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My Mother The Whore

By: Pussyrider



I was in my local bookshop, browsing the new publications, when I spotted it. A work entitled 'Soho In The '60s'. It was obvious that the subject was the sex industry in the area of London with which that trade is so closely associated. The book's cover featured a glossy black and white photo of a woman in her twenties, a mass of peroxide blonde hair framing a sultry looking face, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. Her heavy, obviously bra-less, breasts bagged her white blouse, and a black leather mini skirt ended halfway down her thighs to reveal black fishnet stockings, her feet clad in white stiletto-heeled shoes. 

Having spent a few wild nights in Soho in my distant youth (I'm 38 now), I was mildly interested, and started to leaf through the book. Inside there were several glossy pages of other black and white photos of strip clubs, working girls and so on. One was a close-up on the face of the girl on the cover, grinning at the photographer with big come-on eyes. I turned past it, then literally did a double-take and flicked back to the picture. There was something so familiar about that face. It was difficult to tell, with the face caked in foundation, the eye shadow, mascara and eye liner making her look like a panda, the lips painted into a big bow and, of course, the masses of dyed blonde hair, piled in top of her head in that shot. But...the high cheekbones...the shape of the eyes and nose...the small ears with large lobes...I almost dropped the book in shock -- I was staring at a photo of my mother!

Once I'd recognised her, I didn't know why I hadn't seen it immediately. She was 67 now, but there was no question in my mind that what I was seeing was a younger version of her. I stared at the caption: apparently she had called herself Candy Cumcake. Madly, I flicked to the index of the book. There were several references to her, including one four-page block. My hands shaking, I turned to it. It was an extended interview with Candy, 'a young whore who plies her trade around Meard Street'. She spoke freely of the range of her clientele, her sexual activities, which involved every orifice, on occasions more or less simultaneously, and her involvement with petty gangsters. The prostitute's final words in the interview jangled in my brain: "Ill probably pack this in by the time I'm 30, settle down with some nice bloke and have his kids." I had been born when my mother was 29.

I stood in a state of shock. I'm a well known businessman in the small town where we live. We're only 30 miles from London, and the book was bound to arouse interest. How long would it be before someone who knew my family made the same connection I did? Maybe someone who thought the local press might be interested? Horrified at the prospect, I hurriedly bought a copy of the book and scuttled out of the store. I needed to confront my mother, and find out for certain if it really was her. I drove to my parents' home like a maniac, and screeched to a halt. Then gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles white with the pressure I was exerting, I closed my eyes, sat back in my seat, and took a few deep breaths to calm myself.

I let myself into the house and called for my mother. She stepped out of the kitchen with a smile for me, but she must have seen something in my face, because she looked alarmed and said, "Ian, what is it? Has something happened to Lucy?" That was my six-year old daughter, who lived with my estranged wife, only eight miles away from my home, but who I hadn't seen for more than two months. I shook my head and stalked into the lounge, slumping onto the couch. Mum followed me, and I looked her up and down: an elderly woman, with permed and dyed dark brown hair, a face lined with age, a slightly stooped posture, wearing a frumpy brown blouse and black slacks. As she wrung her hands, staring at me with concern, I began to wonder for the first time if maybe I'd made some horrible mistake. I asked her where my father was. Mum replied in her rather refined accent. "Oh, he's away for the weekend with his bowls club. Darling, please tell me, what is it?"

I was holding the book in my hand, the back cover face out. I said carefully, "I bought this today", and laid it face up on the low coffee table in front of me. My mother dropped her chin to look, and stared at it unmoving for fully thirty seconds. I couldn't see her face until she looked up at me again. She was trying to be nonchalant, but her cheeks had developed a deep red blush. She shrugged, but couldn't keep a slight tremor out of her voice as she said, "So you bought yourself a mucky book of some kind. What's that to me?"

Her lie angered me. "Oh come on Mum, for Christ's sake, that's you on the bloody cover!"

