Defiantly nude, she stood in front of the mirror and surveyed her trim body. Then she turned and walked out of the bedroom, through the empty house. Her bare feet scuffed along the carpeting. Cool air touched her intimately, drying the wetness at her crotch. Her nipples were still stiff.
She wondered why she was walking around like this. She had never been a nudist. She and Chuck had been quite modest, in fact. Charlie had never seen her naked.
Carla paused in her son's doorway and thought about him. Pensively, she gazed at the litter of clothing and athletic gear, the pictures of sports stars, the banners. Hesitantly, she entered his room. She tried to ignore the way her heart was pounding. She was violating his privacy, and she knew it. Something about being in his room, naked, made her pussy tense up. Feeling driven, she walked over to her son's desk.
Idly, she stirred through the clutter, not sure what she was looking for. A picture of a girl caught her eye and she picked it up and studied it thoughtfully. Ann Jones, Charlie's current steady.
There was a teasing lilt to her smile. She was wearing a soft sweater that molded gently to her small, immature boobs. A circle pin -- symbol of virginity? -- adorned the slope of one titty.
Carla wondered what Charlie and Ann did on their dates. How far had they gone? How much did Charlie know about sex? Carla had no idea what Chuck had told Charlie about sex, if anything.
If Charlie came home at this point, Carla reflected, he'd learn quite a bit. The possibility that he might made her shiver. The chance was small, though. Still, she should get something on.
Instead, tingling, feeling strangely wicked, she went over to his closet and opened it. A jock strap dangled from a hook on the door. She held it for a few moments, studying it. She wrenched her mind away from the organs it cupped, and hung it where it had been. Beside it was a rack with four neckties and a wide leather belt. She fumbled through the clothes hanging on the rod. She wondered again why she was doing this.
But, deep down in her guts, she knew why. She was horny. That was the only word -- horny. Sweet, loving, faithful Carla was horny. She was prowling in her son's room, naked, after masturbating, because she was still frantically horny, desperate for sexual satisfaction.
Even from her own son? The thought shocked her to the core, but she couldn't ignore it. Charlie was, after all, eighteen. He was the spitting image of his father. The fact that she was Charlie's mother, had borne him, meant nothing to her, did nothing to quench her aching sexual frustration.
But, God, what would happen if he came home and found her like this? He'd be devastated, alienated. It would rip the two of them apart, would demolish what was left of the family. Charlie was just a kid, psychologically. To find his mother naked in his room, probing into his private belongings would destroy his faith in her, and shatter him emotionally, destroy their relationship.
Carla was just about to turn away from the closet when a brown envelope behind a suitcase on the floor caught her eye. Nervously, wondering if it had fallen there by accident, she took it out.
The foreign postmark, Denmark, puzzled her. It felt as if there was a magazine inside. Her hands shaking, Carla pulled it from the envelope.
Her head swam giddily for a moment as she studied the garish cover. All her questions about Charlie's innocence were answered instantly. What did her son know about sex? Everything. On the cover, in full color, were a man and a woman. Both were naked. The man had a titanic hard-on. The woman was spreading the hairy lips of her pussy, exposing the gleaming, flushed petals of her inner folds.
Her hands shaking, her insides boiling, Carla began to leaf through the porno magazine. Page after page swam before her eyes. Page after page of men and women tangled in intercourse. The pictures were incredibly detailed, showed hard, gleaming cocks plumbing wet, slippery cunts.
The speed at which Carla flipped through the magazine slowed. She began studying the pictures more and more closely. Every sexual position was shown -- man on top, woman on top, side by side... There, were even a few gymnastic ones that didn't seem possible. There were two pages of cocksucking and cunt-lapping. She and Chuck had tried oral sex once, unsuccessfully. The sight of a pretty young girl with a monster cock in her mouth made Carla's own mouth water. The picture of a man's tongue probing a girl's cunt bush, spearing the pearl of her clitoris, made Carla's pussy itch.
Carla turned the page and blinked in surprise. The girl was on her knees, leaning over a bed. Between her thighs the dusky lips of her cunt were visible. The girl was reaching back, spreading the cheeks of her ass to reveal the dark pucker of her bung. And the man was aiming the bulbous knob of his prick straight at the bud like tart.
The next picture showed the head of the man's cock nuzzling the tight brownie. In the next, he was penetrating the little asshole, prying the opening wide, so that it was pale and stretched. Then, the shaft of his cock was half swallowed up by the girl's asshole. The final picture, taken from near the floor, looked up between the man's legs, and showed just the base of his cock, all that was outside the girl's ass.
Carla glanced at the expression on the girl's face. She was obviously enjoying the buggering.
Carla's whole body knotted with sexual hunger she studied the gross photograph. Her ass itched, her pussy itched, her insides crawled with lust. Her hands shaking violently, she shoved the magazine back in the envelope and thrust it back into its hiding place. Blindly, slamming the closet door behind her, bouncing off the door frame, she staggered out of Charlie's room.
Once back in her own bedroom, she grabbed the cigar tube, and stared at it. It was insane, but she had to try it, she just had to. Something was driving her on. Her aching, crazy horniness had been increased by the pornographic magazine. Holding the blunt-ended instrument, she studied it as if she were contemplating suicide.
It looked too cold and hard. Biting her lower lip, carrying the deadly tool before her like a religious totem, Carla went into the bathroom. She uncapped the shaft, filled it with blood-warm water, and recapped it. Now the instrument had weight and warmth, and seemed almost alive. Then she found the cold cream, and with two fingers smeared the white paste down from the blunt rounded end of the cigar tube. The warmth of the water softened the cold cream. It formed a sleek, oily, fragrant film on the shining aluminum.
Her entire body tensed like the strings of a harp, Carla went back to the bedroom. Crawling up on the bed, she stretched out on her back. Her feet were toward the mirror again. She spread her legs like a frog's, strained to expose her crotch, and her ass. Then she eased a pillow under her hips. With one pillow under her head, the other under her hips, she was bent in a shallow "U", and could see the crack of her ass with little difficulty.
