Night With Mommy

by Sofia Connor

  I helped her up and turned on the shower for a quick rinse, scrubbing off the oil and rinsing the assorted bodily fluids off, I leave her to her porcelain throne, as she was when as this started, to expel the contents of that beautiful, that perfect, that highly fuckable ass. I closed the door just as I heard her sigh of relief as she relaxed that recently fucked asshole and allowed the contents to be emptied into the bowl below her.

  The End.

  The Tutor

  Oblivious to the dazzling autumnal colors around him, Hank plodded through the outskirt woods following the hard-packed trail to the campus, worrying a mental thread. He was jazzed to play this afternoon against the Northern Heights Technical School Panthers. This would be his first time starting for Central Junior College and he was determined to make a good showing as point guard. But the weeks of drills had scrambled his brain. So much to keep front and center. He'd been trying to let it all go and allow his instincts to take over - that's what Coach Dawson kept dogging the team to do - but he had been wound up with nerves for days. Just as he closed his eyes to practice clearing the clutter, the sound of staccato heels approached from the left. It registered, but not before he slammed into someone rounding the steep limestone outcropping.

  "Hey, watch out Hank," a familiar feminine voice barked.

  He fought to keep his balance and keep the body he was suddenly entangled with from falling to the ground. "Sorry, Miss Harper," Hank said as he made sure she was steady on her tall shoes. From those, he couldn't help noticing the graceful curve of her stockinged calves rising into a pleasingly draped black skirt. As his eyes rose to meet hers, he took in the remainder of her outfit: a plunging, short-sleeved, white silk blouse, set off by shoulder-length chestnut hair. Not exactly hiking attire. He struggled to keep his eyes on hers. "I was completely lost in thought."

  "That's okay, Hon. I didn't expect to run into anyone on this trail either. Thought I'd take a short cut home from the school. It's beautiful here." She looked him over. "You playing today?"

  He looked down at his shiny basketball uniform and the splayed toes of his high-tops. Next to her, he felt oddly juvenile. Awkwardly, he pushed aside his long blond bangs. "Yeah. Big game today. I'm starting."

  "Congratulations, Hank. That's wonderful."

  Her wide smile warmed him, as always. He hadn't paid attention to Miss Harper's looks during his twice-weekly visits to her office for help with his math class. She was what, in her thirties? Just one of the "adults." Here in the secluded woods, however, finely dressed Miss Harper stood out like a glowing beacon, and Hank found himself quite aware of her sinuous form.

  A cloud cooled her features. "I missed you this past week."

  Hank dropped his gaze. He hated to disappoint. "My bad. The game." He shrugged sheepishly. "You know."

  "Yes, I do know. The big game." A long sigh left her lips. "What about your big test this Friday? Isn't that more important?"

  "Sure, but there's time. After today. Nothing but studying for the test. I promise."

  She folded her arms and glared at him. "Damn it, Hank. Stop bullshitting me."

  He stepped back, stunned. "Hey, what did I...?"

  "That's exactly what you said before your last test. And you scored a D. 'Distracted by our big win,' you said. And here we are again."

  "But..."

  "Save your excuses." She crossed her arms. "Jesus, you're just like the other 'boys' on the teams. So full of yourselves and only focused on the moment. No thought of your future."

  Hank had never heard Miss Harper swear, much less raise her voice. Man, she was pissed. And it stung. He didn't know what to say, but he tried to smooth things over. "Listen, I goofed up. I know. And I'm sorry. Tonight, I'll work twice as long on my..."

  "On what, Hank? Do you even remember where we left off?"

  "Of course I do. It was polynomials...no wait...that's done. It's the...shoot, what are they called again? The...the..."

  "Enough!" Miss Harper looked around and eyed a tree stump behind the slouching young man. She stepped around him and sat. As she did so, she grabbed Hank's shorts by the wide hems and yanked them down.

  "Hey! What the...?" He reached down to pull them up and lost his balance. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him over her lap. Other than the narrow diagonal strips of his supporter, his pale white cheeks were fully exposed for her intended handiwork.