She tried to laugh, but it didn't come off. Blushing still deeper, she said, "Really, darling, don't be ridiculous. Do you think I could ever have looked like that?"

I hung my head, shaking it. "Please Mum, I can telly you're lying, you're not very good at it. How could you?"

There was a moment's tense silence, then Mum slumped down beside me on the couch with a huge sigh. She gazed at the photo of her younger self. "Christ, I haven't seen that picture in years." I stared at her: the upper-crust accent I had always known had disappeared, and she had reverted to a London twang, sounding like an East End barrow boy. She picked up the book, flicked through it, and stopped when she found the interview with 'Candy'. Her eyes scanned it, and she muttered, "Oh, shit." I'd never heard Mum swear. Then, tapping the author's name on the cover of the book, she snarled, "The bastard! I didn't even know he was still alive. He might have told me he was going to do this. And he had no right to put me on the fucking cover." Then she turned to me. "I'm sorry darling, this must have come as rather a shock to you." Her voice was morphing strangely between common and refined, dirt and duchess. She sighed. "Still, I'm not sure why you're quite so upset about it."

I leapt to my feet and paced about the room as my voice steadily rose. "Oh no, why should I feel upset? I've just found out that my mother's a fucking WHORE! And give it a week and the whole sodding town'll work it out."

"Ian!" She spoke sharply, as if addressing the infant me. "I am still your mother, and don't forget it. Yes, I sold my body, then I stopped. I haven't been that woman since...well, a couple of years after you were born."

I stared at her open-mouthed, then collapsed back onto the sofa. "Jesus Christ -- you mean you were still doing this when I was a kid? Does Dad know? Is he even my real father?"

She looked as if she wanted to slap me. "Don't be stupid, of course he is. And as for him knowing, well, how do you think we met?"

"Fucking hell! So you mean Dad was a punter?"

She swallowed nervously. "At first, yes. Then I started working for him." I began to wonder how much worse it could get: not only had my middle-class conservative father used prostitutes, he'd actually pimped them! Mum turned to look me full in the face. "Have you ever been with a prostitute Ian?" I felt myself blushing. "Yes, well those girls you went with, they were all someone's daughter, or sister, or mother. Did you ever think about that? I know what's really upsetting you. It's not that people might start pointing fingers at me, is it? It's that they might point at you, and it might ruin your precious business that you care more about than you cared about your marriage. Well sod you!"

I stared at the thing which had been my mother in disbelief. Furiously I scrabbled in my jacket for my wallet. I clutched a wad of banknotes -- probably £250 -- and hurled them in her face. "Okay then, whore, how much will it cost me for a shag? Is that enough for you?"

She stared at me, shocked, then her eyes fell to the money that had landed in her lap and fluttered to the floor. She licked her lips, and I heard her almost whisper, "I could give you a real good seeing-to for that much." I looked at her in utter astonishment. Facing me, she said quietly, "I was fucking good at it, you know. I had men begging to screw me. I grew up in a family that was dirt poor. We never knew where the next meal was coming form. Not like you, who's never wanted for nothing" -- she pronounced it 'nuffink' -- "I know the value of money. And I never, ever, say no to a few more quid."

I was still trying to think through her last comment when she shuffled next to me on the couch. "I know what's really got you this upset darling. You're frustrated, that's all." I flinched as she started to gently stroke my hair. It seemed an innocent enough gesture, but it wasn't like a motherly touch, it was more sensual. Her fingertips stroked delicately against my forehead as she smoothed away my fringe. Her voice had become a soft murmur. "How long is it since you and Julie split up now? Nine months, is it? Have you been with a woman at all since then?" The truth was that I hadn't touched a woman since well before Julie and I decided to pull away from our crumbling marriage. Mum read it in the haunted look on my face. "Sexual frustration isn't good for a young man. You really ought to do something about it." Her face was now inches from mine. I could feel her warm breath on my cheek, and smell her perfume. I became aware of a stirring in my groin that shouldn't have been happening in my mother's presence.

