3 comments/ 12016 views/ 2 favorites Inappropriate By: 4glory6 "Really, Mother. That's really inappropriate. I probably shouldn't even have told you I'm pulling my hair out from boredom. I haven't been out of the house in days; Steve hasn't e-mailed this week, which is so unlike him. And these medical transcriptions are about to send me up the wall. But if I thought you had an answer to that—" "Just because Steve can't have any fun doesn't mean your life should be completely on hold, Susan. Go out. Find a group of friends your age, and get out of the house." "Steve isn't just 'not having any fun,' Mother. For christ sake, he's in a war zone. He's in Afghanistan. The least I can do is not go partying while he's gone. And I do get out occasionally." "Teaching basic grammar to juvenile offenders at a detention center at night is hardly 'going out,' honey. You need to—" "Hey, thanks for the chat, but I've got to go. Mom. A car's pulled up outside." Susan hoped the sudden stress in her voice hadn't conveyed down the line to her mother. This didn't look good, not good at all. She was quaking, her knees ready to give out, watching them approach the door through the picture window in the living room as she stumbled toward the foyer. A khaki green sedan, two soldiers, a man and a woman—oh, dear lord, a woman solider—all squared away and walking stiffly, almost reluctantly to her front door. The male soldier—so tall and handsome and strong, just like her Steve—was supporting Susan in strong arms from foyer to the living room, giving her over to the woman soldier as they got to the couch, standing back, stiffly, almost at salute, while the woman took over. "Is there anyone we can call for you, Mrs. Shelby? You shouldn't be alone, without friends at this time. Lieutenant Gordon here will go to the kitchen for some water for you, if that's OK. He can call in a friend for you when he gets back. Is there a telephone list somewhere?" Susan couldn't think of anyone off the top of her head. She'd moved here less than a year ago to be close to where Steve had been deployed for Afghanistan—where she had expected him to return to her. And—and she realized it was so inappropriate—all she could do was watch the movements of the male lieutenant around her house. He was so much like Steve. It had been so long. Steve had been an attentive, firm lover; their sex life had been torrid. She'd gone so long. All she could do was watch this lieutenant moving around her house—like he belonged here, lived here—the cut of his trousers making his butt look so good. Steve had had a great butt. But she'd been able to pull herself away from her inappropriate thoughts and asked them to call Candace, in Doctor Willard's office. It was sort of funny. She and Candace weren't that friendly; Candace was just the last person Susan had talked to on the phone before she spoke to her mother, who was half way across the country. Her mother would come, of course, but these military folks seemed to think they couldn't leave until someone else was here. Her mother was over a thousand miles away from here. Doctor Willard's office was just fifteen minutes away. The only reason Susan even knew Candace was because Susan typed up the doctor's patient notes and Candace was his office receptionist, the one who Susan worked with in his office. Susan didn't know if Candace would even come—but if she did, Susan knew they'd be best of friends now. Candace did come. She dropped everything at the doctor's office and was there within ten minutes of being called. And she expertly took everything in hand without questioning why she had been the one to be called in. And this shared experience did bond the two. Doctor Willard's receptionist wasn't the only friend Susan acquired from this tragic experience, though. Lt. Ian Gordon had been sent with the team to notify Susan of his husband's death in Afghanistan not just because he was on "death" duty that day but also because he was one of the lawyers assigned to the unit that notified next of kin in person. For the foreseeable future—until Steve's body was returned for burial and all of the death benefits were established and the Army had helped Susan take over full control of the family's affairs and finances—Ian Gordon was her lawyer. Over Susan's objections, Candace moved into her house for that first week. "I can't let you do that, Candace. You have a family to take care of." "There's just my husband—and my father who is living with us temporarily. He and my mom have separated, but we're all hoping it's temporary. But football season has started, and my Harry knows how to order pizza and do the laundry, so they'll be fine. They won't even know I'm not there." Truth be told, Susan had been grateful for the company. During that week, Lieutenant Gordon twice came and sat patiently at Susan's dining room table, with all of her household papers strung out there, and helped her put her life in order. She had done nothing with the family finances when Steve had been there, and had only reluctantly tried to fathom what he'd showed her before he left—and then just pecked at it in his absence. He was only supposed to be gone for eighteen months. "How much trouble can our affairs get in just eighteen months," she said to Ian as, with knitted brows and an occasional sigh, he sorted through her bills and papers. "Apparently a whole lot, and he'd only been gone for seven months, hadn't he?" he said, looking at her with a smile that gripped her heart and made her turn her face away. "God, he's even got Steve's smile," she thought. But did he really? Was she just saying that because he was a nice-looking man with a comforting smile? What did Steve's smile look like, really? This gripped at Susan's heart even more. Steve had only been gone for seven months—and only really gone for less than a week—and already she was beginning to forget his smile. And so many other things about him too. Candace walked into the dining room with refreshed cups of coffee. "Wow, what a pile of papers," she said. "Looks like this is going to take a heap of time to straighten out." "Yep, it sort of looks that way," Ian said as he reached out for the coffee cup with one hand and started digging into the pile of bills with the other. "What are the chances that there are some ugly letters in here?" he asked—almost cheerfully. "I've paid all of the bills as they arrived," Susan answered, trying to keep it from sounding defensive. "But I'm sorry about the mess." "Don't, worry. I'm here to keep you from worrying about this," Ian answered. "It's great you've managed the bills; many I work with haven't." He gave her a warm, approving smile, and she smiled back and relaxed. "What about all of this stock stuff, though?" "I don't know. Steve inherited all of that. I couldn't make heads or tails of it." "Well, I guess we'll have to set up a couple of more dates for me to visit then." "Sorry," Susan said. "Don't be. My pleasure," Ian shot back. And from his smile, Susan almost believed he meant it. Two weeks later, Lieutenant Gordon was still showing up regularly. Candace had moved home. Susan looked forward to Ian's visits, and if she didn't think of a reason why he had to come again, he did. In time it dawned on Susan to think on that. If she didn't think of a reason he had to come back again, Ian thought of one. Oh, god, she thought. It had been so long. Not just since Steve's death, but now going hard on eight months since Steve had moved in between her thighs. Their sex life had been quite frequent—and joyful. Dare she think that Ian Gordon had an interest in her? Since Candace and a circle of her friends had brought food in for Susan, she'd been filling out. All of those months of worry about Steve and how he was doing in Afghanistan and whether he was in danger had made her thin and gaunt. And now, with him dead, she was eating again. And both Candace and Ian had remarked—favorably—on that. Not just Candace; Ian too. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she could see that she had curves again and, if she wasn't careful, was going to steam right on by voluptuous. Does Ian like his women curvy, she wondered as she stood, naked, in front of her mirror and ran her fingers down the lines of her body. And then she could see the blush steal across her body. That was an inappropriate thought, she told herself. She'd just buried her husband two weeks before. Ian Gordon had been at the service, standing tall and straight—and handsome. There for Steve—and for her. Standing not more than two paces away from her, attentive to her every need. She wondered if he was as good in bed as Steve had been. Oh, god, she groaned. Talk about inappropriate. Then came the day when Ian left the house without setting up the next appointment. Susan had to admit her affairs were completely in order now. Ian had some other widow to go on to. She walked the house for nearly a week, not going out—even calling the detention center and saying she couldn't make it back that week when she'd had every intention to return. That she had too much to do. They understood, of course. The woman had just buried her husband. But she didn't have too much to do; she had practically nothing to do. Even Candace was protecting her from medical transcription work. This was well-meaning, of course. But Susan needed something to do. The dull routine of the medical transcriptions probably would have been exactly what she needed. Susan regretted not going to the detention center. Some of the students she worked with there were making real progress and seemed to appreciate her help. One young man, a black youth named Caleb, in particular, was someone Susan thought of frequently. He'd been so rough and sullen when she'd first met him, but he was really trying now—and was making progress. She'd helped him with a GED, and she knew he was now planning on going on to a community college. He'd age out of the system before she returned to the detention center now. She really regretted not being there in his last weeks—to see his smile when they handed him his diploma. He had a nice smile. But she couldn't go in the condition she was in now. As inappropriate as it was, now all she could think of was Ian Gordon and how he no longer would be coming to her house. She couldn't take it anymore. She picked up the telephone and called his office. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Gordon is out on an assignment this afternoon. May I help you?" "I . . . I found. . . . I'm sorry, this is Susan Shelby. Lieutenant Gordon has been helping me put my husband's papers in order." "Ah, yes. I see that he's assigned to your case." Susan breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't going to be told that her case was closed—that Ian was closed to her now. "Thanks. I've found some more papers I need help with. Could I possibly schedule another appointment for him to come by the house?" "Let's see, ma'am. Why, yes, if you don't mind late in the day, he could come at about 6:00 pm on Wednesday. Or is that too late in the day for—" "No, no, Thanks, that's perfect." And indeed it was. It was just perfect. She spent all Wednesday preparing for him. When he'd stayed late before, she'd fed him. Well, Candace and her friends had fed him. But he'd eaten here at the house, which was the main point. Feeding him at a 6:00 appointment wouldn't be inappropriate, she didn't think. And he deserved a nice meal. So, she cooked him a nice meal, spending most of the day preparing it. And when she wasn't preparing food, she was bathing and powdering and fixing her hair and finding something really nice to wear and getting the good china and silverware out—and candles for the table. At 6:00 pm she met him at the door, and the first thing he said to her—the worst thing he could have said, but, ultimately the best thing he could have said—was, "I thought we were finished with your papers, Mrs. Shelby . . . Susan. What other questions—?" Susan almost collapsed at the door. He wanted to know what question she had for him. She'd prepared for this encounter for days—she'd perfectly orchestrated how a fantasy would unwind as she wanted it to—and the one thing she had forgotten to do was to pin down a legitimate reason from him to be there. She burst into tears and fled through the living room, with a fire just set in the fireplace; through the dining room, with its table set for an intimate dinner for two; and into the kitchen and to the kitchen sink, where she stood, leaning over the sink and crying into the basin. A bewildered Ian followed in her wake—not missing the fire in the fireplace or the dining table setting. He'd already been knocked back by the spaghetti-strapped slinky cocktail dress she been wearing and how she had let her hair down in soft ringlets—and by the evocative hint of the perfume that had swept over him as she opened the door to him. He came into the kitchen and close up behind her. "Oh, Susan," he muttered softly into her ear, as he wrapped his strong arms around her from behind. She felt his hard body against hers, feeling that he had a need as great as hers. He had a slight musky smell that wanted her to melt—the same brand as Steve's. She turned her tear-stained face to his and they kissed. And then, for moments, they just stood there, leaning into the kitchen sink, as Ian's hands went to Susan's shoulders and pushed the straps of her dress down her shoulders, the bodice dropping to her waist, and then fumbled at the clasp of her bra between her breasts. And when her breasts were free, he was cupping them in both hands, rolling her nipples as she groaned, until one hand continued down her belly, bunching up the skirting of her dress around her waist, and then journeyed under the waistband of her panties, finding her wetness with his fingers, making her moan and tremble for him. He pulled at the material of her panties. She would have stepped out of them for him, but that would have required him to stop touching her intimately, if only for a brief moment. And he wasn't willing to do that. Nor did she want him to. His fingers and the bulb of his cock pushed the material aside between her thighs, opening the door for his assault on her slit. And then he was in. And in and in and in. They swayed there in languid rhythm, standing and his buried, searching cock trapping her against the sink cabinet as he grew and hardened and stroked up