  Hank felt dizzy. What was happening? Suddenly he had a face full of weeds and a ferocious fire was spreading across his backside as his tutor spanked him like a bratty child. He tried to squirm free, but Miss Harper was surprisingly strong. Every time he reached back to protect himself, she swatted his hand away. More than the growing pain, he was overcome by the humiliation. What if someone came by and saw?

  "You listen to me, young man," she said as she rained down the spanks. "If you want me to help you pass your tests, you damn well better shape up."

  "I will, I will," he groaned. "I promise." He could not get a firm purchase on anything. His feet kept sliding on the slippery leaves and now she had one arm pinned against his back and the other trapped between his side and her stomach.

  "I've had enough of words. I...want...action!"

  "Yeowch! All right, all right. Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

  "Right. More words." She spanked him even harder and a new embarrassment kicked in. He felt tears rolling down his cheeks. "Please stop, Miss Harper. I'm sorry. I'll do everything you ask."

  She stopped. To her amusement, Hank was still kicking. "Everything?" She heard a sniffle and muffled cough, and was pleased.

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  Miss Harper helped Hank to his knees. "Okay, come here, Hon." She pulled him in and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. He wasn't crying outright, but she felt the wetness of his cheeks against her bosom. Progress.

  Hank's kept his face pressed against Miss Harper, not wanting her to see his tear-stained cheeks. Her hand slid up and down his back and he found that comforting, warm. His mind cart-wheeled with too many thoughts and feelings to track. He let them all go and just let her soft words and touches console him.

  "There, there, Hon. You'll be fine. I know you can do this."

  As calm restored, Hank took notice of the fragrance on his tutor's skin. Something spicy. Then he realized that this skin, pressed against his nose, was her cleavage. His first impulse was to pull away, but she felt so good against him. He could hear her heartbeat. Rapid. Like his. He relaxed and kept his face there. His hands had been glued to her waist, holding fast, but he let one venture to her lap. The shape of her taught, muscular thighs under her skirt filled his mind all over again. New thoughts. Confusing thoughts.

  "Well now, what have we here?" he heard her say.

  He tried to pull away to see what she was looking at, but she held his head fast against her breasts. Suddenly he felt something brush the front of his jockstrap. Then again. It was her fingers. He realized then that his protective gear had become painfully restrictive. Oh God, he thought. He was hard as a rock.

  "This must be terribly uncomfortable," she said. With her free hand she deftly slid down the jockstrap, a little at a time on each side. She felt his stiffness bump against her thigh. "Oh my," she barely whispered, "you can't play basketball with THAT. How embarrassing."

  Hank slumped. She was right. He'd be a laughing stock.

  Miss Harper buried her face in his blond mop of hair and kissed the top of his head. "Let me help you with that." She reached for her purse and, again, with one hand, opened the clasp, rooted around, and pulled out a silk handkerchief. She reached down and slid her skirt up to reveal her thighs, silky in vintage stockings. "This will make you feel all better."

  Hank could only moan agreement as he felt her wrap the silk around the head of his penis. She moved it onto her thigh and began to gently pet it. He pulled back far enough to see her breasts rising and falling. He looked down and saw her red-nailed fingertips caressing him. Between her parted legs, he spied
a triangle of black lace. He wanted to drop his head down and explore her most thoroughly, please her, but he didn't want to be free of her touch. Instead, he leaned in to her breast again and rested his head comfortably against her soft, pillowy blouse.

  "I think you like me to spank you. Don't you?"

  Hank grunted.

  "I thought so. You've needed this for a long time. Tonight, after your game, after you're all cleaned up, come to my house. I'm going to tutor you...in private."

  He grunted again. This time, though, he involuntarily thrust forward. Miss Harper wrapped her hand and silk cloth around his length.

  "And I am going to put you over my lap again, Hon, but this time I'm going to give you a very hard spanking on your naked bottom so you learn how to be responsible."

  Grunt. Thrust.

  "And Hank?"

  Grunt.

  "I have a feeling this may take many lessons."

  Grunt thrust.

  A familiar delirium seeped through his mind and body as he visualized Miss Harper's invitation. As she talked, he couldn't help but push against her thigh, sliding in and out of the soft silk. Wanting more. Wanting to hear more.