She spread her asscheeks with her fingers of her left hand. There it was -- the dark pucker of her bung! Her hand shook, making the blunt head of the tube waggle wildly as she brought it near the target. She steadied the warm metal with the fingers of her left hand, guided it to the crater of her brownie.
The first delicate touch sent a jolt through Carla, made her whole body jerk. Just that faint, barely perceptible touch felt fantastic. Then she began to press, began to slowly drive the cigar tube into her bung. It wedged the muscle open a little at a time. Every millimeter of dilation increased her pleasure.
Her mouth wide with excitement, Carla slowly buggered herself with the metal cylinder. When her asshole was embracing the shaft of the tool, she drove it up into her bowels. The greasy metal slid smoothly and excitingly up into her butt. Watching in the mirror, she thrust the cigar tube up into her gut.
A soft moan startled her. She froze, then relaxed, realizing it was herself she had heard. She giggled with relief, and felt it clear down in her guts, where the hard shaft was spearing her asshole.
The sensation made her whimper with lust. Her bung spasmed around the brutal invader. She was almost crazy with excitement.
"Oh, God, Chuck, why didn't we ever try this?" she asked her gross reflection. It looked as if the cigar tube was cut off, the way her asshole clenched around it. Her pussy, black-furred, pink-hearted, glared at her in the mirror. She drove one thumb deep into her streaming twat, and felt her already exquisite pleasure increase. She tortured her clit, and writhed madly in the grip of her pleasure.
She slid the tube in and out of her butt, loving the feel of the changing, shifting pressure deep inside her. The smoothness of the tube meant there was almost no friction with the ring of her asshole which she knew somehow was a loss. She pistoned her thumb in her snatch in pallid simulation of a cock.
But it was good. The dual penetration was driving her upwards in an endless series of waves, lifting her to a glittering peak. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine Chuck was driving his cock into her butt. Her son's features kept intruding, until she was unable to resist his image any longer, and accepted it.
It didn't matter. All that mattered was the pleasure, the growing, swelling tidal wave of pleasure. It would sweep everything else away, the regrets, the loneliness, the fears, the sorrows. She pistoned the tube faster and faster in her asshole. Her thumb stirred the juices in her cunt to a foam. She was approaching the glittering apex. Then she was tumbling down the other side in a welter of pleasure and uncoordinated motions. She was left quivering helplessly in the muscle-wrenching convulsions of her orgasm. Her naked body jerked spastically. She held the cigar tube deep in her ass, her thumb deep in her cunt, and milked her orgasm of every mind-blowing drop of pleasure.
Then, with a soft whimper of relief, she let herself relax, eased her grasp on the cigar tube. Nature took over and she crapped out the hard piston easily.
For a long time Carla lay there, her legs still spread wide. Her body was limp. She felt her juices drying on her pussy. Her asshole was a gentle ache. Finally she dragged herself off the bed, staggered to the bathroom. She washed her hands, emptied and scrubbed the cigar tube. She didn't want to think about what she had just done. She felt too ashamed.
So, instead, she worried about Charlie. Obviously, he knew more than she, did. Which was a shock. She wondered how he had gotten the magazine. Then she remembered that about a month earlier, he had become intensely interested in getting the mail in from the mailbox each day. She had assumed he was waiting for a letter from a girl.
What mattered more than how he had gotten it, though, was what she should do about it. If she said anything, he'd know she had snooped in his room. But, how could she not say something?
She wrestled desperately with the problem. At the same time she was resisting the urge to get the magazine out and look at it some more. Strangely, Chuck's death had not really brought Carla and Charlie closer together. It had given her the urge to protect Charlie, to cling to her remaining family. He, on the other hand, was in the process of fighting for his independence.
Recently, an accommodation of sorts had been reached. Charlie kept her informed of his whereabouts, adhered to the liberal curfew. Carla refrained from prying into his private life, gave him freedom to come and go as he pleased. Outwardly, at least, she trusted him completely.
Reluctantly, she concluded she could say nothing to him. But, unavoidably, she was going to be acutely aware of him as a sexual being. She would have to somehow find out just how far he had actually gone. If he got Ann or some other girl pregnant, it would be a disaster. Obviously, he had to have an outlet for his sexual desires. She would have to help her make sure it was a safe outlet. She wondered how she could manage that. She wondered if Eric Jameson would have any ideas, or if she could mention it in the first place. He had been attentive since Chuck's death. Eric was a widower. Maybe he was having similar problems with his daughter Ellen.
Unfortunately, Carla thought, it would introduce a note of intimacy to her relationship with Eric. And his intentions, politely as he had expressed them, hadn't been exactly honorable in the first place. Her rejection of his proposition hadn't offended him, but she didn't want to rekindle his hopes. That wouldn't be fair to Chuck, after all.
God, though, it would be good to have a man again. It was getting harder and harder to remain faithful to Chuck.
She would discuss Charlie's problem with Eric, she decided. He would know what to do. Then she would have to discourage Eric's advances again. If he ever tried to physically press the issue, he would win. He was huge. Carla shivered. Her pussy became unexpectedly wet. Resolutely, she put on her robe and went out to the living room to see what was on television. She glanced at the clock. Charlie should be home soon.
Ann Jones did nothing to discourage him, so Charlie slid one hand over her right titty. The gentle hill of flesh felt excitingly warm and soft. He could feel her hard nipple through the soft, clinging cashmere of her sleeveless sweater. She wasn't wearing a bra this time.
His heart began to beat more quickly. He shifted to ease the agony from his cramped hard-on. He brushed his thumb over the alert button of her tit, felt it twist under, then spring back. His hand engulfed the entire mound of her boob. He massaged it, fascinated by its incredible warmth and softness.
