Duncan Fox

Spankin mommy

CHAPTER ONE

Carla moaned softly. The aluminum cigar tube slid up into her cunt, pressing apart the soft folds of slippery pink flesh. Smaller, colder, and harder than a man's cock, it still felt fantastic. It felt wonderful to have her cunt filled again, even with such a crude imitation of the real thing. Lying on her back with her legs spread widely, straining the tendons on the insides of her thighs, Carla slid the tube deep into her oozing hole. It pressed the end of her cunt, stretching her. Then, slowly, tantalizingly, she fucked the tube in and out, in and out.

Her nerve fibers squirmed in response to the stimulation. She writhed sensuously on the big bed. Her head was up on a pillow so she could see her reflection in the mirror at the foot of the bed. She tried to ignore the lewd sight of the cigar tube going in and out of her twat, but couldn't. She couldn't take her eyes off her naked body. At forty, with a teenage son, she was as youthfully firm as she had been at his age. But her tits had a mature thrust no teenager ever have. Her nipples, dark and long and erect, were conical, textured buds that had nursed a baby, fed and nurtured a tiny, sucking mouth.

Carla brushed a lock of jet-black hair off her forehead. She continued to move the aluminum cylinder in and out of her ravenous cunt. The folds of her gash, glowing petals of rosy flesh, framed her cunt mouth. The substitute cock slid smoothly in and out, in and out of her dribbling hole. It had none of the ripples and resistance a real cock had.

God! How fantastic Chuck's cock had been. Just thinking about his big beautiful prick and how it had filled her made her cunt contract. It made her eyes sting, too.

"Damn, damn, damn," Carla moaned. "Why'd you have to go and get killed, damm!" she asked aloud. "Damn it all, Chuck?"

In the face of the echoing, lonely silence that was her only answer, she retreated to her masturbation. Parting her cuntlips carefully with two fingers, she tormented the pearl of her clitoris and writhed in the pallid simulation of fucking.

She found a picture of her son forming in her mind. He looked too much like his dead father. Charlie was tall, broad-shouldered, trim-hipped. His hair was the same lush brown shade, had the same sexy waviness. When he smiled, he looked so much like his father it made Carla's throat knot.

Made her pussy drool, too, which terrified her. Desperately, she ripped her mind away from her son to his father, to memories of how it had been between them.

Frantically, Carla groped for a memory strong enough to blot out the lust she felt for her son. She found it in something that had happened on their honeymoon. It was something she hadn't thought of in years. Now she clutched it – it was one recollection from her marriage that was powerful enough to overwhelm everything else. The incident had occurred because she had teased her husband of three days until his control had snapped completely.