Mum's fingers traced down my cheek, then she stood, walked to the door into the hallway, and turned to say, "I'll be back shortly darling." I sat staring at the carpet with my hands clasped, trying to work out what the hell was going on. Mum returned a few minutes later; I was surprised to see she had changed out of her day clothes into a dressing gown. She pushed a magazine into my hand. "I may be a little while; this should keep you amused. You might find page 24 interesting." Then she walked out of the room again.

I stared at the magazine. It was a rather battered glossy covered thing with the title Glamourpuss. The corners of the pages were curled with age and frequent turning. The cover showed a Marilyn Monroe look-alike dressed only in a pearl necklace, tiny black panties and black elbow-length gloves. Her huge breasts pointed straight at the camera, her nipples hidden by extended index fingers. My fingers suddenly felt very clumsy as, nervously, I turned to page 24. It was exactly what I'd dreaded. The first shot showed Mum, as she'd looked in her Soho days, winking at the camera as she held one of her big breasts to her mouth, licking the nipple. The next few pages showed her in all kinds of poses -- legs wide open as the lens focussed on her shaved pubis and her red gash; an extreme close-up which belonged in a journal of gynaecology; her arse to the camera, her cheeks pulled wide apart showing her puckered anus; and, finally, my mother lying on a bed pressing a vibrator deep into herself.

I wanted to put the magazine down, but it was if it was glued to my fingers. I stared at the pictures, flicking between pages, my trousers gradually tenting as my cock became increasingly erect. I felt sick at seeing my mother pose like that -- and sick at the way I was getting so aroused by the sight. The truth is, I didn't normally find porn photos that interesting, but I knew the reason for the effect this set was having on me was precisely because it was my mother in them.

I'm not sure how much time passed, but I was just beginning to wonder where she was when I heard her padding down the stairs. When she appeared in the doorway I gasped in amazement. Her hair was no longer brown, it was the same peroxide blonde as in the pictures I'd been looking at. Her face was plastered in make-up, and she looked considerably younger than her true age. And her clothes...well, she had changed into the very outfit that she wore on the cover of the book which had caused all the trouble! I was surprised she still had the outfit, or something very like it. The waistband of the leather skirt cut into her a bit more than in the photo, and her thighs looked a little more generous, but otherwise she didn't look much different from the girl she'd been 40 years previously. I should have felt revolted by the sight; instead, I felt my cock leap inside my pants. Mum sashayed towards me, tottering slightly on the stiletto heels, her hips swaying, her huge breasts jiggling under the blouse. In a little girl voice, she breathed, "Hallo sweetie, you looking for a nice time?" My mouth felt dry, and I couldn't think straight. She smiled. "Well then darlin', you'd better come upstairs." 

She reached out and took my hand and, as if in a dream, I followed my mother to her bedroom, staring at her leather-clad backside. She had drawn the curtains, and the only light in the room came from the hallway outside. In the semi-darkness, Mum began to undress me. When she'd removed my shirt she kissed each of my nipples, and I shuddered as she tweaked them with her teeth. When she undid my trousers, and slipped them and my pants down my legs, she leaned back with a grin. "Well, haven't we grown into a big boy! Is that all for me?" When I was nude she laid me on the bed and stood beside me, taking off her own clothes slowly, seductively, her eyes locked on my face, a come-to-me smile on her lips. Then she lay beside me, her bare flesh brushing against mine. I noticed her pussy was no longer shaved, but had a thick mat of long grey-brown hair.

She leaned over me, and I felt her heavy breasts pressing into me as we kissed. I would never have dreamt that my mother could kiss so sexily, her tongue raking every corner of my mouth. I was still marvelling at that as she trailed her lips down my torso, and closed them over the tip of my cock. She moaned as she ran her lips up and down my shaft, her tongue tickling along the underside, her teeth grazing lightly against my flesh. When I groaned and wrapped my fingers in her hair she increased her moans of lust. I knew I couldn't last long, and after only a couple of minutes I shot my bolt into Mum's mouth. She laid her head on my chest and giggled, licking her lips. "Mmm, lovely. I haven't tasted that in a while."

