A Small Souvenir

It should go without saying that all characters involved in any sexual situations are at least eighteen years old. I want to thank Carnal_Flower, the doyenne of daddy/daughter stories for letting me use an idea we had talked about. I also want to thank a certain curvy pervy fangirl (a nickname she hates) for her suggestions and advice.

1

As final fucks go, it was one for the ages.

The blinds - sorry,

shades

, Americans call them shades (or at least he thought they did) - were drawn, but the early afternoon sun shone through, softly illuminating the bedroom and its occupants within.

Illuminating

her.

She was stood by the window, only a few feet in front of him. The sunlight casting her as a silhouette, forming almost a halo around her. He was sat on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. The rest of his clothes were lying in a heap on the floor. There was no awkwardness or nervousness about him. No embarrassed attempt to cover himself up. They had been fucking all summer by now, so both of them were entirely comfortable with this level of intimacy.

He was hard. His erect cock pointing upwards, restrained only by his cotton shorts, forming a prominent tent in the front of his underwear.

He was hard because of her.

And who could blame him? She was a sight to behold.

A

goddess

.

A

whore

.

There was nothing subtle about her appearance, nothing tasteful or restrained. She was dressed in just the way she imagined a horny teenage boy would want her to be dressed. A sumptuous package of curves and lace and lipstick. Everything on offer. Obvious. She was being completely

obvious

. She had come here for sex. She had come here to be ravished. Pounded. Fucked.

Fucked hard.

Starting from the floor upwards, she was wearing a pair of black stiletto shoes, the heels sinking deeply into the thick carpet beneath her. Her long shapely legs were encased in black nylon stockings that reached up to her thighs, meeting the black straps of her garter belt. The white, creamy flesh of her skin bisected by dark elastic.

Then there was the tiniest of tiny g-strings, a mere scrap of silky fabric, barely large enough to cover her vulva, revealing almost all of the soft, silky smoothness of her waxed cunt. Every couple of weeks she had spirited herself away to a local beauty parlour, to perform this ritual of personal grooming, determined that not even a single pubic hair would be on display. She'd seen enough explicit video tapes, seen enough porn, to know what young men liked these days.

What

her

young man liked.

She vividly recalled the carnal sensation of his fingers caressing her skin. His lips. His tongue. Under her strict but loving tutelage he had become a most accomplished cunt-lapper. He had spent many a long hour with his face buried between her legs, his mouth clamped to her pussy. She had made sure he would never suffer a moment's irritation from her pubic stubble. It was the least she could do for him.

Heading further north and she wore a black corset, tied tightly with silk laces. The shaped material squeezing her body, compressing and sculpting her majestic frame. She already had a slim waist, but the corset simply accentuated her hourglass figure, highlighting her wide hips and greatly emphasising her massive, unbelievable boobs.

Pushed upwards and together, they almost spilled out of the top of her lingerie. Like a tsunami of flesh, waves of creamy goodness, pillows of succulent tit-meat. Her nipples were entirely uncovered, erect and on display, poking out, proud and unashamed. Soon he would wrap his lips round them, bite them, chew on them, suck on them, feel them vibrate and pulse against his tongue.

She had put on a bit of make-up, some eyeliner, a touch of blusher and plenty of lipstick. Ruby red lipstick, that would leave traces and streaks on his skin. On his

cock.

Her hair was down, long and thick and lustrous, framing her face and covering her shoulders. A deep crimson, albeit most of the colour came out of a bottle these days; she'd been dying her hair since she turned thirty and first noticed some grey strands at her temples.

He looked at her.

Stared at her.

Gazed at her.

His eyes roaming up and down, left and right, hither and yon. He just soaked up the sight before him. Drank it in. This incredible vision of womanhood, dressed up like a whore, offering herself to him. His lover. His girlfriend, he supposed, even though that sounded a little foolish, bearing in mind the age difference between them.

"You look pleased to see me," she said, sardonically, one eyebrow raised.

"I guess I am," he replied.

"Show me," she ordered, gesturing at his groin, "take off your shorts."

