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Paradise Island

By: Tawny T



I sat on the hotel restaurant terrace enjoying the superb view of the lagoon, letting the warm tropical breeze wash over me, and listening to the far off rumble of the waves on the outer lagoon. Twelve hours before I had left Los Angeles and now I was in paradise - a small Polynesian island off the beaten track.

Marianne, a beautiful Polynesian and I were the only ones in the restaurant. She wore the traditional pareo, the sarong, and her lovely body and face, attracted my admiration. We talked and I found she was a beautiful mixture of French, Chinese and Polynesian. Under her pareo, I detected that she only wore a pair of tiny panties. She caught my glances as she leaned over serving me, showing firm cleavage, and I caught the smell of the coconut soap used in the tropics. Her eyes moved to my thinly covered breasts and her eyes sparkled.

I asked about the shell collecting snorkeling trip advertised in the lobby. She told me the hours, and said she would be my guide. She performed several jobs in the small hotel. 

The next morning, we were anchored in the lagoon. A young French couple was the only other guests present. The lovely French woman had shed her top early on, and Maryanne and I quickly followed. 

Before we left the boat Marianne helped me coat my body with a high number sun screen, as the tropical sun could be brutal. Her soft hands stroked the oil over my body. She even coated my breasts lovingly, making my pussy tingle. Her laughing eyes told me she was enjoying teasing me. 

We donned masks and fins and swam away from the pontoon boat. The French couple, accompanied by our Polynesian helmsman, went in another direction. As we swam away from the boat, I felt Marianne's fingers at my hip and my bikini bottom floated free. I looked and she was stuffed it into the shelling bag. She was gloriously naked too. The warm water felt gloriously sensual. 

Marianne showed me how to find the beautiful cowry shells under the coral fans and how to watch for moray ells before I reached for them. She was a water sprite, moving through the water with the grace of an otter. She was able to hold her breath for incredible lengths of time. She swam between my spread legs, her long brown hair streaming. Her slick skin brushing my pussy lips. I swam behind her, glimpsing her lovely pussy as she scissored thorough the water. 

When we had our share of shells, we swam back to the boat. We could see figures under a palm tree far up the beach. We toweled dry and sat naked on the soft mat floor. Marianne leaned close and kissed me softly, her tongue flicking my lips gently. I reached out and cupped her firm breast, gently squeezing it.

"I saw the way you watched me," she smiled. "You like women too?" I nodded. She looked toward the shore. The others were returning. "Tonight, leave your door unlocked, I will come to you." She reached down and slipped a finger deftly between my slick pussy lips. It stroked upward to flick my erect clit lightly, bringing a sigh from me. She slipped her finger between her lips and sucked it, her eyes locked to mine. We slipped on our bottoms just before the French couple and the native helmsman climbed aboard. 

The young native said something to Marianne in Polynesian and they both laughed. I asked what he had said. "They're cannibals! They tried to eat me alive." She translated. We burst out laughing. 

I went to the nearby village and bought French bread and wine, fresh tropical fruit. I learned Marianne had told her cousins that if I wasn't treated right, they'd have to answer to her. I also bought several colorful pareos and bars of the totally delicious coconut oil soap. 

It was dark when I heard the back door of the bungalow open and then Marianne slid naked into my bed, the scent of the tropical flower in her hair sweeter than any perfume. She kissed me softly and her firm breasts were hot against mine. She wiggled her legs between mine thighs and I spread them wide for her. Sensually she pressed down, her mound burrowing into my spread sex. She rubbed her wet flesh against mine and in no time she brought me to a gasping climax. 

We made long, slow love to each other. Her body tasted and smelled of the fragrant coconut oil soap, a I smell I still associate with her. She was an expert lover, she kissed me and her strong tongue slid up and down and into my pussy again and again, but could be so soft as she caressed my turgid clit. 

Her pussy was sweet and clean, and my tongue slid into her bringing the sweet nectar from it. Her clit was firm and rather large. She cried out as I sucked and licked it, while my fingers slid deep into her body. 

We moved into a 69 and feasted on each other's liquid centers. I lost count of the times we brought each other to a shuddering climax. She was an expert lover. The ceiling fan whirred softly as we made love. Spent, we drifted off to sleep, my arm around her. Later, when I awoke, she was gone. 

At breakfast, she was my server. I told her how wonderful our night was, and what a good lover she was. She smiled and gave me a quick kiss, telling me she would be back that night with a surprise. My panties were wet all day. 

True to her word she slipped quietly into my bed that night and in the dim light, I saw another figure slip into bed with us. Marianne's soft body pressed close on one side, a hard male body on the other. 

"My boyfriend, he is a very good lover." She whispered in my ear. "He asked to come. I will send him away if you do not want him with us."

She was so dear, I didn't have the heart to dismiss him. I pulled him to me and kissed him, my hand finding his thick erect cock. My two lovers showered my body with kisses and caresses until I was moaning with need. Marianne straddled my body and began to lap at my pussy her expert tongue bringing me to a wonderful climax. 

She then licked and sucked me until I was panting again. She guided her boyfriend's hard cock inside my liquid core. Slowly in unison the two made love to me. Her tongue nibbled at my clit as he thrust in and out from behind. His hips expertly rotated so that his rigid tool caressed every inch of my pussy. I had his cock deep inside me and her lips and tongue lapping at my throbbing clit. It was the best of both worlds. 

He caressed my breasts, his fingers pulling and rolling my erect nipples expertly. He came with a long moan and a deep thrust, gushing deep inside me. When his cock grew soft and slipped out, Marianne's lips covered my pussy, scooping a mixture of our combined juices out. Her tongue drove me over the edge and I climaxed as her boyfriend watched. They kissed me and slipped from the bungalow. 

Every night Marianne slipped into my bungalow, sometimes alone, sometimes with her boyfriend. Several times she came with a girlfriend, and the three of us made delightful Sapphitic love far into the night. 

When it was time for me to leave, she saw me off at the airport, tears in both of our eyes. I promised to return soon, and I shall return - to paradise.

Paradise Island



It was a hot, slightly humid day on my desert island in the Maldives. Well, I say my island, but actually I had to share it with about fifty other travellers on this, the holiday of a lifetime. I'd come on my own, now that I had split up with my rat of a boyfriend who decided to start screwing his secretary a couple of weeks before we were due to leave. What made it worse was that I'd turned down a few offers myself, even though Mark was the most boring fuck I'd ever had. I believed in monogamy so when I found out he was cheating on me, he had to go. In fact, it was a relief not to be spending this idyllic trip with Mark - he was bound to want sex and I'd got fed up with faking it. So I had a romantic thatched hut on stilts above a crystal clear blue lagoon all to myself - and no one to share it with.

Almost everyone else was there as couples, apart from a couple of gorgeous Australian guys who were together. Imagine Brad Pitt and Keanu Reeves and you get the picture. But among the girls I'd got talking to, it was accepted that 'Brad and Keanu' were gay - so, just another couple! What a waste!

The island was pretty small, with a green interior surrounded by white sandy beaches. But because there were so few of us, you could go all day without seeing anyone if you wanted to. On the day in question, that was just what I wanted - not because I was desperate to be alone, but because I'd hired a windsurfer and I didn't want too much of an audience when I kept falling in the water! I'd had a brief tutorial the previous day, but wanted to practice on my own before I was prepared to brave the watchers near the water-bar!

So I was spending a lot of time in the water in my skimpy turquoise string bikini, laughing at myself and my pathetic attempts at balancing on the board and keeping the sail upright. After a while, I dragged the windsurfer up the deserted beach a little and padded towards the edge of the sand, where I'd left my bag and little cool box in the shade of a couple of palm trees. I spread my towel out on the sand, picked up a cold fruit juice from the bag, and decided to catch a few rays before trying my luck on the floating ironing board again. 

I started rubbing suntan lotion into my skin, first on my arms and legs and then onto my stomach. Topless sunbathing wasn't allowed on the island, but I decided that I would risk a fine if it meant having no strap marks! The sun was hot on my tanned skin as I untied my bikini top and massaged suntan lotion into my breasts. I'm quite proud of my boobs, they're 36C and nice and pert and rounded, with dusky gold nipples and skin the colour of honey. My body is my finest asset and I was used to getting remarks about my breasts from builders. Shame Mark didn't appreciate it - or perhaps he did, too much, and that explained why he used to cum before I was even getting started! 

I lay back in the sun, covering my face with my sunhat to prevent too many wrinkles and a headache later on. I could feel the rays of the sun beating down on my almost naked body, feel the tiny hairs prickling slightly as the sun warmed my skin. Then, suddenly, there was a slight rustling from the bushes behind me and a male voice said "That's illegal on this island but I'm not telling if you're not!"

I sat bolt upright, grabbing a boob in each hand to cover myself, and looked straight into the divine baby blues of 'Brad'!

"Tom," he said, holding out a hand. "Pleased to meet you at last!" Unthinkingly, I reached out to shake his hand, leaving my right boob exposed. 'Oh never mind," I thought to myself, "he's gay anyway, what does he care?"

"Lucy" I replied. "Likewise." 

"I've been watching you surfing," he sat down beside me. "You're pretty good for a beginner."

The thought of him watching me made me blush. "I'll give you a few pointers if you like - I've been windsurfing since I was a kid," he continued. "But first I reckon you should work on that tan a bit more, this time your back, otherwise you'll burn to a crisp and the rest of the holiday will be no fun at all! Lie down and turn over."

And with that, he picked up my suntan lotion and motioned me to lie on my front. As putting sunscreen on your own back ranks up there with giving yourself a blowjob in terms of impossibility, I was happy to oblige.

First, he gently moved my damp, dark mane of hair to one side so that my back and shoulders were bare to the sun, and then he slowly squeezed the sunscreen in a wide zigzag over my skin. When he touched me, I felt the first pang of lust and regret that he was gay. He had such sensitive fingers, rubbing the sunscreen onto my skin and giving me a massage as well, or so it seemed. First he started with small, circular movements, but as my back became more slippery with lotion the movements became more sweeping and regular. Without thinking, I murmured "Mmmm, that's gooooood."

"Glad to oblige," Tom answered, sounding almost sleepy. "D'you like having a massage?"