After I'd caught my breath, with no sense of shame or guilt I lowered my head and sucked one of those massive tits into my mouth. The nipple was long and thick, and Mum sighed as I flicked my tongue across it. After a few minutes she slipped down the bed, and it was my turn to sigh as she wrapped her knockers around my prick, cupping my balls in one hand. I thrust between her soft, silky tits, revelling in the feel of those big cushiony boobs around my cock. When I came that time, Mum dipped her head and tried to catch my stream of spunk in her mouth. What she missed she scooped off her chest on her fingers and lapped at it, like a cat with a bowl of cream.

We kissed and cuddled for a while, then Mum started kneading my dick in her hand. I was soon stiff and ready for action again, and she rolled onto her back and manoeuvred me into position. She guided me to the edge of her pussy and I thrust into her, burying myself to the hilt. She let out a huge breath, and gasped, "Christ...so big!" I hooked my elbows behind her knees and lifted her legs, then proceeded to fuck her with all my strength for several minutes. She felt amazing inside, so warm and velvety, and she sighed over and over as fucked her. Before long she screamed, "Oh yes, yes, oh fuck yes", and I felt her cunt walls tighten around me. I held off as long as I could, but finally the wonderful feel of her pussy was too much for me and I fountained my jizz into her. Mum and I had another fuck and suck session before I left. At the door she kissed my cheek and chuckled, "That's the best two hundred quid I've earned in a good few years."

The local rag did soon pick up on it being mum's picture on the front of that book, but the outcome was very different to what I'd imagined. Not only did she do an interview for the paper, she did one for the local TV station too. Things snowballed from there: Mum kept her blonde look and, far from being embarrassed by her new-found notoriety, she revelled in it. She and the author of the book appeared together on the Jonathan Ross show on the BBC, and she spent a day in a Soho shop autographing copies of the book as they sold like hotcakes. She's been offered an advice column in a men's magazine, and there's even talk of a film -- the name Keira Knightley's been mentioned! 

It hasn't done my business any harm either, being known as 'the son of courtesan Candy Cumcake'. Meanwhile, every time Dad's away with his bowls club, I draw a couple of hundred pounds out of the bank, and go round and pay a dutiful visit to my dear old Mum. 

My Mother, The Whore



A drunk driver took out my old man when I was 14 and my little sister was 12. Mother worked a succession of low-paying jobs to keep the rent paid on our trailer in a seedy trailer park outside a small town in Georgia, not too far from Atlanta. I had to take part-time jobs to keep food on the table and clothes on our backs. We never really starved, but money was always tight. While we never did without necessities, we seldom had many luxuries. Ma always seemed to have a few more things than we did, but she was the adult. And she worked late a lot, leaving my kid sister and me alone to fend for ourselves. But Ma could come through if something came up that was really necessary. As soon as I graduated from high school, I went to work full time to help send my sister to college. I tried not to resent that too much. It was simple economics. I could earn more, and the plan was for her to finish college, and then she'd help me. 

It wasn't until a couple of months ago that I realized just how Ma could turn up that extra cash so readily in a pinch. It's funny how things turn out. 

Ma is a statuesque woman in her late forties, though she could easily pass for five to ten years younger than that. She has rich red hair (and the temper to match), and green eyes that often sparkle with laughter and a shrewd intelligence. When she works as a waitress she makes good tips, sometimes even a little more if she doesn't complain about the occasional pinch to the bottom. She's a bit on the tall side standing over five-eight in her bare feet. She weighs about a hundred forty to a hundred fifty, with that distributed nicely in her delicious curves, generous ass, and shapely long legs. Ma is what is called a "looker" in out part of the country.

My sister is nineteen, and almost the physical opposite of Ma. Sharon is slender with smallish boobs and a tiny waist. Her face is pretty, with lips that seem to be in a perpetual sensuous pout. Her hair is more brown, but with reddish highlights. She's a lovely little fox, and damn well knows it.