into her. His hands went to grip the edge of the cabinet out wide on either side of her for leverage, as her body rose and fell on the strength of his cock alone. He was every inch the man that Steve had been. And he knew every trick that Steve had to make her groan and moan and flow for him. Trying to hold herself steady, Susan reached out with her hands and covered his. And that's when she felt it. The ring. On his left hand. A wedding band. Why in the hell had she never noticed that before? Feeling her tense up, Ian misinterpreted the reason. "Am I hurting you? Should we move into the bedroom?" "Why the hell not?" Susan hissed through clinched teeth. She was too far gone now to stop. He carried her into the bedroom, laid her on her back on the bed, crouched between her thighs, and leaned down, smashing her breast against his chest, and took her mouth in a crushing kiss that stifled her groans and moans as he entered her strongly, deeply, fillingly again and began to work her deep in long, long, short, long strokes. He had lost his uniform blouse and undershirt now and her hands prodded and clutched the bulges of his muscles—even more muscular than Steve had been. Filling her more deeply and at greater stretch and more relentless pounding inside her than she ever remembered from Steve. No longer being able to fully remember Steve inside her. Not soon being able to forget Ian inside her. And then his lips went to her nipples, and she no longer cared about the ring on his finger. He could come to her—in her—as often as he wanted. And come he did—but not until he'd sent her over the top twice as pent up as she had been from the months of doing without. * * * * "You've been seeing someone, haven't you? Now don't hold back on me. I can see it in your face. You are radiant." "Oh, yes, I'm surprised it shows. There is someone I've had a few dinners with, yes. And we've had some interesting conversations. Just a bit of companionship to take the edge off of boredom. Nothing too serious, yet." On the floor because we didn't make it to the bed. Clothes strew everywhere from the dining room table and down the hall. Gasping. Digging into the hair at the back of his head, holding him close into the center of me. His lips and tongue and teeth searching between the folds. Thrashing under him. His hands squeezing prodding, thumbing my breasts, my nipples. Oh, god, Ian oh GOD Ian. OhohOhoooo. His lips at mine now. Crushing me to the floor. Entering, entering, entering. Taking my breath away. Withdrawing. Oh, no, don't leave . . . plunging oh GAWD, withdrawing, plunging, withdrawing, plunging. Holding. Ohoooooooo. Withdrawing. Plunging. Panting a duet. Knuckles hurt from grabbing onto the footboard of the bed we'd almost made it to. The bed creaking. Creaking in rhythm to the pumping of his shaft pinning me to the carpet. Oh holy shiiiittt! Plungingwithdrawingplunging. A cock that . . . will . . . not . . . give up. Mooaan. "Well, I'm glad you finding some social outlets. You're looking good. Glowing. You were skinny as a rail just a couple of months ago." "Yes, thank you, Candace. I think I'm coming out of the blue funk. And you and your family have been lifesavers. I don't know what I'd have done without these evenings with your family." "We've enjoyed you too. Especially Dad. He's been down. The tough times with my mom and all, you know. Although I do so hope and pray that they get back together. I've had to stop encouraging him to go to church with us, though. The old widows are all over him them there. I've had to almost beat them off with sticks. He's got to get back with Mom. But he's enjoyed having you with us these evenings for dinner and a board game or just watching TV. He's really come out of his shell." And although Susan couldn't tell Candace that it was Ian—their Lieutenant Gordon—who was responsible for this glow in her—and certainly couldn't mention that he was married, although Susan had never asked Ian about this and he most surely hadn't volunteered the information—Susan hadn't been lying when she said she valued these at-home evenings with Candace and her family. Candace's father, Frank, was a courtly gentleman. And he didn't look or act that old in Susan's view. He and his wife must have had their family early. In any event, Susan felt more like family when she spent an evening with Evanses than even when she was with her own mother. This is the only time she laughed. She didn't laugh with Ian. Susan's mother was always after her to socialize more—and she hadn't let up since Steve had died. She hadn't shown up yet, either—other than for two days at the funeral. She droned on about how hard it was to leave Cleveland for any length of time, saying she just couldn't manage to get away from all of her charity work obligations. And then there was Sport, the cat, who was on his last legs, and Susan's mother couldn't leave him alone with strangers to die. In a relentless litany, though, she had drummed at Susan about coming out to Cleveland for a while. A change of scenery. And Susan needed to socialize more. Yeah, Mom, right, Susan thought. If you could see what Ian and I were doing on your afghan the other afternoon . . . But Susan's mother wouldn't have understood or approved of Ian. That wedding band. Susan's mother would have picked up on that wedding band the instant Ian had walked into the house. If Susan had mentioned any of this, her mother would have gotten snide—she'd have asked Susan how many young widows Ian had on this string of his. Susan didn't understand or approve either; she couldn't have defended it as being in the least appropriate. But she had no argument against the feel of Ian inside her—sending her to heaven. Inappropriate My name is John, I am 38 and happily married for nearly three years now to my lovely wife Susan, who is 32. I am a doctor and have my own practice at home. My wife is an interior decorator, so connections are very important in her line of business. For this reason we host a number of parties every year. This story is about something that happened during one of those parties. Mys live close by -- twenty minutes by car -- and are prominent members of the local social society, and so they attend almost every party. Except for the basic pleasantries and chitchat, I had never really talked to my in-laws, Bill and Chrystal. Being a physician, I was barely good enough for their daughter, as they had made clear on several occasions; needless to say that their social status had made them arrogant and condescending. Especially Chrystal who had only one word for everything she disapproved of: inappropriate, whether someone was late for an appointment or they bumped into her without apologizing, everything and everyone was always inappropriate. Since they had their own physician, I didn't see them professionally either, which was fine by me... after all, who wants to see their in-laws naked? Back to the story: there were about forty guests present and the open bar was a success, as usual. While I was trying to stay interested in yet another high society story from one of the guests, I suddenly heard a yelp followed by some commotion. As my eyes were still trying to pinpoint the origin