"Mmmm"

"Well, how about I try this?" and with that, he was straddling my back, kneeling up over my upper thighs. His hands were moving in slow, sensuous movements up the centre of my spine, along my shoulders and down the outer edges of my back. By this time I was feeling pretty sexy and I didn't really care whether he was gay or not because I was pretty certain that, without any direct stimulation, the sun and the massage would do the trick and I would soon orgasm right where I lay! I moved my arms up so that my head was resting on my forearms and instantly the movement of Tom's hands changed slightly. After sweeping across my shoulder-blades his fingers began dipping down along my sides, taking the sunscreen over my ribcage and waist and gently brushing the outsides of my breasts. After a couple of sweeps I no longer knew what to think. If he was gay, why was he deliberately touching my breasts in such as sexy way? I couldn't exactly ask him, so I decided to find out once and for all. Raising my upper body up onto my elbows and forearms, I moaned again in pleasure.

'Mmmmmmm, don't stop, please!"

Another squirt of sunscreen went onto his hands and he slowly, deliberately rose to my bait. Rubbing the lightly scented cream into my shoulders he then slid his hands down over my shoulder blades before slipping them round my ribs until his fingertips brushed the outer sides of my breasts. I felt my nipples tighten and he must have heard my involuntary intake of breath as his fingers slowly continued until he was cupping my breasts in his hands, rolling my rock-hard, engorged nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He continued to massage the lotion into my heavy, sensitive boobs, every now and then allowing his fingers to brush across my nipples, sending me into an ecstasy of lust. The orgasm that had been brewing ever since I set eyes on him suddenly erupted and I pushed myself up on my hands, arching my back and moaning.

"Oh yes, yes, yes...."

"If you're going to get a tan, you don't want strap marks," he said conversationally as my climax subsided. I felt horribly embarrassed at cumming so violently after only having my breasts fondled! 

"I don't usually..." I began, but he put his finger on my lips. 

"Neither do I, but then, I'm not often alone in paradise with a beautiful woman," he murmured. He moved himself back to straddle my knees before bending forward and tracing the lower part of my spine with his tongue. It felt like fire! Slowly he licked down towards the top of my arse and then stopped. Using his hands once again he began to massage my arse through my bikini bottoms. Involuntarily, I arched my back to thrust my arse cheeks into his welcoming palms, and he responded by squeezing and kneading them, before running his hands round to find the side ties that were keeping them in place. Pulling each one slowly, he undid my panties and then, even more deliberately, pulled the material down to expose the plump, soft flesh beneath. Then, instead of using his hands, he went back to using his tongue, running it down the crack in my arse and then, much more roughly, sucking and biting on my quivering cheeks. With him straddling my knees, my legs were clamped tightly together otherwise by this time I would have throw caution to the winds and opened my legs to receive his tongue, fingers and cock! But he had other ideas. Where my panties were still caught under my hips and pussy, he started pulling them from behind, bunching up the material so that it slipped slightly between the lips of my cunt to rub on the hot, tender flesh there. The material came slowly, pulling between my legs, until only the strings were left. The sensation of those strings slipping into my crack was indescribable and I nearly came again!

Finally, I was completely naked and once again he started kneading my arse cheeks, this time using his thumbs to pull them apart and then his tongue to tantalise the delicate flesh around my arse. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I'd had a few lovers and more than a few one night stands, but nothing like this! Still keeping my knees together between his, he reached under my hips and raised my arse still higher, until I was almost kneeling, and then, with that wonderfully expressive tongue, he licked further and further down the crack until he came to the entrance to my pussy. With that, he darted his tongue inside my cunt, which started what felt like a huge, boiling cauldron of lust within me. Try as I might, I couldn't get my legs open to grant his tongue further access, but he didn't seem to mind. It was me who was going mad with hunger for him to suck my clit!

Suddenly, he let go and pushed my hips back down into the warm sand. I felt him lower his body until he was lying along the length of me, and with a moan of recognition felt the pressure of his hard cock, still encased in his blue swimming shorts, pressing against the very area his tongue had been teasing only moments earlier.

"See what you do to me," he murmured, rubbing his cock up and down the crack in my arse. I groaned in reply and reached behind me to discover how big he was - at over six feet, a cock to match his build would be most welcome. My hand reached the end of his dick and I grabbed his swollen knob through his shorts. Reaching along the shaft I was pleased to find I could get my whole hand round it with no sign of the base - an encouraging sign. But I wanted to know exactly what treat was in store for me so I turned round to face him. When we kissed for the first time, it was like a million volts of sexual charge going through me. His tongue darted into my mouth and mine into his and we snogged for a few moments, running our hands over each other's bodies, but it was his cock I wanted to see, so I pushed him over onto his back and went in search of treasure.

Even through the baggy shorts I could see that he was big. His cock was pushing the material out until it formed a tight pyramid and the shape of his glans was clearly visible through the taut material. This time I straddled him, my head pointing towards his feet and my arse in his face. Immediately he pulled me towards him and raised his head to start drinking from my cunt, his tongue lapping around my clit and slipping tantalisingly between my cunt-lips as if he were french kissing it. It was all I could do not to sit up and rub my pussy all over his mouth, but I was determined to reach my goal. Pushing back the material of his shorts, I reached inside and grasped the shaft of his cock, pushing it towards his belly as I eased his shorts down. 

His dick twitched in my hand and then began to get harder and larger still, until I could see that he was massively endowed - nine inches of throbbing cock, as thick as a salami and ready to be gobbled. His balls were tightly encased in their sac, bigger than any I'd seen and waiting to be sucked like plums. A few drops of pre-cum glistened on the end of his knob and I massaged them into the helmet and shaft, licking along its length before pulling it towards me and sucking on it like a lollipop. His deep groans vibrated on my clit as he sucked it, and before I knew it I was cumming again, bucking my hips like a bronco and rubbing cunt-juice all over his mouth and nose and tongue, grabbing his cock with both hands and sucking on his balls. I felt his climax building and, using a trick I'd been taught by the best lover (until now) I'd ever had, I pulled on his balls and pressed the skin between them and his arse. Instead of cumming, and shooting his sticky load all over my face, he arched his back and experienced the kind of orgasm women have, an all over feeling of ecstasy. He was still juddering when I switched position to straddle his still hard cock.

"What the fuck happened there?" he gasped. "I came, but I didn't!"

I just smiled and gripped his cock, guiding the head so that it teased my clit as I slid backward and forwards over his huge erection. Suddenly, I wanted him inside me. Steering his cock to the opening of my hot, wet pussy I slowly lowered myself onto his massive organ. At first, I could feel the walls of my pussy stretching to accommodate him, but as I slowly raised and lowered myself onto his dick, I sensed myself opening up to the biggest, best cock I'd ever seen, or felt. Eventually, I was taking all of him and he was loving it, guiding my hips as I began to speed up the action and rotate my pelvis.

"Let me know when you're about to cum," I muttered. "I haven't finished with you yet and I don't want to have to wait..."

He was almost beyond speech. He moved his hands up to fondle my breasts, flicking at my nipples with his thumbs as I continued to pleasure myself on his cock. I felt another orgasm building, this time not centred around my clit but deep in my cunt - the kind every woman loves but doesn't get to experience very often. When it exploded I stopped moving and tensed my muscles around his cock, conscious only of the pulsating of my pussy as I threw my head back and literally howled my ecstasy into the sound of the crashing waves. It was thirty seconds or more before I was conscious of anything but pleasure, and I felt his hands tighten involuntarily on my tits. He was going to cum and I didn't want him to! Quickly I reached behind me and performed the same manoeuvre as before, and as before, his orgasm was upon him. I felt his cock twitch and pulsate deep within me but once again there was no cum - orgasm without ejaculation. I bent forward to kiss him as he surfaced from his climax and he smiled. "Neat trick!"

"I said I hadn't finished with you!" I answered. Climbing off him and groaning as I felt the length of his dick sliding out of me, his bulbous glans tantalising the already tingling flesh of my cunt-lips as it came out. "I want you to fuck me from behind, and this time you can cum!"

He didn't need to be asked a second time. Within moments I was on all fours on the towel and he was kneeling between my legs behind me, gripping my hips with one hand as he guided his huge hard cock, still wet with my cunt-juices and his own pre-cum, into my hot, dripping pussy. As he slid into me I relaxed my muscles to allow him entry to the very heart of my body, but as he started to withdraw I tightened them to grip his cock and heard him gasp and groan with pleasure. Gradually he built up a rhythm, speeding up slightly until I could feel the gentle thwack of his heavy balls against my cunt lips. Suddenly, he thrust hard into me and let go of my hips, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me up so that I was almost upright, still impaled on his glorious dick as it pressed on my g-spot. Leaning back slightly, he slid his hands up from my waist to cup my breasts again and with tiny, rapid thrusting movements increased the pressure on the most sensitive place in my pussy until I was practically weeping with ecstasy. Once again I came, and this time it felt like a firework display in my body as I bucked and trembled on his cock. I could bear it no longer. I wanted him to cum inside me, to fuck me like I'd never been fucked before. Dropping forwards onto all fours I gasped "Fuck me....fuck me hard." 

Tom groaned as my sudden movement meant that his cock had almost withdrawn to its full length. Then he grabbed my hips and thrust it back inside me, pounding his knob right to the very top of my cunt.

"Is that how you want it? Is it? Is it?" he growled, all the time ramming his huge cock into my hot pussy. His balls were smacking onto my cunt so loudly and with every thrust he was grunting with the effort and the sensations it was producing in his dick. "Is that hard enough? Is it? Is it?"

I couldn't speak. My arms collapsed and I rested on my elbows and forearms as he drove his cock into me, pumping faster and faster, harder and harder. There were sucking noises as my cunt gripped his thick veined shaft as it pounded in and out. I could feel my orgasm building once again, and this one, I knew, was going to be a mind-blower. I wanted to share it with Tom.

"Fuck me harder," I cried. "Harder, faster, harder... Cum for me baby, cum for me...."

I could hear from the sound of Tom's voice, his grunts and moans, that he was very close to climax. I felt my cunt muscles tighten involuntarily as my own orgasm began, and felt also the answering increase in speed and power as the cum began to gather in his balls. The last three thrusts nearly knocked me over with their ferocity, and then he was shouting "Uh....uuuuhhhhh..........aaaaaaaauuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh!" as he shot his first load of creamy white cum into my hot, wet cunt. The feeling of hot jism spurting into my pussy set my orgasm in motion and the two of us were locked together in a mutual climax of earthquake proportions. I felt him withdraw his cock even as I was immersed in pulsating waves of pleasure, and he shot the rest of his load over my arse and pussy, the cum spurting again and again as if to make up for having missed out on the previous two orgasms. 

When at last my cunt was full of cum and my arse was covered in sticky, salty jism, we collapsed, entangled with each other, feeling the sweat from our bodies mingle with cum and cunt-juice. Tom kissed me as he massaged his spunk into my arse and thighs. "Wow..."

