Anns Interlude

Interlude between parts 2 and 3 of Ann's Afflictions.

The day after I received the video clip was one of Mom's days off. She worked on the computer doing her homework. I stayed away in my room to think. I needed to go over all this and put more pieces together. I went back to our holiday in my mind.

It had started just like any holiday abroad, enjoying the sights and getting to know the town. We made friends with a married couple in their early fifties I'd say, from New York. Mom had many chats with the wife as her hubby and I talked men's things. I felt very comfortable with our friends despite me being only touching twenty.

Mom liked the market stalls especially. She was almost like a giggly young girl again with the traders when they gave us all the patter and compliments to her. She seemed to become extra friendly with one local in particular, a guy I'd guess was between 19 and 22. He owned several stalls and had workers his own age about, but he worked on his main stall selling women's clothes. They were all kinds of things, from exotic dresses, shawls, scarves and even racy bellydancing costumes, to the more Western stuff, and sporty clothes too. His name was Jamal. Mom bought quite a few things from him.

The second day into our stay, mom was having a giggly conversation with the wife of the New York couple, at an outside table of a cafe we soon came to frequent. They were joking about the men of the town, and watching the stall holders trading. Mom said to her, "Jamal's nice isn't he!"

Jackie replied, "Oh, he's well known, he is! He has an even worse thing for western wives than the rest of them! He has several nicknames and he lives up to them too! That's the town rake! He's certainly got the hots for you Ann, no mistake!"

Mom looked over at him, smiling over her coffee cup. He winked back at her. She laughed, "Well I'm a respectable Mom, and he must only be about Bob's age!"

"He likes that even more!" Jackie raised her eyebrows and whispered in Ann's ear but I caught it. "They call him Rude Big Willy Jamal! It's true too!"

"Really?" mom wondered. "How do you know that?"

Jackie looked at me and said, "Bob, would you go and get us more drinks?" Mom agreed and said I was a good boy.

It was a ruse. I waited just inside the doorway before I went to order. Jackie told mom she and Mike came here every year. They had an understanding. Mike allowed her to "Get her jollies!" She was very happy about that too.

She whispered again, "Mike has a cuckold fetish!" Mom had heard of that. She wanted to know more. I was a while at the counter.

I heard Mom saying Jamal was good looking too. I dare say he was, with his fit sleek body and clean dark looks, but there was something oily about him too, and he had acne scars. Not many, but enough to maybe indicate an overactive sex drive, and there was something sordid and snakey about his manner.

Jamal came into our hotel lounge and bar again that night. Mike was talking some boring crap about his house renovations to me and I couldn't get away. Jamal was hanging around Mom at the bar, buying her drinks and chatting her up. There was nothing I could do if she enjoyed the attention. She was a free agent. My Mom, not my wife. Yet I took a close interest, feeling a twang of jealousy and uncomfortable curiosity.

Next day Jamal's friends all greeted Ann and joked more with her. Not all of them spoke fluent English but those that did acted as translators. They would laugh ripely among themselves about something, then translate to us what they wanted us to hear I think. Jamal joked, " Your mother is a very nice woman. We say she is like fire. Hot!"

I wasn't quite sure of his meaning. She was smiling and her eyes shining, and I was sure she'd gone a bit pink. He added, "Yes, my friends all agree! Hot Mom!"

One of his friends on the fruit stall nearby took two large grapefruit and held them to his chest like breasts, squeezing them suggestively at Ann. "Hot and juicy Mom!", he said. They all laughed and I went angrily red!

Such things carried on. Then, just two days before our arrest, Mom and I were again at his stall. I had to go to the toilets, and as I returned his friends waylaid me, insisting I let them buy me a drink. I could see her talking to Jamal, at the cafe tables. It looked more furtive than usual. He gave her a package of something, pointing to his stall as they spoke. He squeezed her hand before returning to his customers.

I extricated myself and went to Mom. She was sitting with a coffee again. We had a late lunch. Jamal and his friends came and sat at the place across the narrow street.

They were staring at Mom. She wore a light summer dress and you could see quite a lot of her chest. She chatted away to me, but I noticed her glancing at them. Now two big policemen were talking to Jamal and the guys. It looked like he was telling the police something about us.

At that moment, my Mom slipped off her newly bought shoes, one by one, and slowly exposed her bare soles to them. Was she flirting? She turned her feet in circles. Definitely teasing. I got more wound up as she put her feet up on the cafe table. She'd bought an ankle chain, wearing it with new toe rings from their stalls too.

She had a chocolate eclair, and she put the tip to her lips and flicked her tongue into the cream, then crossed her ankles and wiggled her toes toward them.