Her hand was hot on his thigh. He felt her fingers move slowly up towards his crotch. She scratched one fingernail over the taut denim, across his cockhead. The tickling vibrations drove him mad. He felt a hot, stinging seeping stain his pants.
The movie on the drive-in screen went on, unwatched. Charlie wondered what to do next. He had no trouble remembering the pictures in the magazine, but he had no idea how to get from where he was to where he wanted to be. This was as far as he had ever gone.
His leg was cramped. He shifted it, and banged his knee painfully against the steering wheel. Monotonously, he fondled Ann's titty. He couldn't figure out how he could get his hand inside her sweater. It buttoned up the back, and she was tucked firmly under his arm. He would have to release the treasure of her boob and ask her to sit forward in order to do it.
He felt like he was going to faint as he considered it. Then he felt her easing the zipper of his fly down, and thought he was going to die. His cock surged up through the open gap, threatened to burst right out of his underpants. Then, incredibly, with Ann's help, it did. His tower of hard, hot meat speared up through the fly of his underpants, and her diminutive, yet strong finger curled around his rigid shaft. A second wave of searing stickiness flooded his cock, overflowed and spilled out. Instead of recoiling from his flow with disgust, the girl spread the slippery fluid over his blazing rod. Her fingers skated slickly along his overheated flesh.
He was still stupidly massaging her boob through her soft sweater, not having the foggiest notion of what to do next. Obviously, she was willing to go farther.
Tentatively, awkwardly, he reached across in front of himself and touched her knee. She pushed her thigh firmly against his and spread her legs. He moved his fingers up. Her skin was smooth, and soft, and hot. Her skirt eased up as he slid his hand up towards her crotch.
He kept waiting for her to stop him. She didn't. He moved his hand higher and higher. He felt her shift under his other arm. She eased her ass forward on the seat and slumped down farther. Her head resting on his arm, she presented her crotch for his exploration. He couldn't quite believe it was happening. He had his hand at least halfway up her thigh, maybe farther. Her legs gleamed ghostly white in the darkness.
It got hotter and more humid the farther up under her skirt he went. Her hand was pumping slowly up and down on his prick. She knew exactly what she was doing! Jesus! And what if he should come? Christ, he'd get it all over her hand. He wanted to warn her, to stop her, but couldn't. Jesus!
His fingertips touched hair! Under it she was unbelievably hot and humid and soft. She didn't have any panties on! Slyly, he explored the forbidden territory, touched the springy curls, the incredibly soft, warm, yielding flesh. He touched something wet, and pulled back.
"Yes," Ann groaned softly. Her hand tightened convulsively on his throbbing hard-on.
Delicately, Charlie touched her again. His fingers slid into a warm, wet nook, probed the soft petals of hot, slick flesh. He ran his fingers up and down her rippled moist gash. Ann's head rolled on his arm. He was mindlessly squeezing her titty, still through the sweater, but was hardly aware of what he was doing.
"In," Ann moaned softly. "In."
Hardly believing he had heard her right, he obeyed. His fingers seemed to be sucked into her dripping hole. Its longest finger plumbed her searing, clinging cunt. It gripped him warmly. Pussy hair brushed the rest of his hand. He felt her hips heaving, shifting and rolling. Her torso was twisting, making it hard for him to keep his grip on her boob.
"Deeper," Ann whimpered.
Charlie drove his finger into her cunt as deeply as he could. He felt her drenched interior, the rippled walls of her snatch, ease aside as he penetrated her wet hole.
"Ahhh," Ann sighed softly.
She began pumping her fist on his prick faster, more insistently. The slippery wet seeping were a slick paste between her palm and his cock. Her fingers pressed the nerve-laden underside of his prick, milked waves of juice out of him. He felt his nuts knotting up against his crotch. He wanted to tell her to stop before it was too late, but couldn't get the words out. He couldn't tell her. It was going to feel so good, better than when he jacked himself off. Besides, it was too late. It was too late. He could feel it about to happen, it was going to happen. It was beginning to happen. An, Christ! It was happening, happening.
His body was consumed by the flames of his youthfully urgent orgasm. His prick lurched and recoiled, pumped thick gouts of creamy rich jizz into the air. His balls, his hips, his ass, every muscle in his body, clenched, added force to the spurting eruption. Every gooey wad of cum was a high-voltage jolt that seared the length of his cock.
"Yes!" Ann hissed. "Yes! That's it, that's it, that's it!"
He didn't know if she was talking about his orgasm, or what his hand was doing in her fountaining crotch. The walls of her cunt pulsed around his finger. He pumped it in and out of her hole with a fucking motion. Her slender legs crossed, damped around his hand, pinned it in her moist pussy, then slowly relaxed as his prick began to shrink in her grasp.
Charlie was conscious of the heavy odor of jizz. There was also an unfamiliar smell -- Ann's cunt juice. He extracted his hand from her twat. He was aware of fluids drying cold on his fingers, his pants. Ann's hand had to be drenched.
"I... I'm sorry," he mumbled awkwardly.
"There's... uh... there're some tissues in the glove compartment."
"Thanks," Ann replied matter-of-factly, leaning out of the circle of his arm to reach for them. She handed him a wad, and then, still sitting up, began cleaning her hand. She held it close to her face -- it looked almost as if she were licking the cum off. But that was impossible.
Unwilling to lose touch with her completely, Charlie stroked the graceful curve of her back. She was sitting on the edge of the seat. His fingers bumped over the buttons of her sweater. She threw him a brief, coy, happy glance over her shoulder when he began toying with the top one.
Experimentally, Charlie unbuttoned it.
Ann kept her back to him and began squirming sensuously.
He unbuttoned the next button, and the next, exposing a narrow vee of skin, and the line of her spine. He stroked one finger down the vee of flesh. She shivered delightedly. Not only was she not upset by what had happened, she seemed eager to go still farther.