  "You will come to my house twice a week." She reached behind him and gave him a sharp spank. "Do you understand?"

  Grunt. Long thrust.

  "You will not be able to leave until you learn your lesson."

  Spank. Grunt. Thrust.

  "If you insist on misbehaving, I'll spank you over my knee again and again and again, like a bad little boy."

  A blinding wave took hold. Hank buried his face between Miss Harper's breasts and let out a primal growl. It seemed his entire being pulsed into her silken fist. Everything spun and spasmed and twitched until he felt like a dead weight. Helpless. Inert.

  Eventually he became aware of Miss Harper's soft hands stroking his back and arms, even his sore bottom. She had a way of making everything seem okay.

  She gently pushed him back and said quietly, "You have a game to win."

  He nodded. After dressing, he stood and offered his hand to help Miss Harper up. She pulled out a pen and scrap of paper, scribbled her address and folded it into Hank's hand. "Make us proud, Hank. Make me proud."

  "I will, Ma'am. You can count on me. From now on." He started away, but turned. "Thank you."

  "Oh, don't thank me yet, Hon. I will see you tonight. Then you will really learn what it means to be thankful." She stepped to him and kissed his cheek. Then, with a quick swat that made him jump, she sent him on his way.

  The End.

  Under Cover Under-the-Covers

  "You're crazy!" my husband hissed at me. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into!"

  "If crazy means trying to spend time with my husband," I replied, "then yes, I'm fucking crazy!"

  "Not like this Carla! Why did you do this? I can't believe you're fucking doing this! You're not only risking my job and everything I've worked for, but our lives as well! Do you know who you're fucking with right now?"

  Before I could answer, his entire face changed and he spouted off something that yes, the fish is excellent. That meant our dates were returning from the bathroom, and yes as a matter of fact, I knew who I was fucking with. So what. Big Hands Babmino. I didn't fucking care. I hadn't seen my husband in over six months. Six fucking month - and I hadn't had a real relationship with him in almost two years. Christ.

  He told me this job would only last a few months and then it dragged on to a year, and then two. The visits got shorter and shorter as he became more enveloped with his alter self, and soon I was hardly getting phone calls anymore. After I cried for the thousandth time, I blew my top and got angry. No fucking way. Not this wife. Not anymore. I didn't care what it took or what I might risk, I was going to see my husband again.

  I didn't stand when our dates returned to the table. My husband did and pulled out his date's chair. A big blonde bimbo. Ever meet a woman in which everything was artificial about her? That was the Bimbo. Her hair, her nails, and I swear-to-god her breasts were all fake. Oh -- sure, she looked good -- but who wouldn't with that sort of money. Big Hands pulled his chair next to mine, and his hand found mine underneath the table. Some girls might of flinched, but I didn't. It kinda felt nice to feel the warmth of a man's hands, even if it wasn't my husband's, and it felt nice to be paid attention to for once. Besides, if it made my husband jealous even though he hid it so well with that fucking smile of his, it was worth it. I was prepared to do anything to have my husband back in my life. I hope he was ready for it.

  "So whatcha twos been talkin about?" Big Hands asked.

  "Oh - Nicky was raving about the sole, so I think I might try it," I said.

  Nicky was not my husband's name. His name was Greg. Nice All-American name. He didn't have the All-American look to go with his real name though, but that's okay. That wasn't the look I went for anyhow. I always liked nicely dressed tall dark men, and Greg's Italian features fit the bill, though I had to teach him how to dress well. Nicky would have probably been a better name for him had he actually been Italian, but he wasn't.

  "Yeah, Nicky's got good taste, he sure does. Glad he had you call me." His hand squeezed my knee.

  "Well - Nicky's always had an eye for a good lady," I winked at my husband. He smiled back. Bastard. I knew he was pissed though.

  "That's for sure," Greg's date giggled, and pulled herself closer to my husband. I hated her laugh. I wanted to choke her.