of the noise, I heard my wife calling out to me: I honed in on her voice and ran over. Apparently my mother had twisted her left ankle and had fallen flat on her face. I helped her up and one of the bystanders pulled up a chair for her to sit on. After examining her ankle, I realized it was just a minor sprain. When I looked up at her to tell her how bad I thought it was, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked: her long blond hair surrounding her face, her big breasts making for an ample cleavage in her pink sweater. As I was kneeling there in front of her, my hands under the seem of her salmon pants holding her ankle, I felt so horny and hot for her all of a sudden, that for a second I thought I was back in high school, ogling my first girlfriend. When my wife asked me what she could do to help, I replied that it was going to be all right and that I would take care of her in my practice; I put Chrystal's arm around my shoulder and helped her on her feet, meanwhile I was ogling her breasts as much as I thought I could get away with. I was getting hornier with every passing second, without any obvious reason; my wife and I had a good sex life, as a matter of fact she'd given me a sloppy blowjob just that morning! Chrystal meanwhile limped, leaning on my shoulder, her left arm wrapped around my neck, towards the house; by now, we had left the crowd and were almost out of sight, when she stumbled again. I tightened my grip to keep her from falling, moving my right hand -- which had been in her side up until now -- up to her right boob. Chrystal gasped. We had our backs to everyone, so it went unnoticed, but as I couldn't immediately move my hand until she took another step, I whispered:"I am sorry; I realize it's inappropriate, but I can't let go with you leaning towards that side." My cock was fully erect now, and I fought a smile, realizing that I had used her favorite word. "Don't be sorry... it was reflex." Chrystal said as she regained her balance and took another step. That would have been the end of it, I guess, if she'd hadn't said what she was about to say next. "Besides, it's not like you were squeezing it: that would have been inappropriate!" I don't know what got into me, but I took what she said as an invitation; instead of removing my hand now she'd regained her balance, I gently squeezed the underside of her breast, gently massaging my fingers into the soft tit-flesh, covered by her pink sweater. She gasped and turned her head to look at me as she slowly limped on, still leaning on me. My whole life flashed before my eyes as I realized the implications of her making a scene... I could have been in a lot of trouble! Luckily she didn't freak out or object in any way. Figuring that maybe she was holding back because she didn't want to make a scene in front of all of the guests, I feared that she might start to yell as soon as we walked into the house. In order to defuse a potential perilous situation, I decided to apologize preemptively and said:"I am sorry Chrystal, that was inappropriate of me!" feeling my cock throb in my pants. As we walked down the hall to my office, she just whispered:"Don't worry about it." Again, she probably -- although less likely than before -- could have stopped the whole thing here, if she'd just shut up. Instead she said:"That's not inappropriate John... inappropriate would be if you tweaked my nipple or something." I couldn't believe it, again with that word, twice in the same sentence! The fucking bitch was daring me, I thought as she looked me in the eye. Ok then, I thought... if she wanted to play! I took her nipple between my thumb and index finger and started rolling it gently, making her gasp and moan as we were approaching the door to my office. As we entered, I was really tweaking and jerking her erect nipple around under her sweater. God, my cock was so big, it was nearly bursting out of my pants. I gently sat her down on the examining table, which forced me to let go of her tit and nipple; as soon as she sat down, she looked at it and gently traced around the obscenely big nipple in her sweater several times, flipping the nipple herself a couple of times. I closed the door and locked it with the keys, then turned around and decided to see how far she was willing to go with this. "You're sure that that was not inappropriate?" I said, putting the ball in her camp. Looking up from her right tit -- her finger still tracing around the nipple -- she swallowed and said:"No no, it's fine... just as long as you don't ask me to take off my pants just to examine my ankle." We both laughed for a second as if it was a real joke, then I turned around and took off my vest. She was calling my bluff, I thought -- trying to convince myself that this was still a game. As I pulled up a stool, I looked at her and said:"Would you mind taking off your pants for a minute?" She looked at me for a second, lust radiating from her and then said:"Sure." Leaning on her good foot, she unbuttoned her salmon pants and pushed them down. Before she had a chance to sit down again, I said:"Panties too please." She looked at me, as her body shuddered, then hooked her thumbs in her panties and pulled them down to her knees; as she sat back down onto the examining table, she wobbled her good leg around until her pants and panties had slipped over her shoes and were on the ground. As I looked at my mother sitting on my examining table, naked from the waist down except for her white summer shoes, I lowered my hand and unzipped my pants slowly, whispering:"I hope it won't be too inappropriate, but I'd like to jack off a little bit!" Chrystal stared at my crotch with eyes big as saucers, licked her lips and replied:"I guess it's okay as long as you don't think about me while you're doing it." I kicked off my shoes, lowered my pants and boxers and got down on my knees in front of her, my huge dong dangling between my legs. I gripped it firmly with my right hand and started stroking it fast and hard. Chrystal gawked at my impressive member and the big purple head, sticking out of my fist. With my left hand I caressed her good leg up and down and stared blatantly at her rack, and her fully erect nipples. After about a minute or so, Chrystal opened her legs, giving me a prime view of her pussy. While my eyes were ogling her rack and pussy, I grunted:"Would it be inappropriate if I came?" "Maybe just a little bit... but as long as you don't get any cum on my clothes, I guess it's okay!" she replied. I grunted and moaned as I aimed my throbbing, fat cock at her pants and started pumping out big ropes of disgustingly thick cum on them; when I was nearly done, I grabbed her white panties and wrapped them around my pulsating cock head, ejaculating the last of my cum in them. I looked up at her and said:"Okay, let's take a look at that ankle now." as I wiped my cock on her panties and threw them on top of her soiled, salmon pants. I sat down on the stool and carefully placed her bad leg on my naked knee. As I gently rubbed her ankle, looking for a swelling, I put my other hand on her thigh and started moving it upwards. Chrystal realized that I was not really examining her and gripped the edge of the