There was a tube of whipped cream on the table, for customers to use as well as the usual condiments. "Ooh, I love cream!" she said, picking it up. All eyes were on her as she smiled back to them, put her tongue tip to the tube and squirted a big streak of it, that went up along her tongue and into her mouth! The guys all laughed loudly now!

I was erect in my pants, jealousy and excitement mingling.

Suddenly the policemen walked straight over to us. They frowned at Mom now, saying did she not know that to bare the soles of your feet, and worse to put them up on a table toward people, was a very rude gesture in their country?

Mom didn't move at first. Whether she'd miscalculated the situation I don't know, but she replied questioning why, and surely it wasn't a crime or anything? The taller officer got testy then.

He put his telescopic baton tip to her bare soles, and told her to put her feet away sternly. "Do it now!" he ordered. He stuck the baton end into her big toe cleavage, saying she needed to learn she was far from home and things were done differently.

She realised then the police weren't easily argued with and did as they said.

We were slightly shaken by the incident, but we went back to the hotel and stayed there. Mom seemed in a good mood. I noticed she put on a bit more make up than usual for dinner. Jamal was nowhere to be seen, but she had a glint in her eyes.

To this day I suspect one of the barmen or Mom herself put a sedative into my drinks that night, as I felt so tired I couldn't fight it by half past nine. Mom guided me to my room and left me to sleep everything off.

That was the night my Mom was visited in her room down the corridor by Jamal the dirty Lothario, I know now! How do I know? Well, one source was a package and a letter. Another was Mom's new homework for her course! Still another was her other camera that she came home with!

Now I describe Mom's nights of prostitution!

Taking the events in chronological order, you will now know that by part 2 of this saga I had a short pornographic video clip sent to me. It revealed the fact that Mom was indeed sexually tortured at the police station of our initial arrest.

Even so, I still had nothing to directly show me if she had "given something in return" to Jamal, as the strange Dr Shangwal had suggested, for information about the local police and their torture of detainees.

The indications pointed to it. The odd behavior of the two and their conversations. The flirting, plus the suggestive note and doodle about him left by Dr Shangwal, on a previous essay of Mom's.

The things Jackie had whispered about him and the suspicious way my normally demure and sweet step mom had behaved, including applying extra make up on the last two nights before our arrest. The nights when I was mysteriously taken with sleepiness and went to my room early.

The word prostitution is debatable in this instance of course. It implies it's done for money and sometimes unwillingly. Neither of those apply here. I have no doubt they wanted each other. The respectable, attractive, pale skinned mature Western mother and the handsome but lecherous dark young foreign wife chaser.

Now at home, I'd been sent the video clip of Mom's interrogation, by him I guessed. I was working out how to find out more. I knew it might come in fragmented pieces but I wanted to know. I was going to go crackers otherwise. I knew I'd only seen pieces of a jigsaw.

I decided I'd try the straight road first, it was only decent to try and broach it with Mom, but how? How do you ask your Mom that? I knew that she was mainly keeping it from me out of love and wanting to cushion me in her protective blanket because it would upset me.

I waited until she'd been out partying a bit. She was doing some sort of belly dancing or burlesque classes with some lady friends and workmates, and they had a girls night out. She came home quite tipsy and happy. I welcomed her with a hug, sat her down with a coffee and encouraged her to chat and wind down.

She was wearing some of her more raunchy clothing now, which gave me a way in to touch on belly dancing and draw the talk back to the time abroad. We laughed about the holiday, and I brought up Jamal. She had played a few games of snooker with him as he perved over her in the hotel.

Now she was discarding surplus clothes to change for bed as we spoke, and she said yes, he had been a nice boy. I squirmed and covered my crotch as she teased off a stocking from her foot and began the other.

"Yes, Jamal. Rude big Willy! He was a perfect poppet. Pop it in, pop it out!" She fell back on the sofa in fits of giggles at her joke.

"Yes, he certainly played snooker with me! His Rude Willy Snooker. Pot the Red, Pot the Brown!" She collapsed in giggles again. "Ooohh, and his other games too!"

She laughed drunkenly, and stretched out her bare leg, flicking her last stocking off her toes like a vintage stripper. "My Dirty Kinky young Casanova! He's a Naughty, Dirty Boy!"

I helped her to bed, then rushed to my room. I knew she might deny saying that the next day but now I knew something had happened! Her words conjured all the right images to make me spurt myself in torment and guilty excitement. Her Bum, too?! Did she really let him have his way to that extent? "Ooohh, Mom! Oh No, MOM!" I muttered to myself!

She did get cagey again the next day, when I mentioned we'd talked about our holiday. She more or less denied remembering any drunken talk. I didn't mention the content of the conversation, naturally.