He unbuttoned yet another button. Then, almost hurrying, he finished quickly. The sweater fell open the full length of Ann's back. There was no interruption of the sleek expanse -- no bra, no anything. He had never imagined a girl's back could be so erotically stimulating. Tenderly, spreading her sweater still more, he stroked her smooth skin. His cock began to get hard again, and he remembered he hadn't tucked it back in.
"Let's go somewhere else," Ann suggested, looking straight at him.
Charlie's heart began hammering. He was sweating badly. "Like where?"
"Oh, someplace more private," Ann replied.
"But I don't know any place."
"Okay, let's go," Charlie agreed nervously. The speaker clattered maddeningly when he unhooked it to replace it on the pole. He had the feeling everyone in the drive-in was starring at him.
"No, don't," Ann ordered, putting a restraining hand on his arm when he started to tuck his cock back into his pants. "Leave it out."
"B-But someone might see," he stammered.
"I know! Isn't it great?"
Charlie wasn't so sure, but decided not to argue. It seemed safe enough, it was so dark. And it was exciting. He started the car, switched on the parking lights and pulled forward. His eyes met Ann's in the rear-view mirror. There was a hot, mischievous sparkle in them. He turned towards the exit.
She slid her sweater down her arms and off, folded it neatly and put it on the seat to her right. Charlie's eyes pin balled from the road to the mirror to her nude chest. Her titties gleamed in the light from the screen. They were gentle mounds with no crease on the underside. Her nipples, on the exact apex of each boob, were dark, small, tarp cones.
He reached the highway and stopped.
"That way," Ann indicated. Then she placed both hands on her waist, turned gracefully away from him, and looked down.
Charlie flicked the turn indicator, checked the traffic, and pulled out. When he got the car up to speed, he glanced over at her. He was just in time to see her lift her ass off the seat and shed her short skirt down her legs and off. She held it theatrically in front of herself and folded it very neatly before putting it with her sweater.
She was stark naked. Sitting beside him in the car, the street lights sweeping over her petite, graceful body, she was stark naked! She looked over at him. Her smile was pure, blazing beautiful wickedness. "Well?"
"You're -- gorgeous," Charlie said hoarsely.
"Thank you." She gave his cock a quick squeeze. "So are you. Why don't you do the same thing?"
"I'm driving," Charlie explained lamely.
"Okay, I'll help. You keep driving."
She unbuttoned his sports shirt. Steering first with one hand and then the other, he wriggled out of it. She put it aside. The air coming in the open window was cool and exciting. It blasted his bare chest.
Turning on the seat to face him, Ann unbuckled his belt and unsnapped the waistband of his trousers. He was having trouble keeping the car in the proper lane, and the speed kept dropping, then picking up when he remembered. They were on a main thoroughfare, with streetlights on both sides. He managed to keep the speed right to make all the traffic lights for ten blocks, then was caught by one.
"Shit!" He halted reluctantly, wishing he had run the yellow. He checked the mirror, terrified someone was going to pull up next to them.
"Pick up your bottom," Ann ordered, hauling his pants down.
Awkwardly, Charlie heaved his ass up off the seat and let her drag his pants and underpants down around his thighs. His cock burned as it dragged through the fly of his underpants. The upholstery felt strange against his bare butt.
"Quick, get your feet out," Ann ordered. She leaned over to hold his trousers and underpants.
"The light's changing," Charlie informed her.
Charlie hurried, which made it take even longer. He had his foot off both the gas, and the brake. The car was creeping forward slowly from the drag in the automatic transmission. From behind, a galaxy of headlights bore down on them. A horn blew and a car swerved past. Charlie fought to kick his feet free of his pants. Finally free of them, he jammed his foot down on the gas. The car lurched away from the light, throwing Ann back against the seat. She giggled, then untangled his trousers and folded them flatly and put them beside her.
Charlie shook his head, and wondered if be had gone crazy. Then Ann's hand closed around his prick, and he knew he hadn't. She leaned forward, and her lips closed around the knob of his rod. He felt that searing seeping pleasure again as his cock hardened instantly.
Then she sat up and curled her hand around his hard-on.
"Turn right at the next light," she ordered.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see." She gazed unconcernedly at the passing scenery and squeezed his towering hard-on.
Taking one hand from the steering wheel, he curled his arm around her shoulder, then eased his hand down and cupped her boob.
At last they arrived at a deserted dirt road. It was blocked by a chain suspended between two trees.
"Well?" he asked stupidly.
"What do you mean, 'Well?' Grab the blanket and let's go," she said, slightly acidly.
Charlie felt like a complete fool. When she had told him to bring a blanket, he had thought it we to wrap up in if it got cold at the movies. He reached into the back seat and got the blanket, then let her drag him along by one hand. The dust and rocks in the dirt road felt gritty under his bare feet. Ann held his hand and they walked along just the way they did when they walked in the park.
She guided him off the road and into a small clearing. He spread the blanket on the grass. A full moon flooded the clearing with silvery light.
When he put his arms around her and drew her against him, her head barely came to his chin. Her petite body pressed warmly against his, like living satin. The tips of her boobs were hard little knots against his chest. Her sleek, slender thighs spread, captured one of his. He felt her pussy hair scratch his thigh.
Releasing him, she slid downward. She bent her legs, knelt in front of him, and gripped his throbbing prick. Again he felt the warm, wet embrace of her mouth on his knob. She bathed his cockhead with her tongue, stroked it wetly as she sucked it in. He touched her head, combed his fingers through her short brown hair. He pulled her forward, forcing her to take more of his pulsing dick into her mouth. Instinctively, his hips thrust forward in a fucking motion, driving his prick to the back of her mouth. He felt her trying to pull back, pull away, felt her trying to free herself from his demanding hard-on. He held her trapped. His hands were clutching her hair, pulling her forward, forcing her to take his cock deeper. Something in him wanted to feel his cock jamming her throat, wanted to force her to take his load in her mouth.