table with both hands as her body started trembling as my hand was getting closer to its main target. When I reached her pussy, she opened her legs a little more and gasped; carefully I placed my thumb on her clit and started tracing tiny circles, making her squirm and wriggle. "I hope this is not too inappropriate." I mocked her. "No, that's okay." she whispered. "But don't put any fingers inside of me; I am your mother, that would be totally inappropriate!" "I agree." I said as I starting prying her lips open and shoved my index and middle finger in, two knuckles deep. She moaned loudly and I could feel her soaking wet pussy getting even wetter. "Oh, I am so sorry; my fingers got away from me there." I said, continuing our little game. "I guess this is totally inappropriate behavior then?" keeping my fingers deep inside of her. "Well, I guess as long [pause] as you're not actually [pause] fingering me, it's not completely wrong." she whimpered as she leaned forward, putting her hands on my shoulders for support, knowing damn well what was going to happen next. After waiting a few moments, for dramatic effect, I started pistoning my fingers in and out of her, rubbing against her vaginal walls and grinding my knuckle against her clit for maximum effect. She clenched her eyes shut as she moaned and groaned, bucking against my hand. "Is this inappropriate then?" I asked. "I [moan] guess [moan] so." she replied. "Just don't [moan] make me [moan] cream [moan] all over your [moan] hand, that just wouldn't [moan] be [moan] right!" Needless to say, I picked up the pace a little bit and shoved in third finger to do exactly that. Chrystal quickly started convulsing and thrashing against my hand, then let go of my shoulders and leaned back, placing her hands on the examining table behind her and started grinding her pelvis against my hand, fucking back hard and fast. She orgasmed for a full two minutes, soaking not only my hand, but also the examining table and the floor directly beneath where she was sitting. When my fingering could no longer enhance her pleasure, I stopped, keeping my fingers in her just a bit longer as she was coming down from her orgasmic cloud. "God, oh god." she panted as she sat up again. Slowly I pulled my fingers out of her and walked over to the sink, rinsing off her juices from my hand. "Be honest." I said. "That was inappropriate, wasn't it?" Still catching her breath, she replied:"It's just nasty sex; it's not like we were kissing..." I smiled as I put the towel back and walked towards her. "I mean you're married to my daughter..." she continued, as I stepped in between her legs and gently took her face between my hands. "... for us to kiss each other; now that would be inappropriate!" she said, finishing her sentence just a fraction of a second before I pressed my lips against hers. Immediately her mouth opened and our tongues started dancing with each other as we kissed passionately. As the fire between us exploded in a passionate kiss, I felt my cock becoming erect again. Due to the short distance between us, it didn't take long for it to bump against her inner thigh, just an inch from her moist pussy. She broke the kiss and said:"I hope you're not thinking of shoving that thing into me; that would just be..." "Inappropriate!" we whispered in unison as we started devouring each other again, our lips and tongues entwined, swapping a fair amount of spit in our sloppy kissing. About ten seconds later, I turned my hips two inches to the right and pushed my cock into her soaking wet pussy. Because she was still so wet and loose from the fingering, she hardly reacted at all. "Oh no." I said, breaking our kiss again and looking down. "I've seemed to have slipped in, I just hope this isn't too inappropriate." "No." she replied. "Inappropriate would be if you actually started fucking your slutty mother!" We didn't put our mouths together anymore as we both knew what was coming next. I looked at her and brutally shoved my pelvis forward and upwards, shoving my cock all the way in; no matter how wet and loose she was, that she felt! She moaned, and I did it again, and again, and again. Each time she gasped and moaned a little harder. "Does that feel good, you stuck-up bitch?" I asked in between thrusts. "Mmm." she murmured. "Good, I was afraid that my cock wouldn't be good enough to pump around in your arrogant little twat!" "Just don't expect me to [moan] suck it, now that it's dripping with my juices... that would be so disgusting, not to [moan] mention highly inappropriate!" I pulled my cock out of her and forced her to her knees, stuffing my cock clumsily in her mouth, first getting some of her juices on her chin and the area around her mouth. She opened willingly and started sucking her own cunt juice off my pole like it was cotton candy. After half a minute or so, I pulled my cock back out of her mouth and asked:"Like that?" She licked her lips, swallowed and then said:"No silly, making me taste 'm just once is not inappropriate; for it to be really inappropriate, you'd have to do it multiple times in a row... purposely feeding me my own cunt!" I couldn't believe what she was asking me to do... I pushed her onto the examining table again and made her lie on her back, her head hanging off one end of the table and her legs spread wide on the other end. I stuffed my cock into her wide open cunt, gave her a few deep shoves and then pulled out, walking over to the other side of the table, where she willingly gulped down my drenched cock. This, I repeated at least twenty times and each time Chrystal seemed more eager to taste herself. I didn't really have a plan here, so I just kept shoving my cock down her two holes alternately; eventually the inevitable happened just as I was stuffing it down her throat. I quickly pulled back and spurted out a massive batch of cum, drenching her entire face in beads and wires of warm sperm. She didn't object one little bit; instead she just squirmed and took it like a champ, patiently and quietly waiting for me to empty my sack on her face. When I was done, Chrystal -- with her entire face soaked in my goo -- whispered:"I must say; shooting your sperm in my face and leaving me frustrated like this is really inappropriate!" "Really?" I asked as I was shaking the last drops of cum out of my cock onto her face, noticing that my erection wasn't diminishing. "We can't have that, now can we? How about I shove my cock back up your bourgeois twat?" I asked rhetorically as I walked back to the other side of the examination table and plunged my still hard cock back in, taking her by surprise -- as I had just glued her eyes shut. Out of reflex, she raised her head for a second, but quickly lowered it again as I started fucking her hard and fast. Despite the fact that I had just cum for the second time in ten minutes, I was able to maintain my erection and give Chrystal the fucking she so desperately craved. I banged her for five or six minutes before making her orgasm, kept going and fucked her through another one a few minutes later, and another one after that. I rarely was this virile with my own wife, but this bitch just brought out the very best -- or worst -- in me. I was