"Wow yourself," I murmured. "That was the most amazing sex I've ever had."

"Me too. We must do this again sometime!.... Like, tonight in your romantic hut on stilts. At least I can get away from my mate - I only came because his girlfriend dumped him."

So much for them being gay! Still, I had, shall we say, hard evidence that they weren't! "I'm glad you came!"

"Eventually!"



Paradise Island



We had decided on a three weeks tour of the large island that is off the south coast of the mainland. Using one of my father's "toys," an expensive 4WD, we had left on the night ferry and arrived on the island next morning.

Our first stop was to be the city at the northern end of the island. It is strange that we had traveled to many countries, but never visited this lovely place before.

I took the road east out of the port of arrival, passing through landscape that many said resembled English rural countryside. It certainly was much greener than most of our mainland continent, and was dotted with small farms and villages.

Mother was delighted. Perhaps her delight was less than charitable, as I am sure much of it emanated from the fact that at the last minute my father had decided he could not come with us.

"A business matter has come up," he said. This being translated meant, "I've just got myself a new girl and will be too busy fucking her."

For those who are interest, my father is a businessman and a rich child. He has a superficial charm that he uses to good effect. His life is crowded with his "toys," as my mother calls them. All the latest he has to have, and having got them, loses interest almost immediately. 

I am sad to say that this loss of interest includes his neglect of my mother. She had been waylaid by his charm when only eighteen. He had to have the best and most beautiful, and in mother he got what he sought. For a while she was feted as a sort of prize he had won, then he lost interest.

I think he must have got mother pregnant with me the first time they had sex, which I am convinced was before they got married. I believe that I am the reason mother still stayed with him, so I could have the best. To give him credit where it's due, he was generous with his money where mother was concerned. The contract with her seemed to be, "I'll supply the money, you stay beautiful and impress my dinner party guests and run the house, and stay out of my affairs (including his affairs with other women).

He also had a sort of contract with me. "Do well at your studies so I can boast about you, and I'll send you to the best schools, cover your university costs, let you play with some of my toys (like the 4WD), but stay out of my way."

I do not suggest that these contracts were written documents, or had ever been expressed in words. It was simply his attitude that conveyed the message.

It was the long summer university vacation, and mother was delighted to have me to herself for three weeks. I was equally happy to have her to myself. Being with her was to feel that I was escorting a lovely cultured woman, which indeed she was and is. The down side of this is, of course, that everywhere she goes she draws the attention of men. Perhaps I should be pleased about this, but in fact, I feel jealous. Unlike the mainland, the distances between towns and cities on the island are not very great, and quickly we were entering the city we were heading for.

We were stopping at a motel, and since my father had arranged all the accommodation bookings, it was the most expensive place in town. Its staff suffered from that strange combination of haughty obsequiousness, and any attempt to do something for oneself was frowned upon, including unpacking from the vehicle. 

Once unpacked we set out to see the city. We found it delightful, with its lack of skyscrapers, its one way streets and narrow side lanes. 

We went into the tourist bureau, and receiving a pile of pamphlets mother found one advertising a symphony concert by the island orchestra. Jeered at by father for her love of music, mother decided we should take the opportunity to go to the concert.

I was not so enthusiastic as mother, but she pleaded with me like a little girl begging daddy for an ice cream, so I went along with the idea. As it happened, we only managed to get tickets because of a cancellation.

We spent the rest of the day rambling round the town and poking into all sorst of odd and quaint corners. It is the sort of town where the city fathers have been prevented by popular pressure, from tearing down everything in sight for the sake of money, and been forced to let the citizens enjoy a more relaxed way of life. My father would have been appalled at this desecration of his god, Mammon.

In the late afternoon we decided on a meal at a pub called, "The Old Oak." For a very small price, we received a huge meal, all of which we could not eat. In addition, we drank a large carafe of rough red wine, and staggered out partly overcome by the amount of food we had consumed, and partly under the influence of the wine.

With mother clinging to my arm, we made our way to the new concert hall that had been built to blend in with the surrounding architecture, but had a stunning interior.

The orchestra is the smallest of our national orchestras, but is renown for the excellence of its performances. I did not see myself as a devotee of symphonic music, but I must say this orchestra went a long way to converting me. Their work was thrilling to say the least.

Mother sat leaning against me with her head on my shoulder most of the time, and after the last piece, a tone poem by Sibelius, I had to prevent her from standing on the seat as the audience nearly clapped and cheered the roof off.

We returned to The Old Oak for a late drink, and after fending off a couple of young fellows who, as they say, tried to "chat up" mother (I'm a fairly formidable looking chap although much inclined to non-violence) we wended our way back to our snooty accommodation. I perhaps should have said, "tottered".

Two rooms had been booked one for mother and father, and one for me. Under the influence of the "late drink" we had consumed, and the music still rolling and thundering in our heads, I kissed mother goodnight at the door to her room in a rather unsonly manner. She responded in an equally unmotherly fashion and despite or because of my inebriated condition, I felt my penis starting to swell.

Having given mother my goodnight salutation, I continued on to my own room next door, entered, stripped off my clothes, and fell into bed naked. I must have gone to sleep in a matter of seconds. 

When I woke in the morning, I had a head that I wished did not belong to me. Putting on my dressing gown, I tapped on the communicating door between my room and mother's, and I heard a feeble voice bid me enter.

Mother was still in bed, and looking at me through bleary eyes, she groaned. Like me, she had gone to bed naked, and her breasts were exposed above the bedclothes. I suppose my staring at this winsome exposure drew mother's attention to her partial denudation, and she pulled up the sheet to cover herself, much, I must admit, to my regret.

"I can't get up just yet, Blake, and I don't want any breakfast. You amuse yourself for a couple of hours while I try to recover."

With that, I went off for a shower and breakfast, and for the next couple of hours, I carried out further investigations of the fascinating little city.

Returning to the motel I found mother up and apparently recovered from the worst of her hangover. She was wearing a very expensive Levi suit and looked wonderful. In fact, mother seemed to look wonderful whatever she wore. I think that it must have been very annoying to other women who, wearing the same garments, looked as if they were clad in Op Shop throw outs.

Our first task was to make a booking for the theatre that night. Then we were off to see one of the local scenic spots called, "The Ravine." Here a river came tumbling down into a huge pool, then flowed out into the main river that fronted the city.

We crossed a swing bridge that really did swing, walked through the park, then returned to the entrance on an airlift chair.

Mother was fully recovered and seemed to be experiencing a sort of personality transformation.

Perhaps a description of mother is in order. Her name is Eve, but first her physical aspects. She has abundant auburn hair worn shoulder length, sometimes tied back as it was now, and sometimes flowing down the sides of her face to cascade over her shoulders. She has beautifully regular classical features with slightly dark complexion. I had sometimes wondered if she had some Anglo-Indian background, but she has always said that she knew of no such antecedents. 

One of her loveliest features is her neck that is long, and seems to flow down to her shoulders. I always enjoy…but no, more of that later.

She is tall for a woman, I think about 1.7 metres, and my male ego is only just saved by my being a few centimetres taller.

In later times, I have by dint of cunning managed to determine her other measurements, more of less. They are about 38-26-39. Not, I believe the so-called "perfect female figure," but even mother could not have it all, and who is complaining anyway?

I once checked out her bra and found that she used a C cup, so…?

Her legs are long, strong and well shaped and in proportion with her body; she carries herself very erect, back straight and head high.

I have overheard someone describing her as an "austere beauty." That I think describes her rather well in the normal circumstances of her life. I think the slightly serious manner she adopted was a sort of defence, first against the pain she must have felt at my father's apparent lack of love for her, and also as a means of fending off would-be paramours, of which there had been many hopefuls. 

It was only as I grew into adulthood that I realised that this austere aspect of mother existed. From my earliest memories of her, she had always been warm and loving towards me. I think that this was the real Eve. She wanted to be affectionate, but rejected by my father and sometimes plagued by men wanting her body, she shut down this side of her character to all except me, and perhaps her mother and father while they lived.

My money-orientated father united mother and I by his jeers and sneers. Regarding me, it was largely because of my desire to be an artist. "Bloody useless sod. Gay are you? How much do you reckon you'll make painting pictures?"

More than the sneers at me, I was deeply pained when I overheard him on a number of occasions taunting mother with comments like, "Hoping he'll (naming some man) give you a good fucking, are you?" If ever there was a woman sexually faithful in the face of rejection, it was mother. At least, until she finally decided to cut free from him.

So back to our second day in the little city.

As we had crossed the swing bridge mother, suffering a little uneasiness had taken my hand in hers. After that, she continued to hold on to it. 

We had lunch at the Ravine Restaurant, then walked back to the city and the main river, where we took a tourist boat for an hour.

Throughout our activities, I noticed a steady change coming over mother. Always looking years younger than her actual age, even more years seemed to be dropping away from her. It was like being with a girl who was even younger than I was. She moved and spoke with a sunny air.

My picture of what was happening to her was of chains being struck off her and she being free. Contented as I had been to be with a beautiful and sophisticated woman at the start of our trip, once I got used to it, I was even more delighted to be with this sparkling young girl.

Looking back, I now understand that having got pregnant and married so young to a man who eventually made her life dull and miserable, she was with me starting live some of her lost youth. I was really happy to be instrumental in bringing about her ease.

I suggested we should go and look at the city gardens saying "Mother shall we…?" but she cut in.

"Darling, what about calling me 'Eve'? Just while we're on holiday."

For me the title "mother" had been the symbol of my love and respect for her. The idea of calling her Eve was a bit hard for me to accept. Never the less I said, "All right mother…er…Eve." With that, she put her arm round me, so I reciprocated and we walked along arms about each other.

I found this rather unsettling but at the same time gratifying. The soft warmth of her body close to mine, the fragrance of her subtle perfume, gave rise to thoughts that I had never had before…until…then I recalled the sight of her breasts that morning. I felt a lump rise in my throat and my stomach churned a little followed by an ache in my genitals.

After our tour round the city gardens it was time to eat, so we returned to The Old Oak, and ate another of the huge meals it offered and drank another large carafe of red wine.

We went on from the pub to the theatre. The play turned out to be a rather erotic work with some explicit sex scenes and near nudity. Mother was again sitting with her head on my shoulder. And between the rather heated scenes on stage, the close proximity of mother and the fragrance of her perfume, I got into a rather heated state myself.

After the show we went back to The Old Oak and downed some more red wine. As we left mother bought a bottle of whisky and with our arms once more round each other, we wavered our way back to the motel.

Arriving at Eve's door, I went to kiss her goodnight, but she said in a rather thick voice, "Don't be an old misery sweetheart, come in and have a nightcap with me."

