Blog 5:

If there is one thing that casts a shadow across the happy playtime that is my amorous dalliance with Stephen, then it is his mother. To be fair, I can appreciate her concern; if you look at our relative ages than I am closer in years to her than I am to her son, but you would think she would give me some credit for all the time and effort I am taking in trying to turn her boy into a man.

Although we’ve never met, she seems to have plenty to say on the subject of “that woman” to sweet, succulent, Stephen and I doubt that much of it runs along the lines of:

“Oh, she’s been tutoring you in the art of pleasuring a lady with your tongue. How positively delightful! Now why didn’t I think to teach you that?”

Stephen’s mother, therefore, has become something of a taboo subject between us … the elephant who quite frequently smashes her way into our delicate porcelain china relationship and stands between us huffing and trumpeting noisily … which makes it rather unusual when Stephen hurls her into the conversation shortly after our soapy sojourn in the shower.

With a couple of lovely squirts of Stephen’s semen trickling down my throat to warm my stomach, I considered my cleansing duties complete … I had, after all, emptied his squidgy little balls of all that dirty cum … so I jumped out of the shower, patted my water sheened body down with an oversized fluffy towel, slid my feet back into my 3” heel, mint blue, court shoes and shrugged my way into my pretty new dress.

Drying and dressing can be such a faff when you are all nice and cosy at home so I left my body more damp than dry and simply did up one button on the shirt dress just above my belly button. Thus attired, I stepped lightly through the house, my thin heeled courts tapping out my bottom’s wiggling rhythm, as I made my way to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

Okay, I was feeling a little horny by now. Much as I’d enjoyed relieving Stephen of all that pent up boy tension, my own swollen vulva, damp labia and dribbling pussy were persistently reminding me that the proper place for his cock was buried amongst their soft, welcoming folds. So I hoped, that with my breasts and bottom barely concealed beneath the damp cotton that clung to their gentle curves and with my swollen and hairless, naked pussy on permanent display between my smooth thighs, that Stephen would find me an invitation difficult to refuse.

I busied myself in the kitchen making sandwiches and tea; allowing myself a happy little smile as I heard Stephen’s damp feet pad into the room. So I gave my bottom an extra wiggle as I bent at the waist to inspect the contents of my near empty fridge, making sure that he would have a perfect view of how damp, willing and receptive my gently pulsing pussy was.

“You remind me of my mother like that.”

Like that! What, bent over, wiggling my arse in his direction, practically begging him to step up behind me, to place his hands on my hips and ram his wonderfully steaming man flesh deep into my dribbling, womanly core?

I took a deep breath, straightened up, turned to face him and tried to keep the chill out of my voice.

“Is that right, Stephen? Is this how your mother parades around at home?” 

I placed my hands on my hips, pulling the wet fabric tight across my attention seeking nipples, my swollen vulva perfectly silhouetted as I planted my feet shoulder width apart.

“And do you sit at her kitchen table with your cock in your hand as she wiggles her bottom in front of your face, as she absent mindedly leans over you so that you can admire her cleavage. Because I bet she has a cleavage doesn’t she Stephen; big swollen breasts, perfect for her little baby boy to suckle on.”

Somehow I’d become emotionally hyper charged. I could feel tears at the corner of my eyes; a barely acknowledged frustration crawled around the pit of my stomach and my impotent anger rose to redden my face. Yet I didn’t know what I was upset about; my maddeningly small breasts, the lack of a stiff cock to plunder my pussy, the guilt and inferred criticism that I felt at any mention of Stephen’s mother or the certain knowledge that someday soon he’d move on to fresher, younger, more nubile pastures.

Whatever it was, as Stephen sat dumbstruck before me, I released my ire in a torrent of invective.

“I bet you want to, don’t you Stephen. I’d bet you’d like her to pull her t-shirt off over her head, to unclasp her bra and cradle her breasts in her hands so that you can take her fat swollen nipples in your wet mouth …” 

 I stepped towards him; crowded him, towered over him in my 3” heels as he sat trying to find a space amongst the flow of words. And as I continued, my hands reached down and pulled apart the towel covering his groin.