sweating like a pig and getting pretty tired, yet I kept fucking her until she actually begged me to stop. I stopped and slowly pulled my raging hard-on out of her battered cunt, listening to her moan and whimper as she was nearly crying. Grabbing my slimy cock in my right hand, I started jerking it and walked over to the other side of the examination table, where I continued masturbating inches from her face, determined to give the bitch another facial. That is, until I suddenly realized that -- despite everything we'd done in the last fifteen minutes -- I still hadn't seen her tits. So without further ado, I grabbed both sides of her cleavage and tore her blouse to shreds, then yanked the cups off her bra, uncovering her juicy tits to my lustful glance. Shocked, Chrystal poked her head up and did her best to see past the haze of cum still covering her eyes as she felt around her chest area for the remnants of her blouse and bra, clearly worried about how she was going to explain all this to her husband and daughter. Frankly, I couldn't have cared less. I aimed my cock at her tits and started jerking again, quickly yanking myself to a third climax. It was still a fair amount of cum and most of it ended up on her right tit and nipple, although a few spatters also made it to her left one. Completely spent, I took a few steps back and sat down on a stool, catching my breath. As Chrystal got up and slid off the examination table, a bit wobbly on her feet, I smiled when I realized how much I had marked and degraded this narcissistic old cunt. With half-dried up cum on her face, fresh cum on her tits, a mixture of our juices running down her thighs and all of her clothes either spunked or torn, she looked like she'd just stepped out of a BDSM movie. With some water from the sink, a couple of towels and a blouse and bra from my wife's closet, she cleaned up real nice. She even started to look respectable again -- although I knew better -- but neither of us spoke another word: the momentum was clearly gone from our little adventure. A couple of minutes later, we walked out of my office and headed back to the party. Our timing couldn't have been any better as Susan came looking for us right that very moment. "Better limp a little, at least for a little while." I whispered. After reassuring my wife that everything was okay, we started mingling with the crowd again. For a little while, my mother was the center of attention and the main topic of discussion, but things eventually returned to normal and the party resumed its normal boring course. Except for exchanging a few knowing glances, Chrystal and I stayed clear of each other the rest of the night. After all the guests had left -- hours later -- Chrystal and Bill helped us clean up as they always did and then went home themselves. Although Susan was pretty tired, I didn't really give her a chance to say no; once we were both in bed, I got on top of her and just shoved my cock in. She figured I was going to let her off the hook with a quickie, but she was stunned by the energy I was fucking her with; I really slammed into her and lifted her petite body off the mattress over and over again. All the time I was thinking about Chrystal; even when I fucked her through two orgasms and spurted my cum deep inside of her, I was fantasizing about her mother, my mother, the arrogant bitch, and as I had learned earlier that day: a fucking whore! Inappropriate Behaviour I'm a psychiatrist. My name is Dr. Baker. I was hired by Roy Channing of Channing Chemicals to treat his 21-year old daughter Darla for her inappropriate sexual behaviour. Darla had recently been expelled from college. My initial impression from Mr. Channing's description of the incidents which had led to her expulsion led me to believe that Darla might be suffering from nymphomania. Given Mr. Channing's prominent position in the community, the situation had to be handled discreetly. I have a small property in the backwoods of Maine which is extremely pleasant in the summer months. I felt it would be a good idea for me to take Darla away from the distractions of her home in Los Angeles and give her some intensive psychoanalysis in just such a remote natural environment. I have always been a believer in the theory that the artificial environments of our modern cities have a disturbing effect on the psyche and that, likewise, a return to more natural surroundings can have a calming influence. The plan also had the advantage of removing Darla from the clutches of the Paparazzi who had had a field day recording her naughty college pranks for the gutter press. The one person who was not pleased with the plan was Darla herself. "Do we really have to do this psychoanalysis shit?" she complained, during our first session together. "Why don't we just fuck instead? Daddy doesn't have to know what we get up to. When I get back, I can act really good for a week or so, and then we can just pretend that the effects of your treatment wore off. No-one will be any the wiser, and you'll get to fuck a really luscious twenty-one year old. You must be at least fifty. I bet you don't get girls like me throwing themselves at you everyday." "Who does or doesn't throw themselves at me is not the issue here," I tried to explain. "The issue is whether or not you are going to learn to control your inappropriate behaviour." "What's inappropriate about trying to get a bit of sex?" she wanted to know. "Sex is fun, right? So why shouldn't I have a bit of fun? It seems perfectly natural to me." "It may seem natural to you, but how many other girls do you know who run into the boy's locker room after the football match and hop into the shower with the whole football team?" I asked her. "I can't help it if all the other girls are too chicken," she complained. "The guys like having a pretty nude girl to help them soap up their cocks for them. The only reason I got expelled was cause the coach came in just as I was sucking Billy Mitchell's dick. If you ask me, he was jealous. I think the coach fancies Billy himself. I mean if he's not a homo, why did he say no when I offered to do the same for him? Answer me that." "You have to learn that your behaviour has consequences," I pointed out. "And that you can't always avoid those consequences by offering to have sex with people." "At least I know that you're not a homo," she said, ignoring the point I was trying to make. "Cause when I said we should fuck, I saw your dick go stiff in your pants." "What may or may not happen inside of my trousers is not the issue here..." I began again, having the vague feeling that I was repeating myself. "Why don't you just pull it out and give it a tug?" she asked. "I won't tell anyone. I know you want to. Masturbating is so much fun." "That brings us to another point," I replied. "Masturbation may well be an enjoyable pastime, but it is one that is only appropriate in private. It is not appropriate to masturbate during economics class." "Well, I was bored," she pouted. "And I would have got away with it if Dorothy Matthews hadn't dobbed on me. I reckon Dorothy should do more masturbating herself, then she wouldn't be so uptight she feels she has to spoil someone else's fun." "You