He did as he was told, without a moment's hesitation. Again, they had been doing this for so long, they were so intimate and relaxed with each other, there was never any sense of unease or embarrassment. She'd seen his cock so many times, handled it so many times, sucked it so many times,

fucked

it so many times; why would there be any awkwardness about their interaction?

He quickly removed his boxers and threw them on the floor. Then he settled back on the bed, his dick bobbing around in front of him, hard and true. She almost gasped at its appearance, still so shocked by its size and its strength and its beauty. She worshipped this cock like it was a kind of deity. She longed to have it inside her once more.

"You like?" He sniggered.

"Don't ask stupid questions," she replied, "you know how much I like it."

He wrapped his hand round his cock and started stroking it gently. Unlike most American boys, British kids tended not to be circumcised, unless they were Jewish or Muslim. He was neither and his dick had a prominent hood of foreskin, that stretched up and down as he jacked himself off in front of her. His hand tightened and loosened as it moved, squeezing and twisting his meaty dick.

"If you like it so much, why don't you come and have a close-up view?" He asked her, calmly.

She smiled and walked towards him. Her sexy frame a veritable marvel as she moved. Then she sank to her knees in front of him, resting her hands on his firm, naked thighs. She trailed her fingers across his skin, her nails delicately tickling the surface, gliding through the soft curls of his body hair, leaving white lines on his flesh. She looked at his penis and then looked up at his face and smiled.

"That's the most beautiful cock I've ever seen," she told him, "the most beautiful cock in the entire world."

"You're the most beautiful woman in the entire world," he replied, "I...I love you."

She blushed, then sighed softly.

"And I love you too, my beautiful, beautiful boy. I love you so much. You've made me so happy, these last few months."

"I could stay. I don't have to leave. I could stay here...with you."

"Oh you silly thing, of course you have to leave. You can't stay. I

want

you to. I want you to, more than anything else. You know that. But we've talked about this. There's no future for us. No future for

this.

We can have today, one last afternoon together, then it has to end."

"Why?" He asked, his voice taking on the merest hint of a whining, petulant, tone; just a little, just for a moment betraying the fact he was still, in so many ways, just a child.

"Because I say so," she replied, "because that's the way the world is. So let's just enjoy these last few hours together. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good boy."

And with that she leaned forward and kissed the head of his dick. Her tongue snaked out and slithered round it's purple head, savouring the earthy, musky, pissy taste. Her lips parted and she swallowed deeply, taking the first few inches inside her mouth. He gasped as she began sucking on his cock. She could feel it twitch and pulse.

The first time she'd gone down on him, all those weeks before, he had cum almost straight away. Without warning, he erupted inside her mouth, practically choking her with ribbon after ribbon of thick, creamy jizz.

Teenage

jizz. The best of its kind. Not the weak, watery gruel her husband provided on the rare occasions he wanted some sexual activity. No, this was potent and powerful baby-gravy, the sort only young men could churn out.

He had been embarrassed and apologetic, mortified that he had orgasmed so quickly. She had soothed him, reassured him, told him everything was okay. Then she had unbuttoned her blouse and let him play with her breasts. She stroked his hair gently, as he suckled on her teat. Within a few moments, he was hard again (another advantage of fucking teenage boys), and she went down on him once more. He lasted a good ten minutes before shooting another blast of cum down her throat.

She knew this time he would be able to control himself, without any premature

accidents

. Over the last couple of months he had become a confident and tremendously assured lover. He had insisted he had not been a virgin, the first time they had sex, but she hadn't believed him for an instant. Either way, whatever clumsiness there had been at the beginning quickly vanished. Partly that was down to her teaching, but he sure did have a natural talent for making her cum.

Now, she knelt there comfortably between his legs, her head bobbing up and down as she sucked his cock. He had a long, thick dick and she gripped it tightly with her hands as her lips slid against his hot, greasy skin. She could feel the saliva building up in her mouth, dripping out of her and sliding down his prick. She liked to give good, sloppy head; plenty of lubricant to make things easier.

He kept on making these adorable little noises; groans and whimpers and sighs, as her tongue swirled round the head of his dick. He

oohed

and

aahed

contentedly. In many ways, this was the most satisfying part of a blow-job; the pleasure she was giving. Sucking cock didn't do all that much for her physically, it's not like she had a clit or a g-spot in her mouth or her throat. But knowing how much

he

was getting out of it? That was a huge turn-on. The power to turn someone inside out - metaphorically, at least - thrilled her to her core.