We were both well inebriated so we lurched into the room and I sprawled into an armchair. Eve opened the bottle of whisky and poured out liberal measures into glasses.

I must apologise for the scanty description of what happened next, but the room and Eve seemed to be something "out there," if you know what I mean. I struggled to look and sound sober, as drunken people often do, but I am sure I only made matters worse. I do know that we drank the whole bottle of whisky because I saw the empty bottle next morning, but I have no clear of recall actually doing so.

Deciding that it was time for bed, I staggered over to Eve, and in bending over her to kiss her goodnight my bending continued until I ended up with my head in her lap.

Mother began to caress me and said something like, "I've spent years in lonely beds, darling. Keep me company tonight."

A little alcohol is said to produce much truth; to release us from our inhibitions and expose our real desires. If I say, "It must have been the alcohol that brought about what happened," it is but a half-truth at best. Even to say it was the relaxed day we had enjoyed, the pleasure of each other's company and the intimate holding and touching, it is still not the whole truth.

As I was to learn later, my mother, showering upon me the love thrown away by my father, found as I entered puberty that love taking on a sexual dimension. This may never have been given overt expression save for the alcohol we had consumed, but there is another aspect. My love for her. In my high school days and at university I had first experimented with girls, then used them to unburden myself of sexual tensions. In what I suppose must be called my "promiscuous behaviour," I had found no contentment, only temporary release.

I had never viewed mother as a sexual object until the previous evening when we kissed in a non-filial manner at her door. This was the first intimation of a love that went beyond that of the respectful and obedient son. In addition, the day we had spent together in such happy harmony, the freedom we found with each other, her closeness to me and her fragrance, all had the effect of stirring my sensual self. And now her open invitation for me to join her in bed! 

I might try to make the alcohol my excuse, but that would be to insult mother and to misrepresent my true feelings. I wanted her sexually without any need of alcohol to make me feel like that. The alcohol merely served to release me from my self- restraint in this regard.

Mother managed to get me out of her lap and on my feet. She drew me to the bed and commenced undressing me. Having completed the task, she pulled back the covers and with a gentle push, toppled me into the bed. I lay there watching her as she undressed and then joining me in the bed.

Pulling the covers over us, she snuggled up close to me, curling her body against me. Alcohol often serves as a sexual suppressant, but her closeness seemed to overcome this, and I had a raging erection.

Mother said nothing, but lying there facing me, I remember her putting one leg over me and somehow getting my penis into her. I have no clear memory of ejaculating into her, but I must have, because in the morning I could see the stains on the sheet, and mother assured me that I had, because she had removed my semen from her vagina. 

When we woke we were suffering from bad hangovers, and nothing was said beyond the barest exchanges. We might have tried to pretend that nothing had happened, but waking up together in bed put ignoring it out of court. We did, however, avoid confronting the situation for the time being. 

We were departing for our next location that morning so once packed and loaded up, we set off. We were heading for a small village a few kilometres off the central highway that cuts right across the island from north to south. Again, we passed farms and little villages with old colonial houses and buildings, but I think that we were both too preoccupied to pay proper attention to the scenery.

Turning left off the highway we traveled a few kilometres down a side road, went over a river bridge that had been built by convicts many years ago, and entered the village.

This time there was no luxurious motel. We had been booked into the only place offering accommodation, the local hotel. It was in fact a fairly large two storied building amid a village of one-story cottages.

To our surprise the place was full, as there seemed to be some sort of convention going on. This time, although we had adjoining rooms, there was no communicating door.

Having brought our luggage in, this time doing the job ourselves, we went to the dining room for lunch. It was crowded, but our host showed us to a side dining room saying, "I reserved this for you, sir." No doubt my father's money again! 

" An excellent meal was provided but certainly not on the gargantuan scale of The Old Oak. We settled for one glass of wine each this time.

Finishing the meal, we set out for a walk round the village, and headed for the bridge first. We read the inscription carved into the stone work that announced the date the convicts had built it.

As we stood there I took advantage of our being alone and said, "Mother, I'm so sorry, so terribly sorry."

There was no need for an explanation as to why I was sorry, we both knew.

Eve had now become her "austere" self again. She turned and looked directly at me with her green eyes for some time, saying nothing, then, "You've nothing to be sorry for, Blake."

I began to protest, "But…but I fu…I had…my own mother…"

She stopped me, placing her fingers against my mouth. "Would you prefer it to have been someone else's mother?"

"No…I mean…you don't do that…"

"With your own mother?"

"That's right."

"Well, I have to confess to you, Blake. When we kissed the previous night the thought came to me 'How wonderful it would be to have sex with someone I loved,' specifically you. I thought you might resist if you were sober, so I bought the whisky. So now you know, and have nothing to feel guilty about."

I had wondered about the drinking. Eve was not a drinker in the way we had been downing it, but then, neither was I.

I stood leaning over the parapet of the bridge, staring at the water flowing under it. Eve was trying to take the guilt upon herself, but I could not and would not accept that I was guiltless. She was offering me a conscience easing way out, but how do you let someone you love do that?




Paradise Island



I did not have to get drunk, and I remembered the quivers of desire as we walked with our arms about each other the previous day, and my arousal in the theatre. I might have resisted my lust for her, but never the less I had lusted, and had not resisted.

I heard her sigh, then she began, "Darling, there's something I want to tell you, and it might as well be now. When we return home, I shall be leaving your father. You are long past the stage were you need my nurturing, and I've put up with all the sneers and denigration from him long enough. 

I'm telling you this now, because I want you to understand that I shall not be leaving him because of what happened last night. It was a decision I made well before we began this time together."

I was not surprised at this announcement. The only surprise was that she had gone on so long with him.

Turning aside for a moment from the matter we were supposed to be discussing I said, "If you need any help, mother, I'll always be there for you."

"I know you will darling."

"Mother, I can't let you take all the blame for what happened last night. I should have…"

"Please, Blake. It's no good now. We can't undo what's happened, we can't go back to the time before we had sex. We did, and regretting it won't change that. I gather that you do regret it?"

"My regret, mother, is that I have defiled you," I muttered.

"Oh Blake, darling, what a quaint way of putting it and how sad. If you see me as defiled, then I'm sorry, but you must understand that I do not feel 'defiled.' And there's something else I'll tell you, and you can think of me as a debased woman if you must. I do regret last night, but only because we were both too drunk to enjoy each other properly."

The past couple of days with mother, the changes I had witnessed in her, the realignment of our relationship and the sex had almost inured me to further surprises. I tried to absorb what she had said and concluded I was not up to it at that moment.

I looked at her standing a couple of paces away from me, and could not hold back the words; "I love you, my darling."

She looked at me for a moment, and I saw tears glistening in her eyes, then she stepped towards me and put her arms round me. It was not the hug of a woman seeking sexual gratification. It was the hug of someone seeking comfort and affection.

An old man came stomping over the bridge, looked at us curiously, then passed on.

I said softly to her, "Shall we go and look at the rest of this place?"

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering round the village. 

Returning to the pub, we saw the dining room was crowded again with the convention people and no tables were available. The host led us to the separate room again, and to my amazement, it had only soft lighting and the table was set with candles.

When he had gone I said, "Does he take us for a honeymoon couple, or what?"

Mother laughed and said, "I don't think we can put this down to your father. I think it must be the host's idea, although how he could conclude we are honeymooners I don't know, as we have separate rooms."

We let the mystery remain.

We ate an excellent meal, but were very frugal with the alcohol, no doubt to the sorrow of our host who saw his profits diminishing through our moderation. 

We were asked if we would like coffee, and mother suggested that we take it in her room.

We retired to her room and shortly after there was a tap at the door, and the coffee was brought in by an impertinent girl who gave me what passed for a "knowing wink" as she left. 

As we drank, we talked over our trip so far, carefully avoiding any further mention of the previous night's activity. It was a painful exercise because it was clearly to the forefront of both our minds.

The afternoon's hand in hand wander, the romantic candlelit dinner, the subdued light of mother's room and being alone with her, whether my mother or not, was putting something of a strain on me. 

I was sitting in an armchair, and kept trying to sit so as to hide what was happening to my genitals. I wanted to excuse myself and escape so that I could masturbate.

About ten o'clock I thought I could decently retreat, and rose saying, "Time for bed, I think." I went to where mother was sitting to give her a restrained peck on the cheek, but she rose before I reached her.

She put her arms round me and laid her face alongside mine saying quietly, "Not tonight, darling. Don't leave me tonight. I've been without a man's love for so long and it's so little to ask of you and it would mean so much to me. In the morning, if you've hated it…you don't like me like that, then I'll never bother you again…but just this one night."

This plea cut me to the heart. I was near to tears, hearing this lovely woman who had born so much rejection, begging me for just one night of love. It should have been me pleading with her. I wanted to take from her the pain of the past, to hold her forever and protect her from all that might hurt her.

But this knight-errant feeling was not all I felt. I was past all rational arguments. I no longer had the moral strength to fight my overmastering desire for her. I wanted her like I had never ever wanted a woman before. Whatever consequences resulted from my coupling with her, and throughout history men have literally given their lives for just one night with their beloved, I would have her tonight.

Overcoming what might be called "romantic nonsense," I simply said, "Yes, Eve."

"Come darling, undress me."

Standing there I took off her jacket then her jeans and shirt. Underneath she wore only panties and bra, and I removed these.

This was the first time I had ever seen mother naked, as the previous night hardly counted as "seeing her." Her beauty staggered me, and as I took in her body, I saw that she had no pubic hair. Following my glance she smiled and said, "Your father; he told me he disliked women's pubic hair, so I spent a fortune having it permanently removed. You don't mind, darling?" 

I was beyond minding any such detail, and managed to croak out, "No," as she removed my clothes.

We stood facing each other, she gently caressing my penis saying, "My boy, my lovely boy," while I touched her breasts.

I knew that her breasts were firm because of the times she wore no bra under shirts or blouses. I had seen them briefly exposed the other morning, but now…Like the rest of her complexion they were slightly dark in colour, but the nipples were pink, set in light brown aureoles and standing out firmly with her arousal.

She knew I wanted to look at her, to take in all her beauty, so she stepped back a pace. Just to look at her almost brought me to orgasm. The precum was dripping from my penis, so she drew me to the bed and laying down she parted her legs and said, "Enough time for playing later. Just come into me now."

I came between her legs and she guided the crown of my penis to her opening. I could feel she was drenched with her lubricant, and I felt the soft warmth of her inner vaginal lips against my crown. 

