Duncan Fox: Spankin mommy

It was an insane, churning fuck. When her ass touched the floor, it was as if red hot spurs were applied to her, and she would buck upward. Chuck slammed his prick into her cunt with animal fury, unmindful of either her pain or her pleasure.

It was the greatest fuck Carla had ever experienced. Her clitoris was mangled between their crashing loins. The walls of her cunt were ravaged by the searing friction of the cock pistoning in her. The pain in her ass was the final good that sent her screaming upward to a blistering orgasm. As she spasmed and jerked in the throes of her pleasure, she felt her husband unloading thick gobs of jizz into her convulsing cunt.

Carla dug her heels into the carpet, kept her ass up off the floor. Her back was arching, straining painfully. When her muscles began to quiver, she relaxed. Her ass touched the rug, and instantly she convulsed and heaved up again. Her sudden fucking motion rekindled Chuck's excitement.

He began ramming his cock into her flooded cunt a second time. His cock pumped a thick, creamy wave of cum out of her hole. His crotch slammed down on her clit, and Carla went roaring up toward a second come.

Her strength began to give out. Carla heaved up desperately, trying to protect her ass. Chuck rolled her to her side. They thrashed together in an insane knot. They flailed together in a wild tangle as they screwed with total abandon.

In seconds, Chuck was pouring a second load of jizz into her twitching twat. His entire body trembled with the strain. Carla clung to him, her cunt milking and massaging his spurting prick as she climaxed.

Then they were clinging to each other, sweating and panting, stunned by the violence of their screwing.

Clinging to that searing memory, Carla writhed and twisted on the bed and pistoned the silvery cigar tube in and out of her dripping slit. Her clit squirmed under her determined, rolling thumb. She mangled her mini-cock into a ball of fire. In the mirror she watched her feet scrabbling at the bed her gaping crotch bounced and heaved. The flushed inner folds of her pussy gleamed wetly around the pistoning tube. Her cunt bush was tight and twisty with wetness, her fingers slick with juices.

Then she was coming. The fireball swelled and swelled, burgeoned in her, expanded until it overwhelmed her. It swept before it the last vestiges of her civilized being. Her cunt spasmed and spumed around the still-pistoning aluminum cylinder. Her eyes closed, Carla arched in the grip of her orgasm, moaned, fought to keep her orgasm going as long as she could.

Inevitably, her come had to fade, just as the one after that blazing spanking Chuck had given her so long ago had faded. Now, as then, she was left with a sad hollowness.

When it was over, Chuck had tenderly lifted her to the bed, and apologized, and begged for forgiveness. He promised he would never strike her again. He had kept that promise, and neither of them had even mentioned the incident again. She had never had the courage to tell him how great it had been for her. She had never asked him to do it again, never provoked him again.

Weary and sad, Carla slid the tube out of her wet cunt and lay quietly on the bed for a few minutes, trying to ignore the hollowness in her guts. Then, restlessly, she got up. Defiantly nude, she stood in front of the mirror and surveyed her trim body. Then she turned and walked out of the bedroom, through the empty house. Her bare feet scuffed along the carpeting. Cool air touched her intimately, drying the wetness at her crotch. Her nipples were still stiff.

She wondered why she was walking around like this. She had never been a nudist. She and Chuck had been quite modest, in fact. Charlie had never seen her naked.

Carla paused in her son's doorway and thought about him. Pensively, she gazed at the litter of clothing and athletic gear, the pictures of sports stars, the banners. Hesitantly, she entered his room. She tried to ignore the way her heart was pounding. She was violating his privacy, and she knew it. Something about being in his room, naked, made her pussy tense up. Feeling driven, she walked over to her son's desk.

Idly, she stirred through the clutter, not sure what she was looking for. A picture of a girl caught her eye and she picked it up and studied it thoughtfully. Ann Jones, Charlie's current steady.

There was a teasing lilt to her smile. She was wearing a soft sweater that molded gently to her small, immature boobs. A circle pin – symbol of virginity? – adorned the slope of one titty.

Carla wondered what Charlie and Ann did on their dates. How far had they gone? How much did Charlie know about sex? Carla had no idea what Chuck had told Charlie about sex, if anything.

If Charlie came home at this point, Carla reflected, he'd learn quite a bit. The possibility that he might made her shiver. The chance was small, though. Still, she should get something on.

Instead, tingling, feeling strangely wicked, she went over to his closet and opened it. A jock strap dangled from a hook on the door. She held it for a few moments, studying it. She wrenched her mind away from the organs it cupped, and hung it where it had been. Beside it was a rack with four neckties and a wide leather belt. She fumbled through the clothes hanging on the rod. She wondered again why she was doing this.

But, deep down in her guts, she knew why. She was horny. That was the only word – horny. Sweet, loving, faithful Carla was horny. She was prowling in her son's room, naked, after masturbating, because she was still frantically horny, desperate for sexual satisfaction.

Even from her own son? The thought shocked her to the core, but she couldn't ignore it. Charlie was, after all, eighteen. He was the spitting image of his father. The fact that she was Charlie's mother, had borne him, meant nothing to her, did nothing to quench her aching sexual frustration.

But, God, what would happen if he came home and found her like this? He'd be devastated, alienated. It would rip the two of them apart, would demolish what was left of the family. Charlie was just a kid, psychologically. To find his mother naked in his room, probing into his private belongings would destroy his faith in her, and shatter him emotionally, destroy their relationship.

Carla was just about to turn away from the closet when a brown envelope behind a suitcase on the floor caught her eye. Nervously, wondering if it had fallen there by accident, she took it out.

The foreign postmark, Denmark, puzzled her. It felt as if there was a magazine inside. Her hands shaking, Carla pulled it from the envelope.

Her head swam giddily for a moment as she studied the garish cover. All her questions about Charlie's innocence were answered instantly. What did her son know about sex? Everything. On the cover, in full color, were a man and a woman. Both were naked. The man had a titanic hard-on. The woman was spreading the hairy lips of her pussy, exposing the gleaming, flushed petals of her inner folds.

Her hands shaking, her insides boiling, Carla began to leaf through the porno magazine. Page after page swam before her eyes. Page after page of men and women tangled in intercourse. The pictures were incredibly detailed, showed hard, gleaming cocks plumbing wet, slippery cunts.

The speed at which Carla flipped through the magazine slowed. She began studying the pictures more and more closely. Every sexual position was shown – man on top, woman on top, side by side… There, were even a few gymnastic ones that didn't seem possible. There were two pages of cocksucking and cunt-lapping. She and Chuck had tried oral sex once, unsuccessfully. The sight of a pretty young girl with a monster cock in her mouth made Carla's own mouth water. The picture of a man's tongue probing a girl's cunt bush, spearing the pearl of her clitoris, made Carla's pussy itch.