always find someone else to blame," I pointed out, "but the fact is that you bring problems on yourself when you fail to exercise proper self-control." "I didn't want to go to college in the first place," she claimed. "It was daddy's idea." "Your father just wants to make sure you can get a good job," I explained. "What sort of job are you going to get without a college education." "I could be a prostitute," she replied. "What sort of occupation is that?" I asked her. "I don't think you would enjoy it as much as you may think. You wouldn't have any choice about who you had sex with." "I know that," she said, her tone of voice implying that she thought I was stupid. "But I could earn lots of money." "How do you think your father would feel if his daughter turned out to be a prostitute?" I asked her. "Daddy just wants me to work for him," she replied, in a voice dripping with scorn. "What's wrong with that?" I asked. "You could make a lot of money that way too." "My daddy's company makes the chemicals that made a hole in the ozone layer," she explained. "Because of him people are afraid to go to nude beaches anymore because they might get skin cancer and die. At least prostitutes bring some enjoyment to the world." "But you wouldn't be able to be a prostitute for very long," I pointed out. "Eventually you would get old and no-one would want you anymore." "By that time I would have saved up enough money to retire to the Greek Islands, where I could laze in the sun and masturbate while I watch all those young Adonises playing in the surf," she pointed out. "At least I can if my daddy hasn't destroyed the ozone over the Greek Islands too by then." "You really don't like your father, do you?" I asked. "I just don't like what he does for a living," she replied. "Well, I think we have had enough talking for today," I said. "This treatment doesn't just consist of talking. You are here to learn how your behaviour can lead to either good or bad consequences. The choice is yours. Here in the country we have to be self-reliant. If you don't go and cut some wood this afternoon, you will not have a fire in your room tonight when it gets cold. If you don't cook dinner for yourself, you will have nothing to eat." "I'm not lazy, you know?" she whined. "I don't mind chopping my own wood, and cooking my own dinner. It will be fun after being waited on hand and foot. But we can still have that fuck afterwards, if you feel like it." Sure enough, she proved a very efficient worker. She chopped enough wood not only for the fire in her room, but for one in mine and one in the lounge-room as well. As she worked away enthusiastically, I took the opportunity to look her over. She was relatively small, with a face that was cute rather than pretty, framed by dark hair that fell loosely to her shoulders. She was wearing a white t-shirt and tight denims that came to a frayed end just above her knees. Her breasts hung a little low for her age, perhaps due to her habit of going braless as she was now. Her breasts swung enticingly beneath her t-shirt as she swung the axe, and the sight caused my cock to stiffen once more. "All done," she said, triumphantly as she came over to the spot where I was sitting under a tree, pretending to read a book. Her pale green eyes looked straight into mine with an impressive air of defiance. "Very good," I replied. "I'm impressed." "Now I'm all hot and sweaty," she said. "Mind if I go for a swim in the lake?" "Not at all," I replied. "Physical exercise... er, physical exercise of the right sort... is most important." "Want to join me?" she asked as she unzipped her jeans. "Not right now," I replied. "O.K." she said, as she pulled off her jeans. She continued to look me in the eye as she pulled the t-shirt over her head to reveal her soft, pale full-nippled breasts. "Do you like my boobs?" she asked, placing her hands beneath them and jiggling them. "Whether or not I like your boobs, is not the issue... " I began. "I can tell you do, Doctor, by the fact that your dick is getting really stiff in your pants again," she giggled. "I wish you weren't such a party-pooper and would come skinny-dipping with me. I'd love to get a look at that stiffy of yours. Look how stiff my nipples are. That's because I get so horny showing off in front of you. I bet my pussy is really wet, too." She grabbed the sides of her skimpy panties and pulled them down. Her pubes were full, but trimmed neatly at the sides. "You really must learn to curb your exhibitionistic tendencies," I told her, with as much conviction as I could muster. "Mmmmm, it is really wet," she said, running her fingers over the pink lips of her vagina. "Wanna feel?" "No, I do not!" I lied. "Party-pooper!" she pouted, before turning and running toward the lake. I gazed longingly at her pale bottom as it jiggled off into the distance. This was going to be a very long couple of weeks. That evening went by fairly uneventfully. Darla sat and watched T.V. while I worked on my book. "Are you really sure you don't want me to sleep in your bed?" Darla asked when I explained the sleeping arrangements. "There's nothing like having your cock sucked to relax you and give you a really restful night's sleep." "Now, now. None of that," I warned her, and retired to my room. I undressed and was about to climb into bed when I noticed something lying on the floor. It was a brown paper bag. When I picked it up and opened it, I found that it contained a pile of magazines. They were the kind of magazines that are full of pictures of nude women. Darla was playing games with me again. On the top of the pile was a note saying: "Hope you have a really lovely wank, Doctor." I knew that I should resist any of the temptations with which she presented me. But, on the other hand, how would she know that I had looked at the magazines? I turned on the bedside light, and then turned off the room light. Spreading the magazines out on the side of the bed away from the door, I lay down on my left side and began to leaf through them. It wasn't long before my cock was stiff. I grasped it with my right hand and began to stroke it gently as I looked at all of those bare breasts, bottoms and vaginas. I also found myself thinking of Darla standing there nude in front of me, the sweat of all that wood-chopping pouring down over her pale skin. When I reached the end of one of the magazines, I found an Instamatic photo taped to the last page. It was of Darla. She was nude and she was masturbating. In fact the photo had captured her at the moment of climax as her vagina squirted out a stream of liquid. Just as I found this photo, the door burst open and in ran Darla in a long night shirt. I looked over my shoulder at her as I shot jet after jet of cum over my bed sheet and the magazine and photo. "Oooo, goody," she cried, hopping up on the bed beside me. "All those luscious women and you picked me to jerk off over. I'm so glad." She kissed me on the cheek and wiped some cum off of my flaccid cock with her finger and then licked it with her tongue. "MMMmm, yummy cum," she said. "You get out of here!" I screamed, pushing her off the bed. "What are you going to do?" she asked cheekily, turning away and lifting her