I penetrated and had about half my length in her when another glorious surprise awaited me. Her vagina fitted very snuggly round my shaft, but suddenly I felt as if a powerful hand had grasped it and was dragging me into her. She was flexing her unusually powerful vaginal muscle, an experience I had never had before with anyone. 

I wanted to scream out with rapture. I was in my seventh heaven. I certainly cried out, "Eve, Eve, I love you so much…"

Then she was whispering, "Don't hold back, sweetheart. Let it all go, just put it into me..."

I do not think I could have done otherwise. The combination of my own burning arousal and her sucking muscle left me beyond all restraint and I felt the first violent, pumping lurch as I detonated into her. I came with eruption after eruption and just when I thought there was none left, she seemed to drag more from me right to the last drop.

In my previous sexual experiences, once I had gratified myself, all I wanted to do was to withdraw from the girl, dress and leave. Usually I stayed with them almost, as you might say, "out of politeness."

With Eve, I had no need of this courtesy. I didn't want to pull out of her, and as she continued to clamp her vaginal walls round my shaft, we seemed to be of one mind.

We lay murmuring our love and desire to each other. I was thinking, "My God, how could my father want other women when he could have this." In the process of this thought I unintentionally spoke aloud one word, "Father."

Eve, comprehending what was going on in my mind said, "His women are like the rest of his toys, he always has to have the latest. His current girl will find that out, poor creature."

It was drawn home to me that I had been going from one girl or woman to another. I hope it was not with the same callous disregard for their feelings as my father. Perhaps it was all part of growing up; of experimenting, but as I lay inside Eve, I had a strong feeling that that sort of experimenting was over.

My penis was hardening again and this time my need was not so urgent. As I slid my shaft up and down in Eve's vagina, she worked with me, releasing me as I pulled back, and dragging me in as I thrust down.

She began to give little squeals and gasps, and started to plead with me to stop; yet still dragging me into her. Saying, "No, darling, please my sweet…I can't stand it…I don't want to…don't make me…" she began to tremble.

Her legs wrapped round my buttocks and her cries changed to "Oh yes…don't stop…please don't stop…I…ah…"

Her whole body began to vibrate and her cries changed to screams and howls, her words becoming incomprehensible and in the midst of this climax, my own orgasm arrived. I surged into her already sperm filled vagina and this new injection together with her own lubricant discharge began to flow out of her onto the bed.

As we came down from the heights, relaxing but still united, we looked into each other's eyes, and she smiled. 

After we parted I thought she might have had enough so I moved from her slightly, but she sat up with her back against the padded end of the bed. She took my head in her hands and drew it towards her breasts. With one hand she took hold of her breast and held it so as to make the nipple prominent.

"I nourished you there, my love, let me suckle you again now."

I took the sweet nipple into my mouth and sucked on it as she stroked my face and hair saying, "I was so happy when you were born. I had someone to give my love to, and feeding you at my breast was marvelous."

We came together for a third time and then we slept our arms about each other.

When I woke Eve had gone from the bed and I heard the shower running and she singing. I lay listening to her and her happiness was obvious. My own thought took a serious turn. I had experienced something last night that I knew was likely you bring about dramatic changes in my life.

It was as if I had found the magic word to open an Aladdin's cave of erotic riches. Having opened it, I found that I did not have the word to close it again. I had fallen in love with Eve, my own mother, and wrong though this might be, that was the case.

I may have gone on being content with going from girl to girl, at least, until I found one I might want to marry, but now this new found relationship with the forbidden woman had intervened. 

It was as if I had been content to assuage my thirst with glasses of water here or there, and then suddenly came upon an ever-flowing fountain from which I might always drink without let or hindrance. This I now knew was what I had been searching for, and found in the most unlikely and hazardous place.

Eve came bounding into the room naked and still singing, then she called out, "And how is my beautiful lover this morning?"

Her joy was infectious, and I was caught up by it and replied, "As happy as the one he loves."

"Then get up, you lazy beast. We're on the move again today."

I had forgotten about our next move, but at her chivvying I got up and showered.

After breakfast we loaded up our vehicle and headed off for our next stop.

This was remains of an old penal settlement – the largest on the island – one of the many hells to which Britain sent her criminal rejects.

The trip took us over the central mountain range that, despite it being summer, still had odd patches of snow here and there.

Mother was in a happy bubbling mood and had become the young girl she had been a couple of days before. As I drove she adopted her favourite position of her head on my shoulder, and kept up a running commentary about the scenery we were passing through.

At one stage and apropos of nothing in particular she suddenly said, "I love you so much, Blake."

This was too much for my driving concentration, so I slowed and pulled into the side of the road. 

I sat staring ahead for a moment or two while Eve questioned me, "What have we stopped for?"

"I've stopped because I have to tell you I'm in love with you."

"Oh darling, that's perfect."

"Is it," I asked. "What about the future? How badly are we going to hurt each other when we have to part, like at the end of this holiday?"

"Blake, if I say to you, 'Let's enjoy each other for the rest of the holiday, and leave what happens afterwards to me,' will you trust me?"

"But…"

"Trust me?"

"All right."

"Don't worry, just enjoy, and I promise that it will turn out just as you want it to, when you have really decided how you want it. Now let's get on with this drive."

There were a number of motels in the area and of course, we were booked into the most expensive one again. 

We had two rooms, one of which was now superfluous, as Eve and I had every intention of sleeping together for the rest of the trip. We went to the reception desk on arrival, but Eve said to me, "Darling, why don't you see to the luggage while I fix things here?"

I went off with one of the motel staff leaving Eve at the desk.

Once ensconced in Eve's room, she suggested a shower to, as she put it, "Get the dust of the road off." Her further suggestion was that we might take the shower together. 

It proved to be an interesting shower, as Eve began to wash my penis and I her breasts and genital region.

We ended up having sex standing up with the water pouring over us.

Eve's comment was "I've always wanted to do that."

Back in the main room, still naked and drying ourselves, Eve gave proof of her stamina by sitting on the edge of the bed, opening and raising her legs and saying, "Can you think of anything interesting we might do before we go out?"

Her genitals, being without pubic hair, were clearly visible, and struck me as being very delectable. I knelt before her and pulling aside the outer lips, I exposed the inner petals. It was like opening a rose to reveal the inner bud.

Eve pulled my head to her sex organ and I began to savour her. For a while I pushed my tongue into her opening, tasting her lubricant and reveling in her woman's fragrance.

If I had thought Eve had no more surprises in store for me, I would have been wrong. I lifted the hood of her clitoris, that gathering of nerves that provide so much pleasure to a woman, and about to start licking it, I stopped and stared.

Eve had the biggest clitoris I had ever seen. All the girls I had been with presented only a little nub, Eve's clitoris was like a small penis.

Seeing my attention focused on her clitoris, Eve gave a shaky sort of giggle, and said, "Yes, it is, isn't it, my love? The doctor told me it's about as big as they come. Do you think you can enjoy it?"

"I'll see that we both enjoy it," I replied.

With that, I began to stroke the delicious organ, treating it as if it were a tiny penis. 

Eve began to writhe and sob. I was to learn that weeping was one of the signs of her sexual joy, especially her orgasm. 

Instead of simply licking the clitoris, it was large enough for me to take it into my mouth. I started to suck on it and Eve's sobs began to intensify, and she was saying my name and declaring her love for me continually. 

I felt her orgasm approaching and heard the cries that were to become so familiar. Her begging me to stop and not put her through the torment, then the screams, pleading with me not to stop, even if it killed her. 

At the climax she raked her fingernails over my back, and beat me with her fists, and when coming down from the supreme moment she kept crying out, "What have you done to me? What have you done, you brute?"

I began to wonder if the violence of her orgasms might have terrified my father, and this, rather than his desire to have many women, was the reason he had cease sexual activity with Eve.

Actually, I don't think that was the case, as any man worth calling a man would revel in her fire.

When she calms down the other side of the coin emerges. Her sweet tenderness, the soft pliancy and yielding of her body, her verbal expressions of love. These are just some of the aspects of this woman, and I had never experienced this with anyone else to the same degree of fervour.

I was desperately in love with her and the thought of being without her some time in the future distressed me.

The Aladdin's cave was certainly opened, and I now dreaded I might find myself outside it and unable to remember the magic word to open it again.

Eve moved into the middle of the bed and said, "Come here, darling, let me do something nice for you."

I moved over to her and she gently pushed me on to my back and began softly kissing the crown of my penis. After while she said, "Whenever you want to, darling," and took my shaft into her mouth."

I had never ejaculated into a woman's mouth, and was troubled that I might have misunderstood her, but it was too late. I felt the sperm coming and held her head to me. I discharged the whole lot into her mouth but she was unable to swallow it all and it came flooding out of the corners of her mouth.

When I finished she came over me and said, "Now we can taste each other," and kissed me.

She with my semen still clinging to her mouth, and I with the residue of her lubricant, thrusting with our tongues, struggling to mingle our fluids and tastes, we experienced each others and our own flavor and aroma.

We lay back gasping, I trying to focus my feelings - the impassioned love and lust I had for this woman. I wanted to consume her, or she me – to become one with her in some eternal bond.

Eve must have been struggling with similar feelings because she moaned, "Oh Blake, Blake, I love you so much. What are we going to do?"

We slept for a while in post-coital relaxation. 

When I came to Eve, was looking at me, her head resting in her hand, elbow on the bed.

Strangely, the turmoil we had both experienced before sleeping seemed to have passed away. We were both relaxed and at peace. Eve had that soft contented look that seems to come to women when they have been well and truly loved. She looked young and alive. As it is said, "All woman."

"Sweetheart," she said, "we've just about loved and slept the day away. Time to eat, but I think we'd better have our third shower for the day, or we'll go into the dining room smelling of sex." She gave a bubbly sort of laugh. 

We managed to shower without being sexually entangled with each other again, but only just.

Going to the dining room, and in the dining room itself, I became aware of people looking at us, and whispering and giggling. 

"Why is everybody looking at us," I asked Eve.

"Well I'm not sure, sweet, but it may be something to do with us being a honeymoon couple. It seems to have that sort of effect on people."

"What do you mean, "Honeymoon couple?"

"Well, you see, darling, I thought that was the best way."




Paradise Island



"Look, will you tell me what's going on?"

"It's really rather simple, darling. I thought as we intended to share the same room, it might become obvious that the room booked for you was not being used, so I told the girl at the reception desk there had been a mistake. I told her we'd just got married, and had only meant to book one room. She was perfectly nice about it, especially as everything has been paid for in advance, and we would not be looking for a refund."