As for me, at twenty-one, I'm over six feet tall, weighing in at about two hundred to two twenty with no fat. I played fullback in high school, and my job in construction keeps me in pretty good shape. My belly is flat, and my arms and legs are heavily muscled from long hours of hard labor. My hair is close cropped, and my face is more square compared to the softer oval faces of my mother and sister.

It was a hot sultry Friday evening. I'd been working with a crew putting a new tin roof on an old warehouse. A sudden rain shower came up, and we were called down to wait it out. But as the rain fell steadily, the foreman shrugged and told us to take the rest of the day off. I thought I'd have a few hours to kick back, knock off a few brews, and maybe pick up a girl with more tits than virtue if I was lucky. Last summer, several new businesses were relocating to our town, and they needed either new buildings or serious remodeling of existing structures, so I had more work than I could handle. I was tired a great deal of the time, but the money was too good to pass up.

The honky-tonk bar was busy, but not too busy as the rain apparently put a damper on business. The women were either married or with their boy friends and I was too tired to get into a fight over any of them. So I ate some fried chicken, had a few beers, and played the jukebox before deciding to head home. I was pleasantly tired and had a decent buzz on, but I wasn't drunk. 

There were a number of cars and trucks parked on the road we lived on, but I found a place, and strode through the rain to my place, and slipped the key into the door that opened into the kitchen. I kicked my muddy work boots off just inside the door, and pulled a beer from the fridge and sat down at the table and lit a smoke. 

I was startled when a man came out of the hall, tucking his flannel shirt into the waistband of his jeans. He saw me, and grinned sheepishly.

"Oh, sorry," he said with a sly grin. "Don't mind me, I'm just on the way out. You may want to give her a minute before you go back, though." I didn't know what to say. I'd never seen him before, but that didn't seem to phase him. He took a jacket off the back of a kitchen chair that I'd failed to notice and slipped into it. "Unless you like sloppy seconds, I mean." He chuckled. "She didn't tell me she had somebody after me. You must be a little early."

"Enjoy yourself," he said letting himself out of the door. I caught a whiff of whiskey as he went by.

I sat for a minute trying to figure out who the hell he was and what the hell he was doing here. I got up and went down the hall towards the bedrooms making no noise in my stocking feet. I noticed the door to my mother's room was open. I peeked in.

The only light came from a dim night-light. Ma was lying naked on her stomach across the rumpled bed. A bottle of good whiskey sat next to an ashtray with a cigarette butt still moldering in it on the bedside table. The air was ripe with stale smoke and the musky aroma of sex. Ma's legs were slightly parted. An opaque trickle oozed from the moist lips of her labia under the smooth rounded globes of her ass. Ma stirred languidly, turning her head on the wrinkled pillows. 

Then I noticed a crisp new fifty-dollar bill under the ashtray.

"Forget somethin', sugar?" Ma's contralto voice was slurred and muted. "Just get it and go, honey. You gave me quite a ride, and I'm sleepy."

"You bitch," I hissed, fury coiling in my gut like a cold fist. "You goddam bitch!"

Ma turned and opened her eyes. Obviously she'd been drinking, and it was taking a moment or so for her to grasp that her "guest" had left.

"Tommy?" she said with a puzzled expression. "Tommy, is that you? What time is it, baby?"

She fumbled for the clock on the bedside table. I strode into the room, and grabbed her wrist.

"Just what is this scene, Ma?" I shouted. I've got a strong grip, and I was squeezing her wrist tightly. "Just what the fuck is going on here?"

I rolled her over on her back. Her generous breasts were taut and firm, and her bush was neatly trimmed. In spite of my rage, and in spite of the fact that this was my mother, I felt a stirring in my own loins.

