TWENTY
LATER
Your mother hangs from the hook I'd screwed into the joist in the ceiling of the living room.
Her wrists are lashed together and pulled upwards. Her elbows are tied tightly, nearly touching together behind her back.
I think that's called a reverse prayer - I don't really know or care. I like what it does to her.
The rope braided with her hair is what tethers her to the hook. She can rest her heels on the floor. As long as she was willing to suffer her hair being nearly pulled from her scalp.
She slowly alternates between the two pains. She holds herself on her toes until her calves began to cramp, until she shivers with the strain. Then she carefully lowers herself, fearful of tearing out her hair.
When she can take that pain no more, she lifts herself to the balls of her feet for relief.
As each crisis approache-, her shivering ha- the most entertaining effect on her tits, the shudder deliciously.
You and I sit on the couch, nibbling on cornchips and guacamole.
Your hand on my thigh, close up at the juncture with my hip, fingers calmly resting between the thick tendon of my groin and the hairy heft of my ball.
My arm drapes across your shoulder, covered by your hair which hangs down behind the couch. I toy with the bar in your far nipple.
We sit together, wordlessly.
Enjoying our quiet contact.
And the entertainment she provides.
"We should clamp bells on her tits."
You break the silence.
I am startled.
Startled out of my consuming erotic reverie.
More startled by your suggestion.
More startled that it was you making the suggestion.
"I'm not opposed. You know where to get them."
"Yep."
I watch your hair sway behind you as you move to the stairs.
Watching you move has become one of my favorite things. Merely walking displays your charms well beyond the hungry pornographic extremes displayed in most erotic photography.
Simple, supple, lithe, confident. glorious.
Simple.
It is you.
I lay my hand in my lap and cradle my half-full cock. Running my thumb along the grooved ridge on the top. Just at the base.
Placid.
I watch her slow dance between agonies.
You return, bouncing down the stairs. Your tits dance, your hair flounces.
You are glorious.
You've brought down the four inch manuscript clamps and snap them onto her nipples.
Both at the same time.
I don't know what to call that noise she makes - but it is very loud.
You stand in front of her and slap her tits a couple times each.
You attach a brass bell with a two-inch mouth to each clamp.
You slap her tits a couple times each and the bells ring out, deadened when they come to rest on the underside of her full breasts.
You whip around to face me, your hair flowing around you in a spiral of honied silk.
So lovely.
You stand facing me and hang silver spherical bells from your nipple bars.
You jiggle to make them jingle
"You like?"
"I do."
"Come here." I beckon and point to the rug beside my left foot.
You kneel beside me and fold over to lay your abs across my lap. You hold your wrists behind your back at your waist. Your belled tits hang free and press against the outside of my thigh.
You wait, knowing what is coming, eager, holding your breath, remembering the sting.
You turn your head to watch her hanging.
I spank you hard. And again.
Your bells clinkle.
She rises onto her toes and turns her head away. Her emotions betrayed by her brass adornments.
A good choice.
My cock rises, to brush against your jaw.
You pivot your head and take me into your mouth.
You don't lick or suck or bite.
You don't bob your head.
You just hold half of me resting on your tongue and breathe around me.
Exhaling with a gasp each time I land a blow on your ass. Which is turning from pink to red.
I have not been counting but I must be well past twenty.
And you are loving it.
Her bells are ringing. I look up and she is watching hungrily.
She wishes I was rewarding her like I'm rewarding her daughter.
I laugh at her. Loud and open mouthed.
What a pathetic bitch.
You don't know why I'm suddenly laughing.
You twist round to look up at me.
I lean down and kiss you.
I caress your burning ass cheeks, smoothing over your heat. Curl my fingers into your crack.
I dip into your dripping snatch and spread your sauce up to tap on your crinkled hole.
You snuggle back against me, lifting to offer your cunt, welcoming me in.
Three fingers enter you and you moan.
Ahhh, that marvelous song.
You take me into your mouth again, snaking your tongue, bobbing down to tap your throat against my head.
I match your rhythm with my plunging fingers and you clutch them to that same beat.
I look up at your mother.
She looks so sad.
So hungry.
So right.
I smile at her and nod.
She cries, tears tracking down her cheeks.
She is beautiful.
I pull you up by your hair, holding you to kneel beside me.
I comb through your hair, from crown to just past your shoulders.
You lean to press your abs against my thigh.
You lift your hands to toy with your tits.
She watches us intently. Hungrily
This pleases me.
I lean to kiss you.
"Come, Sweet, sit on my lap."
You rise and turn to me, your bars flashing in your nipples.
You begin to sit facing me.
"No. Turn. Look at your mother."
You turn, to straddle my thighs. As you lower yourself to my lap I aim my cock at your crotch.
When you feel my head brush against your fork you turn your head back to look at me.
"Which do you want."
I waggle my dick between your ass and your cunt.
"You choose. I want you to be pleased."
You turn back to face her and reach a hand between your thighs. You rub me back and forth against you several times, then stop with your anus on my head.
You do a snakey, twisting dance, working me with your asshole, bounded by your muscular cheeks.
You lower yourself and my dick bends a little, then your ass relaxes and my head pops in.
You swivel and churn and slowly, achingly slowly, work yourself onto my shaft.
I reach around you and tease and fondle and tweak and toy with your nipple bars.
I had never realized how much I would enjoy these adornments.
But I do.
And you do.
I am watching your mother.
She is salivating so much she is swallowing continuously. Her nipples redden and stiffen, standing out from her gorgeous globes.
Her eyes don't seem to be focused on anything, seem to be seeing us in total. No details.
I feel your sphincter clear the slight wedge of the first third of my cock. I get no thicker than that.
I suddenly dig my fingers into the softness of your tits and slam you down on my cock - fully impaled in an instant.
You scream in surprise and ecstasy.
So does she.
I growl into your ear.
"Watch her as you fuck me."
You begin a swiveling, twisting movement, rising and lowering just enough.
I am conscious and drifting into a grey density of unfocus.
She watches us intently.
I rest my hands on your thighs and enjoy the feeling of your quads working beneath your skin.
As your dance on my cock, I slowly move my fingers up your thighs.
I scrub along your slit, pressing your soft mound against the bones beneath.
Three fingers of each hand slip easily into your cunt and I rub your clit between both thumbs.
You play with your breasts, enjoying putting on a show for your mother.
She doesn't enjoy it as much, but is turned on none-the-less.
She moans and drips.
I pull my fingers out of you and thrum your clit, fingertips stroking and striking your tender bullet.
You shiver against me, your ass clutching me fiercely as your pump.
I drive you forward, onto your knees, slamming your tits down onto the coffee table.
I drive into you several times and then, hold deep inside you, flattening your ass and panting, trying not to come.
I stroke and pet your through the veil of your hair and calm myself.
And you.
I gather your hair and twist it into a rope. I pull your arms up and wrap the golden rope around your forearms, binding them behind your back.
I slip my hands into your underarms and stand, lifting you to your feet.
"Come on, Sweet."
I guide you around the table and over to your mother.
I lower you to your knees in front of her and force your head down to the floor between her feet.
I gently, slowly, teasingly push into your cunt.
Damn, girl, your are wet.
I fuck you, tits are mashed into the rug, your shoulders wedged against her ankles.
Knocking against them with the slow rhythm I set.
You rock back against me swallowing each thrust, endorsing each withdrawal.
I watch her face.
She is not happy. She is turned on.
I am happy to see that.
Her frustration is a gift.