It took a powerful effort of will for Charlie to uncurl his fingers and release Ann's head so she could pull back and breathe. For a moment she looked up at him with a trace of fear. She had seen something in him that frightened her, something that she hadn't expected.
Then she drew him down on the blanket beside her and they clutched each other hungrily. She lay back, presenting her petite body to him. She held his wrists gently as his hands explored her body. He pinched her tits. Lust -- almost pain -- flashed across her face. He fought the urge to pinch her harder, and instead stroked his hands down to her flat, trim waist. His thumbs met on her stomach and his fingers almost touched the pound on either side of her, she was so small. He squeezed her, felt her flesh yield to his powerful grip. He probed his thumbs into the dark oval of her navel, held her steady as she writhed on the blanket.
Then he slid his hands lower. With his eyes on her face, he probed the hot nest of her pussy, drilled one thumb into her seething cunt. Hot ripples of wet flesh embraced him warmly.
A hand curled around his spit-damp prick and squeezed it, testing its hardness. A thumb ran over the tip of his prick, smearing his secretions over his hot meat.
"Fuck me," she moaned softly. "Please fuck me!"
Charlie held back. He stroked his thumb the length of her steaming gash, watched her writhe from the stimulation. Then he covered her body with his. His hips nestled between her gaping thighs and his cock probed her crotch. He humped impatiently. His prick slid through her hot gash, missing the mark. Drawing back, he tried again. This time his cock plunged into her slick hale.
"Easy," she moaned.
Charlie slowed his attack. Carefully, he worked his prick into the hot well of her cunt. He felt the rippled walls of her twat grip his tool. He was amazed at the heat of her clutching snatch. He pumped his prick deep into her hole, until his hips jammed against her, his pubic bone pressed hard against hers. The head of his cock butted blindly against the end of her cunt.
"Awww!" she moaned.
Charlie drew back and slid his cock into her cunt again. He began fucking her, loving the feel of his cock sliding in and out of her tight sheath. The sensation of pistoning in and out of her slick snatch was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was total stimulation of his cock. The rippled walls of her cunt stroked the knob, the shaft, the nerve-bud on the underside, the whole length of his prick.
He fucked her hard, feeling the tip of his rod jam against the end of her cunt, stretching her lengthwise as well as in diameter. His pubic arch smashed against hers. Their tangling crotch bushes, thin flesh, and her clitoris, did little to cushion the impact.
Ann's body heaved under him, her hips thrust upward to meet his drives. She writhed under him like a bug spitted on a pin. She was whining and whimpering as she took his powerful thrusts into her petite body. Her nails clawed his back.
He kept pumping and pumping in her cunt, and felt the anticipation grow in his guts. He felt the cum collecting itself for the final spurting thrust, and moved more quickly and more sharply. She was making odd, wordless noises every time his body impacted against hers. It was like he was jolting the short, sharp cries from her. She seemed to be trying to say something, but he couldn't make any sense out of her stuttered whining. Then she was clutching him, trying to move her crotch up and down with his so he didn't piston in her hole.
He kept fucking, made her do what he wanted, made his cock burn against her cunt walls. He humped harder, quicker, sharper as the feeling of anticipation in his guts grew. Then he was spurting, and he drove his cock into her cunt as if he were trying to run her through. His prick jerked and pumped in her hot hole. He felt his jizz erupting deep in her twat. Her cunt walls convulsed and clutched his spouting rod and she went rigid as she accepted his gushing load.
She remained stiff until his balls were wrung dry, then collapsed limply on the hard ground. Charlie loved the feel of her small body under his, but yielded and rolled off her when Ann shoved at him. He flopped onto his back, feeling a strand of cum drying on one thigh, feeling cold jizz coating his withered prick.
"You're -- kind of -- rough," Ann panted softly.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm new at it."
"I know. I was looking forward to teaching you. But you knew it all without being taught."
"You weren't a virgin."
Charlie decided he didn't mind. "Sorry I was so rough," he apologized.
"It was kind of nice, for a change," Ann answered.
"For a change?" She made it sound like she screwed once a day and twice on Sundays.
"Most guys are too gentle. Some girls like to be forced to do things."
Charlie found the idea unexpectedly appealing. "Really?"
"Uhhh. Not too much though," she cautioned. "They don't like to be hurt. But they like a guy to be strong with them." Rolling to her side, she began stroking his bare chest with the tips of her fingers.
Charlie stared at her.
"Girls like to be told what to do," Ann went on.
Charlie thought of something she had done earlier, and how great it had felt. He thought, too, of what it had looked like in the porno magazine. When he thought of asking her to do it, his belly knotted with tension. His pulse pounded through his body like primitive drumbeats. His cock began to stiffen.
"Suck my cock," he said softly.
"What?" Ann's response was so soft he barely heard it.
"I said, suck my cock," he repeated firmly.
Ann was lying with her head on his chest. She looked down at his hardening dick. It lay up against his belly. He felt her gulp.
"Go ahead. Suck it. Suck it until I come in your mouth." He put his hand on her head and pushed her in the direction of his crotch. Her head slid down his bare stomach. Her hair tickled erotically. She didn't lift her head from his hard belly. She accepted his rod and mouthed it gently. He felt her lips circle his engorged tool, felt a new wave of blood pour into his already distended prick.
Letting his head fall back, Charlie savored the feel of her warm, moist tongue sweeping his prick clean of drying cum. He felt hot lubricant trickle the length of his tool and spill into her mouth.
Ann shifted. She got to her knees, without releasing his cock from her mouth. She straddled his legs, embraced them with her own, and faced up his body. She held his prick in her hand and slid her mouth down on it, coating it with saliva. She stroked her tongue up the length of its underside, swept it clean of his seeping juices. Her lips closed over the knob. She pressed downward, drove his cock to the back of her mouth.
