Ron Taylor: X-rated mother

She was all too aware that she hadn't cum herself, particularly when Connie's cry of abandon fluttered into the air. Stacy clamped her thighs tightly upon the hand that had ceased suddenly to fondle her now – Connie was too swept up in her own delight to have much thought for her daughter's release – but Stacy no longer needed active caresses. If she squeezed her legs just so, twisting them to make that fisted hand press firmly upon her own swollen mound – She squeezed, and the hand pressed, and there was a twinge of response from Stacy's hole.

Stacy threw one leg out and over, slinging caution into the wind of her passion. She shifted her body, slamming her groin down upon Connie's face. Her mother was still moaning and gurgling in orgasmic pleasure but the sounds were muffled at once by the pressure of Stacy's muff. Connie didn't stop crying out, however. The difference – and such a difference! – was that now her lips parted and trembled directly upon the mouth of Stacy's feminine organ, and the vibrating moans were just what the love doctor had ordered.

Stacy endured thirty seconds of her mother's stifled outbursts before she surrendered herself. Her cunt heaved and oozed and she didn't care if she smothered Connie with it. She clamped it down and let her mother feel the rippling twitters of a pussy in heat. Her mother's clit must have been raw by then, thanks to Stacy's aggressive mouth-loving, but the girl found the energy to continue the process, and then she felt her mother's tongue strike inquisitively at her own labial folds. It was too good and too much. Stacy's second orgasm struck her like a dynamite blast.

"Do you mind if I call you Connie? It sounds silly to call you 'Mom' when I'm lying here with my finger inside you."

"And vice versa," Connie pointed out, wiggling her finger – partly for emphasis, partly for the pleasure of hearing Stacy's delighted, giggly squeal. "Of course I don't mind."

"Well," said the girl, "I hope you feel better now."

"Much better," Connie admitted, "but if anyone had predicted this to me – even as late as this morning – I'd have called him crazy. Stacy, I didn't know you knew about this sort of thing. Oh, I was pretty sure you weren't an innocent little girl any longer. You're a beautiful young woman, and beautiful young women are never innocent. But – this too?"

"This especially," Stacy grinned. "I haven't been an innocent little girl since I fourteen. Remember Alfred – the one with the bad complexion and the guitar? We broke each other in one day when you were out. Right on my little bed." She giggled as her mother shook her head in wonderment. "And as for the rest of it I found out about girls a couple of years later. I'll bet you didn't know, either, that when Suzie used to come over and spend the night with me – when I was going to St. Catherine's, remember? Anyway, we used to turn the record player up to drown the noises and get it on like crazy. Didn't you ever notice how we seemed to eat a lot of bananas when she was here?"

Connie crooked her head and thought. "I do seem to…"

"Well!" Stacy exulted. "What we'd do, one of us would put a banana in, peeled of course, all the way up. And I mean all the way! And the other would kneel between her legs and use just her teeth to get the banana out. Pull it half an inch, nibble on the end – you wouldn't believe how girl-juice flavors a banana! – and smack, smack till it was time to change places. God, I haven't even thought about that in years! Do you have any bananas in the fridge? I think I'd like to try it right now."

"Not a one," Connie confessed. "They're getting too expensive. Besides, I don't see how a banana could be any better than your finger, darling." She readied down to touch Stacy's hand. "You're not a lesbian, are you? Aren't you what they call bisexual?"

"Omnisexual is a better word," Stacy smirked. "I'd make it with a gorilla if it turned me on. But I'd rather make it with you. Again."

"Oh, not yet," Connie demurred. "Let me recover from the last time. But tell me, dear…"

"No," said Stacy, "you tell me. How in the world did you ever get into making a dirty movie? That's what amazes me. I mean, sure, you lost your job in the fall, but I thought you had a wad in the bank. Did you need the money, or what?"

Connie smiled. "No, it wasn't the money. It was all an accident, so to speak. It's a long story, hon."

"Tell me," Stacy insisted. "I mean, I'd like to know how my mother ended up X-rated. Please?"

"All right," Connie sighed. "It all started…"

Connie had no idea why she'd come. Little idea why she'd been invited. She scarcely knew the host and hostess, while the guests milling around the apartment were all strangers to her. But the prospect of beginning the new year alone in her apartment was so unattractive… But she was bored silly, and it wasn't quite eleven yet. Maybe she'd slip out soon, wander down to Times Square, mingle with the street crowds. Get mugged, she reminded herself. Shaking her head she asked the barman to fix her another gin and tonic.

Someone in a corner was smoking marijuana. A few years ago it had been quite daring, and now it was growing passe. There was a dryness on the tip of her tongue. Connie opened her purse and took out a Newport, fumbling for her lighter.

Before she could find it a streak of flame appeared before her face, and she accepted the light with a blase nod. As she exhaled she saw that the fire had been provided by an ignited twenty-dollar bill. Connie's eyes opened, and she wasn't quite so blase.

"Hi," he said. "I've been trying to catch your eye for half an hour, but you seemed so out of it I decided to go with flash. Did it work?" He dropped the burning bill into an ashtray and stood waiting for her answer.

Connie laughed, her face loosening up prettily. The light and shadow at the bar cast intriguing patterns back and forth across her features. "This is the mast expensive smoke of my life," she confessed.

"I hope you'll remember it a long time. Is this seat taken?" It wasn't.

She kissed him automatically when the midnight countdown reached zero. It was the custom at New Year's parties, and Connie meant nothing special by the gesture. But she felt his arms encircle her as they stood in the singing crowd of guests, and he was lifting her onto tiptoes against him, his mouth covering hen, sucking her tongue into his mouth, dueling with it with his lingual tool. Her arms wiggled helplessly for one brief instant before they wrapped themselves around him. That other people stood all around didn't matter. Connie felt herself drowning in his kiss and she sought total immersion. When his lips left hers she was breathless, her face flushed and damp. She found herself excited and aroused, the way any woman might be when a handsome man, virile and masculine, demonstrated his interest in her as a woman.

He was handsome, too, she assured herself, and he carried himself as if he knew it. Pleasant, strong, with one of those striking, unusual faces that made him all the more attractive. And young, too. He couldn't have been more than thirty. Ten years her junior. Would someone whisper "cradle robber" in her ear if she left the party with him?

Oh, let them! She knew from the feel of his hands on her body that he was interested in her, and she could deduce from the stirrings of his cock as her body rubbed his that his interest was sexual as well as personal. And whose life was it, after all? It was her life, and his. A woman of forty shouldn't have to worry about what other people might think.

Connie tested him. She told him she must be going, for it was late, and he countered by pointing out that the streets were unsafe this time of night. So, he called a taxi and they went downstairs to wait for its arrival.