Eve gave another of her bubbly laughs, and I could not help but join her. In fact, she used the same ploy for the rest of the trip so we got the "Honeymooner's" looks everywhere we stayed.

Looked at objectively, there was nothing incongruous about our being honeymooners. Mother had always looked far younger than she was, and her current contentment made her look even younger. I, on the other hand, have always looked mature for my age, so if we did not quite meet at some age central point, as it were, we were not far off.

The rest of our island holiday was almost a dreamtime. Eve said, "This has been our paradise island," and she was right.

The more I had of her, the more I wanted of her. Eve seemed almost insatiable, as if trying to catch up on all the years of not being loved.

But the end of the holiday came, and the future had to be faced. Eve had indicated that she knew what to do, so I clung to that.

On our last night before taking the ferry back to the mainland, we were lying peacefully just after making love, and Eve was playfully running her fingers over my face. She looked at me with an enigmatic smile on her face and said, "Darling, had it occurred to you that I might get pregnant?"

I sat up, startled. It hadn't entered my thoughts.

Eve laughed, "It's all right darling, no need to panic. I put myself on the pill well before we began this holiday."

"You mean you knew…?"

"Of course…at least…I thought there was a good chance we would…you see what a cunning mother you've got. I planned to seduce you right from the start. I suppose my point is, would you be devastated if I did get pregnant to you?"

I hardly knew what to reply. I made a mumbling effort. "I suppose…but you're really my mother…I mean…a baby. I wouldn't mind having a baby, but…"

"You mean it would be all right to have a baby as long as it's not with me?"

I felt terrible. I really thought it would be great to do some real baby making with Eve. But my mother…?"

"Let's leave it for now, sweetheart. We can talk about it some other time. What I want to talk about now is your father and I. I shall wait until you go back to university before I tell him I'm leaving. I don't want you around when he starts exploding." "When the dust has settled I shall contact you and tell you what I propose. This will give you time to consider what you really want."

"But Eve, I know what I want…"

"You do now, darling, but time can do some strange things. So just be patient, and work out what you think is best for you."

"Eve, you won't…I mean someone else…you'd tell me truthfully…"

"My dearest love, after what we have had on this holiday, do you really think I'd want someone else?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Trust me, my love."

My university course was Classical Studies. Not a very high profile course these days, but my intention on completing the course, was to go on to art school.

The university I was attending meant I was not in my home city. On returning to start my third year of studies, I began the wait for mother to contact me. We exchanged letters and spoke at least once a week on the telephone, but she said nothing beyond vague bits of news and nothing about her leaving my father.

Six months went by, and I was about to go home to confront her when the telephone call came.

"Darling, I want to come and see you. Is there room in your flat for me?"

The flat was another of my father's offerings.

"Of course, mother."

I met her at the airport and was struck by how tired she looked. We went to the flat and I settled her in. I only had one bed, but that was a double. It was a purchase of my own, and was intended to accommodate some of the girls I used to spend a night with or rather, they with me. 

I was not sure how things now stood with mother so I asked, pointing to the bed, "Will this be okay?"

"Of course, darling."

Feeling a bit grimy from her journey mother took as shower, then said, "Well, haven't you got something for me after all this time, or has the flower faded?"

Ye Gods, didn't I have something for her? I think I must have been secreting a barrel full of semen for her.

I was soon busy pumping this overflow of my baby manufacturing fluid into her, apparently to the satisfaction of both of us.

It was when we had both calmed down, and our libidos were temporarily relaxed, mother spoke of the situation.

She had left my father and was filing for divorce. Father, not wanting to go through the courts to arrive at a settlement, had made a generous offer which mother accepted. She was now living in a small flat that she rented. She said she would not purchase a flat or house until such time as she could be reasonable sure of her future.

"That is where you come in, darling," she said to me.

"How?" I asked.

"I won't beat about the bush, my love," she said. "What I would most like to have happen is for us to set up home together, and I don't mean primarily as mother and son. I mean as lovers… what do they call it? 'Partners.' Ideally, I should like us to be man and wife, but that is out of the question."

I went to answer, but she cut in.

"Here me out, darling. It's better you know everything I have in mind before trying to give an answer."

I nodded.

"If you should want to be with me, you must understand that from my point of view it would be a permanent relationship. I know we can't predict what might happen in the future, but that would be my intention. I shall be faithful to you, and I would look for you to be the same to me. To parody the old wedding ceremony, you would have my body that I will never deny to you. You will have my 'worldly wealth,' which is substantial, my support in your intended work as an artist, and if what I have just said does not cover it, you will have my love. Now is the time for you to speak, I think."

"Your love covers it all, Eve. I can't offer you anything nearly so generous. I've loved you for as long as I can remember. On the island, that love changed its form, but not its strength. Whatever it is you can see in me and want from me, I shall do the best I can to give it to you."

"Silly boy, I'm still your mother, you know. Of course I think you're the best."

"Then we live together?"

"There is one other thing, my love. I said on the island we would talk about it, and perhaps now is the time. I can still bear a child. If you should want that, it would be my joy to have your baby."

As I write this, we are living on the island. I have my own workshop and gallery and my paintings sell well. None are better than my nudes of Eve, of which I have done quite a few, and sell for a criminally astronomical figure (there must be some of my father in me).

Eve was always interest in antiques. She did the appropriate studies and is licensed as an antique dealer, so alongside and working with the gallery, she has her own antique shop.

I must cease writing now because our little Jenny needs changing, and it's my turn.



Paradise Island



The nametape on his right breast said Thompson, but that could hardly distinguish between the two of them. His first name was James, but, aside from her, and from his blood relatives, no one called him that. She wore no tag or labeling, generally, but from time to time at the conventions, symposiums, and signings that she attended from time to time, hers preceded their shared surname with "Lucy." In her spare time—and their Spartan lifestyle and his career left her, all too often, with nothing but overwhelming, suffocating spare time—she wrote. Poetry, essays both fact and fiction, novellas ...everything that she had dallied in for her own joy, her own private pleasures—and she smiled inwardly whenever that pun showed itself—were now hers to enjoy productively. 

And profitably, she reflected. Her income wasn't far behind his, and unlike Jason, a day's work didn't leave her with either odor or agony. She had polished off chapter seven of her current opus in the morning—after abrupt awakening and furious typing at five AM—and was rewarding herself with a long, hot shower. It had started just before 11:30, and she was toweling off slightly past noon. She hung the towel back up on the rack, and walked across the hall to the master, and only, bedroom.

If you or I had watched her pass in the full length mirror in the corner, by the bedroom door, we would have marveled at the perfection of her body. 

Her skin was smooth, a color somewhere between the skin of an apricot and the flesh of a peach, and gave the appearance of being both slightly plump, and resoundingly firm, the figure of a person who ate properly, and exercised as much as any person could without becoming an athlete, bringing her tone and muscle to the maximal tone it could without making it look like she tried. Her belly was not quite flat—it had the slightest curve, which in her case, you would surely conclude, simply make her look, again, like an effortless beauty, blessed with a figure like a gift from above, freeing her to be a wonderful person, rather than an obsession that consumed her every hour, displacing the worthwhile activities of her life.

You would call ass and breasts where neither large nor small, rather place it in that wonderful middle, both sharing the remarkably precise dimensions that, when she stood still and bent over, they were exactly large enough that at their perigee, they kissed together. The puckered dimple behind her was just barely occulted by the two firm mounds she sat upon, and, if she were so bent, the two orbs that dangled from her chest looked like two pairs, just minutely overlapping at their broadest point. Indeed, the analogy of pears would reinforce itself, because at the same place as the brown nub on the fruit that marked the stem's antipode, on Lucy's breasts lay two small, crimson, perfectly round nipples. Ironically, and in perhaps the only parts of her body out of the ordinary—seductive, enchanting, average and ordinary perfection—were those pink nipples for their inversion, and her belly button that protruded out. In the case of all three, you would probably call them adorable.

Her eyes were green with hazel veins through them that seemed to grow and throb, or shrink and diminish with her mood. Her nose was sharply defined, upturned, small, and, for lack of a better word, pert. Her lips were pink, lighter than her breasts, slender when she grinned and fat when she frowned or cried or puckered. Her lashes were long, her brow thing, her hair smooth, straight, and silky, a light brown that in some light appeared blonde, in others red. Her ears were small, spirals and curves wrapped around one other, hidden under her locks,

Her hair below was the same way. Shaved into a small, thin strip, no more than an inch long and a centimeter wide, and that into a close cropped, thick, soft tuft, sat crowning a perfectly symmetric, fleshy crease. Sealed together, normally, as she became aroused it would bloom like a rose, the crease opening into a slit, the slit into a fissure, the fissure into a chasm, its walls in mirrored, pink folds with the smallest fringe of brown. As the petals spread thusly outward, at their peak, a bulb would appear, and the hood pull slowly back, until at last, no larger than a pea, would sit the naked, unprotected seat of her femininity.

All in all, Lucy's body was, to an impartial observer, perfect. Where she walked, trousers bulged. In her life, she had been pined for, worshipped, and, for more than one compatriot, an 'exception' to otherwise strict sexual preferences. Boys and girls in her high school, men and women with whom she had studied lived and worked in adulthood, had thought of her at night.

But she saw none of that.

If she saw herself in that full-length mirror, she would have turned away, her cheeks blushing not in bashful pride, but embarrassed shame. Her eyes saw her skin's shade as sickly, her eyes as achromatic, her hair hideously lacking curls or life. She saw asymmetry where there was none between her legs. She saw her limbs as amorphous lumps of fat, her forehead furrowed. Inverted nipples and an outie belly button were just freakish insult to hideous injury. But more than anything else about herself, she was hated and shamed by the fact that she did nothing to change it. In many ways she wanted to be anorexic or bulimic—at least then, she reasoned, she would have the motivation to 'fix' herself, misguided though it may be. She despised herself for lacking the will to change anything about herself—ironic, in consideration of the fact that, to any other observer, she was Venus incarnate.

It was just past noon, however, and Lucy was naked in the bedroom. James had been gone since four Monday evening, and wasn't due back until two in the afternoon. He would be famished, she was sure, and yesterday she had raided the commissary, gathering what she needed for a feast. It would take an hour, perhaps, to prepare—cooking, after all, being far faster when no one at the table ate meat—and perhaps fifteen minutes to prepare herself. That left, she grinned, looking at the hall clock walking towards to kitchen, forty minutes to herself. Lucy slumped on the puffy living room chair and grinned, closing her eyes and sighing. There was no separation between the kitchen and their living room in the small home, and Lucy had no intent to get up and start lunch for at least thirty of her allotted forty minutes were consumed.