Charlie lifted his head and rested it on his hands. He stared down the length of his body and watched his prick vanish into Ann's mouth. Moonlight spilled over her smooth shoulders. It side-lighted one of her small titties, made her look even younger and more virginal. She rested her elbows on his hip bones, steadied his prick, and flicked her face with his immense dick.
The sight of her eating his meat started the cum flowing in Charlie's groin. "You're a cocksucker. You suck cock, you know that, Ann? You suck cock!"
Ann didn't answer. He saw tension knotting her shoulders. Suddenly he realized how he felt about her, realized he didn't love her. Dating her was a badge of success. She was one of the most popular girls around school. She was pretty, intelligent, talented, admired, and respected. And he had her down on her knees. She was sucking his cock like a common slut, and he loved it. She loved it, too, which made it all the better. She degraded herself further by liking what she was doing.
"Suck it," he said harshly. "Suck my cock until I come. And then swallow my jizz. Suck it, suck it, suck it. Cocksucker!"
Ann whimpered, and took more of his prick into her mouth. He saw her stomach heave as she gagged on the massive rod. Her lips were distended by the towering bulk of his shaft, her jaws forced wide open by his prick. Her tongue stroked and pressed and bathed the vein on the underside as she bobbed her head over his groin. Her fingers lifted and rolled his nuts as she sucked on his cock.
He was going to come. The pool of sperm felt like lava in his guts. His nuts drew up tight against his groin, and he felt the eruption peaking with the inevitability of a tidal wave.
Reaching down, he clamped his hands on Ann's head, gripped her hair, and moved her up and down, up and down. His hips began to push upward as he rammed her head down, slammed his cock down her throat. He knew she was gagging and choking, but ignored it. He didn't care. He didn't give a shit. All he cared about was his building ecstasy, and how great it would feel to pour his hot, sticky load down her throat.
He began to spurt, and jammed her head down hard on his tool. Staring up into the moonlit night, he unloaded his cum into her sucking, swallowing mouth. Thick spurts of jizz burst from his prick -- solid wads of pleasure poured down her throat. Her tongue and palate massaged his cock as she swallowed the successive waves of thick juice. He felt her trying to pull up as his orgasm passed the halfway point, and let her draw up and suck in a breath of air. Raising his head, he saw his cock shining with her spit. A creamy dribble of cum escaped her sucking, encircling lips and dribbled down into his crotch bush.
He was glad there was a full moon, so he could see everything as well as feel it. Half the pleasure in the act came from being able to watch Ann's abject humiliation.
She sucked him dry. She milked his prick with her stroking fingers and extracted the last drops of thick fuck cream with her lips. She pressed the strip of flesh behind his balls. Then she sat up. Her warm ass settled down on his legs. She sat up straight and put her hands outer thighs, the moonlight spilling over her slender naked body. Her face was a study in exhaustion and lust. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was gaping open. Her chin was shiny with overflowed saliva and jizz. Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath.
Charlie let his head drop back onto his cushioning hands and savored the delicious ache of satisfaction in his groin, savored the memory of how Ann had looked with her head spiked on his jetting prick. He dozed contentedly, exhausted. He was dimly aware of Ann moving, doing something. He felt her moving up his body, but paid no attention to her. He was awash in a sea of pleasure from his recent orgasm.
He felt. Ann's thighs embracing his torso, her ass brushing his stomach, the soft scratch of her pussy hair against his chest and realized she was moving up him. Just as he opened his eyes and lifted his head to see what she was doing, she pinned his arms with her legs. Her full weight mashed his biceps painfully into the ground.
He didn't need to lift his head to see her. She was towering right there over him. She was resting her warm, firm, smooth ass on his chest just hard enough to make it difficult for him to breathe.
"It works two ways, you know," she informed him, a nasty edge in her voice. "These are the days of women's lib."
"Huh?" She had just said women liked being told what to do!
"Women like to do the telling, too. I ate you. Now you're going to eat me."
Charlie shook his head, then winced when she put more pressure on his already aching arms. Her knees were beside his ears, her toes beside his ribs. Her shin bones were across his upper arms. All she had to do was move her toes slightly and his muscles were rolled painfully along the hard ground. His hands and forearms were free, but there was nothing he could reach on her that would dislodge her.
"I sucked your cock. Now you can eat my cunt," Ann informed him bluntly. The vile words coming from her pretty, young, innocent-looking mouth jolted him, in spite of all that had gone before. Looking up, he had an ant's-eye view of her slender, graceful body. Her flat tummy was a gentle indentation below the smooth swell of her boobs. She was a dramatic, erotic study in curves, lights, and shadows. Her nipples were stiff points, her navel a dark hollow. She lifted her ass off his chest, and he could see the neat patch of her pussy. It was almost black in the moonlight, and stringy and kinky with cum.
"Eat me," she ordered, shoving her pussy in his face. She slid her hands sensuously down her body and spread her cuntlips. All he could see was a darker patch. But he could smell her -- a rich, enticing aroma, a mixture of female secretions and cum spilled over him from her hot cunt.
Letting go of her twat, she reached down and tangled her fingers in his hair and held tight. She lifted his head, drew his face up to her crotch, and pressed his mouth against her hot, soft, wet gash. Her pussy hair scratched and tickled his lips and cheeks. He was drowning in her hot cunt meat. He resisted, so she increased the pressure on his upper arms. He yielded, drilled his tongue into her hot snatch. His mouth was instantly flooded with the metallic taste of her inner tissues. He bored his tongue into the well of her cunt, and tasted both her cum and his, all mingled together. He liked it. The taste inside her cunt triggered a primitive response in his guts, and if he hadn't already been so sexually drained, he knew his dick would have. I stiffened. As it was, all he felt was a delicious ache in his drained cock.