"Tommy, you're hurting me," fear made her voice soft, urgent. She looked up at me wide-eyed. She tried to cover her mound with her free hand. This close to the bed, the smell of sex and cum was stronger. It fueled my rage, and in some strange way, her look of fear and embarrassment added to my own unnatural arousal. She tried to pull away from me, but I pressed her back down with the wrist I was holding and with my other hand on her shoulder, kneeling on the mattress over her. "If you'll just let me explain, baby . . . " 

"Explain?" I shouted. "Explain? Explain how you're fucking while I'm out beating my brains out to keep us from getting thrown out of this dump? Explain why I can't date like a normal guy because I give all my money to you for food and bills that you run up? What are you going to explain to me, you fucking bitch? All right," I said, snatching the bill from under the ashtray and waving it in her face. "Explain this! What did this buy that guy, Ma? A quickie? A few grunts while he poked you? Or did you let him go down on you?" A sudden idea, terrible in its suddenness and yet fitting in its terribleness, came to me. 

"No," I said. "I bet he just come in here, plunks down his money, and climbs aboard," I balled the bill up in my fist and threw it across the room. I pulled out my wallet, and pulled out all the bills. "Well, look what I got, Ma."

I fanned the currency in front of her face. "Two weeks pay, less three beers and a fried chicken platter down at the diner." I was kneeling across her, holding her down. She was trying to struggle, and Ma's a big woman. But I am bigger and stronger, and I was furious. "Over seven hundred dollars," I hissed. "And every other Friday, I walk in here and just hand it over. I give you every goddamned dime, except my gas and cigarette money."

I threw the money on the bed and leaned over, my hands holding her shoulders pinned to the mattress, bringing my face to within inches of her. "What would seven hundred dollars buy, Ma?" I was grinning evilly. "At least fourteen quickies like the one you gave the guy who just left?"

Ma went very still under me. Her face was twisted in fear and confusion. I enjoyed that appearance at that moment. 

"Tommy," her voice was barely a whisper. "Tommy, let me up. Please, Tommy. Let's talk this over. You're talking crazy." Her eyes were terrified. "Tommy, I'm your mother! Let me go."

"Oh, don't worry, Ma," I said. "I'm not gonna hurt you. But you do owe me. And, Ma, it's pay back time."

I leaned down, and kissed her. I kissed her hard, and probed at her lips with my tongue. She clamped her teeth shut, and tried to twist and turn her head away from me. Chuckling, I raised my head.

"Now, now," I chided her. "Just think of me as any other cash customer, Ma." I looked her square in the eye, and my tone was deadly serious. "I haven't hurt you yet, Ma. I'm not planning on hurting you. Or no more than you want to be hurt," I grinned humorlessly. "But you will give me what I want, Ma. You'll give it to me when I want it, too. Because if you don't, Ma." I clutched her face in one huge hand and squeezed tightly. "Because if you don't," I smiled again. "I am going to beat the living hell out of you, you whore. Now, do you understand?"

She stared at me. I grinned at her, starting to unbutton my shirt. I grinned at her.

"You do understand," I said, pulling my arms from the sleeves, and dropping the shirt off the bed. 

"You can't be serious," she said.

"I'm dead serious," I replied evenly. "Oh, you can leave. You can leave right now." I glanced at her nude body, and grinned. "You can leave just as you are, naked as a frog. But that rain is chilly. Or I might catch you before you made it to the door. And I might be mad. I might be mad enough to mess up that pretty face enough that nobody will want it for a week or so."

"Just what is it you want, Tommy," she asked. She had crossed one arm over her breasts, and crossed one leg over the other. 

"I want to fuck you, Ma," I said with a broad smile. "I want some service for my seven hundred dollars." I realized every word I was saying was true. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to feel those big tits mashed flat against my chest as I lay atop her. I wanted to feel my rod sink deep into her wet yielding depths. And I was going to get all I wanted from her. I wanted her to pay for the rage and humiliation I had felt.

Her hand snaked out, slapping me hard across the face. It stung, making my eyes water. I grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm. She cried out, her torso turning to ease the pressure. I held her arm tightly against her back, and whispered into her ear.