His hands moved to her scalp, delving into the mane of dark-red glossy hair. He stroked and caressed her locks, gathering them up in his fists, turning them into a pair of handles; aiming to control her movement. Pulling her up and then forcing her down, his dick burrowing further into her throat. She was gagging on his cock, her eyes streaming, her mascara running down her cheeks.

She choked on him, but held herself in place; wanting him to feel the muscles in her mouth and her neck, massaging and squeezing his prick. Then, as she began to feel dizzy, due to the lack of oxygen, he pulled her up by her hair. Strands of spittle stretched out between her lips and the tip of his hard flesh. She gasped, gulping for air, her eyes watering, her aching jaw wide open.

He leant forward and hawked up a gob of saliva, spitting it straight into her mouth. She grinned almost maniacally at the action, swirling his loogie around between her cheeks, then swallowing it down with a gulp. Then she stuck her tongue out, showing him her empty maw. Like a good girl, she had eaten all her dinner.

Now she would get her dessert.

She clambered up off the floor, pulling herself up his legs and body, ascending him like he was a mountain. There was an almost frantic, desperate air to her movement. She straddled his legs, his cock pressing against the covered mound of her cunt. She wrapped her arms round his neck, pulling herself tight against him, their bodies pressing together. Her open mouth met his, her tongue stabbing forward forcefully.

The sound of slurping and drooling hung heavy in the air as they made out strenuously on the bed. She squirmed and wriggled on top of him, kissing him with a frenzied, manic intensity. Her hips and buttocks moved back and forth rhythmically as she rubbed his rock hard dick with her pussy. His hands gripped her ample rump, sinking into her sumptuous flesh. He fondled and massaged her body, as their tongues duelled and danced, saliva dribbling down their chins.

"You're my good little boy, aren't you?" She whimpered desperately into his mouth.

"Yes, yes I am," he replied, tugging away frantically at the little clasps on the back of her corset, desperate to access the meaty flesh of her tits.

"Mummy's good little boy," she whispered. Her use of 'mummy' as opposed to 'mommy', a concession to his nationality, although the word sounded a little strange to his ear, said with an American accent.

It looked almost as if they were wrestling, the two of them clamped together, their bodies swaying and swinging like obscene dance partners. Eventually, her corset fell loose and on to the floor, her breasts unleashed in all their majestic glory. He grabbed hold of her fat tits, pressing them together as he buried his face in her cleavage. He just rubbed his cheeks and forehead and nose against her skin, savouring every moment.

Then he wrapped his lips round her nipple, sucking strenuously at her teat. He moved from one boob to the other, and then back again. Licking and biting and kissing and tugging, stretching her skin taut as he teased and tortured her breasts. She enjoyed the pain, getting off on the raw sensation, wallowing in the agony and the ecstasy.

It had been apparent right from the start that he was a tit man. From the moment he was first conscious of her hefty bust, he had obsessed over it. And she had certainly noticed. Once they started fucking, she had indulged his preferences with glee, letting him spend endless hours playing with her boobs. Now was no different, as he went to town on her tits.

After a while, he collapsed back on to the bed, pulling her down with him. This young man, lean and muscular, the way young men were. She was on top of him, wearing nothing but stockings and a g-string. Her curvaceous, obscene body writhing and swaying on top of his. His hands roaming all over her exposed flesh.

"I want you inside of me," she whispered feverishly, "I want that big fat cock of yours buried deep inside my tight, wet cunt."

"Then get up on your hands and knees, so I can fuck you like the bitch in heat you are," he replied.

Almost squealing with delight, she jumped off on to the floor, tugging frantically at her panties. Once they were removed, she clambered back on to the bed, on all fours, assuming the position they had both come to enjoy more than any other. She had lost count of the number of times they had fucked in the last few months, but whatever that number was, a large percentage of those trysts had involved her being fucked doggy-style.