“… as she rummages around in your trousers, as her fingers squeeze about your cock and wank you to attention …”

My shaking fingers found his flaccid cock hiding between his thighs and started stroking and squeezing it back to life.

“… and does she spread her legs for you, Stephen? Does she wiggle her short, tight skirt over her arse so that you can see her panty clad pussy? Does she …” 

 I thrust my own naked, dribbling, pussy forward for his attention.

“Stop It! Stop it! Stop … It!”

Stephen’s words started as a shout before they trailed off into more measured authoritative tones. It worked; I felt as if I’d been bitch slapped about the face. Instantly I felt ashamed at my words yet, regardless of my poor behaviour, there was another urge that overwhelmed me, that still controlled my body.

"I’m sorry, Stephen. Please forgive me. That was wrong of me; I shouldn’t have said those things. Show me you forgive me, Stephen. Fuck me, Stephen. Fuck me to show me that you forgive me … that you love me … Please, please fuck me, Stephen. ”

My hand still pumped frantically between his legs trying to ignite a flame of desire in his largely unresponsive cock as my free fingers drifted down my belly towards my throbbing, demanding clitoris and my voice whined pleadingly on.

“Please.”

I leant into him; brought my mouth to his, opened myself before him, offered his tongue the opportunity to slide between my lips as my fingers finally found my stiff, wet clitoral nub peeking from beneath his fleshy hood.

“Please, Stephen.”

He resisted me, upset no doubt at my wild and insensitive words, so I pressed my lips firmly against his, probed insistently with my tongue until eventually his lips fell open and I was free to dart back and forth about his soft tongue and sharp teeth.

I swallowed him whole; sucked him into me, made our bodies as one as my fingers slid frantically along the length of his gradually stiffening shaft and delved between the sloppy wet entrance of my eagerly waiting pussy.

I fucked his mouth. Fucked it with my tongue; frenzied, passionate, panting need flowing from every pour of my body and seeping into his flesh. My saliva dribbled from our conjoined mouths and my lips grinded into his as our tongues battled for supremacy.

I straddled him; my mouth never leaving his, the fingers between my legs driving me onward to my overdue crescendo, his cock at last beginning to demonstrate signs of life between my tirelessly attentive fingers.

I dragged my mouth from his; desperate for air, my rising orgasm reverberating throughout the depths of my pussy, Stephen’s cock now beautifully poised beneath my frenziedly thrusting fingers as they drove me ever closer to the orgasm that was waiting to send every cell of my body into quivering pleasure.

“Please, Stephen. Please fuck me. Please.”

I pulled my fingers free; grasped hold of the chair back, left my poor pussy to spasm helplessly about its sodden, empty core.

“Please.”

I rammed my pussy down, speared myself on his cock, strained to push it up between my swollen, wet pussy muscles, and hoped to feel it thrusting against my cervix. My pussy juice soaked arse slapped down against his dampened thighs and my swollen, needy clitoris grinded into his magnificently abrasive pubic hair.

I fucked my wonderful boy; endlessly riding the length of his cock as orgasm after beautiful orgasm spread from the gushing waterfall of pleasure between my legs. I fucked him. I fucked him and fucked him and fucked him until my knuckles were white with the tension of gripping the chair, until our sweat sheened bodies ached, until my breath wheezed from my body and words became no more intelligible than the pants and moans that filled the room, until my ankles burned and my legs shook, until my arse was red from slapping against his thighs and my tiny breasts and puffy nipples were sore from the fierce attentions of Stephen’s mouth, until the spasms of my stomach muscles caused unendurable pain and my vision blurred before my tear streaked eyes.

Yes, I fucked my wonderful boy until finally, with one last thrust of my juices drenched pussy; I milked all of his lovely, sticky man cum from out of his swollen, twitching cock and collapsed against his chest, little more than a quivering, shaking, trembling puddle of used and joyful flesh; happy in the knowledge that at last his stamina seemed to be improving.

And that, I’m afraid will have to be that for now. Hopefully, next time I’ll get around to finishing telling you about my little adventure with Pippa and her double ended dido. Until then …