Ann held him trapped up against her dripping cunt. He lapped at her open gash, slurped up her streaming flow. He twisted his tongue deep into her rippled cunt, dug his nose into her pussy folds, pressed it down on the squirming bud of her clit. He opened his eyes and saw Ann writhing over him in the grip of sexual excitement. Her face was twisted with lust. Then she looked down at him, and he saw in her eyes what he had felt when he watched her sucking his cock. He saw in her face the pure pleasure of sexually humiliating another person.
And he found a weird, wild joy in being humiliated. Closing his eyes, he savored his degradation, marveled at the craziness of it all. Minutes earlier, he had been loving the sight other humiliation, and now he was wallowing in his own, loving it almost as much.
"My clit," Ann ordered. "Suck my clit until I come. Suck it, suck it, suck it!" She added emphasis to her order by twisting her hands in his hair. She wrenched his head backwards, dragged his mouth away from her cunt. He ripped his tongue up her slippery gash, felt the button of her clit slip away from his searching mouth. He sought the nubbin with his lips, blindly, like a baby searching for its mother's tit. Then he captured her mini-prick, and sucked it into his mouth. He tried to suck it right out of her body. He squeezed the squirmy pearl against his teeth with his tongue.
He opened his eyes when Ann began to thrash around, to writhe and twist. Her cunt flooded his chin as she came. He was making her come with his mouth, and while he was being degraded by being forced to eat her pussy, he had a crazy feeling of power, too. Because he was the reason for her coming. He was responsible for her carnal reactions, was controlling them, and the whole thing was such a crazy tangle of dominance and submission it didn't make any sense at all. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was the exquisite sexual pleasure of the whole, mad, moonlit scene.
It went on until Ann's orgasm was over and she released his head. His neck muscles exhausted, Charlie let his head thump back down onto the blanket-covered ground. He struggled to breathe against her weight as she settled down on his chest. He felt her cunt juice drying cold and crusty on his cheeks and chin. He was overwhelmed by the smell that clung to him. Then Ann dismounted and sat beside him on the blanket. She put her arms around her knees. Her head slumped forward as she caught her breath.
Charlie finally broke the silence. "What time do you suppose it is?" he asked, trying to judge how far the moon had moved since their arrival in the clearing.
Ann shrugged without lifting her head, "I don't know. Does it matter?"
"Don't you have a curfew?"
"Yeah," Ann said calmly. "And I missed it."
"I'll get spanked. What about you?"
"Mom won't do anything," Charlie answered.
"Gee, that's no good. She ought to enforce it," Ann observed.
"I know. But she'll just look hurt, and I'll feel like shit. But maybe that's better than a spanking."
"Oh, no," Ann argued. "I like the spanking."
"You like it?"
"Sure. It means that they love me and care about me. And besides, I get a kick out of the pain thing."
"Daddy turns me over his knee, hauls down my panties and lays it right on my bare bottom," Ann went on dreamily.
"Daddy gets turned on by it, too," Ann added. "He gets a hard-on. I can feel it. I think he'd like to fuck me."
"He hasn't ever?"
"No." Ann sighed. "He goes and gives it to Mom instead." She glanced over at Charlie. "What does your mom do for sex, now that your dad's dead?"
Charlie had never thought about it. He had never thought about his mother as caring about sex. The idea shocked him, and intrigued him. He tried to visualize his mother making love, and couldn't. "I don't know."
"Does she date at all?"
Charlie shook his head. "Not really. She's been sort of seeing a guy, Eric Jameson, but not really dating."
"Think she'll get married again?"
Charlie shook his head. "She loved Dad too much. She'll never forget him. I'm the man of the house now."
"So what are you going to do, fuck her?" Ann asked.
"God no!" Charlie answered automatically, shocked.
"Why not? She's pretty and young," Ann observed.
"Not more than forty, I'd bet," Ann retorted.
"But she's my mother!"
"If I'd like to fuck my father, why shouldn't you want to fuck your mother?" Ann asked logically.
Unsettled, Charlie shut the discussion off. "I don't want to talk about it. We better get home."
Gathering up the blanket, they made their way to the car. The cool night air dried the cum and sweat on their naked bodies. Once there, they got out their clothes and dressed. Ann produced a pair of panties from her purse and pulled them on.
"So Daddy will have something to take down when I get home." She giggled.
"You really like to get spanked, don't you?" Charlie asked.
"It turns me on. And it proves they love me. You should be so lucky."
"Mom would never spank me," Charlie sighed.
"Why don't you ask her?" Ann suggested.
Charlie shook his head and slipped behind the wheel. Wordlessly, he turned the car around. He pondered the idea all the way home, parked the car and crept quietly into the dark house. Maybe his mother was asleep and wouldn't know when he had gotten home. He couldn't stand her hurt looks when he failed her, he really couldn't.
Ellen Jameson stood facing her father. Her head was down slightly. Her red curls tumbled over the shoulders of her baby dolls. Even with the slight, defensive hunch to her shoulders, her tits thrust out impressively against the soft cotton. Her nipples shifted with every tense breath. Her hands were clasped in front of her crotch where her panties bunched tightly between her thighs. Her legs and feet were clamped together. Her blue eyes, shadowed by her hair, glowed. The flush in her cheeks had made her freckles fade out a little. Her lips shifted nervously. She licked them tensely.
Eric Jameson was sitting in a straight-backed chair, eyeing his daughter, his expression stern rather than angry. "You acknowledge that you were late?" he asked. He was wearing a terrycloth bathrobe which belted around the waist.
"You know you're to be punished?"
"Yes, Daddy." There was a touch of husky breathless in her voice.
"How late were you?" he asked.
"Fif-fifteen minutes," Ellen stammered tensely. She twisted her fingers together nervously. Her eyes glittered with excitement.
"It's the second time this week you've been late," he pointed out.
"Ye-yes, Daddy," Ellen agreed. Her tits were rising and falling dramatically. Her nipples were getting hard.