"You stupid bitch. I could easily dislocate your shoulder. Get used to it, whore. I want you. I'm going to have you."

"You're hurting me," she whimpered.

"Not yet," I reminded her. "But I can. If you cross me, bitch, I will."

"Tommy," she began.

"Shut up." I pushed her way. She fell face first onto the bed. "Go clean yourself up from the last customer. Then get your ass back in here. You've got ten minutes. If I have to come after you," I reached and got the bottle of whiskey, uncorked it, and took a deep burning drink. "I'll break at least one of your arms."

She looked over her shoulder at me. Her green eyes were clear now, I could almost hear the little wheels inside her head spinning, calculating.

"You wouldn't dare," she said.

"Are you betting one of your bones on that, whore?" I asked, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. "You'd better hurry. You've only got nine minutes left." I took another deep swallow.

Ma shinnied off the bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door. I lay in the dimness feeling the whiskey start a small globe of warmth in my belly. I pulled off my socks, and heard the shower come on in the bathroom. I grinned, and stripped off my jeans. I guessed I needed a shower too. I was probably pretty ripe from work. But I would wait. I plumped up the pillows against the headboard, and stretched my legs out, leaning back wearing only my briefs. I took another stiff drink.

The shower went off. I heard some rustling and Ma moving about in the bathroom. In a few moments, the door opened. Ma stood in the doorway with a blue towel wrapped about her like a sarong.

"Ditch the towel," I said.

Ma bit her lower lip. Then, looking at the floor, she loosened the towel and let it fall to the floor. God, she was beautiful. In the faint illumination of the night-light, her body gleamed. Her breasts jutted out proudly over her flat tummy. Her mound was neat beneath a perfect navel. She padded noiselessly to the bed, and slowly climbed in next to me. 

Taking one of the glasses from the bedside table, I poured some whiskey, "Drink?" I asked.

"No." Her voice was frigid. I laughed and tossed the drink off myself. I was starting to feel it, that lovely warm amber glow of the whiskey.

I put the glass and bottle back on the table. Propping my head on one hand, I reached over and cupped one of her round, ripe breasts. My forefinger toyed with the tip of her nipple. Her hands balled into tight fists. She stared stonily straight ahead. The nip hardened and the brown areola tightened. I let my hand move slowly to her other breast, and caressed it as well. When it was firm and pointed as well, I let my hand slide down the silky smooth skin of her flat belly to her soft bush. 

Ma's eyes were closed, and her hands were still balled tightly. I grinned. My fingers found her warm nether lips and traced them gently, exploring their moist velvety softness. Slowly, lightly, I let my finger slide gently over her slit, watching her face. Ma's lips parted. She glanced at me under lowered lids, then looked away quickly

I laughed, still caressing her quim. "Whore," I said affably, "the way I see it, you have two choices. The first is you can cooperate, and we'll have us a little sweaty fun." She kept her face averted. I let my hand slide upwards, over her belly, over her inviting tits, until I grasped her chin and turned her face to mine. Her eyes were flashing with impotent fury. I grinned in her face.

"Or the second," I said, letting my grip tighten a little. "You can not cooperate. It really doesn't matter. I'll have you anyway. Whether you enjoy it or not is your own affair. But it's going to happen."

"You bastard!"

I laughed. "You ought to know, whore. You had me."

One of her hands shot up, but I was quicker this time. I caught her wrist, and held it tightly, squeezing it until her face contorted in pain.

"Okay, then," I said grimly. "If that's the way you want to play it."

My lips crushed hers. I pushed the hand I was holding back, leaning across her. My tongue burrowed into her mouth. She stiffened, making her breasts press tightly against my bare chest. My other hand went to her cunt. I spread the lips roughly, and inserted a finger deep into her. She moaned as I invaded her grotto, I pressed her down until I was semi on top of her. I held her shoulders down, and dropped my head to suckle on her ripe jugs, letting my teeth close gently on the stiff nipple while my tongue wetly flogged it.