Thirty seconds later, one calf dangled off the chair's right armrest, the other off the left, and one of her fingers was invisible down to the first knuckle. Goosepimples covered her body, and she moaned contentedly, eyes opening and closing in lazy cycles, shifting her mind between imagined orgies and visible copulations as the porn's muzak came at her from either side, thanks to the 5.1 speakers.

Three minutes later, two of her fingers were unseen, and her pelvis began to happily buck. Her eyes clamped shut, and her moans grew louder. The rippled rides insider herself, tactile in spite of the slick wetness she emitted in apparently unlimited quantities. Her other hand was clamped to her breasts, twitching and flicking her body every which way as, in feeling inside herself, her insides began to detonate. Her moans coalesced into a single, pure, primal, high pitched whine. Her eyes opened wide as she crested, and, at the same time, she pulled her fingers out of herself, and pinched their dripping digits on her tiny, throbbing clitoris, like a bulging grain of pink rice. 

Almost as quickly as her eyes flashed open, however, her cry died. On the chair across from her was James, calmly unlacing his right boot. His left was already off. She hadn't heard him come in over the music, nor seen him enter the room, thanks to the... diversion... of her attentions. She gasped in sudden terror, and gripped the armrests, clamping her legs together in front of her. Her chest heaved up and down, her heart racing, and she looked straight ahead, right at him. His second boot was off, now.

He stood up. She expected him to say something, yell at her, but he didn't. He was filthy, the tan, gray, and brown of his camouflage an almost undifferentiated muddy wall of grime. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Montana peaked hat—she slapped herself inside, correcting herself 'campaign cover'—on the end table. His expressionless face disappeared as he pulled the blouse over his head. His undershirt was technically green, but it more resembled the old, brown issue, so saturated was it with sand and muck. Seeing how clearly evident the last seventy hours exertion were, she felt suddenly indolent and cheap for spending it dallying in MSWord, showers, sleep, food, and, most recently, masturbation. 

As if in synch with this sensation, James camouflage blouse at her, and, with a heavy thunk due more to the absorbed water dirt and mud than to any property of the cloth, it struck her in her naked chest, its sleeve whipping against her face. The slight pain of rough sand whipped against her nude form did nothing to dampen her own self-indictment of hedonism. Her eyes staring forward, focusing on nothing, she folded the blouse and placed it on her lap, struggling to control her breathing and get her pulse under control. James had taught her how a thousand times, but now, as ever, when she needed it the skill escaped her. In unfocused vision, she saw an object flying at her, and, without seeing it, she knew what it was. A black cloth belt, with one red stripe—indicative of the highest level of hand-to-hand fighting ability and training that the service awarded, and, furthermore, the certification to instruct others—its metal buckle leading the charge towards Lucy's face. She caught it without focusing her eyes, and rolled the belt into a tight clump, and placed it on the folded blouse.

By the time that task was complete, the trousers were flying at her, and before those were done folding, James walked over and placed socks, undershirt, and undershorts on the blouse. She finished folding the trousers, and slid them under the blouse. Her chest heaved—once, twice, three times—as she waited for the other shoe, proverbially, to drop.

Finally, he said something. His voice was hoarse, his throat sore beyond the knowledge or experience of even the most petulant child or energetic cult politician. But hoarse though it was, it still boomed, and carried on its wings power and dread.

"Well?" was all he thundered, and, with a barely-contained yelp, she shot up, and ran to the washing machine, leaping down the basement stairs six at a time. She was back perhaps twelve seconds later, seated, legs together, heels together, feet fanned out, hands on her knees, back ramrod straight, eyes forward and unseeing, even as James's crotch danged barely three feet, directly in front of her at eye level. His legs were spread a meter or so apart, his hands clasped behind him. His face was stone, but his eyes were fire, as he mulled things over. His right hand, seemingly conjured from ether, appeared, and he gestured, one finger pointed up. She understood, and stood up, her strong legs noodles, her lips thick, and she bit the lower one.

Her hands were tiny fists at her side, and she still couldn't get her breathing under control. She knew he was timing how long it took her to regain composure, and she knew—or, rather, was ignorant but in utter dread of—what lay in store if it took too long. It took only a moment to realize that a moment to regain composure was already far too long, and in that brief heartbeat, his right hand began moving again. The open backhand struck her solar plexus, and she gasped, and stepped back. It didn't hurt—whatever else he did, he wouldn't actually abuse her—but for a moment, it was terrifying and disorienting, unnerving and disconcerting. He had delivered such a blow to a thousand people a thousand times, and he had perfected the art of the unbalancing, yet harmless strike.

Lucy stumbled back a step, and the back of her knee struck the chair, and she fell back. She half-turned, and caught herself, one hand stopping her plummet by bracing on the back of the chair. Even as she started to stand back up, James fell upon her. His left hand clamped across her mouth, his right grabbed her right knee, and pulled it out and up, so that the air felt cool across her wet folds.

"Indolence and laziness," he began, "jacking yourself on furniture that I sweat to afford, as I sweat to afford. "Disgusting. Can't even wait an hour or two for me to come home and indulge you, so impatient you've got to do it yourself." He was projecting into her ear from inches away now. With a serpentine malice, he said what he and all of his ilk said a dozen menacing times a day—"Good."

His hand came off her mouth, and went between her shoulder blades, as his hand went to her abdomen, its middle finger's final digit lying on the small strip of fur. She breathed in sharply as his left hand pushed forward, smashing her face into the soft, smothering cushioned headrest of the chair, his right braced, keeping her ass elevated. For a terrifying moment, she couldn't breathe, enveloped by impermeable leather for an instant, until the strong hand gripped her hair, and pulled back, laying her throat uncomfortably against the chair, but allowing her to breathe.

"Well, if you want something in your cunt," he spat, the epithet for her flowering reinforcing her own internal feelings of filthiness. She yelped as she felt him enter her. She had already slickened herself, soaked herself, indeed, she had already had the aborted beginnings of an orgasm from her own touch, so he met little resistance as his mushroomed peak slid in, and only slightly more as the shaft sank up her. 

James pulled her hair as he sank in deeper. Her eyes begin to well up as his cock bottomed out inside her, and began to stretch. They'd been together three years, but she still had never been able to take all of him inside her. She tried at every opportunity. She had taught herself to kiss the base when he fucked her throat, but her other lips had never touched there. Her ass cheeks felt the ripples of his abs as he deepened his penetration. She hated herself for masturbating when she could have waited. She hated herself for taking a long, luxuriant shower when he had been laboring in ways she couldn't imagine. 

Most of all, though, she hated herself for enjoying this. She hated her knees from going weak from the deep penetration. She hated her pussy for melting as the spear pierced her. She began crying uncontrollably, even as her pelvis began to quiver again. He saw her tears, and just plunged deeper, hissing "Fucking bitch, you're going to cry now? Dirty cunt." He pulled her hair harder, and started thrusting into her. "You probably want me to do this," he concluded, and began to flick his middle finger, the one that lay across her pubes, left and right. It stroked over her clit, and her mouth soundlessly opened, a giant mute O. Her oozing became a cascade, as though a wound bleeding clear from a stab from a thick, flesh sword. Every muscle in her body slackened, her eyes rolled back in her head. Her pit emptied and filled, her body pinned against the chair, and her clit suffered the stroking abuse of a rough finger. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she stopped breathing for perhaps ten seconds, even as her heart raced. It felt like her chest was going to burst, her lungs on fire, dying for air, her breath held from pure ecstacy. Those ten seconds felt like an eternity, asphyxia spotting her vision.

When the world stopped spinning, Lucy was on the ground, James standing above her, staring down in utter revulsion. She was spread eagled, bruised, pink, wet, covered in sweat. His gaze into her eyes was unbroken, his mouth turned in a disappointed sneer. She bit her lip harder. Her arms came in from the eagle's position, and moved to her crotch. She closed her eyes started to stroke. Tears of shame still streaming down her cheeks, she whispered "More please," and sobbed.

"What?" he demanded.

"More please!" she half-shouted. Her eyes popping open. Her head tilted back as her fingers reentered her sanctuary. He kneeled down, lying his package between her breasts. He said just one word—"Slut"—and it cut her deeply. And she enjoyed it. And that made her feel even worse.

She began to pump her fingers in and out of herself, thrusting them in and out in an echo of the penetration she had just received. "Selfish bitch," he threw at her, grabbed her nose, and pulled her head forward. She yelped quietly, as his cock stabbed the soft underside of her chin. She opened her mouth, and moaned lightly as she suckled on his head. She tasted herself on him, and sucked in, as he pumped her head onto and off his shaft. Her tongue played with his head, as her hands played with her clit. She stroked and frigged herself, while circling his head with her tongue tip.

"Dirty bitch, you like tasting your cunt. How many times did you do it while I was working my ass off down at Page? Huh?" he pumped her head harder, his cock abusing her mouth. She couldn't meet his stare, all the more so because of how good it felt—her masturbation, and the punishment in her jaw—and she squealed as James's free hand slapped her tits, and began to rip and tear at her nipples, pinching the areole whole, and smacking the tender flesh.

She looked forward, down the long shaft emerging from her mouth, to the thick black hair at its base. She struggled to catch glimpses of the bouncing sack almost completely obscured by the cock and her tits. The porno was still playing on the TV, and an extremely attractive woman was taking a strap-on to the ass from a similarly gorgeous lover, and Lucy's eyes started to drift, indecisive for a moment between the two glorious sights.

"You fucking skank," he growled, and tugged back hard on her head, pulling her hair, and digging his hands hard into her tit, his knuckles curling into the tender flesh. His cock popped out of her mouth, and she stabbed deeply into her pussy, her fingers stabbing herself, dancing hard as she embraced the fuck. A hot jet of white struck her between the eyes. "Fucking skank," he repeated as another jet flew at her, and another, leaving streaks of white across her face, and again, unless her face was covered in flecks, and a puddle began to form at the base of her neck.

His hand still on her hair, James twisted, forcing her to look to the side, watching the porno. "You like that shit. Strap-ons, anal, lesbian shit." He stood up, and pulled her up by her hair. He was still hard, and, as he started walking, forcing her to follow, she tried to grab his cock and stroke. Before she could get one pump in, he slapped her tits hard, and she leg go. "Fucking cock slut, we're getting to that. You have to know why you're about to get punished, first, you dirty bitch."