"Get the paddle," he said softly.
"Yes, Daddy," she agreed in the same soft, hot tone. Turning her back on him, she went over to the bureau and took down the ping-pong paddle hanging beside the mirror. The motion made the hem of her top rise up and expose the generous roundness of her ass, the ruffled edge of the panties where the elastic clutched the softness of her butt.
Her thighs scissored smoothly as she walked back to her father. A wisp of dark-red hair curled against one thigh. She handed him the paddle and stood in front of him.
"Take your panties down," he ordered.
Ellen obeyed. She lifted the top and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the panties. She skinned them down her legs and stepped out of them daintily. A tantalizing hint of red cunt hair showed below the bottom edge of the baby dolls.
"Over my knee," Eric Jameson ordered inexorably, showing no visible interest in his daughter's exposure.
Biting her lower lip, Ellen moved to one side, then bent and folded herself over her father's lap. She lowered herself slowly until she could curl one arm around his naked calf, the other around the leg of the chair. Her hair brushed the floor as she hung head downward over his lap. The pajama top was up around her shoulders. Her buttcheeks gleamed softly. The crack of her ass was dark and exciting.
Her boobs sagged heavily because of her inverted position, the nipples and areolas pink and alertly hard, highly aroused. The red bush of her pussy was visible between her pale, rounded thighs.
Erie Jameson gripped the paddle firmly in his right hand. With his left, he gently stroked her fanny, first one cheek, then the other. Then he slid his hand down the smooth slope of her back and held her shoulders firmly down. He flexed his fingers around the handle of the paddle. He raised it slowly, and brought it down on the buttcheek farthest from him with a ringing crack.
Ellen made no sound, but jerked as if hit with an electric shock. Her grip on her father's leg tightened.
Shifting, he moved his free leg to trap Ellen's so she couldn't kick free. She was now draped over one leg only. Then, with his daughter effectively immobilized, he brought the paddle down sharply on her other cheek. Already, the first one was reddening, blushing.
Ellen jerked again, but still made no sound. Her nipples got more flushed and erect. Her face was reddening from her inverted position. Her forehead was shiny with sweat.
The paddle cracked down a third time. She moaned very, very softly as her asscheek reddened still more. She tightened her grip on the chair leg and her father's leg. The paddle descended on her bottom again. She whimpered.
Eric Jameson wielded the paddle with slow deliberation, carefully alternating asscheeks. He kept his eyes focused firmly on his target. He slid the hand on Ellen's shoulder down slightly and gripped the back of her neck. He tightened his leg grip on her, too.
Ellen's eyes were squeezed tight shut. Tears oozed from them, felt their way hesitantly through her red eyebrows to her forehead. Her lips were stretched in a grimace of pain, her teeth clenched tight, filtering her soft moans. Her body tensed in anticipation of each blow. Her buns knotted defensively.
Her father deliberately varied the rhythm of his blows so as to catch her unawares with each ringing smack, and, as a result, she always jumped violently.
She squirmed in his lap, twisted slightly. Something slid up beside her, lifted and tented his robe.
When the next blow struck her upraised ass, her father's robe slid slowly open and revealed the tall, hard column of his cock. The dusky pink knob gleamed. The ivory shaft throbbed and pulsed as it swelled. The slit at the tip winked lasciviously.
The paddle cracked on Ellen's ass, and Eric's cock slid against her bare skin. It was impossible for her to ignore it. Her tits got harder and more erect than ever. Her boobs shivered.
The paddle smashed down on her tail again. Eleven. Twelve. Both cheeks were a brilliant scarlet, flaming and hot. Between her thighs, her cuntlips were swollen and distended. A delicate pink ruffle of inner tissues showed in the heart of her pussy.
Maintaining a slow, totally unpredictable rhythm, Eric applied three more swats to his daughter's already burning butt. His cock throbbed and rubbed against her pale flesh. A gooey, gleaming strand of lubricant smeared her pale skin. A thick glob welled into view at the tip of his prick. He let go of Ellen's neck and dropped the hand with the paddle loosely to his side.
Ellen heaved herself up from her folded-over position. Her face was contorted with pain from the spanking -- and something else, too. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Stepping back half a pace, she straddled her father's lap, moved over him. Reaching down, she gripped the pale, erect shaft of his cock and aimed it up into her red snatch. Without opening her eyes, she lowered herself on his towering spear, rammed it up into her oozing hole. She sank down until she had the entire brutal length of her father's prick in her cunt, until her dark-red bush tangled with his light red one. She sat up very straight, as if the full length of his shaft was rammed up through her graceful body like a second spine.
"Oooohhh, Daddy," she moaned softly. "Ohhh, Daddy!"
The ping-pong paddle thumped to the floor and Eric Jameson stripped the top half of his daughter's pajamas up and off her, exposing her eighteen-year-old body completely. She let him rip her last covering off her. Her long red hair tumbled in dismay over her creamy shoulders, brushed the upper slopes of her full, firm boobs.
Eric Jameson sucked in his breath at the sight of his daughter's body, just the way he did every time he saw it. She had a superb figure. Her tits were generous, thrusting mounds any woman would be proud of. Her skin, where it was exposed to the sun, was freckled and golden. Where it was protected by the one-piece suit she always wore, it was a creamy, flawless, pale white.
"Oh, Daddy," Ellen repeated, linking her hands behind his neck. She began to rise and fall. His cock slid out of her hole, then drove back up into her tight, clinging, aroused cunt. He slid his ass to the edge of the chair and let her fuck herself on his tool. He unbelted his robe and spread it wide open. His flat muscular stomach was wrinkled because of his slouched position.
Her legs flexing smoothly, Ellen lifted and dropped on her father's prick. Her whole body flushed with pleasure. Her boobs quivered excitingly as she moved. The only consideration she showed her abused butt was to m
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