My other hand moved in and out of her gash, spreading it then spearing deep again. She wriggled furiously, but I was stronger. My cock was pressed against her outer thigh. I know she could feel it beneath the thin cotton of my briefs. Her hole grew warm and moist. Still suckling and nibbling her large round boob, I withdrew my finger from her gash, and toyed with the folds surrounding her clitoris. I coaxed it from its fleshy sheath, toying with it with the barest pressure from my fingertips. It swelled under my gentle caresses, and her slit grew wetter still.

I let her tit slide from my mouth. Her face was flushing, her breathing becoming more rapid and shallow. I kissed her again. This time, her lips were yielding, parting to admit my tongue at the first touch. Her tongue met mine, entwined, parted, and met again. I put my thumb on her clit, and let a finger slide back within her. She moaned again. I felt an arm encircle my neck, tentatively at first, but tightening as I let a second finger find her depths.

She made a sound, muffled by my lips pressed tightly to hers. My fingers curled upward stroking the spongy roof of her grotto. Her cunt muscles tightened on my fingers and her mouth sucked hungrily on mine. I fingered her carefully, in and out in slow smooth strokes, still letting my thumb caress or rest lightly on her button. 

I eased back from the kiss, and looked at her. Her eyes were flashing now from something other than anger or fear. 

"See," I taunted her, pressing her clit slightly and watching her wince. "I'm not so bad once you get to know me."

She tried to kiss me again, but I avoided her lips.

"No, whore," I told her. "Time for that later. Right now, you're going to blow me."

She looked as if she was going to speak. I put a finger to her lips, shushing her. "Don't talk," I said. "So far, I haven't had to break one of your bones, Ma. But I'm still dangerous." I pinched her clit between my thumb and the finger within her pussy; not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to get her attention. "As long as you do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you, you may come away from this without any bruises."

She wormed her hand down the waistband until she could grasp my boner. And I was hard. It had been months since I'd last had a woman. My cock was throbbing painfully, the head so tight it felt as though it might split. Her touch was electric. She reached and tugged gently at the waistband of my shorts, easing them off. I raised my hips obligingly, sighing with relief as my boner sprung free. I have about nine inches of fuck muscle, but that night it was so engorged and so stiff it looked more like twelve. It pointed upwards, curving back over my belly, the thick shaft rising out its dark nest of pubes. Even my balls felt swollen and ultra tender.

"Suck it," I said, my voice a little hoarse. I reached for the bottle and tilted it up, taking another long drink. The liquor burned its way down my gullet and helped ease the maddening tightness in my loins. I spread my legs apart, still sitting up. 

Ma knelt between my legs, staring at my monster erection. She looked up at me, and I grinned at her. "Don't make me have to repeat myself, bitch," I told her. "I'm paying for this little party. I'm going to get my money's worth one way or the other." When her lips touched the fat mushroom head, I nearly shot my load then and there. Her lips were soft, and her tongue was moist and talented. It teased my piss slit, then probed gently at the cleft where the glans joined the base. 

"Oh yes," I groaned happily. "Do it, whore. Suck that dick as if you like it."

She was an excellent cocksucker. Her head began to bob rapidly, taking in more and more of my thick pole. Her lips were stretched wide, and I could feel the ridge of my cock rubbing at the back of her throat. My balls were seething with the need to release their thick viscuous load of spunk. Her hands rested on my hips, then slid under me to clasp my buttocks. Faster and faster, her head moved up and down. With a grunt, I clasped her head, my fingers entwining in her long auburn tresses. My hips began to buck.

"Oh yeah," I grunted, my breath coming in shallow rapid pants. "I'm fucking your face, whore. You're sucking your son's cock, bitch. Do you like it? Is that what you're good for? Suck it! Suck it good!" I could feel my climax starting to build. My nuts had drawn up tightly against my perineum. I was thrusting so hard, she was almost choking on my column. I almost gave myself up to the pleasure of nutting in her mouth, of spraying my seed down her harlot's throat. But instead, I yanked her hear, pulling her off my glistening cock.