He dragged her into the bedroom, and threw her on the bed. He dragged a plastic container out from under the bed, and opened it. He pulled out a book and a pair of handcuffs. Her face turned pleading, but she put up no resistance. He tossed the book on the bed, and grabbed her wrists, pulling them up, and cuffing them behind the bedpost. The post wasn't so tall that she couldn't slip her arms over it, but to do so she'd have to shimmy her ass right up to the head of the bed, considering her petite 5' frame, and he was hardly about to allow that. He walked to the foot of the bed, and grabbed her ankles, hoisting her up. With one hand, his left at that, he pulled her almost vertical, so that she was balanced on her shoulders and the back of her head.




Paradise Island



He pointed at her crotch. "Look at your fucking cunt, bitch." She started crying again, and sobbing repeatedly. "You're fucking dripping, you're so eager to get fucked." He looked at her with unmitigated derision. "You actually want to be a cumbucket. Disgusting. Fucking disgusting." He looked almost done, but added, "Slut." Shimmering rivulets started worming their way down their belly, pulled by gravity, and Lucy felt more of them making their way down the crack of her ass. Her cheeks, for that matter, were going from wet streaks to dried smears of white.

Her eyes stayed on her slit—no, her cunt, she though, because that's what hers should be called, after what she'd done—and she felt her blood start, once again, that inevitable surge.

"You fucking slut," he shot at her, picking up the book. With his free hand, he flipped through pages, until he got one, from two years ago, at a hotel outside Savannah. An almost anorexic nineteen year old was sucking James's cock, while she bounced on Lucy's face. He held the album up, and she looked at the pictures, then back up at her drooling cunt.

"That's what you're thinking about, isn't it? Fucking bitch, you want to eat more pussy. God damn, I don't know why I even bother pounding your cunt. You're just a dyke who wants a cunt in your face." He grabbed his cell phone from next to the alarm clock, and dialed something. He put it back. "Well fuck, if that's what you want, let's see if we can't arrange it," he snarled.

He pulled her ankles down, towards her face, away from the vertical. His other hand placed the album down, so that it stayed standing, then brought it down, open palm, on her ass. He did it again. "If you want to be a fucking cunt eating bitch, in the meantime let's at least try to make it your own so you're less of a bitchy dyke." He smacked her ass again. "Getting any closer? Can you smell your reek?" he inquired, feigning concern. Tears of self-loathing were streaming down her cheeks, but, more than anything, she was trying not to moan when every time he slapped her ass, crackles of pleasure went through her nethers.

He smacked her ass again. Her breasts jiggled, her cunt heaved, the tears grew more numerous. Again. The shuddering inside her was growing stronger. A terrible thought grew in her mind as he slapped her ass again. 'What if I cum?' she wondered, his hand once again smacking her rump. 'Then he'll really think I'm a lesbian,' she thought, irrationally. If she could have calmed herself, and looked outside of the situation, she would have seen perfectly well what was going on, but not only was her psyche ill equipped to do that, James was quite well trained in how to prevent even the most mentally flexible from making such reflections. His hand slapped her ass again, and her pussy shuddered. She did the only thing she could do. Lucy have shouted out "I'm not a dyke" through sobs.

"Oh?" James demanded, and spanked her ass again. Quivers went through her spine.

"No!" she exclaimed. She didn't know how to convince him. She looked him up and down, and, her eyes falling on his member, still hard and throbbing, she stammered "I-I... I love the cock!"

"No you don't, bitch. You're a pussy eating bitch." He stopped spanking her, and turned the page of the album back once. Pointing, he accused her, "Even when I'm pounding you, you like to eat cunt." Sure enough, there in the picture, the slender woman and James were making out, James riding her lower half, the woman the upper.

"No!" she cried out again, more frantic as James resumed spanking her. She was getting close now, just from watching her own cunt, the porn, and the spanking. "No, I want the cock!" James pretended not to hear her. "I want your cock right now!" she yelled out.

"Bullshit, dyke!" he roared back at her. "I come home, and what are you doing? Playing with cunt. You busted an O when you thought I wouldn't be home, because you'd rather have an O with a cunt then wait for me to get home, and have it with a cock. You're a cuntlicking slut." He looked revolted. "Even when you had my cock in your mouth, you were tasting cunt on it. God damn filthy lesbian bitch."

"Cum inside me!" she screamed, as he spanked her again. Every muscle in her body went slack, trying to hide from the orgasm. "Please! I want the cock! I love the cock! Cum inside me!" Tears streamed down her face. She pleaded with him. "Please, I want your cock!"

He stared at her, clearly unconvinced. She struggled against his grip to spread her legs, and returned his gaze. She mouthed please, when a thought struck her. She stuck her tongue out, and licked around her mouth, reaching as far as she could with it, trying to reach the dried cum on her face.

"Fucking slut," he murmured—even the murmur a thunderous rumble—and threw her legs down. She immediately spread them, and arched her back, lifting her oozing pussy as high as she could.

"Ravage me!" she begged. "Penetrate me, break me!" she pleaded. She closed her eyes and hoped. She heard it before she felt it, the crack of another smack, this one fingers, not palms, and against her exposed pussy, driving it to the bed, and smacking it, his fingers ending the stroke with a pinch of her clit. That was too much, and she felt herself start to cum again. She gasped for air, and flailed, but to no avail as his body pinned her down, his sweat-ridden body smothering her. She felt his cock enter her again, breaking into her sanctum, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, overjoyed.

She was bucking her pelvis involuntarily, the orgasm rattling her even as the penetration began, and she found it hard to concentrate on impaling herself. Her insides were tender now, so tender, she knew, that if he left now and she tried to masturbate, she simply wouldn't be able to. After three orgasms, she was just too tender. But she knew she had to. She pushed herself, figuratively and literally. She felt every vein on his shaft as it rubbed against her swollen labia. She felt every hair on his crotch as his tuft pressed against her clit. Her legs squeezed in like a vice, trying to draw more of him inside. His hands went to her tits, and grabbed them roughly. He could palm them entirely, large hands to match his weapon, and she couldn't do anything more than breathe in sharply as he stroked his palm against her areoles, his fingertips crushing the base of each orb.

She tensed the muscles of her pussy as much as she could, and began to thrust, trying to keep rhythm with him, as each stroke pounded deeper. His hands massaged her breasts, and she tried to let him further inside of herself with every thrust. "Conquer me," she begged, "I want your cum inside me."

He pulled out until only his head remained within her. "Bitch, when I go to shower, you'll just masturbate again. You're a dyke. Admit it."

"No," she breathed. "I'll only masturbate if you cum inside me, and then, only so I can taste you on my fingers!" she exclaimed, and he thrust back into her, six inches of his shaft roughly rubbing against her tender battered insides. The plunge practically sucked her clit within her, and the sensation of all that cock rubbing against her nub drew a near-shrieking cry.

"You're lying," he accused, and drew out of her again, until her hole was held open by the fat rim of his mushroom. "You'll turn that album to a page of you sucking clit, and you'll masturbate. You'll try to think of what pussy tastes like, then you'll lick it off your fingers." He spat on her face, and rubbed her tits some more.

"No!" she whimpered. "I'll follow you into the shower, and masturbate while watching you, taste you off my fingers, hoping you'll let me in to suck you!" she sobbed. Then, softly, "Please, more... please... I want to cum on your cock!"

He into her again, and her face once again contorted, her breathing ceased, but only for a few seconds. She was on the precipice. She could feel every microscopic cell of the cock inside her right now. It hurt—she was too sensitive, too overfucked, she needed to let her pussy rest and calm down, but she 'knew' she had to convince him she was straight or he'd never fuck her again.

He gripped her tits again, his hot breath steamed across her face. "No, if I let you suck me in the shower, you'd just bring one of your waterproof vibes with you, and think of how much you wish you could play with chicks instead." She couldn't emit words, just a sobbing shake of her head as he drew out of her again. He pulled out entirely, except the very tip of his head, barely piercing her hole.

Her flowing eyes, the bright green conquering the hazel utterly in her desperation. She breathed, barely audibly, "No... please..." His stare was without pity. "I want all of you inside me. Please... go all the way in, and spray my insides," she was getting louder again, as if resolving to cum so hard that she would convince him. "Maul my cunt, spear me, impale me... your cum will heal me. Please... I want to cum, I love the c—" she cut off as he started to slide back in. Faster, faster, it took barely a second, but before his charge halted she blacked out for a moment. As her sight returned, she looked down, and saw her clit kissing the base of his shaft. She felt her essence gushing out, cumming all over him in a way she never had before, never seen outside of porn. Her squirt soaked them both, the sheet, with a warm wetness she had never known before, and her world grew faint again. Her every muscle quivered, her pussy tightened. 

Lucy's hands gripped the bedpost they were cuffed to like a giant phallus, and started to stroke it, as though it were the cock inside her. All inside her. Just that thought, the knowledge that her pussy contained his giant cock, redoubled her orgasm. It seemed to continue forever, she didn't know how she wasn't shriveling up, as jet after just squirted out of her. Then she felt something else... a wet explosion deep inside her, and heard a deep exhalation from James. She felt it... another orgasm on top of her gushing one. It was too much. Her vision turned to spots, her hearing to fuzz. She couldn't even feel her tits' pleasure any more... her entire world was her pussy, feeling his crotch lie flush against it, feeling it release itself utterly, feeling a cock explode within her. 

As the orgasm faded, so did her consciousness. Every dream she had was an unbroken series of sex. Every dream she came. The first dream was a wild orgy, the second she was in a men's locker room, being ravaged in every hole by cock after cock, but in her face was always's James's, the biggest the hardest. When she woke, she kept her eyes closed, holding on to the last dream, of the girl from Savannah eating her out, trying to suck James from out of her. It felt so real, so perfect, that it took her a moment to realize what was happening. She opened her eyes, and what James had done with the cell phone clicked. A girl—she couldn't have been over twenty, was lying on the bed, her face buried in Lucy's cunt. She was too sensitive, too pulverized, and it felt too good. Her hips started to buck again.

"Fucking dyke," James said.

"No..." she murmured. "It isn't fair... I want your cock!" tears were streaming down her face again. She thought she had proved herself, but it all was crashing down around her.

"No," he smiled. "Not you, her," his smile broadened, and his cock moved to her mouth once more. She tasted herself on it, and him, and something new—her gush, Lucy was certain. She'd never done it before, so she'd never tasted it before. But there was something else, too... her eyebrows arched.

"I tested her, too," he grinned. "But she failed, the dyke. So you get all the tastes, even hers. Congratulations," he said. Lucy suckled on her delicious treat, and looked down, and say jealously, anger, and guilt in the other woman's eyes. As if in vengeance, she sucked down on Lucy's clit, hard, taking it in her mouth, her tongue roughly stroking against it. Lucy started to cum. It was all just too much.