She looked back over her shoulder and swayed her big fat butt suggestively. She was so turned on, her cunt glistened like a pool dappled in morning sunlight. Trails of sexual excreta could be seen dribbling down her thighs. He always made her so fucking

wet.

"Put that big cock in me, my darling boy," she gasped, "put that big cock in Mommy's cunt." This time her excitement was so profound, she reverted to her native terminology.

He smiled. A devilish grin, laced with glee and sordid intent. His dick was hard in his hand, as he stroked it gently. Then he climbed onto the bed, lining his cock up with her hot hole. He pushed forward just an inch, the head of his penis sliding between her vaginal lips. God, what heat! What pleasure!

"Do you love me?" He asked.

"More than anything," she replied, her words becoming almost incoherent with lustful desire, "more than the whole world."

He responded by slamming himself inside her. A single stroke, forceful and demanding. She gasped and groaned as his thick meat plundered her box. Within moments, he was balls-deep, his entire member swallowed up by her mature twat. He grabbed a firm hold of her hips, steadying himself resolutely. Then he leant forward, bringing his mouth as close to her ear as he could manage.

"This cunt belongs to me," he said.

"Yes...oh God, yes...of course it does, my darling. It's all yours," she replied.

"Now, I'm going to fucking destroy it."

And so he did.

There were obvious downsides to having sex with teenage boys, she knew that, but they were more than compensated for by the upsides. And this was definitely one of the

uppiest

of the upsides. Youthful exuberance. He pummelled away at her, pounding her pussy with his prick. He was relentless, remorseless, unyielding. Like a force of nature. He fucked her with an energy and determination her husband simply couldn't match.

His cock was like a piston, sliding back and forth, invading and then retreating. He was rock-hard like pig-iron, like tungsten. A column of hot turgid meat, forcing its way inside her tight channel. She started cumming almost as soon as he was inside her. She had always been very

orgasmic,

blessed with an easy capacity for sexual pleasure. Ever since she was a teenager, and she had discovered the joys of masturbation, she was on a permanent hair trigger.

But with

him

the dial was turned up to eleven. She could cum just looking at him. Cum when he gently stroked her back. Cum when he bit her nipple. Cum when he stuck his cock in her mouth. And now? With him slamming away at her, his dick plundering her nasty, dirty cunt? She just exploded. Orgasms raced through her, again and again and again. From the core of her being to the tips of her fingers, she erupted in pleasure.

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" She screamed, her body shaking and rocking, "oh fuck, my darling boy, you're making Mommy cum!"

He didn't reply. He just carried on fucking her. The only sounds he made were grunts and groans and growls. She could smell her own arousal, and was almost embarrassed by that fact; the air thick with the funky odours of their illicit lovemaking. Their sweat. Her cunt juice. She could feel his fingers sinking into her flesh. She could feel his dick gliding past the taut, stretched lips of her vagina.

Her face was buried in the mattress, as he rampaged his way inside her. Her legs lost all strength, her muscles quivering and shaking; but he just kept at it. Kept fucking her with all the power and control he could muster. Like a rag doll, she twitched and jerked beneath him. She drifted in and out of consciousness, her body electrified and overwhelmed.

And then, without warning, he came.

A torrent, a flood, a gusher of the stuff. Gobs of thick, salty cream, firing inside her like heavy artillery. Long pulsing bursts of his potent spunk, splashing against the walls of her buttery snatch. Her box was flooded with the stuff. He was young, so he produced copious amounts of semen, and she felt every single drop inside her.

Panting heavily, he collapsed on top of her, crushing her with his weight. She didn't mind, she enjoyed the reassuring sensation. She bent one arm at the elbow, trying to reach up behind her, to stroke his cheek. He kissed her neck and shoulders softly, his sweat dripping on to her skin. His dick still semi-erect inside her. She knew he'd be ready to go again in no time. Another perk of fucking teenagers.

"My sweet, sweet boy," she whispered, "Mommy loves you so much."

They lay there together, forbidden lovers, until both of them dozed off into sleep.

2

First things first, she wasn't actually his mother, although in so many ways she wished she was.

Molly Severinsen had been married for nearly twenty years, and if you had asked her, she would have said they had been a mostly happy couple of decades. But then she met Matthew Sutton and everything changed.