  I didn't know what pissed my husband off so much. I should be the one who's furious. I know he's fucked other women. Yeah, I knew it might happen. I'm not that clueless as to know what sort of positions he might be put into if you worked this kind of job, and I didn't mind being the wife of an FBI agent, but what I did mind was that I wasn't getting laid with anything but my vibrator as of lately, and God damn it - sometimes you need a lot more than cold plastic inside you.

  Big Hands lightly stroked my bear legs under the table, and I must admit it felt good - that and the wine. I couldn't believe I was enjoying myself.

  I started idly caressing Big Hands legs, when I discovered something else besides his legs. Damn thing was stretched down is pants legs!

  "It looks like Big Hands isn't the only thing that's big about you," I whispered in his ear, loud enough for my husband to hear."

  He blushed "No doll, it ain't."

  "You're sweet," I said caressing his cock through his pants. "Not what I expected." I guess a lot of people get caught up in the violence of what it means to be in organized crime, that you forget that they're human and can also be gentleman too. Hell, they can even blush.

  Or you could be on the right side of the law and be a prick like my husband who never calls.

  It kinda made me feel good to make a man blush again, and I liked the way his penis felt in my hands. It had been so long -- so fucking long, I swear since I'd been fucked. I could feel his heartbeat pulsing through the warm veins of his cock -- either that or it was the wine going to my head. I can't lie to you that I wasn't getting turned on. I was. It wasn't his penis I wanted or came for, but it was doing just fine for now.

  Greg's date was wrapped around him, probably doing the same thing to him as I was doing do Big Hands. I kicked off one of my heals so my foot could snake its way up Greg's pant legs. He was beginning to shift uncomfortably now, and I smiled the same sort of smile he back at him he had given me earlier.

  Whatever we were talking about didn't matter -- I wasn't following it anyhow. The conversation must have been pretty good. We were all laughing and I even began to tolerate the bimbo. In my mind however, Big Hand's penis became my husband's penis, and I was feeling him under the table, and everything was the way things should be.

  "So whatdaya say we head back to my place for a drink?" Big Hands asked me. My God -- was the dinner over already? The bill was paid, and Nicky was helping Ms. Spread-Her-Legs put on her coat. If I didn't think fast, I wouldn't see my husband for god knows how long again.
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br />   "I was kind of hoping we'd all go out for a cruise on Nicky's boat." Whew.

  The thought must of appealed to Ms. Bimbo because she got all excited and squeeked. "Oh that sounds so nice. Can we Nicky?"

  "I dunno," Nicky replied. "It's kinda dark out now." One obvious protest I needed to squash.

  "It's such a nice night though," I said. "Nice summer breeze, and the moon's out." I turned and looked into Big Hand's eyes. "A pleasure cruise on a moonlit sky."

  "Nicky -- you heard the ladies," Big Hands said. "They wanna pleasure cruise. Now let's be gentlemen and give the ladies what they want." Nicky nodded grudgingly.

  "Anything else you want baby?" Big Hands asked

  God if he only knew what I wanted as I looked at my husband.

  "Mmmm - a bottle or two of the wine we had over dinner, and some glasses would be nice."

  "That sounds good," Big Hands said. "Nicky, you wanna pick out two bottles of wine while I get the ladies their coats?"

  "I'm never any good at picking wines," Greg lied. "Carla, you're pretty good. You wanna help me out?"

  At the bar Greg exploded.

  "Don't blow this Carla!" he yelled. "I've been undercover for two years now. There is too much at stake." The bar was noisy enough that neither of us had to worry about anyone overhearing us.

  "And that's two years I haven't had you in my life. Tell me Greg, where does life for you end here and begin for us anymore?"

  "We'll talk about this at home Carla."

  "We both know you're not coming home tonight. You're bringing her home, and you're going to be fucking her instead of me! When's the last time we fucked Greg? Do you even remember the last time we had sex?"

  "Yes. I surprised you coming home around two in the afternoon and brought you flowers that night and we went out to..."

  "That's not the fucking point, God damn you," I yelled hitting him. "Quit fucking analyzing our marriage! Can't you stop being an FBI agent for just once -- just once Greg! I don't need you to analyze our marriage or remember every detail of what we have or haven't done. I need to be loved!"