It was almost Easter, and I happened to be in when a box came for her in the post. I saw it was stamped from that country.. I wasn't often in to see post, I was usually at college. I didn't know what post she got, she always took them to her room. I waited until she went out and I knew I had to look.

The open box was in her wardrobe. In the packaging was some type of gift, a carved wooden egg, with a little latch. There was also a card of some kind. On opening the latch, the egg separated in half and a little figure popped up of a man sporting a big oversize penis!

The card was a homemade printed one, and on the front was My Mom Ann. Naked except for a pair of red ankle warmers and posing shamelessly on her belly, on her hotel bed!

She was almost submissively offering herself, with her bare feet lifted up to the camera and kinkily showing the red straps across her soles, with her bare bottom and pussy exposed!

Written on the reverse were the words, "Remember Me! What a good time, and these were my favorites on you! Think of the Jiggy Jiggying you had, HA HA! Yours, JAMAL!"

Well, you can imagine my reactions, if you've read this far into my saga! There was no doubt now, he had boned my Mom good and proper. I couldn't help laughing to myself at his jokes, despite everything. I couldn't get my head around it all, it was getting more bizarre all the time!

I knew it was a bad thing to do, to snoop about like this, but I needed to know. I looked about the room still more. In Mom's briefcase, I found a large folder. It had some of the worksheets Dr Shangwal had set her.

The latest was one that said she should make, in handwritten scrapbook form, her experience with the contact, and what she gave in exchange for information. It should include photographs too, extra marks for more detail. Yes, there was a big scrapbook there in the briefcase. I had to see it.

The first pages began with descriptions of how they met up, and how she got her information from him in word and coded form. Soon enough, the night of sex he wanted with her had been arranged.

He had given to her various items of clothing from his stall. Raunchy underwear and all kinds of things. She had taken another tip from Shangwal that Jamal had a foot fetish too, among other things.

On to the night in question. Mom was right about him. He certainly was a rude, kinky lover. His cock was big too, maybe nine inches. Plenty of printed photos were stuck in to the pages, illustrating as instructed.

Mom was wearing various items of seduction, and sometimes nothing. She looked so good in sex play with him, the contrast of her mature motherly white body and his hard brown skinned and black haired form was a kinky treat to see.

He'd dipped his dick in wine and had her suck him, he rubbed cream and chocolate over tits and shoved his cock into them, they showered together and he had her with her legs up wrapped around him against the tiles as he impaled her on his erect throbbing organ. She'd knelt and licked his dark bottom like Venus worshiping Adonis. The sight of her tongue going into his asshole put shudders of arousal and disgust through me.

He laid her across his lap and spanked her. Mom's bottom went red as a tomato. He used her flip flops to spank her too, including during the act of taking her from behind over the corner of the bed.

The copulation pictures were really hot. Pictures of her legs wrapped around him, pictures of her riding him on the coffee table, pictures of her in missionary position on the floor. Mom wrote detailed descriptions of all their sex. How she had really let herself go for him, was a complete slut and had many shuddering orgasms with him.

The ankle warmers did seem to be one his favorites. He'd stuck his hard cock on to the soles of her feet under the red straps and rubbed it up and down. He'd tickled her feet with feathers in them.

He'd had her in the bum too! Yes, Mom sold her bottom to him, and everything, quite outrageously!

He'd had her standing up against the window, with one of her legs up and foot resting on a chair, as he shoved his big willy up her dirt box. Close ups too, showing his cock throbbing up her asshole. He had her from behind on the bed, locking in to her and her white body accepting his arrogant sodomizing. Several other positions I don't quite have names for he balled her asshole in. It was full on, he did almost everything.

She had indeed knelt before him and given him an incredible blow job. Yes, right out from Mom's bum. She actually seemed to like it. Mum actually winked at the camera, with her tongue stuck straight on his cock head!

She was rolling her tongue around his cock head, tickling his tight dark balls with a feather and exploring his asshole with a finger, as they both smiled at the camera. He did indeed spurt his thick spunk onto her willing tongue, and splash it over her tits!

Mum's comment for this bit included "What a dirty, dirty boy he really was! Bum to tongue! I climaxed as my tongue touched his hard arrogant young dick!"

There was another folder, detailing the second night, but I think I'd seen enough at that point! I went and did my private business, after packing her stuff away as discreetly as I could! I was shaking with upset, anger and outrage, yet uncontrollable excitement. It was true. That strange twisted Dr Shangwal had made my Mom prostitute herself to that greasy young foreign wife chaser, and demanded the details. Probably because she wanted to sadistically get off on it!

Two days later, I looked at it again. There on the inner cover, in pride of place, Mom had glued the picture of herself from the card he'd sent!

One thing about this night I couldn't figure out still, though.

Who took the photographs!?