night-shirt to display her nude bottom to me. "Spank my naughty little bottom?" I grabbed her and pushed her from the room, and then locked the door. Thankfully, after all that exercise, Darla slept in late the next morning. "It was very wrong of you to come into my bedroom last night," I told her when she emerged at about 11.00, wearing a light floral summer dress. "How would you like it if I invaded your privacy?" "But Doctor," she replied, cheekily, "you know that I would love to have you invade me anytime you like." "It is not just what you want, that counts," I pointed out. "You have to consider what other people may want as well. Some people like a bit of privacy." "It's very hot today," she replied, ignoring me as usual. "I think I'll take all of my clothes off." "Don't you dare!" I warned her. "What are you going to do about it?" she asked, as she pulled her dress over her head. She was only wearing a skimpy pair of panties. "I warn you," I told her, "if you take those panties off, you'll be sorry." "Why will I be sorry?" she asked. "All you ever do is talk. Are you really going to punish me if I take my panties off?" "I don't believe in punishment," I explained. "I believe that it is my job to help you to understand your behaviour and to change voluntarily." "So you won't punish me if I take my panties off?" she insisted. "Well, no..." I replied. "Good," she said. "I'll take them off then. I think you really want me too, because your dick is getting so stiff that it is about to burst the front of your pants. Why don't you pull them down. You'll be much more comfortable and I'll be able to see what your dick looks like when it is really big and stiff. I'd like that. I think you have a really cute dick, but I haven't seen it really stiff yet. At least, only when it is still inside your pants." She pulled off her panties and sat in a chair across from me completely naked. "So if you were in my position," I asked, in exasperation, "what would you do to try to make a girl like yourself see sense." "Well, as far as I can see," she replied, as she fiddled casually with her nipples, "the only way to stop someone from doing something you don't want them to is to punish them when they do it." "What kind of punishment?" I asked. "Maybe spanking," she suggested. "Did your father spank you when you were little?" I asked. "No. My daddy was like you," she replied, "he didn't believe in corporal punishment, and he would have fired any of my nanny's who dared to spank me." "Ah-hah," I said, "we may be getting to something here. Sometimes children feel insecure if parents don't set boundaries for them. They may feel that a parent who doesn't punish them when they are naughty, doesn't love them. Are you maybe misbehaving in order to get someone to prove that they love you by punishing you?" "Maybe that's it," she replied, though she didn't really sound very interested in my theories. "So the best way for you to cure me is to spank my nude bottom." "You may have a point," I replied. "You always assume that the consequences of your actions will be painless. Having never been spanked, you assume that that will be painless too. Am I right?" "Well, it can't hurt all that much, can it?" she said. "And I do like the idea of feeling your hand touching my nude bottom. In fact I like that idea so much I think I need to masturbate." "If you start masturbating in front of me, you can be damn sure I'll give your bottom a sound thrashing," I warned her. "But you like seeing me masturbate," she told me. "I saw how much you liked looking at that photo of me playing with myself. But it is much more fun in real life. You should see how far I can squirt my pussy juice." "I'm not going to warn you again," I threatened. "I'll just go and get a towel to put over the seat so I don't make a mess of it," she said, ignoring my warning. "O.K. That's it," I barked. "Come over here and lay down over my lap." "I thought you'd never ask," she giggled, coming over and laying her nude body over my legs. She pushed her bare bottom up high, and spread her legs slightly so that I could see her puckered little anus between her pale soft cheeks. I kept telling myself that what I was doing was just for her own good, but the stiffness of my cock couldn't help but give me mixed feelings. Nevertheless, I knew that I had to teach her that pain could be the result of her bad behaviour. I raised my hand high into the air and brought it down forcefully. A resounding "crack" filled the air. "Ouch!" cried Darla. "That hurt." "Of course it hurt," I replied. "And I've only just started." I slapped her again and again. I have to admit that there was a perverse pleasure to be taken in turning those pale, white cheeks a dark red. "I'm sorry!" cried Darla. "I'm sorry for being so naughty, Doctor! Please stop!" I loved the way her bottom jiggled after each slap, and I loved the way her body wriggled against my erection as she tried to free herself. Eventually, her wriggling became too much and I felt a wave of pleasure sweep over me as a warm wetness spurted into my pants and ran down over my balls. She felt the wetness, too. "What is that?" she cried. "Oh-oh, the naughty Doctor came in his pants." "That's enough for now," I said, trying to maintain my dignity. "Look what you did to my bottom," she pouted, presenting her red cheeks for inspection. "I told you it would hurt," I said. "Perhaps you have learnt a lesson." "It did hurt," she agreed. "But now my bottom feels deliciously warm, and my pussy is really, really wet. I think I'm just going to have to masturbate in front of you anyway." "I can still spank you again," I warned her. "That would be nice," she replied. "But next time take your pants off first so you don't make a mess of them when you shoot your messy cum." She ran off and fetched a soft towel from the bathroom and laid it over her chair. She winced when she sat down. "This is how I masturbate," she said. "It's so much fun." I was too tired to resist any further. I just sat there and watched while she slid her fingers in and out of her pussy and fiddled with her nipples. "Are you sure you don't want to slip out of those uncomfortable clothes and wank along with me?" she asked. "I know you would enjoy it." She wasn't lying about how messy it was when she came. Her pussy juice squirted all over the towel and even onto the carpet. She refused to put any clothes on for the rest of the day. I tried to work on my book but she would just come over and sit in my lap and wriggle her nude bottom and say, "Wanna spank me again?" I clearly wasn't making any progress with her. That night I locked my door before going to bed. It was a warm night and a refreshing cool breeze blew in the window. I woke at about midnight to feel a nude body wriggle into my bed next to me. "Someone forgot to lock the window," she giggled, before kissing her way down my chest and belly and taking my cock into her mouth. That is all I remember. After that things just get real fuzzy. You say you picked me up for masturbating in public in the middle of Portland? I don't remember that. But perhaps if you could just take off this ridiculous strait-jacket, I would be able to get my thoughts together. The End.